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Alone in a celebratory crowd, a somber, vixen adventuress sat on the edge of the tallest bridge in the land, looking east over the river delta's jagged teeth of piers, ships and barges, to the Great Sea beyond. With the waterway a quarter mile below, it was speculated the master craftspeople of the Allicans had built it so wide for no one to see over the nauseatingly high edge without trying.

Stusport, the city sprawling around the bridge, was more alive than she'd seen all week. Behemoth, the massive flagship of the local fleet and one of the biggest ships to ever sail, was setting out to sea.

In her lap was a thick book that would be sliding free were it not for the tremendous bulk of her breastplate clamping down against her thighs. That handwritten ledger held the history of her extensive and unplanned family. At least, not planned by her. It was a ledger of names, ages, sperm donors, buyers, prices and locations. Young men and women bred from her eggs, with the brains, beauty and proportions signature of her lineage, sold as premium adoptions to the rich and unscrupulous.

Children she was never supposed to know existed.

Her first reaction was always to think they'd been stolen from her, but she couldn't forget what Zarron, the wizard responsible had said: she'd given up her ability to bear young for his help in running away from her fate as a Princess, Queen and Mother. She'd never wanted to be a mother, not now and not then. Despite having her memory of the exchange wiped by magic, she knew that was a deal she would have made. Twenty years of life experience later, it was hard to imagine she'd think to add a "don't clone and sell my fertilized eggs" clause to any such negotiation.

All she had to do was lean back and let it go. She would never have the choice to pursue however many hundreds or thousands of her offspring recorded within. She'd been terrified to count.

Portia would never meet any more sons like Joseph or daughters like Marina, who would tempt her to cross the only line of depravity she'd ever regretted. A line that made her sick to think about. One she'd investigated methodically until she was convinced it was neither curse, magic nor illness. Whatever had broken was one-hundred percent her.

She would let the book fall and run back to the Kangaroo, Life Sorceress Darcy, begging for a mind-wipe she was assured was possible. Joseph, Anya, Marina, Edgar and Evita would all be safe with her friend, Booker the Baker in Zentia. The countless others would be no worse off than before, had Portia never returned to the Pale Lands and started this ruinous chain of events.

All those children. Those magically-bred adoptions sold off to who-knows-who for Gods-know-why. They would never know their horrible mother. She could move past all this and continue to cement her heroic legacy in blissful ignorance. She wouldn't remember she had legions of children or that she'd had sex with two of them. Or that only one time was an accident. She wouldn't remember how much she loved it.

How bad could their lives really be?

It was stupid thought. A pathetic excuse. In twenty years of travel and adventure, she'd seen misery and horrors that all came flooding to her. The world had unlimited capacity for cruelty, especially for those who couldn't fight back. Evangeline was born to be Zarron's wife and Anastasia, his apprentice. Joseph was made to maintain Zarron's vacation home. Anya and Evita were both bought and raised to be their buyer's wives. Edgar was meant to be a breeder and Marina was already working as a prostitute. There was no sign any one of them had it any better.

Her lamenting mind tried to fire the muscles of her lower back anyway. She'd never agreed to this quest and would only have to live with the guilt for an hour or two.

Her teeth clenched hard enough to threaten their integrity.

She couldn't do it.

The Counselor, Sebastian

"I'm at the end of my rope," Portia concluded with a sigh, laying back on an overstuffed couch.

Her appointment was the same afternoon she'd left the Life Wizard, Darcy's home office, presumably thanks to some pulled strings. She hadn't had time to cross the bridge back to her Inn to clean up the aftermath of her foursome and the occasional trickle down her inner thigh escaped, from Darcy, Joseph, Ana or whoever she had fucked last night.

He was a chubby, grey haired groundhog named Sebastian that she was grateful to not be attracted to, although after the crushing week she'd had, it wouldn't matter as much. She explained her story and situation in full, demanding repeated promises of his confidentiality. After an afternoon of explanation and questioning, he sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers.

"Miss Pridemoon, I'm glad that you came to see me. You have quite a fascinating life. Princess. Adventuress. Hero. Mother."

"Can you help me or not?"

"Perhaps. I have some theories but first, a few more questions. What does Love mean to you?"

"Really... caring about a person?"

"Okay. Surely you've cared for a lot of people. Who would you kill for? Who would you die for?"

"I've killed for people I didn't know and I've almost died for complete strangers. That comes with the territory in my line of work."

Sebastian rubbed his temples. "Do you love your Mother? Or did you?"

"Perhaps for a short time as a kit. Before I figured out what I was to her."

"Did she love you?"

"Definitely not. No."

He sniffled, more like a tick than an allergy. "Do you love anyone in your family?"

"I loved my siblings, sure, but we were all children. Even back then, Alexi was all business, Bjorn was all heart..." She gagged at the thought of her second oldest brother, Bjorn. She'd last seen him as a boyish teenager. Years later, Zarron had somehow acquired his seed and used it to father at least six of her children as deliberate inbreds. One of those six was Jasper, a son she had yet to meet but was in this very city. She cleared her throat and steadied her mind.

"I loved Valentin and Piotr, but they were tiny, little kits. Innocent. Augustina was still shitting her nappies and Mikke wasn't born yet. Children are children but none of that love survived the upbringing we had. I've seen more affection in a company of soldiers than my own family. I'm certain they treated my departure more like a deserter than a daughter."

He paused and watched her before taking a note in his book. "Your father?"

"Perhaps as much as anyone could in that place, which is not much. The only reason I went back to the Pale Lands was out of obligation. I am not disloyal to my family. I don't want harm to befall them but how can I love them when the entire emotion was discouraged?"

"Would you say you love yourself? You're proud of who you are? Who you've become?"

Portia considered then nodded. "Yes. Until two months, yes."

"Tell me more."

"I ran away from a life of privilege to become something everyone said I had no business being. I trained long and hard until people had no choice but to take me seriously. I proved wrong hundreds of men who've underestimated me and saved more lives than I can count. There are statues of me. Bards write songs about me. Children repeat stories of 'the most beautiful woman in the world' who can dodge any arrow and best any man. Every little girl judged by her appearance, or growing up towards a life of boredom, submission and servitude who hears about me, sees a spark of possibility. Their life can be what they make it. Every bounty I pull or monster I slay, reminds the rest of the world not to judge a book by its cover."

"What of that cover, Portia? Do you lament the way you look?"

"No." Her lip curled, revolted. "Not in the slightest. When I was younger, I was sometimes frustrated, like when I wanted to shoot a bow and was denied or had to learn to dodge, flip and balance with an extra forty pounds wobbling on my chest. It certainly made training a challenge. Now, I've got nothing but pride. I'm amazing, whether people see it or not. I feel powerful when they underestimate me."

"When you are naked, do you like the way you look?

"Absolutely."

"You mentioned the mirror with Joseph. In intimate situations, do you like to look at yourself?"

The moment flashed back with total clarity and her blood raced into action. Joseph, who by then she knew to be her son, was still knotted and hard inside her ass, his massive cock trapped deep in her body, her guts warm with his virginal ejaculation. Her own son begged her to cum again, and she pretended to grudgingly agree, but she wanted it too. His eager hands had tugged off her top to see and feel her breasts. He was bouncing them deliberately with his bucking hips, his young eyes peering over her shoulder, transfixed by their size and motion. He reached around to touch her sex, commenting on how wet she was, knowing how much she loved the forbidden moment before he made her cum with his clumsy, young fingers.

Her thighs pushed together to try to smother the burning. "I do."

A short silence followed. "You said you've had more lovers than you can count."

She adjusted herself in her seat, almost squirming. "Why would I keep count? More than a thousand, I'm sure." She struggled to remember any of them but Joseph, Marina and Ana. Even the memory of Ana, intense as it was last night or this morning, was watered down in the memory for the awareness it hadn't been really been her.

"Lovers is an interesting word. For all those men, have you ever been in love?"

Portia turned her attention sharply to him, her fire immediately and thoroughly extinguished.

"Perhaps someone has said it to you. Maybe you've said it. Have you felt it?"

"I have NEVER said that. I wanted to be an adventuress. A hero, free to make her own destiny and write her own story. Love and marriage?" she laughed with disdain. "When was the last, great story you heard about somebody's wife? Chain myself to some man just to live in his shadow? Touched by only one person for the rest of my life? No thanks."

"Is it love you have such disdain for? Or is it commitment?"

The vixen sat up, planting her feet on the floor and hunching forward on her elbows. "Love IS commitment."

"With the discovery of all these children, you find yourself in a commitment anyway. Do you love them?"

"I don't know them."

"Perhaps more than you think. Blood has power, even without magic. Do you think they love you?"

Portia flopped back in her seat. "I'm a stranger. How could they?"

Sebastian leaned back in his chair and set his pen aside on an end table. "Portia, I am not a wizard and I can only give you my opinion, not an absolute truth. A million things might be responsible for your condition. People tend to attract similar mates. In the absence of the experienced, common, familial history which usually teaches us to avoid our blood relations as potential partners, no one is more similar to you than your siblings and your children. Subconsciously, you probably sense some connection when you meet them.

"You're exceptionally attractive. I think you'd consider yourself a viable partner, for yourself. Considering that, an attraction to someone who looks like you makes perfect sense to me."

Portia swallowed hard, her eyes locked on the groundhog. He continued.

"You want to be a hero. A legend. A role model. Now you find yourself rescuing your own children from the tyranny of their lives. They've always needed a mother but you also get to be their hero. Every child you save is going to adore you as much as anyone. Perhaps you didn't break away from your courtly life to be free but to be known."

She sat up. "I was going to be the fucking Queen. I would have been known." After a deep breath, she unfolded back on the couch. "The throne would give me that for free. I wouldn't have earned it."

"Would you have been loved? Not for the job you but personally?"

She was silent, glaring now.

"You've managed to avoid love for your entire life, Portia. First, because of the cold, stoicism of your family, who also ensured you'd forever fear commitment. Then, in your fierce independence. You didn't consider finding a husband who was also an adventuring partner? Or a poly amorous relationship? Your fear of commitment choked out any real possibility for love so you sought it, in ways which were safe to your hopes and dreams. Through reputation and admiration from the people you've helped and extensively through promiscuous sex."

"You tear yourself apart over your inability to resist throwing yourself toward love and affection, they way YOU know it: through admiration and through sex. Where you've come to find it in the arms of your own children, you don't stop to ask yourself if it makes you any worse of a mother than yours. A mother who wouldn't hold you once you were old enough to stand on your own?"

Sebastian sat forward, resting his arms on his knees. His posture was soft and disarming. "Now you find yourself the reluctant hero of this story, in an obligation your conscience won't let you reject, to liberate a still-impressionable family from unconscionable situations. A family you never learned to not think of as viable mates, who never learned the same of you. Sons and daughters seeking guidance and love, who are all stunning and beautiful, and likely much more lost and in need than you."

Her eyes rolled away from him to the ceiling as the flood of words sunk in.

"I'm not a sorcerer, Portia. The mind is a delicate thing. Perhaps you got hit on the head and the rest is coincidence? I'm sure you're aware if the wizards who led you to me couldn't change this about you, I can't either. Not without years of these sessions and possibly, never."

She sighed and covered her eyes, first with her eyelids then with her palms. Then a pillow she grabbed blindly.

"Portia, most people in this city have no idea what I do is even a trade. They'll never be able to afford to talk to an expert about their life's problems. And here's my secret, since your session was paid for by a friend: very few people come through here with real problems. The poor have them. The privileged have inconveniences. Houseflies that seem like dragons because they've never known what real trouble is."

He stood and walked over, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I understand you're feeling a lot of conflicting emotions now but that is the extent of your problems. Joseph was destined to live as a houseboy and Marina as a whore. Both of them are free to do as they wish now, thanks to you. Both consented to sex with you. Joseph didn't know but neither did you at the time and it doesn't sound like it bothered him much."

"Regardless of how your conscience handles this, no one is going to save the rest of them but you. Consider that before you decide what to do next."

She turned in her seat and sat up. "I need to go."

* * *

Knowing Sebastian was right didn't make it sit right. There was an out for her life and conscience but so many young souls would suffer the consequences. She couldn't lean back. She couldn't let the book go.

If she leaned forward, she would only suffer her burning conscience for another ten seconds. She saw the docks below, orderly and military to the South and rough and chaotic to the North. Would her body drift out to sea or wash ashore, bloated, blue and ugly on either side? A drowned corpse was no end to the story of a hero. She owed her legacy better than that.

Behind her, the crowd was cheering. The ship must be close now, and she had no interest at all, staring over the river delta. Something was off about the northern docks. The regular patterns of commerce and travel were ants at this distance but a cluster of those ants on one otherwise empty pier moved unusually. A circle surrounding someone in the center, moving threateningly. The apparent victim clutched something close. A child? She had heard rumors of black market slavers operating in Low Town, North and there it was, before her eyes, a quarter of a mile away. The pier was largely obscured from the main boardwalk by stacked crates and containers. No one else was seeing this. She was the only one who could do anything.

The prow of Behemoth emerged from underneath the bridge. From above, its scale was such that the celebration suddenly seemed justified. It was amazing a thing built by hands and tools of such a scale could ever move but it did with effortless grace, less like a ship across the sea and more like a moon through the sky.

She was a warship with a prow built for ramming, bristling with catapults and ballistae, her top deck covered in her own scurrying ants, betraying the grace of her motion. The first mast emerged, cut from the towering redwoods that covered other, distant parts of the world and reaching so high, it reminded her both scenes existed in the same world. That tall mast offered a bridge between them.

Portia carefully slid the book out of her lap and back into the safety of its sleeve. There was time enough to deal with her troubles later but now, someone needed her help. She had to move. Her eyes darted with ideas, then measures and calculations. A second mast followed, taller still, reaching a third of the way to the bottom of the bridge. She wasn't sure how many masts a ship of this scale would bear but was certain the next one would be even taller.

Portia jumped up on the railing, broad and stable enough for her to easily balance on. Rushing into a full sprint, she turned heads in the crowd that she ignored, seeking the center of the ship.

Third mast. Taller still. There couldn't be many more before they would be shorter again. She was running out of time. With the others in full view, she appraised their rigging in absence of a raised sail. If she could jump and catch one of many thick ropes connecting the mast to the deck, she would slide down safely. Everything after that would be easier.

She was right where she needed to be when the fourth mast came into view. The gasps of the crowd were drowned out by the sound of the rushing wind.

She jumped with a deliberate trajectory. Her eyes were locked to a single, loose line of rigging and she reached back to fetch one of her tomahawks. In free fall, she slipped the wrist strap on, then raised it over her head with a two-handed grip. Fixated on the rope, she calculated what she would need to do with her body when it hooked, in order for her momentum to not rip the weapon right out of her hand and her to fall to her death, whether on water or wood.

The wind was deafening and the fall long enough for her to consider mid-flight, if she would take this leap three months ago. Her blood was on fire with drive and purpose and at least for now, it was still contained within her skin and fur. Flying through the air, she found her mark again: the pier side altercation. The commotion was clearer and closer now. She couldn't lose track of where it was when she got to sea level.

Portia bent back her body as the thick rope closed in, and she adjusted the height of her weapon to catch it, gripping for her life. The handle hit the rope hard and she swung forward, redirecting her fall into a spin. Wrapped around the rigging but avoiding touching it, her entire body swung around four times before gravity took over, and she slid by the ax handle, down the diagonally-hanging rope, her weight drawing tight the slack in it.

Her heart pounded as she rushed downward. The rope's angle averted the deadly risk of freefall, but she was still moving dangerously fast. The vixen swung herself up to grip the rope in the arches of her boots, applying them as brakes and slowing her to a safe speed but the leather grew hot enough to threaten her feet with burns. Closing in on the deck, the pain was too much and her legs dropped away right before impact. She'd broken harder falls from lower heights and tumbled with practiced skill. The rope ended close to the taffrail and she crashed into it, head over heels.

A long breath of relief escaped her muzzle as all was still and her body was not broken from the incredible descent. She had made it to Behemoth and her upside-down view had all eyes of the crew on her. Her appearance was secondary to her presence on the ship at all. She was upside down and ass up, her knees around her face and her chest at her chin, crumpled against the railing, after falling seemingly from the heavens. The sailors were frozen, dumbfounded by her sudden appearance. She had survived. There was work to do.

Portia scrambled to stand and heard cheering from above, forgetting for a moment she'd had an audience up there as well. No matter. She scanned for the pier where the attack was happening. From down here, it was quite a bit of distance, a swim half as far as she'd dropped. Her muscle started toward the edge, to jump, but she stopped herself:

The book.

A hand-written ledger of Zarron's experiments and sales, slung behind her, unsealed in a leather sling. It was the only connection she had to find her children. A book not likely to survive the swim.

"LOAD THAT BALLISTA!" she barked to a cluster of dumbfounded sailors, stationed at one of the many, impressive armaments. They exchanged looks amongst themselves before she started to run toward them. "A WOMAN IS BEING ATTACKED ON THE PIER. LOAD THAT FUCKING BALLISTA!" The second time, the crew bucked and responded. Two handsome, white-uniformed sailors, a zebra and a muskrat manned the crank with appropriate urgency, drawing back the enormous crossbow.

Portia ran for the nearest, loose spool of rope while scanning for the ballista's ammunition. She grabbed the end of a line and the furniture-sized spool began spinning, likely intended for the same boarding maneuver she had in mind. She fetched a javelin-sized bolt next, which already had an eyelet cut in its back end, like some massive sewing needle but with fletching for stability in flight. It was easy to tie, for the time she'd spent on sailing ships and the knot was secure by the time they had cocked the ballista.

She ran over and tossed them the bolt to load. They obliged while she took to the handles of the gigantic crossbow and used her whole body and strength to aim at a pile of shipping crates. They were substantial enough to survive the shot but short enough to draw a downward grade from the height of the ship's deck to the level of the pier. She didn't come all this way to wind up stuck, halfway over the water then dragged out to sea.

The sailors loaded the bolt with a regimented efficiency then looked at her and the aim she was drawing. "It'll arc different from a crossbow but not as much as you expect. Aim higher!" The zebra barked before rushing to help, the muskrat immediately along her other side. Together, they aimed the giant crossbow with practice and ease. "Perfect!"

Portia reached out and squeezed the trigger until it snapped in a violent creak of bending wood, threatening to shatter with unleashed tension. Thick timbers settled just as fast with the javelin still whistling mid-air. It planted halfway across the delta into the stacked crates, knocking several adjacent ones over in the impact. The shot was perfect.

"Ha!"

She took a split-second of celebration, kissing the zebra's cheek, then the muskrat's, and she could them both blush at the moment before moving on from them.

A loose line was drawn now between ship and shore, demonstrating its speed more than anything previously. There wasn't much time and she ran for it, leaping from deck to taffrail and taffrail to rope, using her tomahawk as a zip line again, this time much more predictably, except for the massive, moving pivot of a battleship, now behind her.

Portia saw the details of the fight as she closed in, across the water. It was a group of armed thugs, six in total of various species, surrounding an alpaca woman, clutching her child. They were clearly taunting and toying with her, making it all the more ominous. Robbers had plenty of time to mug her and run away. If these six weren't slavers, their intent was no less despicable. She was outnumbered and couldn't afford to pull any punches. They knew the risks when they decided to be predators.

The crashing ballista impact grabbed their attention but none of them saw her coming down the line. She was almost over the deck of the pier when she drew the dagger lashed to her breastplate and hurled it at the closest of the six, a gopher she caught right at the spine. He collapsed forward, clutching the wound and grabbed the attention of the other five, right as Portia fell into a graceful break fall, letting go of the tomahawk, which bounced nearby.

"What the fuck!?" one of the five remaining balked at the interruption while Portia scrambled to her feet and fetched her dropped weapon.

"You've got three seconds to convince me you're not slavers or rapists," she growled, rushing the outside line of their broken circle.

"Sanna?!" Another one barked in disbelief but whatever that meant was irrelevant. The remaining five were gearing up for a fight to the death. This was no misunderstanding.

The movement of Behemoth ripped a pile of crates off the dock and into the water after the slack line sprung taught. It made an explosive distraction, phasing them and not her. She fetched the second tomahawk from her back. The nearest of them was a bison, thick and towering with a cocky grin as the vixen rushed with weapons brandished.

She wound herself up with a full twist, and he changed stance to counter, before a quick shift from the fox turned a swing into a surprised throw. One tomahawk left her hand with less than ten feet between them and buried in his chest, freezing him in a shocked posture. He was halfway to the ground when she was close enough to grab her weapon and let his weight free it.

Four of them remained, weapons drawn and ready for her, but they hadn't had time to reposition themselves from their broken circle, which left them lined up in a curve before her. The next was the second biggest of them: a ragged-looking, one-eyed lion who had drawn a two-handed sword and tossed aside the scabbard. Portia hadn't slowed down and she raised the tomahawk in a high chop. He wound back his sword at the same level of her neck.

The lion roared as he swung, hurling the massive blade forward. The big weapon was so heavy, he was nearly in slow-motion, and she dropped into a feet-first slide, her overhand swing connecting hard with his chest and dragging down as she slid right between his legs and scurried back to her feet. Mercifully, these weren't the kinds of thugs who wore real armor. A new burning sensation on her thigh reminded her she should probably switch to leather pants from a skirt if she wanted to slide around on wooden piers often.

She was moving fast but the next two had come shoulder to shoulder, a pair of mangy coyotes with short swords, one female and one male, one left-handed and the other right. If they weren't twins they could have been but one looked furious and the other, terrified.

Side-hand, she lobbed a tomahawk and it flew straight into the males' thigh closest to his twin, causing his weight to buckle into her as he started to fall with a scream. It didn't knock the other over but made some distraction. Still, she wound up her short sword and Portia, her other tomahawk and they both swung as they collided.

The vixen wasn't intending to connect with her weapon, only knock her opponent's aside before she barreled into her with all her weight and momentum, sending them both to the ground, with her on top. Sliding to a stop, she palm-struck the coyote's muzzle forcefully, banging it into the deck before scrambling up toward the last one: a lithe, scarred, orange and white cat, tinted beige with dirt and filth, and grey with age. He wore leather armor and was open-handed, brandishing only his claws and a psychotic smile.

"I know you, Portia Pridemoon. Someone said you were in town. I used to run with the Scarlet Sash."

She gave the coyote a hard kick to confirm her unconsciousness then stepped clear of the wounded one, fetching her second tomahawk. "Those losers are still around? How'd that work out for you?" She paced towards him.

"I learned enough about business to start my own."

"The business of attacking mothers and children sounds like something they'd teach."

"This world gives nothing. You have to take it." He started sideways and her, the other way, the two circling each other.

"Well I just took out your whole gang. So why aren't you running for your life?"

"Desperate, unskilled thugs are plentiful in these parts. The glory of tearing apart a do-gooder heroine is rare indeed. Killing you will make me a legend."

"Okay but first you have to kill me." The circle tightened and Portia swung first with a spin of her body, which the cat ducked under with ease, popping up to rake across the easy target of her breastplate with his claws. Her second swing was at his legs. He jumped high and tucked, clear of it and knocking her nose with his knee.

She twisted and threw her own knee out and up, striking his kidneys on his way back to the ground, hard enough to knock him aside. He landed and clawed again at her well-protected chest.

She tumbled back in a somersault to regain some distance and swing again, this time right at his middle. He pulled his belly back quickly, enough that only the top of her blade grazed the armor. She carried her momentum in another spin, feeling claws against her armor's back before she threw her foot out in a kick, catching him in the stomach and sending him flying on his back.

With a grunt, she lunged forward and chopped down, burying a tomahawk in the pier between his legs where his torso had been a moment before. He was fast. She chopped with the other tomahawk, higher at his chest, but he rolled aside, out of the way.

Both axes were stuck in the deck now. They were too slow for this fight. She drew a backup dagger from her boot while he sprung to his feet. There was still enough time to catch him off balance. She jumped high and lunged over him, throwing arms around his neck then crashing down on top of him with her full and impressive weight.

He squirmed and clawed furiously, finding only leather armor at first while she stabbed blindly at anything she could reach before his grip seized her wrist. With her other arm around him, she dug her boots into the pier, using her strong thighs to push on top of him fully, until they were face to face. With a deft squirm, he freed one hand enough to grab her neck. She felt the claws break flesh before she snapped her fangs down on his arm, biting down hard and shaking about her head. She could feel veins, then tendons failing beneath skin, a flood of iron in her mouth.

His other hand came up to try to pry her teeth away and with hers freed, she sank the dagger to the hilt under his breastplate.

Mewling, mortal cries acknowledged the blow and his fight weakened, but he kept thrashing. She let go of the dagger and brought herself over it, using her body weight to hold it in while she snatched his arm and held it until his strength left him. Some distant cheers followed as she stood. Looking back to Behemoth, she could see the sailors had lined up along the deck, watching the whole scene. The mountains and walls of stacked crates hid from view of the boardwalk itself.

Behind her, sounded the crunching of gore shook her pause. The alpaca and her son! She twirled around and to her feet, her jaw and cleavage bathed in the bandit's blood while her throat and nose dripped with her own. Had she come all this way for them to be killed? No. They were fine.

The coyote with a wounded leg had one of Portia's tomahawks in his head and the puffy-haired, alpaca woman standing over him. She had set down her son, who stood with his back turned and his eyes covered, obedient to some unseen order.

The female coyote showed a similar wound. She'd finished them both off.

"Was that necessary?"

"Do bloody noses reform predators?" The woman was trembling. Killing was new for her.

"I suppose not," Portia said with a shrug, walking to the other weapon and grabbing it. She approached the woman, offering an open hand.

The alpaca's gaze was sharp, under a cotton-like puff of hair that obscured her forehead and most of her eyes. "Low Town is small. They knew where I worked. They'd come looking for us with more of their gang and they'd find us." She handed over the tomahawk and Portia wiped away the blood on the coyote's body, before stowing them both.

"Okay. We shouldn't stick around here. I don't have time for City Watch trials and I assume they're paid off down here."

"Safe assumption."

"Do you two have somewhere to go?"

"We don't. Not anymore. We thought we were booking passage out of Stusport, so we gave up our accommodations," The alpaca squatted at the side of the coyote and grabbed his coin purse, then the one from his twin. "This is yours if you want it."

Portia shook her head. "Take it. Come on, let's go."

The alpaca scooped up her son and followed but when Portia glanced back, she found her making a quick detour to loot the others. "I said, come on!"

"We need the money," she snapped back but ran to catch up.

Portia led her in a jog, not expecting her to be able to keep pace as she carried what must be a boy of five or ten. It was another reminder she hadn't the slightest clue about children but this alpaca woman was able to move fast while she carried her own.

They both ran down the dockside, avoiding major streets, avenues and thoroughfares. She'd had time enough to learn the area in her first few days in Stusport and led them to a dark, back alley bar in the International District run by an old, chow chow bartender from a far away land she'd been to once. He had discreetly acknowledged he knew of her from a village she'd helped when she was there. There, she'd apparently saved one of his kin, and he'd be covering her meal and drinks. He would help them. She ushered them in first, then followed and closed the door.

"Sorry lady, no kids... oh. Miss Pridemoon. Welcome back. Did you find what you were looking for?"

She sighed. "Hello, Zhang. Yes and no. Long story. Look, we're in some trouble. Can we hide here for a bit?"

"Whatever you need. Lock the door behind you. Who is your friend? Are you hungry?"

"I'm Varda, this is Bernhard, and we're both famished," the alpaca blurted out and helped herself to a seat at the bar, then placed her shaggy, still-silent son on the stool next to her. Getting a closer look at them in the dim light of the sparsely-windowed tavern, her fur was visibly downy and light, like clouds escaping from under her clothes but his was thicker and curly, almost oily.

"Just a drink for me. Mead. And something strong and cheap to clean this," Portia pointed to the claw marks on her arm and her throat as she walked to a stool. Zhang nodded and set to work.

Portia turned to face Varda and her son. "So, what's a girl like you doing in a place like this?"

"Trying to get out. Night shifts in dockside bars pays better than anything else a farm girl can do in the city."

Portia raised a brow.

"I don't know why everyone assumes whoring is where women without formal trades all wind up. It's not easy or safe and doesn't actually pay very well."

Portia nodded. Leaving the brothel with Marina, she carried a small fortune but her silken-furred daughter was far from the average whore. "Fair enough."

Zhang returned to hand Portia a wet rag, reeking of alcohol. She put it to her neck first and winched at the sting.

"Peak employment down here for unskilled people is running contraband for the gangs but that's more dangerous still. I'm a damn good barmaid, and I was making money, fast and safe."

"Not enough that you don't need to loot bodies."

Varda squinted. "It doesn't go to charity if I leave it for the City Watchmen to take. Like I said, we're trying to leave. It seems what I had saved was the 'rob me' price. I must be able to pay the real price. More so, now."

Portia put the rag to the claw trails on her arm. "Okay, so you worked the bars of Low Town to save money and leave."

"Right. I worked at 'The Flopping Fish', every busy night since the month of Aenarmoon. Along the way to Stusport, I worked other taverns and inns, so I had some experience. I'm a fast learner, a good flirt and I make friends with people who can protect us. Thankfully the owner of The Fish saw the value in taking care of us because not all the employers down here do. He didn't want me to go, saying you can't trust the people offering passage. He was right, but we can't stay here forever. We have to get to the Central Isles."

"That's a long way from here. Why?"

"Bernhard is a smart boy, and he needs a specialty school. The only one that can help him is there."

"Pardon my interruption," Zhang said, bringing a tray with two chalices, two bowls of stew and a mug for the boy. "All the best silk and spice traders come through my place and most of them sail at least as far as the Central Islands. I know those Captains. One was in here earlier, drunk and complaining about this whole Behemoth celebration messing up the launch schedules. Perhaps he has room for one more? Since I'm closed for a bit, perhaps I go find him?"

Portia looked to Varda, then Bernhard, their expressions perked and eager. "We'd be in your debt, Zhang."

"Nonsense. I'm in yours, but this Captain will need payment for room and board. It is a long journey. What was the 'rob me' price?"

Varda paused for a moment. "Forty gold."

Zhang nodded. "That is very cheap for such a journey. I will do what I can. Lock the door behind me and open it for no one else. Help yourselves to the tap but please, stay out of the kitchen." He grabbed a bag and ducked under the bar, giving a small bow on his way out.

Portia locked the door then walked over to a bar stool, skipping a seat between her and Varda, her chest needing the room where other patrons might leave their elbows. The alpaca barely noticed, staring into her stew as she ate. After a few bites, she spoke. "I've never killed anyone before. I did the right thing, didn't I?"

Portia sighed and shrugged. "Who's to say? On one hand, they were defenseless. It wasn't a fair fight. On the other hand, they started an unfair fight. And fairness isn't worth much if it gets you killed. If you live and work down here, you're right: they'd come looking for payback. The law doesn't seem to serve much justice in Low Town and I won't be here to help you next time. I don't know if it was the right thing but it was probably the best thing for you and your son."

Varda nodded and took another spoonful of stew.

"You're cold-blooded to think that way. You'd do well as an adventurer," Portia added with a chuckle, but she laughed alone and not for long. With another sigh, her attention moved from Varda to Bernhard. He was staring at her with big, black, innocent eyes. She stared back at him with her eyes wide and neither looked away while Varda finished her bite, unaware. Finally, she chuckled and averted her eyes. Bernhard's little face lit up. "Sorry. I'm terrible with kids."

"I must say, Miss Pridemoon. I hoped to never need rescuing but I'm grateful it was you. I heard about you when I worked in Brummel for a couple of weeks."

"Brummel? I haven't been to Brummel in years. And you can call me Portia."

"Too bad. The statue they made for you is really nice."

"Statue?"

"Mmmhmmm. Right in the Town Square. The scale of it is a little..." Varda's eyes flitted to the vixen's legendary, leather-armored chest, mashed against the edge of the bar. "...off. If they'd made it true-to-life, I don't think anyone who hadn't seen you would believe it. Future generations would just assume the sculptor was a pervert."

"Naturally," Portia said, resting her cheek on her fist, an immodest smile at the corner of it.

"Everyone talks about you in Brummel. All the little boys want to grow up and marry you and all the little girls in town want to be you. I've never seen so many girls with a thirst for adventure as I did there."

The smile melted and her gaze averted. "So, you passed through Brummel. Where did you come from?"

"Hokdale," Varda paused a moment before continuing. "You don't know it. No one does. Hokdale is a middle-of-nowhere, farming village in the Eastern Plains, off the highways, where they worship Ferridor the Father as much as they abhor unwed mothers."

Portia nodded slowly. "So this isn't just about the school for..."

"Bernhard," Varda repeated. "No, we would have left there regardless. The school is why we have somewhere to go."

"Well, I can understand needing to leave a home that won't accept you but traveling with a child? You're brave."

"You have children?" Varda sounded surprised and Portia shook her head.

"I've escorted some before. Recently." Portia averted her eyes and chuckled. "No. I don't imagine many parents are in my line of work."

"You don't think some adventurers are supporting a family?"

"Perhaps but it seems unlikely. I knew some married couple adventurers but not well. The wives tend not to want me around." She grinned crookedly. "They've never mentioned families though. I think most adventurers would consider it a sort of either-or situation."

"Parents can't be adventurers and adventurers can't be parents?"

"Not can't. Maybe, shouldn't be?"

Varda cocked her head aside, narrowing her eyes but Portia didn't back down.

"Adventuring is basically sixty percent walking, twenty percent finding jobs, ten percent fighting for your life, five percent drinking, four percent fucking and one percent actually getting paid. Most of those things, children are any good to have around for."

Bernhard's eyes were wide and conspicuous, trying to look like he wasn't listening.

"What if that is only thing you know?"

Portia took a drink. "I guess I never considered it. Great adventurers become famous and good adventurers still earn some fortune. Bad adventurers meet early ends. I can't think of any who are so competent to survive yet so mediocre not to profit."

She paused and looked to the ceiling, considering her statement. "That's not true at all. Well, it is true but plenty of successful adventurers have expensive habits, vices or tastes. So I suppose they have to keep going, especially if they're supporting a family. But why would someone want to be a parent, when they knew their work was so dangerous, or required so much travel?"

"A lot of us didn't choose to be parents, Portia. Sometimes, being a parent chooses you."

Portia tilted her head aside. "Well, it doesn't just happen."

"Okay." Varda's mouth was thoughtfully crooked. Her straight posture showed her effort to compose herself. " If you believe love or even lust is entirely a choice we make, sure. I'm surprised to hear such a puritanical perspective from a well-traveled, unattached vixen who, well frankly, looks the way that you do."

Portia stifled a laugh. "I don't have puritan bone in my body. There have been some but they were just visiting." She was proud of her joke until she looked to Bernhard, who didn't get it. She cleared her throat and continued. "It is a risk, when engaging in certain activities, with many ways to prevent it."

"I know now about herbal, magical and alchemical means of contraception to those with the means and access but I'm from a conservative village. Nobody taught us horny teenagers about all the ways we could get away with premarital sex."

"Not even the Interspecies Exception? 'Lay with the Others and you'll stay not a Mother? Lay with your own for a child to be sown?' I thought every kid in the land knew some version of that one."

"Sure, but they don't get into all the details, and we were mostly alpacas. Besides, it sounds nice but not how desire works. In all your years, you've just stayed away from all the handsome, charming foxes, wolves and dogs out there?"

"Foxes can only breed with other foxes."

Varda furrowed her brow. "Lucky for you and your fancy education."

"But no. I quite like foxes. In and out of bed and I wasn't trying to chastise or judge you. I've never had to think much about it. I've never had any close friends who were women and I can't have children myself." That part was still technically true. "I've never had to worry about those kinds of accidents. Lucky, I guess."

"I guess?" Varda shrugged and took a sip of her mead. "You're this amazing hero who travels the world and beats up men. I bet you have boyfriends in every village." Portia raised a brow and her ears before cracking a smile. "Some of those little girls in Brummel? They want that too. When I was a little girl, it would sound amazing. Now, I can't imagine being anything but a mother."

Portia tensed and hunched in a huff but stopped herself before a laugh escaped.

"No judgment against you or your decisions. I'm just a farm girl who knows how to do farm stuff from a village that doesn't show up on most maps. Then I had this incredible little boy, and he's so wonderful. What greater purpose could I have, than to make sure he is everything he can be?"

Portia's potential laugh was gone. She rested her face on her fist again, taking another drink.

"I know. Every mother thinks her child is special but Bernhard actually is." She leaned in and spoke more softly, as if they weren't the only ones in the small tavern. "I think there's magic in his blood. He can sense things, others cannot."

"Has he ever been evaluated for it?"

"A magic scout from one of the Academies out west came through Hokdale last year. She tested him and said it was possible but inconclusive. I know those fancy academies only want wealthy, educated students whose parents can pay. They only come to the villages to find the obvious prodigies and put them on scholarships, because that makes them look good. They don't want an uneducated, poor boy from an unwed mother unless he's up to his eyeballs in potential. No matter, because there is an Academy in the Central Islands that takes in children from all walks of life and helps them develop."

"What if he's not magically inclined?"

"Then he's not but at least I gave him every opportunity. That's my responsibility. Whatever the cost."

"Like finishing off wounded bandits?"

Varda gave a resolute nod and Portia took a deep pull of her drink.

"What about all the awful parents out there? The ability to reproduce isn't the most compelling case for such authority or influence."

"Do you think awful people come from awful parents? Or lack of parents?"

Portia shifted in her seat, narrowing one eye more than the other. "I haven't thought about it much. Both?"

"Were your parents awful?"

"My mother was. My father was cold but kind. Everyone's cold where I'm from."

"Yet here you are. A hero despite all the odds errrr... stacked against you." Varda huffed with a flutter of her eyes, amused with herself.

Portia grimaced. "There's a lot you don't know about me."

"Sure, sure. Of course there is. I know you're proud of your appearance and you're humble about your accomplishments so you must have some amount of self-loathing, over something. Would you be the hero you became, if not for your upbringing?"

Portia mused, digging her fingertips into her face. "Maybe not. Maybe so. They certainly didn't make me into what I am today."

"Maybe you didn't feel loved by them. I have a hard time believing parents couldn't love their children but even if so, you had their support, when you needed it most. Before you could help yourself."

Portia straightened her spine. "Perhaps my parents weren't the most terrible anyone could have. They could've done better."

"This is true of everyone. In everything!"

"I might have been what they wanted me to be if they'd given me a little more space to be myself."

Varda laughed and gave her son a squeeze, pulling him against her. "Parents are people too, flaws and all. The worst mistake a parent can make is to plan out exactly who their child is going to grow up to be. Bernhard and I would love for this magic thing to work out but if it doesn't, we are both perfectly fine with that."

"What about the really horrible parents? The abusive and exploitative ones?"

Varda shrugged and took a sip from her mug. "Those people will always exist, with or without offspring. There are evil people who are also parents. But far more common are good people who don't realize how evil it is to abandon their children." Varda was staring into space by the time she finished. Portia was lost into her drink.

"I barely knew Bernhard's father. It was a fling. The kind that happens when a bunch of strapping, handsome men march through a tiny village. He was a soldier, among many on a training mission. Bulls, raccoons, rabbits and horses but this one llama was just so charming."

Portia held her face tight, with an attentive nod, trying recall a single llama she'd ever found attractive.

"Remember, they didn't teach us the details of the Interspecies Exception. Not when they're preaching abstinence. They didn't tell us tigers can mate with lions or foxes can't with wolves so when this handsome soldier told me we were safe, I didn't know any better. I'm not sure he did either.

"Religious, little villages are different worlds, Miss Pridemoon. We were all alpacas and travelers were kept a close eye on. We even had one priest claim that any species can get any other species pregnant, trying to scare us out of having sex before marriage."

"I've been through those types of places. For some reason, they don't make me feel very welcome."

"I've no doubt a parade of eager men greet you, wherever you appear. The rest of us take what we can."

Varda laughed and Portia tried not to smile, eventually failing. "You talk like that in front of your son?"

"Keeping him sheltered isn't high on my list of priorities. Maybe the only good thing about coming from somewhere repressed is that you learn all the rules which didn't matter and which ones did."

Portia looked to the ceiling and chuckled. "So Bernhard is half-llama and his father abandoned you both?"

"The father was long gone before either of us could know. Bernhard is technically a huarizo. A mule of a llama and alpaca. Biologically, he's totally normal and healthy but it means he's probably infertile."

"Lucky for him."

Varda canted her head aside, her smile fading. "It would have been unlucky for me if his father was infertile. He's the best thing to ever happened to me."

A knock on the door interrupted the silence that followed. "It's Zhang. Good news!"

Varda and Portia exchanged glances before looking back. Portia slid off her bar stool and to the door, where light bled in through a peephole. She used it to make certain he was alone before unlocking it.

"Miss Varda, I have great news!" He burst in. "Captain Chin and his crew leave tonight. Soon. He's one of the most honorable Captains. I would trust him to move my own daughter. He will take you as far as the Isle of Qedoe." His smile softened, and he added: "His price is fifty gold. Perhaps you can negotiate down in person. I recommend... candy."

Varda erupted in joy, tugging Bernhard against her so suddenly, he had to stop himself from falling off his stool.

Zhang looked to Portia, who had slouched back into her seat and shrugged with a chuckle. Varda composed herself quickly enough. "I think we can make that work."

"Excellent. Be at Pier 70 before sundown. The ship is called The Sea Dragon. Captain Chin is a red panda in a tricorn and gold jacket. He is expecting you shortly. This is very fortuitous. Do not be late."

"We won't miss it." Varda pushed her drink away and stood.

"I'll escort you," Portia scooted back to stand but Varda shook her head and placed a hand on her shoulder. "I appreciate that, Miss Pridemoon."

"Portia."

"Portia. I've spent a lot of time in these parts. We'll be more inconspicuous, if you don't come with us."

Portia looked to Zhang, who nodded. "She's right."

The vixen frowned. "Well, I was enjoying our conversation."

Varda grinned and sat back down, placing her hand over the vixen's. "If you don't want children, I respect that. But if I were to guess, it's not so much that you do or don't want to be a mother but you're afraid to be."

"I'd be a terrible mother."

"You saved so many people in Brummel, they built a statue to you. I bet you killed a lot of slavers that day, all to save complete strangers."

"So?"

Varda smiled. "If you'll kill for the strangers in some random village, I shudder to think what you would do for your own flesh and blood. I think you'd make an excellent mother."

Portia snorted and took a deep drink of her mug. Varda started to slip away but stopped herself.

"Have you ever heard the tale of Isabella the Immortal?"

"The vampire?"

Varda grinned and nodded. "I thought you might have. Isabella of course, wasn't always a vampire. Isabella was once a simple, mink farm girl, not so different from me. Except she had a natural beauty that would eventually become legendary."

"Varda," Portia frowned, canting her head aside while placing her hand on top of the alpaca's, sandwiching it.

Varda laughed. "A suitor came to town, not unlike my soldier. My beauty brought me a llama. Hers brought a God. Tidum, the Disobedient took the guise of a jackal and seduced her. She thought she was safe because he wasn't a mustelid like her, but she wound up with pregnant because Gods get away with whatever they want. She had triplets: three, beautiful, demigod children."

"Sounds like something a god would do."

"Right? Well, unlike Bernhard's absentee father, Tidum was entertained by the idea of being a parent except, by most standards, he IS one of those awful, awful people. He wanted to raise his children mischievous and cruel like him. All for his own amusement and ego. An immortal isn't as concerned about a legacy as the rest of us. They were more toys for Tidum and Tidum had a reputation for breaking his toys."

"Isabella was a mortal mother with demigod children, which meant they aged slower than her. She knew she would grow old and die before they were adults and without her, they'd be entirely in their father's hands. She had to protect them from him. They had good hearts, like all children do, and she needed to be around long enough to make certain it stayed that way.

"I'm sure it's possible to prolong your appearance and even your lifespan through magic, if you have the means or the money."

"It is."

"Well, for a poor farm girl like Isabella or myself, options are limited. Isabella sought out and consented to the kiss of a vampire, in order that she might live to see her children grow up well. And they did, according to the stories from so many years ago. Their names are unknown because she helped them to have somewhat normal lives. Only those who've heard the legend know why no adventurer or hunter has ever managed to kill her. She's protected by three demigods!"

"Quite a story, Varda."

The alpaca chuckled and leaned in. "Don't you get it, Miss Pridemoon? She became a monster to protect them from a far-worse monster. Any mother would do the same." She stepped over to Bernhard's stool and lifted him off it, down to the ground. Portia watched, with her brow frozen crooked, ears flattened back.

"It's not how bad you are, Portia. It's about how good they become."

Varda walked past her, patting her shoulder before standing by the door. Bernhard stood by his stool for a long moment before rushing Portia for a hug, throwing his arms around the vixen's waist in a clumsy, innocent way, that an adult might be stealing a grope.

Portia softened and squeezed back, ruffling his headfur. "Have fun in magic school. Knock 'em dead. Not literally." He kept squeezing for longer than she expected, so she moved her hand down to pat his back. When he slipped away, he stopped in front of her, revealing his toothy grin, and she tapped the tip of his nose with her finger. "Don't forget: fireballs are overrated. So much collateral damage. Watch out for Life Wizards. They're weird."

Bernhard nodded quickly then rushed to his mother.

"Thanks for saving us," Varda said, squeezing her son. "Stop being so hard on yourself." She opened the door and peeked out.

"Get to Qedoe safely. Beware of charming llamas."

Varda chuckled before ducking down to pick up Bernhard. She gave a small nod, while he waved until they'd gone out the door and closed it behind them.

Portia brought her attention to Zhang. He ducked under the bar to resume his post behind it then reached out to check the weight of her mug. His brow raised and she gave a nod. He only spoke halfway through the pour.

"Captain Chin is an honorable man. He'll get them to their destination unharmed."

"Thank you, Zhang." She reached behind her and fetched the heavy book slung across her lower back. She dropped it on the table with a thud. It caught his curiosity and kept it as he brought her back the refilled drink. She took a deep swig and opened the book.

"Odd thing for someone like you to be carrying around."

"Like me?" She didn't mean it sound as defensive as it did.

Zhang smiled, ducking his muzzle into his shoulder to cough before speaking. "An adventurer, who carries all her possessions on her back. That book must be heavy."

She flipped pages from the beginning, searching for something. "It is heavy but whether I like it or not, it's my burden to bear."

The End