Endling: The Lost

So many years later, I still felt the ache in my heart. The pain was as fresh as it was the decades prior when I first got that final confirmation. I was, truly, the endling. The betrayal of Luca had hit us all hard, but nothing had struck my core as awfully as Aratik confirming my parties and my dread. She had helped push the Murdano to slaughter my kind, the Dairne. Killing every last one of us, myself as the sole survivor of my species. She may have held the Eumony too early, but it was an inevitable fate for my people.

I remembered how I had to hold back all my tears as I felt the truth of her words, that the rumors she heard weren't more than a passing fancy at best. That my kind was well and truly gone. I nearly regretted having these powers as I collapsed to the ground, sobbing. Her smug smile was burned into my memory as she gave herself too early a victory, as small as it may have been. I had still condemned her to a slow and torturous death. Hardly revenge, as my species was destined to die out just as slowly. Nothing could make up for the agony of knowing that I was well and truly alone now.

My friends tried to console me as Aratik was dragged away, cursing, and screaming. The penalty for treason was a slow death. I felt some part of me that still felt guilt for what would become of her, but most of my mind was overwhelmed with what would become of me. The quest my friends and I had started had ended prematurely in failure. We were captured, at the mercy of the Murdano, the most powerful figure in all of Nadarra, with no hope of escape. Tobble, who had stuck by my side, would never get to repay his debt to me for saving his life. Khara would never redeem her family's pride. Gambler, a Felivet that I had grown such a fondness for, would be sentenced to a life in prison that he would never accept.

The crushing weight of the world was so heavy. I can scarcely believe I was able to hold myself together. Yet I did, and in the end found enough will to continue, for the sake of my friends. I had promised I would help free them, even if it was originally to continue our quest. Knowing that there was no more hope was freeing, in a sense. No longer having to worry if there were more Dairnes out there in the world. No longer having the looming darkness at the edge of your vision. Now I could well and truly wallow in it. And I would wallow in it, as I had for a lifetime.

The Murdano had great plans for me, seeing the power in my species' innate powers. We could tell when a person was lying. Feel the way that skirted the truth. Being able to tell whenever your enemy was misleading you was an advantage that any ruler would kill for, and the Murdano had in spades. With being the last of my kind, the last with the power to know fully one's intentions, he could become the strongest in any kingdom. I realized that I was a tool. Not a Dairne, not a living member, the last living member, of one of the 6 governing species. I was closer to a weapon than a person to the tyrant.

It created a pit in my stomach, one that I never fully got rid of. But it gave me a chance. Maybe not at living my life, but at least to give my friends theirs. In exchange for my complete servitude, for my undying loyalty, my friends, Khara, Gambler, the loyal steed Vollium, and of course, the brave Wobbyk, Tobble, would be granted freedom. While my species was able to tell when others were lying, there was nothing stopping myself from doing so. So Khara and I created a plan. Through deception, a skill I quickly had to develop, Khara and I were able to successfully convince the Murdano that it was Luca who was lying for his own gains.

It helped in large part that it was half true. The apprentice scholar who had helped me flee the island to the mainland, and eventually alerted the guard to our location and brought us here, had done it for his benefits, not the Murdano's. So we returned the knife he plunged into our back, twisting it tight as we gritted our teeth and persuaded the Murdano to our side. Luca had been furious, but that only worked in my favor. Soon, I had bargained for my friend's freedom, as well as the returning of our possessions.

Khara slid the rusty sword comfortably around her waist once more as she was led out of the castle. Only her and Tobble remained in the castle. Gambler, not one to show too much emotion, had said his goodbyes and fled returning to the open plains once more. I didn't mind, I promised him that he wouldn't have to live more than 3 days as a caged beast. I delivered, and knew, even silently, his gratitude without words. Kahara had stood just past the threshold, hand on the hilt of the sword as she watched me and Tobble. The Wobbyk was so brave, much more than myself. Khara and I both knew it. I hoped that the two at least would stay together.

Tobble clung to my waist, wiping the tears from his eyes in my supernaturally soft pelt. All water was wicked from his large eyes as he promised to send me letters whenever he could, and that he would still one day repay the favor he owed me. I did the best I could at the time to smile at him, letting him know that he was braver than anyone I had ever met before. Brave and committed. Wobbyk were prone to long lives, and even so many years later, I still received letters from him about his exploits and updates on our old friends. Each one was cherished and locked away safely in my personal lock box.

Khara didn't say anymore words as Tobble left me to join her, but she didn't need to. We didn't want to accept that our journey was over already, but life wasn't fair. I had learned this when I watched my family slaughtered by the raiding knights on our mirror bear den. And was reaffirmed knowing that I was truly the last of my kind. That was the last I would see of my friends. The letters were nice, but it hardly dampened this new ache that had spawned inside of me since that day. I had lost my family the first time, and then again. I don't think a heart was ever meant to endure so much.

I was then taken away to be used as the Murdano's secret assistant. The training was long, hard, and humiliating. Because it was believed that Dairne's were extinct, I was groomed to be seen as a typical dog, a pet for the Murdano. I was taught silent commands and tells to use with my lord drilled into my brain repeatedly until it was nearly second nature. Nearly, but not completely. I kept hidden my willpower, knowing full well that if I were to survive that I would have to be able to lie just as much as I'd detect it. That way I could manipulate things for the better.

That was how I've survived these long, lonely decades. I had wanted so badly to die. To rejoin with my slain family in death. I had spent many tear-filled nights wishing for it. I even neared attempting, though always stopped myself. I knew that my job as the Murdano's tool was important to the safety and freedom of my friends. I knew that as soon as I could no longer serve that purpose, their lives were forfeit. I had even begun to suspect that he hadn't held his end of the bargain and would interrogate him and anyone else I could whenever I got a letter from Tobble. I would detect any lie when I demanded they tell me if they were forging these notes, or if they were forcing the Wobbyk to write them, or if they had misled me in any way.

By some miracle, The Murdano had stayed true to his word. And each time I read Tobble's messy, broken letters, I felt myself relieved and ready to face the next set of tasks I was demanded. Khara had stayed with Tobble for a long time until she was ready to start her own family. She taught the Wobbyk how to read and write. My companions were all doing well, as far as Tobble could find out. Even with this reassurance, however, I still felt a great ache in me. I feel that the Murdano could tell, and that he took sadistic pleasure in my unique suffering.

I began to suspect it when he had gifted me a folding letter opener, with a blade just sharp enough that it could easily slice flesh, let alone paper. On the handle was embossed with gold tracings of my species dancing. I had on many occasions felt the need to take it to my own neck. I suspected that it was to taunt me as much as aid me, but I never questioned him. Part of my training was to never question the Murdano, at least not openly in any way. I was made to ignore any lie he uttered, excluding him from my instincts. It wasn't possible to fully remove my ability from detecting them, but any sort of questioning was beaten and trained out of me.

Instead, I was meant to stay near him and give distinct tells whenever someone spoke a lie in his proximity. There were many and were to be cycled in secretive patterns to avoid any suspicion. Sometimes it came down to a flick of the ears and the lick of the lips, other times a soft whine and a tap of the back left leg. Dairnes resembled dogs close enough that our species could pass well enough to avoid detection from most others, though on closer inspection it was quite easy to tell. I was to always remain by his side, which helped, and never to expose my belly too much or risk exposing my pouch.

At some point, you spend enough time on all fours that you forget how to stand on two. It was hard at first, Dairnes weren't meant to spend so much time in that position for extended periods of time. For sprints, it was optimal, as our speed would nearly double. But every day? I sometimes felt myself forgetting that I was Dairne, and instead just a regular dog with my master.

Master? I started thinking of the Murdano in that way more and more as time went on. It was hard not to when he spent so many hours parading me like a pried hound. He had even started breeding more dogs that looked like me to keep up the charade. He didn't believe me when I said that us Dairne could live for as long as humans. He didn't suspect me of lying, just that I wasn't old enough to know, and that the Dairne were killed so often that they never got to be very old. Still, I knew how old my grandparents had gotten to be, and other elders in my old pack. I sometimes had nightmares of their corpses piled on top of the rest of our pack on that horrible night of fire and blood. He was still cautious.

Thanks to his newfound hobby of dog breeding, he could easily cycle out dogs and explain that I was a new dog every so often. It was hard to remember what name he would give me each time, but eventually I stopped trying to respond to the names but instead to the tone of his voice. It was easier to assume when he acknowledged me, and any mistake was easily brushed off as being a dog in training. This also had the added humiliation of pairing me up with a dog whenever he went out. It was easier to keep my true nature hidden if people were used to seeing him with at least two canines at his side. They were all bred in a way to closely resemble one another, to resemble me.

I always felt like he enjoyed treating me like a dog, knowing that I could speak and think just as well as him, yet forced to play the part of a stupid beast. For many years, he would keep me locked in the dog kennel. He said it would help me fall into character if I spent more time with them. It was bad enough being in front of a room filled with ambassadors and warlords, having to sit by the Madurno's throne and sniff another dog's butt. Having to sleep in a close pile with the rest of them, unable to have my own space or privacy as i was constantly sniffed and prodded by others. It was hard to find sleep, the only comfort being their bodies were soft and warm.

This had gone on until my first heat. I never felt any sort of resentment for my sex. In Dairne culture, there wasn't much separation between male or female Dairne. We were all part of the pack, all that mattered was if you could do what you could to best serve the pack. For humans, it was very, very, different. Even worse for dogs owned by humans. Women were most often destined to servitude, and bitches were destined to make puppies. However, I wasn't a bitch. I may have been female, but I wasn't a dog. The first night I spent in the kennel, reeking of estrus, had been one of terror and mortification.

I still wake up at times, worried that I would be mounted by some unknown beast, taken like an animal. I had been saved by the appointed kennel master who knew of my true nature before my nightmare could become a reality, and after torturously long deliberation with the Murdano, I was finally given my own room. That was when things escalated. I had spent a lot of time wondering if my new accommodations came with the added expectations that I would be working for it. And work for it I did as I spent the next decade glued to the Murdano's side, rarely spending time away from him unless he was in his private chambers with the Queen.

The Murdano had a bloodlust that I hope was unique to him and wasn't a trait of all humans. I knew Khara was a good person, but I knew she could kill if she needed to. The Murdano seemingly wanted to kill to prove he could. I was taken with him to the battlefield, to enemy camps, to meetings both friendly and tense. I was there for decisions that I knew would be shaping the future of not just the kingdom of Nadarra, but every kingdom and every living thing on it. It was a daunting task made worse by the fact I had to act dumb to the world around me.

There was one perk to remaining silent and listening. I built a mental library as I met with more people and learned what was happening in the world. I began to understand what the Murdano was planning, what he wished for. I learned too what others had wanted. Even though I knew that the role I played for the Murdano was to stay silent and alert for lies, I figured that I could play a larger role in the world too. The Murdano never said that I couldn't, nor would he care very much. It was on a sleepless night, after watching hundreds of men burned alive or skewered on spears in battle, that I realized that I did have something I could do. It was too late to save my species. I accepted that and the agony it brought me. But I could save the others.

The Murdano has always looked down on me, despite my ability being so advantageous. Yet he wasn't cold towards me. Outside of his cruel enjoyment of my suffering, he grew a fondness for me as he saw me more and more as a pet. As one of his dogs, rather. But that was fine by me. It was an opening I could use to make a better world. The Dairnes could do one last thing within my lifetime to leave the world better than how my family left it. I remembered the smell of their corpses, the faces of my siblings. Full of terror and blank at the same time. It always made my stomach twist in painful knots. Lying made me uncomfortable, but I could ignore it easily so long as I held onto that pain.

So I did so. I suffered alone, so that no one else would have to endure what I have. I harnessed this to lie and manipulate. I focused on everyone around the Murdano to push an agenda of peace and unity. I allowed for disloyal men with good intentions to gain favor with the lord. I led him to trust others who wanted to stop his war path. I brought armies to compromise where fire and blood would have flown. I thought of Khara, who told me she had been trained nearly by birth how to wield a blade, how to take a life. Like her, I never had a chance to have a childhood. But as I led on the Murdano, I found myself content with knowing that my actions or inaction would allow for all of the remaining governing species a chance to live full and peaceful lives.

As the Murdano's warpath was nearing its end, as the final treaties were being penned to be signed in the day to follow, I thought about what I had done up until this point. The legacy of the Dairnes would die with me. I wondered if people would look fondly on my kind as my ashes long returned to the earth to nurture new life. But it was foolish musings. What I did to bring the Murdano to the verge of peace wouldn't be remembered for me. Not any Dairne. To the world, my species and I were already a fading memory. The funeral for my species, the Eumony from so many years ago, was a closed chapter. No, nothing I've done would be remembered for me. I was just one of the many dogs the Murdano ushered with him. And dogs were never remembered for anything but their loyalty.

That was something I felt I shared with the mutts. Loyalty. I didn't understand why I would ever be loyal to the Murdano, but I was. On our travels, I had many opportunities to lead him astray into fool proof traps. Yet I hadn't. At first, I felt scared that he would survive, and my usefulness would be in question. But a decade at the man's hip made it difficult to turn coat. Many of the nights the Murdano spent sleeping in a war tent, he would tie up his mutt and bring me inside. It wasn't for any real affection, I knew. Beyond my species' power to detect deception, our senses were far keener than humans. As keen as the canines he bred, but I was able to understand and communicate with him. That made me perfect to keep watch for spies or assassins while he slept.

He struggled to sleep almost as much as I did but for different reasons. Where I had to saddle the burden of the endling, the Murdano struggled with feelings of paranoia and disillusion. I wondered often if he forgot that I could understand him when he spoke to me. He never wanted me to respond. He had me trained to never speak up. Perhaps he just wanted someone listening for the sake of it. He would rest on his cot, hands folded over his torso as he spoke endlessly about his feelings, plans, wants. How he didn't trust the way this person looked around the soldiers, or how his daughter sent far fewer letters now that she was in her adulthood. I could sense an absence in the Murdano's life. I may not have been with my family for long, but I still could vividly feel the love they had gifted me.

The Murdano's life lacked love, I realized. Perhaps he never could comprehend it, or perhaps it was a consequence of the power he held. I still sometimes feel confused about how I saw him. He wasn't a good person, not like Khara or Gambler. He would never be as brave as Tobble, though no one in this world could ever be. But the Murdano, who was often as cruel as he was powerful, was also vulnerable.

During the winters away from the castle, the Murdano would gesture for me to sleep with him on his cot. As a Dairne, my fur was luxurious and soft. It kept clean easier and smelled much better than his dogs. Better than most of his men, actually. My body was also warm, which gave me another thing I was good for. He used me as a small, heated blanket under his covers. It was humiliating and uncomfortable at first, but the alternative was to huddle up with the other dogs. After my last night in the kennel, I would easily pick to rest with Murdano, lest I resign myself to the fate of a common beast.

Despite his age, the Murdano was still strong. I had once feared his touch. His hands were much larger than mine, as was the rest of him, and he could easily wrap them around my throat and finish the genocide he started so long ago. He would pet me on occasion in front of others, but when we were alone, his hands were much more adventurous. He paid no mind to where his hands would wander as he held his one-sided conversation with me. He must have loved how my coat felt as his hands endlessly tussled my pelt in every direction. I knew he had some cloaks and furnishings made from Dairne pelts. Part of the reason for the genocide was due to our soft fur fetching high prices. But the Murdano was shockingly modest. He rarely used them, even if I was sure he would have enjoyed it more than my weight on top of him. I held still and silent for him to feel me as he pleased.

Part of my training was to always be listening, so even when I was tired and ragged, I remained vigilant to hear my master's words. It shocked me how often I thought of him as that as the years went on. And how normal it felt to do so. When his words eventually trailed off and he slumbered, I kept listening to his slow breathing. Belly to belly, I rose and fell as his lungs inflated and deflated. The rocking motion was a small comfort I indulged in, letting it take me into the trained, partial sleep I was accustomed to. So many nights had gone like this, until his rhythm of breathing became second nature to me.

My weight must have become second nature to him too, as even as the weather warmed up, he would still bring me to his bed. This was a habit he brought home to the castle after the final treaty was signed and the neighboring countries drew back their armies. He never brought me to his personal quarters, his wife detested that I hadn't yet been made into a rug. Instead he would spend many nights in his studies, lounging on the soft couch lined with my people's pelts with his hands stroking my fur. Things had quieted down considerably now that the Murdano wasn't occupied with genocide and conquering. He was still busy; the explosion of trade deals and roads being commissioned made sure of that. But that was all work that could be done from the castle, and most of it could be relegated to others, many of which were ones I secretly pushed him to hiring.

Not having to travel off to distant lands meant I could finally make use of the quarters he arranged for me. It was spartan but I didn't mind the bare furnishings. He at least had the mercy to grant me a normal servant cot as opposed to a dog bed stitched from Dairne pelts. It worried me that I considered this a generosity. The bar of expectations I had was very low. But being back in the castle was a refreshing change of pace. I was required less often by the Murdano, only summoned whenever he was meeting wealthy traders or ambassadors. This gave me plenty of time to catch up on all the letters I hadn't been able to read from my friends.

It also gave me time to decorate. Another gift that I found to be quite kind was a shrine that the Murdano commissioned me. It was fitted with a statue at the top, loosely based off of the Dairne statue that was unveiled decades ago at the Eumony. It always brought me a brief sense of guilt and sorrow, but I was used to swallowing that down. There had come a point when I had run out of tears to shed for my people and family. It was just an ache now, one that flared and pulsed as the seasons went on. I made sure that all of the remnants of my family, the things that Tobble had salvaged from the burned remains of the mirror bear den my pack was slaughtered in, were safe inside the shrine. A shattered striped seashell, a reed woven pup doll, a flat rock with faded carvings, and finally, the leaf map I made as a pup.

Holding it in my hands always filled me with immense regret. It was the last bit of hope I had. A map to where I hoped to find the last of my people, alive. To surround myself with my species, to know that I wasn't the endling. But I had given up on that dream so long ago. I had a responsibility to my friends to keep them safe, for they had rescued me so many times on their own. It was painful to look at, so I kept it locked away, safe, with the rest of my childhood.

The only other things I owned were all gifts from the Murdano. I wasn't sure why he had given me so many gifts. I understood the ones with utility, the ones meant for me to do my job better. I also understood the ones that were meant to taunt me. He took great pleasure giving me those, he was always present to study my crestfallen face. He claimed that he could tell me, a Dairne, apart from his dogs because of how expressive my face was. I doubted it was a compliment. But the gifts that didn't fall into those categories confused me. He gave me journals, beautifully bound and detailed with pens and ink to write in them. Soft blankets and warm coats, thankfully free of Dairne fur. He even commissioned some paintings of Dairne tales.

The journals were probably my favorite gifts to receive. Being in the castle left me with plenty of free time, and when I wasn't writing Tobble, I was writing, well, anything I could. I made sure to document every memory I could scavenge from my mind on Darien culture. The Murdano had told me that there was little in terms of first account documentation on my species, so I took it upon myself to fill that void, at least as much as I could. I wrote about my family, about our tales, how we worked in the pack. I even wrote an account of my whole life. How I was the run, and unimportant, and, as my dad feared, I was the last. Alone.

Most of my time with the Murdano now came when he refused to sleep in his chambers with the Queen. I didn't understand it, but I also didn't understand why humans wouldn't want to sleep with their pack. They may not have been as solitary as Felivet, but in many ways, Humans felt even more lonely. When he slept in his studies, he would summon me. The kennel master would escort me to keep up the guise of being a dog, a remaining precaution. When I was let into our room and we were left alone, he gestured for me to come, and I obeyed. For the first few nights, I plodded over like a dog, until he finally spoke to me in a very uncharacteristically way.

“You don't have to pretend while you're alone with me," he said.

I didn't respond, but I was apprehensive. I paused, studying his face to see if he was playing a trick on me, but I knew it was even worse to ignore him when spoken to directly. I gave him a curt nod and stood, feeling my joints pop as I did so. The only place I was allowed to stand was inside my chambers, but I had little reason to do that there. So, it felt awkward, walking over to him. I even felt exposed as I did so. His eyes looked me up and down in a way that frightened me. It wasn't his usual, dismissive way. There was intention behind his gaze, but for what, I had no idea. At the foot of the couch, I bowed my head before starting my climb on top of him. He had trained me, like his dogs, to bow to him when first approaching.

I flinched when he stopped my ascent. His hand pressed into my soft belly, feeling along my underside, which I spent decades keeping out of view.

“Incredible," he whispered, though my keen ears could hear him clearly. He didn't seem to be talking to me, just at me. His hand continued to snake along my belly then to my chest and back down to my groin. I shivered but didn't pull away. His hand caught along my pouch opening, which he clasped between his index finger and thumb. He molested my flap with rapt fascination. “I don't think I'd ever tire of feeling this."

I held my breath as he moved on. His hand went down to my groin. My fur grew sparser there which exposed the pink skin beneath my blond pelt. I knew that humans preferred to wear clothing rather than being nude, something that most of the other governing species ignored. Even having lived among humans at the Murdano's side as a dog, I still stayed naked most of the time. But as his hands searched my body, I understood and yearned for the safety of clothing. I was thankful when he pulled his hand back up before it could go too close to my sex. He reached back to my pouch and then more to the sides. His hands glided past each of my nipples which were hidden beneath my fur. He did the motion again, this time pressing more whenever he ran over a nub. His hands went down to my pouch and from the outside, applied pressure as he pressed towards my groin again. I flinched.

“How strange," he said to himself. I couldn't tell what he was thinking, though I was certain he was testing to see if he could feel the teats I had hidden in my pouch. I thanked whatever cruel god that resided above us that he didn't stick his hand inside. Instead, he just hefted me up and placed me on top of him. He was lying on his back with his head propped on the couch's arm to look directly at me. I was splayed out, straddling his torso and waist. but I didn't move myself into any other position. I was trained to only move when he commanded. It sort of felt like playing dead or perhaps a life sized doll.

He didn't seem it necessary to tell me what he was thinking, instead he went to pet me, as he usually did. It was humiliating. Despite telling me that I didn't have to walk like a dog, he still treated me like one. Still, it did feel good. sometimes incredibly so. He had learned where to best pet and scratch me from the years spent together at war. Where my body involuntarily twitched, and my paws splayed out when he hit just the right spot. I wanted to hate this more than I did, but I wasn't as ashamed as I had been in the past. No. I was old enough to know to accept pleasure when given to me, as my life knew little relief as it was.

My body reacted, like it sometimes did, in other ways too. This I was more ashamed of. I had grown up so quickly, far faster than my body had, but it caught up fast eventually. My first few heats were horrible and scary. I wondered if I was sick, or dying, but the kennel master explained it to me. It didn't make it better, but it still filled me with anguish. When I spent the night in my quarters alone, I had learned ways to combat the heat. When I was with the Murdano on the warpath, it was easier to ignore my bodily functions, but with the ample time that castle life had given me, I had to find a solution to the problem.

Thankfully, Dairne hands were quite flexible, like humans. I spent many nights by candlelight hunched over in my cot, watching my swollen sex pulse. I touched it gently at different spots, trying to diffuse what felt like a delicate trap. Some pokes and prods brought a quivering sensation of elation, while others brought me a clenching ache of distress. Some didn't have much feeling at all, admittedly, though I didn't know enough to explain why. My hands rubbed all along my lower body, teasing out what parts of my flesh brought the most amount of joy. I felt along my budding teats, feeling little thrills of excitement as my pads brushed over them.

When enough of that clear, slick fluid drooled out from between my lips, I knew it was time to dig deeper. I could feel myself going flush as I squeezed the rubbery protrusion of my sex. I suppose it was another thing my body had that looked like a dog. While male dog's had equipment that was distinct from a Dairne's, my feminine parts resembled that of a bitch. I wondered why, though perhaps it was different on the inside. I could remember my pack well enough to confirm what I knew. My siblings and I were great at pretending to be asleep, and I had seen my mother and father mating. I knew thanks to my father that Dairne's maleness long and thick. It expanded from a plush sheath, like a dog's, and had ridges that descended down the middle. The tip was rough and had tiny spike-like nubs that started soft but grew harder towards climax. Similarly, there was a bulbous part at the base, which on dogs was called a knot, which would inflate when inside a female to lock her in place. I think my mother liked that part best.

Sadly, I wasn't old enough to learn any more. I knew my older sisters had more knowledge about that stuff. At the first heat, mother was supposed to explain how mating worked. They were all taken from me well before I would ever become a woman, and now I was well past my 30th year. So, I had to fend for myself, and that meant tracing my finger along the y shaped lips of my sex before plunging inside. It was spongy and soft, and I could feel the pulsing excitement of my walls vibrating around my finger.

Many nights I spent on my cot testing the waters. Feeling every inch of my inner walls that my padded fingers could reach. Soon a single digit wasn't enough, so I moved on to two. I had tested three, but it became too cumbersome. Too much effort with little gain. So, two fingers I kept, curling and twisting as I felt myself quivering. I had never thought about what my insides would be like, so it confused me when I felt so many different textures. Most of my sex was soft and pliable, but there were certain parts that felt stiffer and more wrinkled under my searching digits. The latter spots were where it felt best. I alternated between pressing down on the knobbed spot within me and making a come-hither motion.

The emotions and feelings that welled up inside of me were immediate and intense. My body buckled and my legs tensed, knees lifting towards my chest with my thighs clamping down around my hands. I screamed, scaring myself just as much as whoever was wandering the halls late at night. I knew that there would be rumors about some ghost or monster roaming the halls of the castle, but I was too embarrassed to confirm them. I suspected that I was right when next day, the kennel master and the Murdano mentioned a noise to me. I was glad that the kennel master at least had pity on me.

He had helped me, though I didn't realize at first. It was frightening at first. He told me that he was going to trim my nails and the sharp nippers he had taken out filled me with anxiety. I nearly bit through my lip as he did the first nail, but I was relieved when I didn't feel any pain. It felt strange, but thankfully that was it. I raised my hands to my face to study his handiwork after he did all of my fingers. I no longer had the pointed ends, and they were much shorter too, making it so that my fingers had no issue with my claws rapping against the things I touched. He continued from there, using a strange, rough board to file down my cut ends. I was amazed when he showed me how smooth my claws had become, and it was then I realized what was happening.

I didn't know how to respond, just stared at the quiet man, mouth agape. He pointed to a wooden basin behind me and mentioned that I should also clean myself. My ears depressed into my skull, so much that I feared I'd lose them. He gave me privacy so I could wash my shame in peace. The kennel master was a kind soul, even if I didn't like how he reeked of dog.

It wouldn't be until that night that I got to enjoy the fruits of his service. With my nails trimmed, they no longer proved a barrier to my pleasure, and I ventured far more boldly than I had before. I made sure to keep the soft feather pillow at my face, in case I wrenched that ecstatic howl from my body again. I was a wet, slovenly mess as I tended to my swollen spade. In the morning, I would find that I had drenched my cot in my heat and my pillow in drool, but in the moment, I was too happy to care.

When the Murdano scratched close to the base of my tail, with my body astride his, I got a similar sensation. Though his human nose was far too weak to smell my heat, his eyes would easily catch the wetness he was stained with. The first time it happened, he had punished me, claiming that I soiled his pants. He took me to the kennel master for punishment. The kennel master, brave man that he was, explained to the Murdano about my estrus, and that it wasn't something I could help myself with. The situation was punishment enough, they spoke about me like I was an animal, and I could only endure the treatment.

I had thought that it would be the last of the Murdano calling for me to stay with him as he slept, but I was wrong. I suppose the knowledge of what had happened put his mind at ease, and our sessions together neither increased nor decreased. He did pet me a little less, at least for a time. He busied himself with talking more about his life. At his age, someone of his status had what felt at the time, endless stories that he shared each night. From his earliest memories to before meeting me. Even after meeting me, he regaled me with stories, some of which I was even there to behold myself, which I found some amusement in.

But all stories end at some point. After another few years, his stories ran out, and for the first time in a long time, he was silent with me. We just shared breaths, listening to each other's whistling noses and deflating lungs. My ears perked up when he asked me a question.

“What do you do in your room all day?"

The Murdano's question was strange. In the over two decades I'd known him, he had never bothered with personal questions. I told him that I was writing, and when he asked me what it was about, I told him that it was about my species. He was silent again as he pondered on my words.

“Tell me about you, Byx." This was just as strange as his first question, in fact, it felt even stranger. I wasn't sure I was equipped to say. My story? I barely had one. I was a runt, the lowest in my pack. The youngest, and young still when my quest started and ended. I wasn't sure what to say. I felt his hand on my back squeeze me with what I assumed was supposed to be reassurance, but you could never tell with the Murdano. I expected him to have thinning patience with me in my silence, but he was just as content.

I summoned up the courage I had and told him. At least, what little I had. I detailed the pack I was born to, my family. I explained how I was the one that was meant to die first, and cruelly was to be the last. I told him of my father, so courageous and strong, or our pathfinder who was quick and cunning. I told him about my closest brother, Jax, and how we failed to protect each other. I told him about my mother Maya, and how much I missed her. Tears I didn't know existed streamed from my eyes and onto his chest as I regaled him with my final night with her, in the mirror bear den. How beautiful the butter bats were when they flapped above us. How they glimmered in the air. It was so wonderful, and I missed it so dearly.

I couldn't help myself from sobbing on top of him. He didn't scold me. Instead, he let me cry, stroking the fur on my back slowly and gently. The oddly caring gesture helped me stop my flood and even brought me to unexpected slumber. I awoke the next day alone on his couch. It was startling, as I felt like I was with my pack again, but it was merely a Dairne furred hat he had slipped under my head. It was foolish that I believed there would be another with me, but I didn't hate the Murdano for leaving me like that. Usually, I awoke before him and left on my own accord. Waking up on the soft, warm fur had given me comfort in my dreams, and I appreciated that.

So, the Murdano continued to call me to his studies to sleep with him, and again would ask me to recount my tales to him. I ran out of my stories far faster than him, but he didn't mind. I moved on to telling him about my species, and I told him about our rules and traditions. I sang our songs for him, hummed the music that we passed down generation to generation. I gave him every ounce of information I had. The Murdano, the person that greenlit the destruction of my people, who kept me as his slave for most of my life. I dumped everything I had to him. What was the harm in it now? I was the last of my people, the Endling. At least this way, I could burden another soul with my people's erasure.

On the night that I had finished telling the Murdano everything about myself and my people, my voice was hoarse. It had been a decade since I last got to speak as much as I did, and while spending nights with the Murdano, I felt and I was making up for lost time. I was so engrossed in telling him my stories that I hadn't even noticed that he had his arms wrapped around me, holding me tight to his body. I was immediately uncomfortable. When did he start doing this, I found myself wondering. Was this the first night that he comforted me so closely? He was nearly asleep, but my movements must have stirred him, and he stunned me into motionlessness.

“I'm sorry," he said as he drifted back to sleep. An apology. My eyes were wide open as I stared at his ragged, bearded face. He looked so old now. And so soft. He didn't have any of the stern, commanding presence he usually carried. No, he felt different. Vulnerable. Something I never encountered before. I had seen moments of weakness in him, but never this full vulnerability. So open and accepting of me. I wondered if he had meant to say sorry for holding on to me, but no, he still held me.

“Sorry?" I couldn't stop myself from speaking. Those years of training undone by a single word. “Sorry that you slaughtered my family and the genocide of my species?"

He didn't move. He didn't show me any response at all. Could he be asleep? Unlikely. His breathing was slow and steady, but I had felt the rising and falling of his chest for countless nights. I knew when he was or wasn't asleep. I felt emotions breaking apart inside of me. A turmoil that I long thought had been boarded up inside my body to never be felt again. I felt anger at the Murdano. I felt frustrated that my claws were not sharper as I gripped him harder. I felt anguish that I was alone in the world. And there was something else. Something I never thought I would feel towards the man that ruined my life. Affection. He still held me so terribly close. My reality wouldn't change if I were to kill the Murdano now. But at least I had worked to save so many others. I deflated against him as I accepted my fate, and him.

“Thank you," I whispered. I had no other words to say to the Murdano. He had no more for me too. So I slept.