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Tales Of Morveria: Savages

“The World isn't Always Sunshine and Rainbows..."

By Mantrid Brizon

Standing proudly atop a modest hill, the small village, barely a hamlet, sits as a beacon of civilization, the only human settlement for many, many miles. Only a few dozen families live here, in a place too small to even have a proper temple to their deity, Adonai, “The One". The humans, or “Yasheriit" as they're often called by the beast folk, live in relative peace and prosperity.

Many settle these distant lands in search of a brighter tomorrow. They know they'll have to build that future, but nothing worth the trouble is ever easy or free. It's a hard life, but a rewarding one, and not without its blessings. City life brings with it many harsh realities, such as a loss of community and belonging. Many would rather sweat every day and go to bed feeling more fulfilled, in a place where they feel they belong.

This is the life Amata lives, with her husband Joeb and young son, Jaeal. Early one morning, on a rather warm day in the middle of spring, Amata leaves her house to perch herself atop a special boulder. It's a habit of hers, as she tidies her dress, pressing it against her slender legs before sitting atop the large rock to watch the morning's activities.

A rooster calls in the distance, near where a farmer tills his field. His common mules pull a plow, their hooves sinking into the soft soil. Nearby, a shepherd leads his flock out of their pen to graze in a field across from the farmer's land, and several ranchers tend to their modest herds. The pinging of metal can be heard as the blacksmith repairs the band of a wagon wheel, and his assistant crafts nails for an upcoming project.

There are very few tamed beast folk here, but there are some. A Vostii of the cat-kin assists the blacksmith, a Korutan of the horse-kin helps control the herd of common, four-legged cattle for the ranchers, and a few mouse-kin help seed the farmer's field. They move to and fro, sticking their clawed hands into cloth sacks slung over their shoulders before spreading the seeds in the freshly tilled dirt.

They all smile as they work. They're very peaceful creatures, born into servitude but well cared for and treated more like beloved pets or small children than slaves. They're eager to be counted amongst the human's tribe, especially the Korutan; the hooved beast folk have always had a special relationship with the humans, a kinship going back as far as any can remember.

It's a serene scene, and Amata cannot help but admire it. She sits atop the boulder in front of her home, the log cabin she shares with Joeb and little Jaeal. She turns her head and watches her husband as he performs his daily chores. Little Jaeal follows him, learning from his father. Amata smiles as she sees the boy paying such close attention to him. Joeb shows his son how to harvest the medicinal herbs without damaging them. They use them in their practice.

Amata married a good man, an alchemist and a doctor. He knows much, and over the years has taught her all that he knows in an effort to make her a viable assistant. Now, their young son will learn the trade, and one day carry on his father's legacy. Perhaps she'll give him more children, and raise a brood of helpful little alchemists? It's a thought that warms her heart.

Suddenly, Amata's attention is drawn to a strange figure. Out in the distance, a bipedal creature watches them from the valley below. It's too far to make out who or what it is, but as it turns, she can see a tail trailing it. Untamed beast folk?! Sliding off her perch, Amata joins her family in the garden.

“How are you doing today, my little alchemist?" She asks Jaeal.

“Look, mommy! I pick fwowers!" He replies with his youthful lisp.

“Ooh! Those are pretty!" She coos, dropping to a knee.

“Daddy says these cur stuffy noses!" The little boy proudly reveals his new knowledge.

“Is that so?!" Amata pretends to be surprised.

“Uh-huh! When I gwow up, I wanna be a doctuh, just like daddy!"

“And a find doctor you will make." She says with a wide smile.

After giving her young son a hug, she sends him inside to wash his hands in the basin. In exchange, she promises to give him a snack of his favorite food; he loves deer jerky. He shouts for joy and races for the house, only for Amata to turn to her husband and give him a kiss.

“He becomes more like you with every day." She remarks.

“You mean clumsy and oafish?" He asks with a laugh.

“You're silly. How did I marry such a silly man?" She smirks.

“Poor taste."

“Hehe! ... Joeb..."

“Uh-oh. What'd I do?" He teases her sudden serious tone.

“Nothing! I just... I saw someone down in the valley. I think it was a beast man."

“A beast man?! I already saw all of the beast folk who live here."

“As did I, but-"

“Are you suggesting it was wild?"

“Perhaps... This is a prosperous village, but we are a long way from civilization." She answers with worry in her voice.

Joeb embraces his young wife, giving her a squeeze and then a tender kiss. He tells her not to worry, that if it was untamed, it would likely avoid human settlements for fear of their weapons. Amata knows this to be true; the humans may be physically inferior to the beast folk but even the smartest Sabaarii could never hope to match the intellect of even a dimwitted human. Technology beyond stone-tipped spears and wooden clubs is a mystery to them.

Comforted by her husband's confidence, she apologizes for bringing it up and possibly worrying him. Joeb is a kind and understanding man. He gives her another squeeze and another kiss.

“I'll keep the rifle close, and the pan primed, if it makes you feel better."

“Thank you." She coos, holding onto her husband's shoulders.

Amata resumes her day, but she cannot shake the feeling that something is amiss. As the sun begins to set, she hasn't seen hide nor hair of the strange beast man who lurked in the valley at the base of the hill. That didn't make the feeling go away. Before bed, Amata urged her husband to prime his rifle, and to also keep a pistol handy. It didn't matter that no one else had noticed the beast folk, even the tamed ones who live with them; he did it anyway, for her comfort.

“There..." He says, setting the single-shot pistol on the nightstand and climbing into bed. “Is that better?"

“Yes. Thank you."

“Let's hope the beasts don't have to witness my terrible accuracy." He teases, scooting closer to her.

“I love you." She coos, taking him into her arms.

“And I love you, too. Forever and always." He speaks so softly, nuzzling her cheek.

After a tender moment, the couple falls asleep. It would be the last good night of their lives...

“MOMMY!!!"

Amata bolts up in bed to the sounds of little Jaeal shrieking. Startled by the terror in his son's voice, Joeb leaps out of bed and grabs the rifle from the mount on the wall, near the bedroom door. He races for the main room of their three-room cabin only to come face to face with a terrifying sight. A beast man, a Vostii of the wolf-kin, stands before him! He snarls, baring his teeth, and reaches for Joeb's throat.

BANG! With an ear-splitting sound, Joeb shoots the beast man in the chest, slaying him instantly. The sound awakens the entire village, many of whom had already awoken due to little Jaeal's screams of terror. Stepping out of their bedroom and looking down in shock at the slain beast man, Joeb doesn't notice the others in the main room of the cabin, or how the front door that hangs off of damaged hinges.

“Joeb!" Amata cries out.

Her husband yelps as a large and sturdy beast man with a greying muzzle grabs him. The beast man, who bears some resemblance to the slain wolf-kin on the floor, throws Joeb across the room and leaps after him. In a panic, Amata crawls over the bed and swipes the pistol. She makes her way into the main room, expecting to find something akin to a duel.

She stops in her tracks when she finds six more beast men! One carries her son away, holding him in one hand, snickering as he holds the little human child by his ankles. He leaves the house with the boy and another wolf-kin. She cries out for her son, attracting the attention of the remaining four beast men. A hand grabs her shoulder and Amata turns to see a young wolf-kin grinning an evil grin. Bang!

She impulsively fires the single-shot pistol into his stomach, sending the wolf-kin reeling and writhing in agony. Angered by a second loss, the wolf-kin with the greying muzzle tries to shout a command, but is tackled to the ground by Joeb. Amata picks up the nearest thing she can find and smashes a clay pot over the head of another young wolf-kin. They two younger wolves leap upon Amata, pinning her to the floor.

Desperate for help, she cries out to her husband only to see him wrestling with the greying wolf-kin. The older male, likely the father of the many boys whom they'd been fighting, slashes Joeb's face with his claws before kicking him in the stomach with his large, paw-like foot. His digitigrade leg is quite powerful, and his toe-claws dig deep into the human's soft flesh. Joeb stumbles back, landing many feet away as his intestines begin to spill out.

“Hold her!" The wolf-kin commands in Ancient Hitrosii, his native tongue.

Amata struggles against the young males, but a female is hardly a match for one male, let alone two, and these are beast men; she might as well be fighting six humans! As they wrestle with her, her gown tears and her breasts are exposed. One young male looks at the human's plump and jiggling mounds of golden-brown flesh and stares, hypnotized. Amata can hear Jaeal scream for the last time before his voice abruptly stops. Things become eerily quiet.

She turns to her husband and sees Joeb slashed again and again. He falls to the floor and sits, clutching his abdomen. He won't survive such grievous wounds, and she knows it. Apparently, so does the greying wolf-kin who promptly stops. He turns toward the younger males and begins to speak but cuts his command short the moment he lays his eyes on Amata's breasts. He stomps his way closer, and Amata's eyes widen in horror.

Untamed beast folk are an eclectic bunch. They have many varying practices and beliefs, despite sharing a single, ancient language. Some wear clothing and jewelry, some do not. This particular tribe doesn't bother with clothes, and so Amata can see with perfect clarity as the greying wolf-kin pulls his member from his sheath and begins to stroke it.

“You [have] kill[ed] my sons..." He remarks, glancing between the two dead wolves. The one Amata shot has only recently stopped writhing in agony. “I must now make new sons..."

His grin is quite sinister, and solidifies his intentions in her mind. A petrified Amata begs and pleads with the wolves, speaking in their tongue. She asks for the life of her young son to be spared and asks to be their servant.

“You [will] serve!" The greying wolf-kin nods before suddenly tearing the nightgown from her body and revealing her femininity to them. “Yes, you [will] serve, very well!"

The greying wolf-kin rolls her over as his sons pin her face down on the floor. She can hear their snickers and crude comments as their father rubs her loins with his fingers, before grabbing her hips and lifting them up. He positions her with her knees bent and her buttocks in the air, ignoring all of her feeble cries. Amata feels his hot breath on her loins as he examines her closely, her face flushing.

“Yasheriit [are] very pretty." He remarks, obviously referring to her womanhood.

His sons snicker. Held down by two beast men, Amata whimpers as she looks to her husband. He lay bleeding and wounded, unable to speak but not yet dead. His sorrowful eyes watch in silent horror as the older beast man readies himself. She wriggles about, begging them to stop and show mercy. This only makes them chuckle. Amata suddenly feels something else, something hot and heavy against the small of her back.

He's just dropped his manhood against her behind and now grinds it against her flesh as he positions himself! His clawed hands grip her buttocks and scratch her soft, bronzed skin, making her wince. Moving slowly back, he pushes the exotic tip of his canine member against her nether lips. He doesn't hesitate, not even for a moment before committing to the act.

“Rrrr!!!"

“AHH!!!"

“Ohh-yes! You [are] very warm!"

With a loud grunt, the brute rams his manhood inside of Amata's unprepared and unwilling loins! She lets out a scream as she feels the stranger inside of her. It hurts. It isn't just that the wolf-kin man is bigger than her husband - his girth and length stretches her in ways she's never endured before - but that she wants nothing to do with this male; her vagina is quite dry, and the wolf-kin is very rough.

Wincing from the sound of her screams, one of the older wolf-kin's sons grabs her nightgown. He kneels on her wrist quite painfully, keeping her immobile as he sniffs it. He then tears strips from the garment her husband had given her as a wedding present, treating it as little more than a rag. He balls up one strip and shoves it into her mouth, while another he ties around her head, so that she cannot spit it out.

This pleases their father, who can now work in peace. As he begins, thrusting into and out of Amata, he repeatedly remarks about the heat of a Yasheriit's body, how tight she is on his manhood, and how much pleasure her womanhood gives him. Amata can see her husband shed a single tear. He lay there, silent, and slowly dying, watching his beloved wife as she's so brutally raped by the tribal warrior.

She lay there, pinned to the floor as she's forced to endure the beast man's assault. When her loins refuse to moisten in a prompt manner, understandable given the circumstances, he stops and retrieves a clay jar from a leather pouch slung over his shoulders. It's one of the only constructed objects the primitive carries. As he smears his manhood with lubricating oils, it's obvious that the beast folk had planned to do these awful things.

Once properly lubricated, he promptly squeezes it right back inside of her. He grunts and groans louder, and continues to compliment Amata's small loins, remarking how tight she is and how much better he enjoys human females. She claws at the floor as she endures the worst torment a woman can know, her body used by the unwanted male. The vile wolf-kin takes genuine delight in how he enjoys her flesh in front of her dying husband. Savages...

As the greying wolf-kin remarks about how close he is to his climax, Amata can only stare at the now lifeless body of her husband. His eyes are still open but they've now lost their glimmer, becoming more like painted stones than sparkling gems. It pains her to think that his dying vision was of his beloved wife being defiled, even more than the beast man's endowment pains her.

The terrible wolf-kin careens toward the peak of his pleasure, and becomes even more rough with her. He yanks her back to meet his thrusts, pulling her against the rough hardwood floor. It wounds her knees and chest, but nothing can match the agony of his violation. His length reaches deep inside, his girth stretches her to nearly the point of pain, his swollen knot bombards her nether lips, and the exotic, pointed tip bashes painfully against her cervix. None of this compares to her shame.

When he can stand it no more, the wolf-kin buries himself inside of her and finally releases. Amata shudders as she feels his seed flowing into her, tainting her. She's never felt so helpless, so ashamed. She's almost grateful to have this moment end, though if she were to die right now, it'd be a blessing. Perhaps now that they're done, they'll leave her and her son alone?! Unfortunately, the Vostii are not nearly through with her, or her once peaceful village...

The wolf-kin clings to her hips and remains inside of her while issuing orders to his sons, all four of which now stand idly by and watch. Once he's finished his work, they will take their prize to the center of the village. His sons will keep watch and follow him to the ceremony. This disappoints his boys, who were hoping for a turn with the human.

“[Do] not worry. You all [will] enjoy her, soon."

“Thank you, father!" They chirp, their eyes lighting up.

Savages! Amata looks up at the four young adult wolf-kin, only to turn her gaze toward Joeb's body. She closes her eyes and cries. Unmoved by her suffering, the father wolf-kin finally pulls his manhood from her, and Amata can feel his seed spilling from her loins. She hopes and prays that nothing will come of this; she doubts the Vostii would allow her to use neberum to prevent pregnancy.

Though she's weakened from the assault and the emotional trauma she's endured, the wolves pulls Amata to her feet and lead her outside. As she's led out of her own house, hobbling on bowed legs, she whimpers into her gag. No! Not Jaeal! Her beloved son lay dead, his little body near the boulder she once loved to perch herself. It's a gruesome scene. How could anyone, even beast folk, do such unspeakable acts?!

Blood stains the large rock, along with bits of what she hopes and prays isn't his skull. As she's led past the little boy's corpse, she can see that his head has been bashed open. She can see inside of it. Claw marks on his ankles make it clear what'd happened; the wolf-kin who carried him by his legs had grabbed his ankles with both hands and swung him. There is truly nothing left for her. Amata feels her very spirit breaking in two.

Broken and defeated, Amata drops her head and shuffles her bare feet as her new masters lead her into the square, her arms pulled behind her back as one of the younger wolves binds her with strips of her shredded nightgown. As she walks, she turns her head from side to side, glimpsing the carnage. The Korutan of the horse-kin lay dead, eviscerated by many spears. His master lay right beside him. They died defending each other.

The Vostii of the mouse-kin are also seen laying strewn about the field, though the lone female is missing. All the men and male children are dead, as well as the very young female children, those too young to be useful to the tribals. All the girls who have already begun to enter adulthood, however, have been spared, but only in their physical being...

Upon arriving in the square, she and the other women, many of them also with torn clothes, exposed genitals, and legs stained with blood and semen, are forced to their knees before an altar of jagged stones. The only Vostii of the mouse-kin is there, too, and the young girls who've had monthly cycles. They too have stains on their thighs, and weep into gags made of their own clothes. Savages!

The stone altar was never there before, but the female wolf-kin, who'd been outside since the raid began, had hastily constructed it. They stand around it and praise a crude, wooden idol perched atop the pile of stones, worshipping the deity and thanking their savage god for bringing them to this “paradise" and gifting them “new blood". It's clear to the captives what the Vostii intend to do with them.

They're all keenly aware of the power of mixing the bloodlines, and the males are eager to breed the humans, to create Polotan, hybrids who will possess human intellect but bestial instincts and strengths. As for the poor mouse girl, she is little more than a plaything; she remains distanced from the humans, to be used as the wolf-kin see fit.

It's in this moment that Amata, and the dozen or so women who accompany her, realize their new and truly sinister station in the tribe's hierarchy. The males who've already had their way with the humans step forward. Their manhoods are proudly displayed, some of them still stained. To Amata and her fellow prisoner's horror, these men are made an offer. They'll be allowed to claim them for themselves, for breeding.

Having already tasted the fruits of victory, and not wanting to further corrupt the bloodlines, all the males opt to keep their prizes for themselves. Even the wolf-kin who'd raped the mouse girl decides that he'd rather not share her with the others. This isn't much consolation, however, as they villagers are now enslaved. Long ropes with complex knots and nooses at one end are distributed, tied around the villager's necks. They're leashes.

Amata glances at the greying wolf-kin as he flashes a toothy grin, tightening the noose whilst clutching the other end of her leash. He relishes his new slave, who will spend the remainder of her life with the savage brute who not only commanded the slaying of her young son and personally killed her husband but also raped her in front of him as he died!

What a cruel punishment. She cannot help but wonder what she's ever done to deserve such a terrible fate. With their pledges to their primitive, wooden god, the wolf-kin begin another vile ceremony. All the captive females are forced to bow to the worthless bust while their new masters hold their leashes and take their places behind them. Some are eager for a second round, but the older wolf-kin looks to his four sons and gives them a nod.

“Very generous, Vixar!" The tribal priestess proclaims. “Our god blesses your lineage!"

The female wolf-kin don't participate but merely watch, some with glee and some with jealousy, as a sinister orgy unfolds. Amata and the other villagers endure much abuse in the twisted ceremony, which lasts for much of the day. As soon as Vixar's eldest son finishes inside of her, the second eldest son takes his place. Once he's finished, the third begins his turn, and then the fourth. All of them are as endowed as their father, and all but one is equally rough.

Though she's pained by her own agony, she cannot help but pity the youngest females, who endure no less torment because of their age. What savages! When all is said and done, the wolves, who'd been careful not to destroy the structures of the village, begin to distribute buildings and supplies. They're little more than filthy raiders, sans the fancy armor and glistening swords and firearms.

To Amata's disgust, Vixar chooses to claim her house for himself! He'll move his mate and sons into the dwelling, and sleep beside his wife in the human's bed, the bed Amata shared with Joeb! Humiliated and exhausted, both physically and emotionally, Amata shuffles along the path as Vixar tugs at her leash. She doesn't have the strength nor the will to fight him as he leads his family to their new home, Amata following behind like a dog.

Once they return to the scene of her greatest agony, Amata watches in stunned silence, softly weeping as the sons, with smiles on their faces, drag Joeb's and Jaeal's bodies away. Vixar's mate, a much younger female whom he calls “Gaila", lights a fire in the fireplace and marvels at the cast-iron cauldron.

“I [can] boil water here! Wonderful!" She exclaims, quite literally jumping for joy. “I [will] prepare dinner, now!"

“Thank you, wife. I [am] very hungry." Vixar says with a sinister grin, glancing at Amata.

He stares at her like a hungry animal eying a prime cut of raw meat. The fact that she's covered in sweat, blood, bits of fur from Vixar and all four of his surviving sons, as well as their seed, doesn't seem to faze him; he's no less aroused by her. His attention shifts when Gaila brings him a bowl of stew, marveling at the ceramic china that Amata owned. Soon, his sons return, smelling the delicious aroma over the stench of blood and viscera.

Glancing over to their enslaved human, Gaila suddenly pauses. She looks at the cauldron and then back at the human before her brow suddenly softens with pity. To Amata's shock, Gaila askes her mate for permission to remove her gag and feed her. Vixar agrees, and even commands her to untie Amata's hands, though she must also bind the leash to a fixture on the wall.

Vixar doesn't realize that this fixture is little more than a lamp holder. Though Amata doubts she could untie the surprisingly complex knots at either end of the rope collar and leash, she could easily remove the lamp holder from the wall and escape. She just needs and opportunity. Gaila does as her husband commands and Amata is allowed a bowl of stew. As soon as her gag is removed, she speaks.

“W-what happened to them?"

“Who?" Gaila asks, as if she didn't know.

“My ma-... M-my s-s..." Amata chokes on her words, unable to finish.

“Oh! Boys?" Gaila turns to Vixar's sons.

“We burn[ed] them, with [the] others." They casually reply.

Somehow, this brings Amata a modicum of comfort. Better to receive a warrior's burial than to be left for the wildlife and the maggots. In truth, after her brutal treatment, Amata was almost expecting the wolf-kin to eat their kill. Still, she doesn't hate them any less for this tiny bit of respect; their unspeakable actions can never outweigh that solitary gesture.

After finishing their meal, Vixar gathers his family for a meeting. He sits in a chair, the fireplace to his back, and brings the others around him. They sit on the floor in a semi-circle. To Amata's shock, the Vostii bring her into the half-circle, placing her beside Gaila and between his sons.

“This spot [is] for you, battle-mother!" The youngest son remarks.

Battle-mother? Why did he call her battle-mother?! Why is he suddenly showing reverence to her when he, along with the rest of the males, had raped her, in public, only a few hours earlier?!?! Amata cannot understand what's going on, and finds herself seated beside Gaila, looking up at Vixar as he clears his throat.

“How [are] you called?" He asks.

Amata cannot understand why he'd even ask for her name. He didn't care before! Why now?! She hesitates for a moment, her mouth hanging open. She turns her eyes up to him and their eyes lock. He smiles and nods, silently encouraging her to speak. Did he think she was asking for permission? ... Was she?!

“Amata..." She quietly chokes out.

“Pretty name!" Gaila coos.

“Yes, very!" Vixar grins. “Amata [is] now my war-wife. I [will] keep her, but my sons [are] allowed to enjoy her body, with [my] permission..."

As he speaks, Amata can see the three older son's eyes lighting up. Strangely, the youngest doesn't appear quiet so eager. Now that she recalls the twisted orgy, when it was finally his turn, he was the gentlest, the most careful. The youngest seemed almost shy about molesting her in front of the others. He must be very inexperienced.

“This is [a] good house. Strong... But [a] strong house [can] still [be] vulnerable..." He says, smirking as he looks to Amata. “Gaila will share my new bed, [in] there..." Vixar continues, pointing toward Amata's former bedroom. “Amata will sleep near my sons, [in] there..." He then points to what was once Jaeal's bedroom. “You [will] not share her bed! You [will] only guard her! If you touch her without [my] permission, I [will] rip out your throats!"

Vixar's voice becomes quite loud and stern, startling even Gaila. His threat is obviously very real. Amata's heart sinks into the pit of her stomach. She knows she can never evade a Vostii's senses. There may never be a hope for escape, not now. Vixar ends the meeting by bringing Gaila to her feet. He then grabs the back of her neck and gives her a long and passionate kiss.

Amata blushes as she witnesses their tongues wrestling between their snouts. Suddenly, Vixar grabs her by the arm, brings her to her feet and gives her an identical kiss! The wolf-kin is a brute even when he kisses. Afterward, he looks to his sons and issues his orders. The two youngest will stand guard first while the other two sleep. Amata closes her eyes as the boys takes up spears and claim a corner to watch the cabin's only door. They may be savages, but they aren't stupid. There is no escape.

Amata spends her first night in captivity sleeping in Jaeal's bed, which Joeb had built full-sized, so that he would grow into it. His pillow still smells of her little boy's hair. She cannot help herself and weeps, though she weeps as softly as she can. She fears awakening the eldest sons, who sleep on bedrolls around her bed. If they did hear her cries, they said nothing.

Amata and the other females are forced to endure a life of servitude. Some adapt faster than others. The youngest females are quick to assimilate, doing their best to cope with their pitiful existence by obeying their “war-husbands". They perform chores, act as servants would, and spend many a night being used by the males who've claimed them, though most also have mates, as Vixar does.

The days pass by slowly, but they pass, nonetheless. The world continues to spin, despite the horrible things that've happened. It's a sobering lesson for the women. They watch as their village descends into a nightmare. The wolves slaughter the sheep, goats and cattle for food, leaving the bones strewn about. They release the common, four-legged horses and mules, uninterested in riding them. They ignore the fields, which are swiftly consumed by weeds and useless scrub, and at night...

Though filled with rage, Amata makes the best of it, for the sake of survival. What else is she to do? They won't allow her to die. Gaila, who as Vixar's “true wife," is charged with caring for her, and she takes her charge seriously. Thankfully, Gaila is a gentle creature, who dotes on Vixar and his sons, and shows genuine kindness to Amata. She even assists Amata in her chores, though that isn't her duty.

While in their captivity, Amata learns much from Gaila. She's actually Vixar's second wife. Tribal rules forbid the taking of more than one mate, with the sole exception of “war-wives," who are not wives so much as they are the spoils of conquest. Vixar's first wife died giving birth to his sixth son, who Amata learns was only thirteen years old. He was the one that she'd slain with Joeb's pistol.

Shockingly, Vixar was not upset with his youngest son's death, having always blamed him for killing his first wife, whom Gaila claims he loved dearly. Amata struggles to believe that, considering her interactions are all decidedly unwanted and brutal. In only three weeks of captivity, he has raped her no less than a dozen times and has even given his eldest son permission to do so once, after he had slain a large buck for their dinner, once they ran out of sheep and goats to harvest.

Vixar supposedly mourned his first wife for many years, but when pressed for more details, Amata learns that Vixar also had no access to another wife; all the females were claimed, and once claimed by a male, the women must remain loyal to their husband for life. Adultery is punishable by death. It was only when Vixar's tribe absorbed an even smaller tribe of wolf-kin that he claimed Gaila, a female not even half his age! In fact, she's younger than Amata, who herself is twenty-two.

As Gaila spoke, Amata could sense some sorrow in her voice and a pain in her eyes. She took a strange comfort in believing that Gaila might not also be as willing a participant as she claims to be, however, that comfort would be short-lived... Soon, Amata would miss her period, and though she first tried to lie about when it occurs, after a month it became clear that this was abnormal.

An excited Vixar proclaimed success in breeding a Polotan, but as the days passed, it became clear that he was actually quite worried. Was it truly his child growing within her womb? He did take her first, on that horrid night, but not long after that, all four of his surviving sons did the same, and all of them finished inside of her. His eldest did it twice!

What if that's his offspring, and not Vixar's?! It didn't matter that Vixar was the only one to claim her regularly, or that he'd been the one to use her on the days when Amata knew she was most fertile. In an effort to spare herself more misery, Amata shared how she monitored her cycle, hoping to satisfy his worries, though she herself was terrified of giving birth to the spawn of evil. It didn't matter. No one, not even Gaila, could calm Vixar.

His fear and insecurities ate away at the aging wolf-kin, and he soon began to partake of Amata with increasing frequency. He would hold her down and use her in the middle of the day, sometimes even in public, pushing his manhood inside of her while his sons watched. The youngest often looked away. He later said he did so out of reverence for his battle-mother.

It soon came to pass that Vixar was spending much time with Amata, as if frequent mating would somehow ensure that he was the father of her baby. He was spending so much time with Amata that he began to ignore Gaila. On some nights, he even brought Amata into the marital bed, placing his human slave between him and his true wife! None spoke of this to the other wolf-kin, as it would've shamed Gaila.

This changed Gaila, who was forbidden from seeking out another male for her womanly needs. She'd grown accustomed to being satisfied by her mate, and to suddenly lose access to him, as he quickly became obsessed with his war-wife, his trophy, his slave, made her increasingly frustrated and angry. Though charged with caring for Amata, she now took every opportunity to abuse her.

Insults, foul or missing food and even the occasional beating became increasingly frequent. She was careful not to strike her belly. Even Gaila wouldn't be spared if she'd slain the unborn. Vixar had only one way to assert his dominance... The daily sexual assaults increased to twice-daily, and often in front of a frustrated and growling Gaila, who was commanded to watch.

“This [is] my war-wife! I must breed her. I must make strong children for our tribe! You [will] not mistreat her, now. You [will] be fair or I [will] punish you! [Do] you understand, [my] true-wife?!" He would growl, a hand holding up Amata's behind while the other pushes her head into the pillows of their bed.

“Yes, husband..." Gaila would grumble, arms crossed as she averted her eyes and seethes with jealousy.

This was the hardest time for Amata, who seemed to suffer endlessly. There seemed to be no hope, no chance to escape; she was constantly watched and always put to work, in one way or another. Her spirit was beaten down, almost crushed, and she felt herself becoming a shell of her former self. And then suddenly, almost three months after the untamed Vostii came, one of the women escaped!

She was a young woman, just barely an adult in most human settlements, and had been claimed by an older male who had no mate and only one daughter. After earning the daughter's trust, she somehow slipped away and ran for the nearest settlement, a town many miles away and guarded by a wooden fort. Amata saw her through a window as she tended to her chores but said nothing.

It took some time before the male who'd claimed her returned home from a hunt and discovered his war-wife was missing. Out of fear and shame, his daughter hadn't told the other members of the tribe. She almost couldn't tell her father, who was overcome with anger and beat her mercilessly in the square as he raged. After all, she was rightfully his and he had impregnated that young human female!

However, so great was the young woman's head start that even the fastest runners couldn't catch up to her. The most skilled trackers eventually lost her trail. Though they were worried, it was nearly one-hundred miles to the fort, and a young woman of eighteen, three-months pregnant and with no real survival experience was thought to be doomed. Her captor mourned the loss of his war-wife, and the Polotan half-breed he'd forced her to conceive.

Amata prayed to The One as quietly as she could, even as she lay face-down in what was once her marital bed, being defiled by Vixar for what must've been the hundredth time. She hoped and prayed that the young woman would reach the fort, and that her suffering would come to an end. Days passed and then weeks. Amata was beginning to show, her belly swelling as it bore the fruit of countless assaults.

She was becoming desperate. The knife that Gaila would often use to carve fresh meat was calling out to her. It would only take one good cut and it would all be over...

“Please, Adonai. I beg of you... Please let me d-"

Amata's prayer is cut short. There's a loud bang in the distance. A moment of silence, and then another! Many, many loud bangs! A volley of gunshots?! Gaila turns to Amata and growls.

“Come here, bitch! My fat, old husband [will] want you safe..."

With a sharp yank, Amata feels the rope collar and leash pull tightly as she's dragged to the floor. She instinctively covers her belly with an arm, only to realize the wasted opportunity. This child doesn't belong there, and words cannot describe how badly she wants it gone! As she's led into the room she shares with Vixar's sons, Gaila issues an order to groggy wolf-kin.

“Rise!" She roars at two sleeping sons, tying the end of Amata's leash to a bedpost.

“Huh? What [is] happening?" One asks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Help your father! Quickly! Those [are] Yasheriit weapons!"

“Yes, mother!" The eldest says to Gaila, who is only a few years older than him.

The boys grab their spears and one also takes a sickle, which he'd repurposed by affixing a new handle and now uses as a sword. Gaila stands guard over her mate's war-wife, a stone dagger in-hand. They listen and wait. Gunfire and a cacophony of shouts and screams make their blood curdle. They can smell the stench of sulfur, which is soon accompanied by another odor.

“I smell blood..." Amata remarks.

“Quiet." Gaila commands.

“Maybe that [is the] blood of Vixar?"

“Be silent." Gaila looks worried.

“I hope they kill your fat, old mate. I hope they also kill his sons."

“Amata..." Gaila's blade trembles in her hand as she growls.

“I hope they [do] not kill you..." Amata glares at the wolfess.

“Shut up, bitch!" Gaila roars.

Charging at her and catching her as she turns, Amata pushes the Vostii over, heaving the young female into the main room. She nearly runs out of leash and feels the noose tighten but stops just in time. To her horror, Gaila did not drop her knife! The wolfess pushes herself up and snarls, baring her teeth like a common, four-legged dog.

“I [do] not care anymore! You take Vixar from me! I now have nothing! I [will] kill you and say [your] humans [are] responsible!" She roars.

If it wasn't for the sounds of battle right outside, this would sound quite pleasing to Amata, but now that there's hope, she wants to live. Before Gaila can make good on her threat, she hears a man's voice. It speaks the human's language!

“There's one!"

“Wait, it's a girl!" Another voice remarks.

“Even better!!!" The first voice chirps.

Gaila runs away, disappearing from sight, and Amata is left standing there, alone, tied to the bedpost as she hears the Vostii fighting with unseen warriors. Their armor clanks as she tries and fails to stab one of them with a stone dagger. They laugh, and though female Vostii are still very formidable opponents to a lone human, even a male, these two warriors, strong and highly trained, make short work of her.

Before long, Amata hears a loud thump. She jumps back as the floor shakes, wondering just what it is they're doing to her. Metal clanks again, and Gaila grunts as she wrestles with the warriors. Suddenly, there's a gasp.

“Rrrr!!!"

“AHH!!!"

“Ohh-yes! You [are] very warm!" The first voice laughs, taunting the Vostii in her native tongue.

Amata stands in silence, listening as Gaila endures a brief taste of what she has suffered for nearly four months. Still, the memory of her fear, the helplessness and shame eats away at her wounded spirit. Gaila whimpers as she fights against the men, and she sounds so pitiful. Surely, she deserves this fate, but even Amata cannot stand to listen. Using a fingernail, Amata scratches her brow and feigns an injury.

“H-hello? Can someone help me?" She calls out.

“Oh, shit! Is that a human?!" The first voice asks.

“Hello?! Ma'am?! Are you okay?!" The second calls out.

“We were fighting and I... I fell and hit my head. Where are you?"

She can hear a struggle as the warriors maintain control over Gaila while preparing themselves to rescue Amata. The floor thuds as an armor-clad warrior makes his way for the second bedroom.

“Ma'am, are you-?! By 'The One'..."

He stops in his tracks, seeing the naked, battered human woman sitting on the edge of the bed, one hand underneath the bump in her belly and another covering the wound on her head. Amata looks to him and feels shame. Only now does she remember that their wolf-kin conquerors don't wear clothes; Amata and the other females have been kept naked since the day they were first taken captive.

“I'm sorry! Do you have clothes?" The soldier looks away, to spare her dignity.

“Yes... In the dresser, in the other room."

“I'll, uhm... I'll be right back."

The soldier leaves and speaks to another, who is quite curious as to what's going on. He cannot check for himself, however, as Gaila must remain subdued. The soldier returns, a young, innocent looking man with ruby hair and a boyish face. He presents her with a dress that hasn't seen the light of day in nearly four months. She holds it in her lap to hide her womanhood and weeps with joy as the soldier removes the Vostii's rope collar and leash.

“Oh, thank Adonai! Thank you!" She lunges for the warrior.

She clings to him, so overcome with joy that she cares not about the cold metal against her bare skin, or the streaks of blood that cover it and now taint her flesh. When the moment passes, she slips on her dress. As it covers her, Amata feels like a different person, like she is no longer the person who used to wear it. It's been so long since she wore clothes, since she had dignity, since she felt human.

She's changed, but after what she's been through, how could she not be? Once dressed, the soldier leads Amata out of the room. She glances over to the two figures and sees Gaila in total submission. She lay on her front, her chin resting on the floor with her head pulled back. An armor-clad warrior with the insignia of a Sergeant on his pauldron pins her down. Her arms are pulled behind her back, her legs are spread as he kneels between them, and his gauntlet grips her hair.

Gaila looks to Amata, a wad of bloody rag in her mouth with a rope tying her snout shut. Unable to help herself, Amata glances toward Gaila's pelvis and sees a few droplets of fresh blood. The wolfess whimpers, tears streaming down her face and staining her fur.

“Don't worry. They won't hurt you anymore." The second soldier assures her, leading her to the door.

Suddenly, a tall, imposing man in light armor steps forward. The older, dark-skinned human with a muscular build and a shiny, bald head enters the home. He's been looking for the soldiers, whom he calls for by their last name and rank.

“We were just cleaning up, sir!" The Sergeant holding Gaila chirps.

“Uh-huh... And who is this?"

“One of their victims, sir." The second soldier answers in a somber voice.

“Mmm! Mm-hmmf!" Gaila wriggles and tries to speak into her gag.

“Shut it!" The Sergeant snickers before punching her in the face. “Savage bitch..."

“I'm sorry, ma'am..." The Commander says, promptly leading Amata away from his more aggressive cohort.

“H-how..."

“What's that?"

“How did you know?"

“This settlement is out of the way, but that didn't stop a very spirited young woman from reaching us." The Commander begins.

“I was on watch when she came to the gates. She must've run for days. I took her to the doctor myself, and we mobilized right away." The kindly soldier finished.

“Private."

“Sir!" The soldier stands at attention.

“Help with the cleanup."

“Yes, sir!"

Now alone with the Commander, Amata walks through the carnage on shaky legs, weakened from the emotional drain of her salvation, as much as from months of abuse. Beast men of the wolf-kin lay dead or dying. She glances at the boulder as they pass by, seeing fresh blood and specks. There at the base of the large rock, a little Vostii boy, about the age Jaeal was, lying with his head smashed open. He'd been swung by his ankles by a nearby soldier, who steps on the tail of a screaming child before picking it up.

Amata averts her eyes and flinches when she hears a sickening crunch. The screams stop. A hand rests on her belly and she suddenly remembers another concern, her head bowing as she contemplates what to do. The Commander's eyes follow her hand. As her dress flattens against a not-so-flat belly, he seems to hesitate.

“I, uh... Ma'am, if you want, we can... We can see that it goes to The Order."

Amata's eyes widen in horror and she turns to the Commander.

“No! I didn't ask for this. I won't give birth to it... In the forest, there's a special root..."

The Commander opens his mouth but stops before he speaks. They both know the tenets of their faith, but considering what Amata has been through, who is he to tell her she must protect the product of rape? He closes his mouth and slowly nods in response. Motioning with a hand, he follows her to the forest where she'll harvest the roots needed to induce a miscarriage and abort the abomination growing inside of her. She stumbles in her eagerness, and the Commander is quick to catch her.

“Here, ma'am. Let me help you."

“Thank you... Please... Can you collect these for me? I don't know if I have the strength left." She softly pleads.

He sees the plants, recognizes them, and drops to a knee. As he harvests them for her, Amata leans against a tree and watches from the edge of the forest as the soldiers finish their work. They throw the bodies of the dead into a single, massive fire built around their primitive altar, while the females of the untamed wolf-kin tribe weep into their hands. The priestess, who had overseen the wretched orgy, races up to the warriors with a dagger in hand!

“Savages!" She roars in her native tongue.

A volley of gunfire tears her to pieces, and her lifeless body falls face down in the dirt. The Sergeant who'd assaulted Gaila finally appears. He holds the bound, gagged and sobbing wolfess by the hair, leading her toward a prison wagon where she will soon be sold as a slave. He all but throws her inside and slams the door shut. As he turns, he adjusts his manhood. He looks quite pleased with himself.

“Throw that trash into the fire!" He growls, pointing at the priestess's body.

The soldiers obey their Sergeant, grab her by her arms and legs and heave her into the fire. To their shock, she screams as the flames consume her body. Amata's mind recalls the vile ceremony, and a little smile spreads across her lips.

“Here... Will you need our doctor? We brought some with us." The Commander asks as he hands Amata the root.

“Yes." She murmurs, rubbing the dirt from the precious roots.

They walk along the hill, the village to their left. As they approach a convoy, Amata finds the first signs of the battle. A patrol of wolf-kin had run across the soldiers as they prepared their attack. To her shock, Vixar and two of his four sons lay dead. Their lifeless eyes, like dull, painted pebbles stare at the sky. In a rage, Amata spits on Vixar's face and kicks it with a bare foot as she passes his bullet-riddled body. The soldier asks no questions.

“Fucking savages." She growls at the corpse.