Eventide - VI
Chapter VI
"I really should be heading back soon," Richard said as he stared into the bowl of fresh-cut fruits that had been set before him, a fresh farl of oat bread lying forgotten beside it.
Owen raised a brow as he glanced up, a piece of melon halfway to his mouth. "Why? Besides, isn't it safer to stay here for now?"
"So you can have me all to yourself?" He smirked, his words muffled by a paw. "But in all reality, my father will not be pleased that I did not return last night."
With a low sigh, Owen nodded. "Well, if that's the case, we can head back after breakfast."
There was a brief pause in which the fox stirred about his meal before speaking. "We?"
"What? Am I not permitted to have you all to my-self for a short while?" The otter replied with a fool-ish grin.
Nodding, Richard conceded. "Fine, fine. But we'll have to part ways in the city."
Jeremy, who had been bustling about with a large tray of bowls and a pitcher of mint tea for the young ones, paused beside them. "What's all this talk of going to the city? You two heading to the festival?"
Before Richard could reply, Owen chimed in. "I was just going to accompany Richard back to the city is all. Probably not much else," he said, gesturing to nothing in particular with a wooden fork.
"Well, maybe we can!" The rat smiled, shifting as the tray began to tip haphazardly. "Father asked me to see if they had any vanilla for a new ale he wants to make."
Richard ignored the look that Owen shot him. "I don't see why not. We'll be leaving as soon as we're finished."
The excitement barely concealed in his voice, Jeremy tottered off beneath his burden to dole out breakfast to a waiting bunch of youngsters, calling a promise to be ready from over his shoulder. Moments after he had left, a young mole came up and tugged lightly on Richard's sleeve.
"'Scuse me zurr, but there be a big badger marm who be lookin' for ye." She said as she pointed in the direction of the abbey door with a heavy digging claw. "Says t' bring ye otter friend."
They rose in silence to follow the young molemaid out to the courtyard, where they found Bess waiting beside a large wagon that stood upon the cobble-stone path. Its covered top bore a shallow arch with a pair of lanterns that hung at its fore, a small window set above the driver's seat giving a faint glimpse of its vast interior.
"Richard!" She called, barely restraining herself from breaking into a run as she shambled towards the fox, her mighty paws practically scooping him up into her grasp as she held him tight against her wide frame. "Thank the gods you're alive!"
Concern was visible upon his face as Richard looked into deep, hazel eyes. It was evident that something was very, very wrong. "What are you talking about, badgermum? I'm fine."
Sniffing back a tear, the great badger released him as she took a step back. "I'm sorry, it's just that I feared the worst..."
"Bess, what's going on?" He interrupted.
She seemed to come to her senses then at the tone of the fox's voice. Blinking her eyes, Bess took a deep, shuddering breath as if to calm herself. "Richard, I need to talk to you. Alone."
Owen frowned, taking a step forwards. "And what about me?"
"I'm sorry. This is something only Richard may know. If he wishes, he may tell you afterwards." Reaching a paw into the pocket of her apron, Bess held out a small iron key to the otter. "Owen, was it? Please make yourself comfortable in the caravan. I want you to stay by his side once he returns."
Accepting the object, Owen watched as the pair retreated to an empty corner of the abbey grounds. He could scarcely imagine what it was that had them so concerned... only that he feared for Richard and what the badger's message held.
Beneath the shade of the towering wall of the abbey, Richard sat on a small wooden bench while Bess knelt on the grass by a small stand of trees that grew there. When she had situated herself, Bess addressed the fox, her tone even despite the brief flutter of her emotions earlier.
"Something happened last night--I don't know what, but the city guard has created a veritable wall around the noble quarter. No one can enter or leave." She began, her eyes never once leaving the young fox. "I've heard rumors of an attack--gods, I saw the smoke myself--but no one seems to know what happened."
Richard waved a paw, his brow creased as he glanced back in the direction of the old wagon. "I'm not sure I understand."
Bess nodded slowly as she gathered her words. "One of my assistants was able to catch a glimpse of it. The manor was completely razed; nothing more than a smoldering ruin."
"And my father; the servants? Are they alright?" He asked, his voice strained to remain level. There was more to this than Bess was telling him; he could feel it.
The great badger shook her striped head with a sigh. "I don't know Richard. I wish I could tell you, but I just don't know."
In the silence that followed, Richard stared into the distance, looking past the milling abbey dwellers and greenery of the forest beyond them. In the back of his mind, he knew they were gone--there was no other explanation for the emptiness that seemed to blossom in the pit of his stomach. Finally, after what felt to be a short eternity, he looked up to meet the badger's gaze once more.
"You said it might have been an attack," has asked quietly.
"Possibly," she replied as she wiped away a tear on the back of a huge paw, "I had... overheard some of the captains saying a few guards were killed on the wall, possibly before the event occurred."
"Who."
Bess shook her head as she reached into her apron to withdraw a small parcel. "I could only guess. It could be Deryn, but they wouldn't be foolish enough to attack outright, and Orr is far too cowardly." Reaching out, she set the object, a small vellum letter sealed with wax and the seal of the house of Blackpaw, and placed it upon Richard's lap. "This arrived one afternoon. A pretty rat girl said to give it to you if anything happened to the family."
Confused, Richard looked the letter over, turning it about in his paws. The seal was certainly genuine, though he could hardly imagine his father having known to send a letter to the Golden Stripe, of all places. Peeling back the waxen seal with a claw, the fox gingerly unfolded the letter and began to read its contents.
When he had finished reading, Richard looked up, his eyes misty with unshed tears. His mind doubled back upon itself, trying to find reason within the words. They ran through his head in a torrent, wild and unbidden only to flit away as he tried to focus upon them.
"I don't understand," he murmured, "you said it was a servant that gave it to you?"
"Yes, I believe so," said the badger as she rose and leant a paw to help Richard to his feet. "She showed me a small seal with the family crest upon it."
Richard's mind ran through the servants that had lived at the manor. He knew many of them on a personal level, having lived amongst them and spent most of his childhood in their care after his mother's disappearance. He could recall a family of rats quite clearly, friends of the family who had served since the time of his grandsire.
"Was her name Amelia by chance?" He asked as the image of his old pawmaiden came to mind, a beautiful girl who seemed untouched by the passage of time.
Bess shrugged as she walked with him back to the caravan. "I don't know. She left before I could ask it of her."
•••
Shielding his eyes with a paw, Jeremy cast about the courtyard until his gaze settled on the towering girth of the caravan. Thanking a matronly dormouse for her help, he trotted across the sun-warmed stones of the path. Upon arriving at the caravan, the rat caught sight of Owen, who was sitting in the frame of the arching door which had been tied open.
"Hey, why did you guys leave without telling me?" He asked as he came to a halt beside the otter. "Actually, whose wagon is this?"
Folding up the map he had been glancing over, Owen set the tattered old parchment aside before meeting the rat's gaze. "It belongs to Bess, the big badge."
Jeremy shook his head with a knowing look at the otter. "Okay, silly, but that doesn't explain why you and your fox friend snuck away."
"Oh, sorry," Owen muttered, "when Bess arrived, she wanted to talk with Richard. It sounded pretty urgent," his voice trailed off as he motioned in the way they had gone.
Following his friend's gesture, Jeremy could make out the hunched form of the badger and the smaller, golden smudge of Richard where they sat in a far corner of the grounds. As he watched, Bess rose and began to lead the fox back towards the caravan. "Huh. Looks like they're headed back this way."
When the two friends had returned, Owen was taken aback by the gaunt, almost hollow look that had come to Richard's face. Bess looked equally distressed, the fur around her eyes matted by what could only be tears. After a quiet exchange of words, Richard spoke.
"Owen, it looks like I'll be travelling south. I... want you to come with me. But please know that we might never return--that I might never return. There's something I have to do." He said, his voice sounding oddly distance, almost empty.
The otter nodded slowly, rising to take Richard's paw in his own. "Then we leave together."
Jeremy frowned, cutting into the dialog with the wave of a paw. "What about me? I'm not going to just let Owen up and leave. Besides, if he's going, I'm coming, too."
Richard shook his head. "I'm sorry. I don't want to endanger a third part; it's already bad enough that we'll be heading through the marshlands, let alone hiding in the shadow of the Matriarch."
"The southern empire," murmured the rat his eyes going wide for a brief moment as he recalled the stories told by travelers long ago. "Well... then that's all the more reason for me to go! Besides, isn't Owen a 'third party'?"
Jeremy was adamant, standing by his decision to come along. The two bantered for a time until finally it was Owen who spoke. "If this is going to be as dangerous as you say, maybe we should bring him along. I know first paw what he can do, and I'd feel at least a bit safer if it wasn't just the two of us."
"So be it." Richard said coolly. "We leave in an hour."
While Jeremy assisted with the loading of extra supplies from the abbey larders into the caravan with Richard and Bess, Owen excused himself to make a brief visit with the abbot. Though resolute in his desire to travel with Richard, the sudden reality of leaving behind the abbey, possibly forever, was a stark contrast from his childhood fantasies of long, grand adventures across the countryside. As Owen's paws thumped dully against the cool stones of the abbey's wide halls, he began to wonder just what he would say.
He was so lost in thought that he nearly collided with the abbot as various denizens began to filter out towards their daily tasks now that breakfast had been finished. Stopping himself scant inches from the aged hound's stooped frame, Owen cast about for words, though none came.
Abbot Bernard nodded sagely, seemingly in under-standing as he held forth a wizened paw. "Come, walk with me awhile."
Taking the other's paw dumbly, Owen allowed himself to be lead off, listening to the words of the rambling hound as they wended their way through the recesses of the abbey.
"I see you're wearing your mother's pendant. I'm glad to see it put to some use aside from collecting dust in my study; besides, it looks good on you. Now, I know what you are going to say: you will be leaving with the fox--Richard, I believe--to follow him south."
"How did you...?" Owen asked incredulously.
A gnarled paw patted his arm as the abbot gave his answer. "When you have lived for as many years as I, you begin to see things; you'll come to know what I mean one day. However, that is not the case here. Do you remember what I told you when I gave you that pendant?"
The otter could only shake his head as he replied sheepishly. "Not really."
"The morning before you returned with your new friend, I had a dream--a vision, if you will. Now, I am not normally one to believe in the divine, but at times I wonder if the old gods still live," he said as he carefully navigated a turn to lead the bewildered otter up a set of stairs. "What I mean to say, my son, is that this vision told me I was to give you that stone, and that you would leave us the next day."
The way the abbot's voice trailed off caught Owen's interest. "Was that all?" he asked curiously.
"No," Abbot Bernard replied with a shake of his head, "the one who said this was your mother."
This stopped Owen dead in his tracks, his sudden change of pace nearly toppling the old abbot for a second time. When he finally came to his senses, he spoke quickly, eyes wide.
"Did she say anything else... anything about my father? O-or myself?" The twinge of desperation in his voice was subtle, but the keen ears of the abbot heard it nonetheless.
"I'm sorry, but no. She said only that you must have the stone, that in it lied the knowledge you would require to succeed, and that she was sorry that such a task must fall to you so soon." Came the reply, its tone somber as it echoed throughout the sepulchral upper reaches of the abbey's hall.
The eerie reverberations brought Owen's eyes back from where their gaze had been locked with the abbot's own to cast about his surroundings as he gave voice to a new question.
"Where are we?"
The immense buttresses, their smooth faces cast in the dim light that filtered through the upper windows of the vaulted space, rose like sentinels, their tops merging like some upturned rib cage to meet beneath the ceiling some two dozen paces overhead. Looking over the carved stone railing at the dizzying drop down to the floor below, a small clutch of abbey dwellers seeming like little more than tiny blotches as they scuttled across the tiles, Owen stood awestruck.
"A place where nobeast comes much anymore," murmured the abbot as he motioned Owen away from the rail and towards a small niche set into the wall nearby.
There had been placed the likeness of one of the deities worshipped before the Great War and the rise of the One God, the carving made of rosy sand-stone that resembled some lordly stag swathed in robes of impeccable detail. Reaching out a paw, the abbot pressed down upon the tiny dais-like plinth upon which the idol stood, and a low, ominous grating could be heard. Taking a step back as the dust of ages seemed to plume forth from a hidden seam set into the wall as it swung open, Owen's eyes went wide as he caught glimpse of the passage that had once lain hidden behind it. Abbot Bernard took his paw once more and led him onwards, the door rolling shut as if of its own accord as they passed.
In silence they walked along the dark passage, the only sounds those of their paws and the soft scrape of leathery pads upon the masonry. Despite being thoroughly lost in the hidden reaches of the abbey, the gentle curvature of the passage was evident, and Owen could only fathom what secrets lay at its end.
Finally, they came to what at first looked to be a dead end, save for a single medallion of worked stone that stood in the center of the narrow wall that bore an artfully carved crest. His eyes now adjusted to the gloom, Owen could make out the shape of a sunrise before the abbot placed a paw over the medallion and turned it. Once more, the wall swung inwards, though rather than enveloping darkness, the pair was greeted by the shimmer of daylight.
Lifting a paw to shield his eyes, Owen squinted as he took in the chamber in which he had arrived. Set in a round, the chamber's floor was beautifully tiled with a mosaic of the rising sun, the glazed pieces throwing the light as skillfully as any stained glass as they reflected the tall, arched windows in a myriad of hues along the pale stone walls. Between each window, easily twice the span of Owen's out-stretched arms, was an alcove whose low archway bore a symbol set in a circular medallion. There were twelve in all.
The abbot brushed passed, plodding over to some low, oblong shape that lay in one such space. "This way," he called over his shoulder.
As Owen approached, Abbot Bernard bowed his head reverently at the object--a large sarcophagus upon close inspection.
"Your mother," the abbot intoned quietly, almost as if having read the young otter's mind, "she has watched over us for many years."
Behind the reliquary were scattered urns and plaques carved into the stonework of the alcove, each of which bore a name. Looking about, Owen could see countless others dotting the spaces set into the walls and alcoves all about the large rotunda.
"Are they all--?" He asked, voice trailing off.
"Yes. We have interred our dead here for nearly a century now. When your mother joined their ranks, I swore an oath to her that I would protect you." The hound, normally known for his forgetfulness and soft demeanor spoke deeply, his voice set. "Had I a choice in this matter, I would refuse that you follow the fox, but I cannot. Please, for your mother's sake, be careful."
The brilliant light of the burial chamber reflected on the single tear that threatened to trickle down the aged hound's cheek. Reaching out, Owen smiled weakly. "Of course,"
His words were cut off by the vice-like embrace that Abbot Bernard threw about him. "Just promise me you'll come back one day."
It seemed like a lifetime had passed before Owen returned to the caravan, where he was greeted by Richard and Jeremy, who had been busy discussing plans for their journey. He had spent most of the time alone in the burial chamber, simply speaking to the grave of his mother--an act that had been soothing in a way he could not fully explain, the silence and the faint echo of his voice eliciting some sense of solace from the ephemeral glow of the dusty windows--after which the young otter assisted the abbot in the task of obtaining a few final provisions. These were presented, much to the curious looks of the others.
"Here," said Abbot Bernard as he unfolded one of the small bundles, "one of our order's habits. I know it isn't much, but they should keep you safe."
Jeremy, ever the one to be perplexed by such a thing, spoke up. "But how, exactly?"
Tapping a paw against the side of his muzzle, the abbot gave him a devious smile. "A monk can pass wherever he pleases, can he not?"
There was a nod of agreement from Bess, who shook the entire structure of the caravan as she finished lashing the last of their supplies in place. "Thank you, Father. I hadn't even thought of having them disguise themselves." Stretching, the great badger grunted before turning to Richard. "You three had best get going now. There is enough food to last you until the village. And Richard, remember that should you get into trouble, I have left you a little something under the bed. I was going to give it to you for your Nameday, but... this will have to do."
Despite his prior demeanor, Richard veritably launched himself into a hug with the badger, whose huge paws enveloped him with ease. "Goodbye, Bess," he said, his words muffled against the rough cotton of her apron.
With that, the caravan trundled out through the gates and onto the road. Standing in the archway, the abbot and Bess waved their charges off.
The caravan rumbled across the wide expanses of the fertile plains, bumping rhythmically across the low rises of rolling hills like a frozen sea of greenery, its surface rising and falling with the gentle summer breezes that ruffled the tall grasses. Overhead, the sun shone down from a cloudless sky like a brilliant coin, warming the afternoon with its glow as they ventured southwards along the old roads. Wiping his brow with the back of a paw, Jeremy glanced once more at the map tucked beneath a rock beside him on the bench, his other paw nudging the reins as he skirted about a stand of trees that had grown too close to the dusty trail.
Though it had only been several hours, Jeremy had found himself farther than he had ever traveled on his own in all his years at the abbey. That realization scared him more than the thought of travelling to the southlands--more than what few words he could catch through the small window that looked back into the interior of the old caravan. Canting an ear back, the rat listened intently to the quiet words the other two exchanged, trying to keep his eyes from wandering off the old trail which had nearly been reclaimed by nature.
"I still don't think we should be bringing him along." Richard muttered, nodding his head in the direction of the head of the caravan. "We shouldn't be getting someone else involved."
Owen sighed for perhaps the twelfth time since they had set off from the abbey. "Look, Richard," he began, trying to keep his voice low, "I know that it's going to be dangerous--gods, if those lizards we saw had anything to do with it..." his voice trailed off weakly at the memory of the slain weasel.
Slumping back against the rolled up bedding of one of the cots, Richard let out a low groan. "I have no idea what this even is. But it's real, Owen. This isn't just some adventure or romp in the woods. Creatures are dead."
Hesitantly, Owen reached out a paw and laid it upon the fox's arm which now hung limply from over the cot's edge. "If you feel like talking about it, I'm here."
For the next several hours, they spoke in hushed tones as both relived past memories. Richard spoke briefly, going quiet for quite some time after having mentioned the letter and his mother. Left to his own thoughts, Owen reflected on the events of the past few days and of how he had come to find himself now leaving behind everything he knew to follow Richard through the forbidden wastelands of the marshes to some unknown end. He must have dozed off, as the next thing Owen remembered was being nudged by Jeremy.
"Hey sleepyhead. C'mon, we're done for today. Help set up camp for tonight, alright?" The rat gave a smile that reflected the orange haze of the lantern he held in his paw.
Rousing the fox, who had fallen asleep on the bare cot, the three headed out into the descending shade of the coming night. Jeremy began showing Richard how to build a fire--something the fox applied him-self to intensely, as if seeking respite from the solace of inaction. Meanwhile, the otter pawed through their stores, selecting a variety of spices, vegetables, and some cured meat. Though known as a terror in the kitchen, mostly thanks to Sister Alicia's love of having him bake, Owen was actually quite skilled in more sundry tasks, and tonight he decided a simple soup would make do.
Ingredients in paw, he carefully navigated the step down to the grassy earth of a small knoll upon which the caravan rested. Situated near the fringe of a sizable wooded expanse that lay a fair distance from the path and bordering upon the quiet gurgling of the river, the caravan had been arranged in such a way as to provide both screen and shelter from the vast emptiness of the plains beyond. Nearby, a cozy fire cast a welcome light upon the steadily darkening landscape, illuminating his two companions where they sat on small stones gathered from the embank-ment nearby.
After assembling a rickety tripod from several branches too large to be used for firewood with the help of Jeremy, Owen began his work. It wasn't long before the heavy iron cook pot was bubbling merrily with the rich-smelling soup. Sitting about the fire, they watched in silence, Owen pleased to see that Richard's disposition had brightened somewhat at the prospect of a meal.
"So what's in it?" Richard asked as he polished a wooden spoon upon the sleeve of his tunic, trying hard not to look as if his stomach had already set to growling.
"Oh, just a few things," Owen replied with a shrug, "I modified it a bit from an old recipe I remember one of the Sisters making."
Jeremy snickered as he tossed another pawful of small branches onto the fire. "Heh heh. Should we be worried that it's your cooking?"
"Quiet, you." Owen glared frostily in the direction of the rat before turning his gaze to Richard. "It should be fine. I actually spent quite a lot of time in the kitchens back at the abbey. I might not be able to make anything too fancy, but if we stick to simple things, it should be okay."
"Either way, we'll probably have enough soup for a few days." Replied Jeremy as he tested the soup with a ladle.
Nodding as he took the utensil from Jeremy, Owen began scooping out a sizable portion into his own bowl. "It looks ready; if Sister Alicia is right, it'll be even better tomorrow."
They ate quietly, Jeremy moving onto a second portion and admitting that his childhood friend had at least some talent when it came to making dinner. The rat even went so far as to suggest promoting Owen to the cook for their journey, though the otter rebutted that it would be best if they all shared such responsibility. Their banter continued in earnest until both hunger and hesitation were forgotten and only the drowsiness that accompanied a full meal remained. Picking up discarded bowls and spoons, Jeremy gave each a quick cleaning before resigning to bed.
Now relatively alone, Owen had moved to sit upon the grass beside Richard, his head resting in the fox's lap as he watched the dying flames burn to glowing embers. The hypnotic patterns of light and shadow soon lulled him towards sleep, and as his eyelids began to feel heavy, Owen could feel a paw tease along the outer edge of his ear. Murmuring approval at the touch, he let his thoughts drift. The touch came once more, keeping him upon the edge of sleep as it became more insistent.
"Owen, wake up," murmured Richard, his paws busy toying with the rounded tips of the otter's ears.
Blinking owlishly, Owen began to sit up, rubbing at the back of his head where the rock must have been pressing against it. "Mnff... what is it?"
Rising, the fox cast a quick glance towards the door of the caravan as if making sure it was closed before motioning the otter in the direction of the trees. Confused, Owen pushed himself to his paws and moved stiffly towards them.
"What?" He asked quietly as he came up beside Richard.
"Just follow me," replied the fox as he took hold of Owen's paw and lead him through a gap in the tangle of shrubby vegetation.
Owen was forced to follow along, nearly blind in the oppressive gloom of the forest as he stumbled and dodged around the phantasmal shapes of trees, following close behind the dancing tail of the fox. When they finally arrived on the edge of a small clearing, no wider across than the caravan, he could only blink as the world suddenly came back in harsh contrast.
Black-socked paws embraced about his middle as Richard appeared before him. Kissing the otter's nose, he lead Owen backwards a short distance.
"You know, we could hug back at the camp," Owen murmured, holding the fox close, "it's not like anybeast would have seen."
Richard only shook his head, turning lightly. A dull thump could be heard as he came to a stop, the leafy silhouette of a tree now visible where the moonlight shone about his head through the thick canopy.
As the embrace tightened, Owen became aware of more than the slight chill in the air. Pressing firmly against his thigh was the hard, pulsing outline of the fox's shaft, made all the more obvious as Richard's paws descended to cup his rump and give a lewd squeeze.
Owen's breath caught in his throat for a moment as he looked up into Richard's eyes. They glittered in the milky light of the moon with a strange intent and a desire he could remember only vaguely from their romance in the tavern loft. "R-Richard?" He asked, feeling rather uncertain as the fox's paws rose to come to rest upon his shoulders where they began to weigh down upon him.
"Shh," the fox cooed, eyes closing as he leaned back his head against the wide trunk.
Allowing himself to be lowered to his knees, Owen could feel a hot blush come to his cheeks at the sudden events. Thoughts ran through his head in a wild tumult as his mind flashed back to his fantasy on the balcony so many nights ago. Thinking at first that his mind was merely teasing him, Owen was surprised to find that the musky, vulpine scent was in fact Richard's, as standing before him was the shock of creamy fur that outlined his engorged sheath and the twin curves of his sac where once had been supple linen.
"Lick it."
The words cut though the silence, the tone in the fox's voice more command than request. Where at first Owen would have found himself hesitating out of simple nervousness, now he was slightly taken aback by the other's speech.
"Go on." Richard insisted.
Swallowing hard, Owen felt his ears begin to burn as he curled his paw around the stiff base of the fox's shaft, tipping it downwards to bring it into line with his muzzle. Before he could continue, however, Richard thrust forwards, sinking a fair inch of his length into the otter's muzzle before Owen's paw could prevent him from diving further. Glaring up at the fox, Owen was only greeted by the blissful look on Richard's face, his eyes still closed as he let his tongue loll from the side of his muzzle.
Owen rolled his eyes as he set to work, stifling a giggle at the other's face. He's just pent up after all of this, Owen thought to himself as he teased his tongue along the pointed tip of Richard's shaft, paw giving the other a firm squeeze in return for the rough play earlier. Richard only grunted quietly in return, pressing forwards against the otter's paw.
For a while, Owen was content to simply suckle upon the throbbing length in his muzzle, his tongue greedily lapping at the steady flow of fluid that came in a constant drizzle from the fox's shaft. An idea began to form in his head, and, as he drew his head up once more towards the very tip of Richard's member, Owen brought his paw up behind to grasp the slickened flesh. Giving slow, rhythmic pumps though his webbed paw, the fox seemed not to notice until Owen brought his muzzle lower and curled his tongue beneath where Richard's ample sac swayed and bumped against his thighs, drawing the musky, downy-furred orbs into his maw.
At this, the fox shuddered visibly, seeming to sink against the tree as Owen lapped and caressed with his tongue before slowly bringing it up along the quivering vulpine shaft to plant a chaste kiss upon its head.
Just as he felt the tip pass his lips, one of Richard's paws came to rest behind his head and, with a sharp tug, Owen felt the fox thrust hard into his muzzle. It took all he had not to sputter and cough around the fox as Richard gave one last violent shudder before sucking in a sharp breath, and just as suddenly reaching climax. The fox's orgasm was intense as thick ropes of milky seed veritably painted the back of his throat and tongue. With each shaking pulse of Richard's member inside his muzzle, another wave came, hot and heady as the musky scent of fox began to cloud his senses.
Then, as quickly as it began, it ceased. Owen managed to wrest himself from Richard's grasp and knelt as he panted for breath.
A paw came into his vision some time later, its black fur familiar and bringing him back from the rush of sex. Wiping a paw across his mouth--all he could taste was fox--Owen took Richard's paw and rose shakily to his feet. Seemingly forgotten despite the cool night air, Richard's shaft bobbed before him, its ruddy length glinting wetly in the moonlight. Richard embraced him once more, murmuring something into the otter's ear as he did so, the action bringing their bodies together for a brief moment, the fox's ebbing arousal pressing against the concealed firmness of the otter's own.
Though Owen would have preferred to have stayed and have the favor returned, Richard took his paw once more and lead him through the forest back towards the caravan.
Owen lay in the darkened interior of the caravan, the scent of fox still clinging about him as he shifted in the sheets of the bunk. He was thankful to have gotten the higher of the two, and now found him-self grinding against the old mattress in an effort to relieve some of the pent up energies from his tryst only minutes past. As if to make matters worse, the night air was warm and barely moved within the confined space, adding to the heat of that seemed to spread from his arousal. Despite the desire throbbing against his stomach as it dampened his fur, Owen dared not seek release from it, fearing that one of the others might hear--or worse, smell it.
Finally after what felt like nothing short of an eternity, sleep overtook the otter and he drifted into quiet slumber.
"Thank you, I should be fine from here," murmured a gentle voice from the hall as the oaken door swung open. A moment later, a young otter female, a few years his senior, shuffled into the study, which was remarkably less cluttered than normal. She wore only a tattered pair of knee-length breeches tied about her narrow waist with a length of cord, her chest and left arm wrapped in layers of white gauze bandages.
_ Something moved nearby, and as Owen turned his head to see what it was through the haze of his dream, he caught sight of the abbot, though one he barely recognized. Though it could be none other than the elderly Father Bernard, the hound looked much younger, the deep creases and wrinkles of age barely visible upon his face where once they had stood so clearly._
_ Turning back towards the female, who leaned heavily on a rough-cut wooden crutch, her other arm supporting a bundle swathed in cloth, he felt the sense of some sort of kinship--a remembrance that escaped him._
_ "I'm sorry for troubling you this early, Father," she began, her words punctuated by a rattling cough that did much to reveal the extent of her wounds._
_ "Don't be, my child," the hound replied as he put aside a ledger and made his way over to the otter, "but you really shouldn't be up and about. I fear what it might do in your condition."_
_ The otter shook her head sadly as a wan smile touched her lips for a brief moment. "Father, I walk this earth for but a few short days, now. What is done is done. Come the next moon I will pass on. That is why I have asked to see you."_
_ The hound was troubled, his eyes downcast as he spoke. "Please don't speak of such things. What of your son? He's barely a season old..."_
_ "I entrust him and my burden to you, now. I only hope that when it comes to him to bear it, he will be ready. May the gods smile upon him then..." her voice trailed off as she descended into another fit of coughs._
_ Relieving her of the small bundle, the abbot coddled the mewling contents with a gentle paw. "What would you have me do? I am but an old abbot."_
_ From about her neck, the otter--Eileen--withdrew a stone amulet, its surface carved with myriad lines that seemed to faintly glow in the soft light of the study. This she placed in the outstretched paw of the babe, who gurgled quietly. "Come Midsummer, on his Nameday, he shall be Owen forever hence. I only wish that I could have watched him grow in this life."_
_ "I shall watch over him as if he were my own. He will come to no harm here, I swear it. And if what you say is true, I can only hope that our little abbey will be enough." The abbot replied quietly, his voice shaking._
_ "Thank you, Father. I should be getting back to bed before one of the Sisters finds that I am gone. Nettle soup was never a favorite of mine." With a sad smile, she departed, fading from the dream into darkness, as the world around him drew to a close, the words of the abbot echoing through the empty silence._
_ "Goodbye, Eileen."_
•••
Yawning as he stirred within the cramped hammock that was slung across the center of the caravan, one end tied fast to a great iron hook driven into the frame of the twin bunks that Richard and Owen shared, Jeremy peered around the gloomy interior. He could vaguely recall having heard someone enter the caravan at some gods-forsaken hour, though with the coming sunrise it felt like little more than a dream. Carefully dropping to the floor with only a soft thump as his footpaws struck the well-polished and aged boards, the rat gave one final glance in the direction of his sleeping companions before slipping outside.
The tarnished glass of the windows had belied the beauty of the morning. Hanging low on the horizon, the sun shone above the leafy outline of the distant forest's canopy like a great golden disk on emerald velvet, its rays illuminating the undersides of what few clouds scuttled by on the gentle morning breeze. From somewhere nearby, birdsong echoed through the small stand of scraggly trees, trilling in a discordant chorus that reminded Jeremy of lazy mornings in the abbey courtyards. He shut the caravan's wide door behind himself with a heavy sigh, hearing the old iron latch thud into place. The night itself had been rather muggy and warm and Jeremy felt himself in desperate need of a bath.
The river, which ran in its deep course but a few dozen yards from where they made camp, seemed a likely place. Though farther from the comforting shadow of the abbey than he would prefer, his memories of bathing in it had always been pleasant ones. Recalling quite a few moments when he was able to sneak a few glances at Owen as the two shared a bath in the cool, clear waters, the rat eased his way through the overgrown vegetation that loomed upon either side of the river, creating a sort of natural tunnel around it.
Pausing by the sandy sides of the gently sloped embankment, Jeremy was thankful for what shade was provided by the thick screen of trees that had grown around it. A small pier could be seen, though only its stone foundations remained as the wood had long since rotted away from disuse. Likely, it was part of the remnants of the old cottage he had seen during their travel the day prior, its weathered skeleton not far from where the rat now stood.
"I wonder what made them leave," he mused aloud, his voice muffled as he pulled the tunic over his head. Hanging it across a low branch, it was soon joined by a pair of well-worn slacks--a gift from one of the abbey-dwellers for their journey. Stripped down to his bare fur, the heat of the morning was all the more apparent as small plumes of steam rose from sodden fur.
Jeremy let out a content sigh, pleased with the respite offered by the stream's cool waters. Even here its run was quite deep, and Jeremy lowered himself until only his head bobbed above the lazy, gentle flow, his paws bobbing along in the water near his sides. It was not until he caught the shimmering reflection of dark fur upon the water that he realized he wasn't alone.
"Oh, it's you," he said, smiling weakly upon seeing that it was only Owen who stood nearby. "Good morning."
"Hey Jeremy, can we... talk?"
The distress on his friend's visage grew all the more evident when he spoke. With a quiet nod, Jeremy motioned to the empty water beside himself. "Yeah, but I think you might want to hop in as well--you're a mess."
Stiffening visibly, Owen nodded. "Huh? Oh, uh, yeah. I... didn't really sleep too well last night." He said as he began stripping down.
Jeremy watched idly from the corner of his eye, as he replied absently, "It was pretty humid last night. I can't say I slept too well myself, but I did learn that a hammock is rather comfortable."
"Huh," came the otter's noncommittal grunt as he waded into the shallows to sit upon a large stone that lay half immersed beneath the water.
"So what's on your mind, rudderbutt?" asked the rat.
Owen drew a long, slow breath before letting it out in a shaky sigh. "I... well, do you ever remember there being any other otters in the abbey?"
At this, Jeremy thought in silence for a moment before he said, "Well, there was the one girl--Samka or something, I think. She stayed at the abbey for a while a few seasons back. Don't you remember?"
The otter only shook his head, a paw moving to splash water over his bare legs.
Jeremy rolled his eyes. "Ugh, how couldn't you? She was always sitting nearby at table making eyes at you," he snorted, his paws motioning at his chest, "not like she needed to if she wanted attention."
"I'm serious, though. Were there ever any other otters at the abbey--even when we were young?"
"Ah!" Jeremy said in sudden recollection, "I think so, but I was very young. Why do you ask?"
"Just... curious," the otter murmured, watching the faint shimmer of light reflecting where a fish darted about beneath the surface. "What do you remember?"
Jeremy nodded in understanding. "It was a while back, but let's see."
For a time, the only sounds were those of Owen as he idly poured paws full of water over himself. The slow patter of the droplets and the quiet gurgling of the river matching the distant cadence of birdsong, as nature continued ever onwards, ignorant of the plight of a young otter.
"Hmm, well, it's not much, but I do remember one of the Sisters asking me to carry in some herbs for her. The Sister said something about her being a traveler--the otter, I mean," said the rat as he turned to eye his friend.
"Do you remember how she looked?"
Jeremy scratched an ear, a brow rising in curiosity. "Well, not exactly. No, wait: I remember her eyes. They always looked distant in a way, like she wasn't looking at you, but somehow through you."
There was a brief silence in which Owen stared into the shallows, watching as the current of the river formed eddies about his outstretched paws. "I think I may have dreamt of my mother last night."
"You think that was her?"
"I don't know. I mean, if that really was me, I couldn't have been a year old." Owen's voice was quiet, his words sounding hollow as if the very breath that drove them was not there. "But I feel like she should be."
Owen blinked, coming back from his reverie in the memories of the past night at the feel of Jeremy's paw upon his leg.
"Hey, that was a long time ago. If it really was her, then that's good. Maybe she was just checking in on you." The rat smiled as he gave his friend a gentle shove.
"You believe that?" He asked, retaliating with a sizable pawful of paw.
Jeremy shrugged and rose to wade out from the river. "I don't know. Just seems kind of nice. Any-way, we should probably get back." He said as he extended a paw to his friend.
Taking it, Owen allowed himself to be hoisted up onto the embankment. "Thanks--for listening, too."
"Don't mention it," Replied Jeremy, his voice muffled by his tunic as he pulled it over his head, "though, I have kind of been wondering if we could get a chance to do what we did in the cellars--"
"Come on you two. We've still got a ways to go. Get dressed and help me with breakfast or we won't be leaving anytime soon," called Richard as he pushed through the thick foliage of the forest with a bucket in paw. At the sight of the blush of both of the others, he shook his head. "Do I even want to know?"
Quickly donning his slacks, Owen eased past the fox and made his way back towards their little camp, calling over his shoulder as he went. "It's nothing, and I hope you're not burning those oatcakes!"