FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Alternatively titled "Paint Me Like One Of Your French Girls." Sorry if the formatting is really weird!

---

It was certainly cold, but he did his best to assert that the chilly weather was irrelevant. What mattered here, now, on this particular beach and on this particular evening were the stars far above. He had removed himself from civilization in order to see them. Tonight, with no clouds in the sky to mar his view, he could peer into his telescope and search for whatever sight it was that he felt had eluded him for so many years.

When he was feeling dramatic and perhaps less sensible than he really ought to have been, he would claim that he was searching for curious life. Something from the heavens that might peer down on the earth with wonder and excitement. When he was feeling a little drunk, he would claim that his self-imposed quest would end only with the very discovery of God. But when he was alone, squatted atop damp sand and listening to the rolling of the waves around him, he confessed to the wind alone that he had no idea what he was looking for.

It was difficult to keep his paws from trembling as he adjusted this lens, shifted the position just so; made whatever alterations were necessary to continue his stargazing. He had been sure to dress warmly, but out in the open as he was, he found the wind wouldn't be deterred by mere articles of clothing. He mused internally over the sheer force of it. Silent, not blowing with any particular force, and yet quite able to strangle the life from him were it not for a tin mug of steaming soup he'd prepared earlier. It was difficult for him not to smile.

Far above, the heavenly bodies cast their light in complete apathy to his investigation. He watched on, pondering just what it might be like if he could but reach up a clawed paw and clutch one of them from the sky. Perhaps to wear a star as a jewel about his neck, where it could shimmer for everybody to appreciate. So far as he was concerned, people spent too much time worrying over the immediate. In his world, people would cast their eyes up to the sky and search just as he did. Perhaps then he could keep some of the strange loneliness he felt at bay.

But of course, he wasn't alone. Sifting through the sand behind him was a stranger, as is the usual position of strangers in such circumstances. This stranger wore only a pair of trousers, but kept his own paws safe and warm within his pockets. His approach over the wet sand hadn't made much of a noise at all, with only pawprints marking his passage. He hadn't been watching this old wolf toy with his telescope for long at all. No, the strange intruder was but a passing curiosity to him. Nevertheless, he watched those slight adjustments as they were made, noting the dedication with which the wolf made his study.

"Ah, there." The wolf had begun to murmur, just loudly enough to be audible to the stranger that yet lurked at his back. "Yes, perhaps there. Yet another for the list, hmh? Oh, but we are such small things..."

The wolf had begun to rummage through his belongings. The stranger watched on, impassive. He saw the old astronomer find what he was looking for - at least, in the more immediate sense - in the form of a small notebook and pen. He flipped through the pages and although the light was quite poor, the stranger behind him could see page after page of listed coordinates. The stargazer had done this before, but never at this place. The stranger would certainly have known if this wolf had been on his territory. He would have noted the intermingling scent of brandy, the faintest hint of cigar and the sort of artifical lavender that was sometimes used in soap.

As the wolf scrawled down yet another marker for a site in the sky, the stranger's eyes met with the very end of the telescope. He followed the trajectory along, attempting to peer up and spot whatever it was that had warranted a note. To his eyes, the stars appeared as they always had. A sea of glimmering white flecks cast amid a swirl of dim purplish-red and darker black. He saw nothing in that sky that would be worth writing down. To him, it was as common as the trees that bordered the little beach cove. But then, he knew that this wolf was not from the same place as he. It was doubtful that they had led similar lives.

As the stranger saw the wolf return to his telescope, he felt the familiar pang of curiosity. The same sensation that had led him out of hiding, out to observe this unknown man up close. For a moment that felt like an hour or more, the stranger weighed potential consequences and odds in letting his presence be known. Surely this wolf could do nothing to harm him, as he appeared a trembling old dodderer and nothing more. He could smell no other interlopers in the salty air. Although he knew better than to underestimate somebody he did not know, he decided that he could surely sprint back into the trees if necessary. He made his decision and stooped down to kneel beside the wolf.

"What do you look for?" The stranger asked, allowing his question to be the announcement of his vicinity. His eyes were still cast up, while the wolf appeared startled and aghast. He fancied himself a hunter, as was the way of wolves. It was with some shame that he finally realized his senses must have left him in his weak age, as this small field mouse - the stranger - had managed to sneak up behind him. He felt a rhythmic thumping in his chest, heard it rising in his now elevated ears. His paws shook all the more for his lapse in focus. He felt them shift his telescope just slightly off target.

And yet despite his surprise, his first impulse was to respond to the question. It was one that he had heard time and again, after all. His answers, while never quite identical, came to his mouth before he had thought them. "A home up above, of course." When his mind finally did catch up with his mouth and ears, he realized that his answer surely sounded delusional. He would appear a fool to this stranger, the little brownish mouse marked with paints that he could only just make out in the vague light afforded to them by the moon. The mouse hadn't and didn't look to him after his answer. Instead, the mouse's youthful face adopted a pensive pout as his ears flicked and twitched about.

His clawed little paw went to the wet sand beneath them. He scooped up a fistful of the stuff, then let it fall through his fingers in soggy clumps. "There is no home amid the sky. The stars above are as the sand below. They glow, they float above your paws, but they are nothing more."

"That isn't so," answered the wolf, who remained tense. He knew that the coordinates of his telescope had been sent awry already, and so he thought that no further harm could be done. This strange painted mouse was, for the moment, more intriguing than the sky. So the wolf twisted his telescope about to offer over the eyepiece. The mouse looked down from the stars and toward the wolf, the pensive pout contorting to a questioning. The wolf explained, "put your eye to this and you'll see that the stars are nothing like the sand."

Although he hesitated, the mouse did just that. What he saw was, with the words he knew, indescribable. Balls and spheres, some still and some moving through what appeared to him to be quite like water. Some would shine and others would reflect that shine. To him, no two of these strange things appeared in any way alike. Each was more astounding and unsettling than the last. And while he did feel a certain unease rising in his chest and from the very corners of his mind, as his perceptions were knowingly cast askew, he found it impossible to draw his eye away.

The wolf noted this with a certain strange fondness. Perhaps his actions here, in this secluded little cove, had only roused the interest of a curious young man. And curiosity was indeed something that he had always found admirable in the people that he met, however quaint and unlike himself that they may be. The wolf asked, "where did you come from? What is your name? Do you live nearby?"

And distracted by his new understanding of the celestial bodies far above, the mouse only murmured in reply. "I am Yindjibarndi. This is where I come to fish."

"May I call you Yindji?" The wolf replied at once, the name already lost to his memory. He would call this young man what he pleased regardless, and so it was fortunate that the mouse raised his head and offered a hasty nod. The painted mouse returned his eye to the telescope immediately after, moving the thing about with no concern for coordinates or consistency. The wolf mused, "I was quite enamored when I first looked up at the sky properly, myself. I'm pleased to see that you enjoy it as well."

The mouse didn't reply. A silence cast itself between them, disrupted only by the slight creaking of the moving telescope and the scuffle against the sand the previously inaudible mouse made as he shuffled about. It was now the wolf's turn to observe the mouse. He did so with just as much curiosity and fascination as the mouse had he. The wolf sipped from his tin mug of soup as he appraised the strange black markings the otherwise brown mouse had adorned his body with. The mouse wore trousers that had been rolled up about his ankles, but they were muddy and adorned with numerous rips. How the smaller man hadn't yet frozen was beyond the wolf, who shivered through three layers of clothing.

Yindji didn't appear unhealthy at all, despite his tatterdemalion's attire. In fact, his arms and chest were quite well-toned, so far as the wolf could see in the moonlight. Muscle was visible through the brownish fur. The wolf's eyes followed the haunched curve of the mouse's back as it moved about, hectecally realigning the telescope. There was a certain grace to the arch, which didn't go on very far as a consequence of the mouse's height. The wolf felt his tension returning when he saw, tucked away in the back of the mouse's trousers, what appeared to be an old knife.

"Do you use that knife for fishing?" The wolf asked. He saw the mouse's head raise from the telescope, before he lowered his own gaze. His approach hadn't been the most subtle and he was well aware of that. He could have snatched the knife away while the mouse was distracted. He eyed it now and saw the mouse's tail flick this way and that, perhaps a sign of amusement. When he raised his eyes again, he saw that the mouse wore a wry smirk, as though well aware that he had intimidated this old astronomer.

"For self-defense," the brownish mouse answered. He reached back and drew it out, causing the wolf's heart to miss a beat or two. Thankfully, the mouse only drove the thing into the sand between them. The wolf could see that the blade was notched and certainly old. The handle was wrapped in what appeared to be strips of leather, but he could see just a bit of black plastic protruding the very end. The sort of knife that could be bought from a supermarket - one meant for cooking, but clearly used for other purposes. Although he felt the sudden urge to pluck the thing up and toss it out into the ebbing ocean, he restrained himself. That it was in the sand now was no doubt a gesture of the mouse's nonviolent intent.

The wolf was again made aware of the strange mouse. He felt Yindjibarndi's dark eyes peering at him while he stared down at this knife. When he raised his own, they met. He could see a mirth and amusement in Yindji's and felt certain that the shirtless mouse saw the confusion and lingering fear in his. Without any display of intimidation, either reciprical or otherwise, the mouse mentioned in cordial tones, "you have not yet said your name. I have said mine. It is polite."

"Oh, yes. You're absolutely right and I'm quite sorry. I often misplace my manners." The expression elicited a puzzled frown from the mouse, though rather than clarify, the wolf thought it best to continue with his introduction. "My name is professor Jonathan Cloves - though, ah, I suppose you're no student. Professor Cloves certainly wouldn't do, would it? You may call me Jonathan if you like. Though I trust you'll find a rather depressing few choose to."

"You talk a lot, Jonathan," Yindji interrupted. The mouse was smirking, as though he found Jonathan really quite amusing. That tail of his was still coiling about as he sat on his ankles. The mouse had let his forearms rest over his knees. Everything about his posture suggested confidence to the wolf. Confidence which likely stemmed from knowing where they were, perhaps knowing that Jonathan was alone and knowing that his youth and relatively fit body made him quite formidable to the old wolf. Perhaps the mouse noted that Jonathan was vaguely distressed by the interruption, as he offered, "it is alright. I enjoy how you speak."

Jonathan certianly thought that was strange. It was relieving nonetheless, as at least could believe that he hadn't offended the mouse just yet. "I didn't think that I had all too much of an accent. And for that matter, neither do you," which again felt quite odd to Jonathan. Here was a knife-wielding mouse, covered in what appeared to the tribal paints. That their language was so similar either made for a strange coincidence, or suggested a story that Jonathan definitely wanted to hear.

The mouse's smirk bubbled up into a rather broad grin. He shifted about to face Jonathan properly, as opposed to crouching alongside him. What he said was something that the wolf wanted to dismiss as nonsense, but felt that he just couldn't. "I am not speaking the same English that you know. You simply hear it as such." This was impossible, of course. The words were all stated in English, just as they had all been. And yet Jonathan felt some surreal, undeniable truth in what the mouse had told him. He suspected that senility had chosen a quaint time to strike. In fact, perhaps this was all some delusional waking dream brought on by dementia. It certainly made more sense than Yindjibarndi being more than a work of fiction.

"If you aren't speaking English," the wolf decided he would hazard, despite the curious doubts he now felt about the very encounter itself. "How then do I understand you?"

"The markings," the mouse responded. He stretched his arms and displayed the intricate paint that covered his athletic frame. Jonathan's first thought was that such was impossible. It intended to state as much, though perhaps he would put it gently so as to not upset Yindji. And yet he found that he simply couldn't bring himself to vocalise the thought. As seconds slipped by with the wolf in perplexed silence and the mouse making a display, Jonathan found he believed more and more that these tribalistic paintings had translated language into his mind. And he believed more and more that his mind had run away with him.

"How is that possible?"

The mouse clutched his knife and jerked it from the sand in the one seamlesss motion. It was tucked away in the back of his trousers in a heartbeat, somehow avoiding the stub of his tail in its unseen descent. Yindjibarndi rose to his feet and offered a paw down to Jonathan, who despite all of his doubts, residual suspicions and concerns, accepted the paw. A fleeting sense of shame joined the mix of cloudy emotions as the mouse's strong arm was what pulled him, an old wolf, to his feet. He didn't dwell on the moment, in part because such would have been upsetting to him. In part because the mouse introduced another thing for him to gnaw on inside of his head. "I will show you."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Jonathan left his beloved telescope on the beach, where Yindjibarndi had offpawedly assured him it would be safe. He didn't trust this brownish little mouse, but he found his wonder with the quaint individual more compelling than his affection for old possessions. They were wandering through the brush now, weaving their way along an increasingly narrow dirt path that Jonathan had not been aware of. The path twisted around trees and bushes, perhaps one that had been worn into the soil by Yindji's own fishing excursions. Jonathan was behind the mouse and as he followed, he chewed over almost innumerable questions in his mind.

Why was the mouse willing to show him anything at all? For that matter, aside of curiosity, why might the mouse have even approached him in the first place? What did the mouse intend for him? Was it possible that these painted markings truly offered the mouse the ability to transcend language barriers? Was he following some woodland madman even further away from the safety and non-seclusion of society? Was he following such a madman while knowing that the perhaps crazed mouse carried a knife? Had he lost his own mind? These and more among them raced through his head in a frantic internal conversation. Some questions were answered, others ignored. The most prominent, the truth of Yindjibarndi's paintings, was what drove him onward.

For a time, they had been walking without any words for accompanyment. Jonathan conversed with his own thoughts as he watched the mouse's back twist and bend with the demands of the trail. It was almost distracting. Had the situation been different, the wolf was certain that his thoughts would have been on far less introspective or speculative matters. Yet the situation didn't warrant such. Nor did, he felt, his advancing years. Such distractions were those more appropriate for younger men, ones far less attuned with important matters - such as the intentions of the armed strangers that they had decided to follow into lonely and desolate places.

Yindjibarndi intruded into his thoughts again, albeit this time verbally. Without looking back to him, the field mouse asked, "is it that you are a learned man that you know to truly see the stars? Are you versed in the books that talk of our world and the people within it?"

"I wouldn't consider myself 'learned,'" Jonathan answered humbly. It was the truth. He knew of countless men and women that had read more books, seen more wondrous things and discovered more hidden truths about their world. He had even met some of these people, held their paws in his. So far as Jonathan believed, he was a rather ignorant old wolf. He saw how easily the mouse traversed their path, how he knew to shift his weight and place his paws just so. It brought to mind the comment, "but I do believe that one may be learned in many different ways. You surely know more of fishing than I do."

The mouse did turn his head at that, one of his dark eyes catching the old wolf bumbling along behind him. Another wry smirk was visible across the mouse's lips. "Yes. I know not to throw the fish back." Jonathan didn't quite understand, but he felt that the mouse was mocking him. He saw no hostility in the mouse and his tone wasn't caustic at all. It was a joke, but at his expense all the same. In his younger days, he may perhaps have challenged Yindji over it. Perhaps made a teasing jab in return. He had been much more impulsive some decades back. Instead, the wolf only smiled and went along with the joke.

"Yes, I imagine that does help."

When Yindjibarndi came to a stop, Jonathan's relief was almost palpable. He had to wonder why the mouse stopped for a moment, before noting that they had come to stand within a small clearing. An almost perfectly circular space, with a mound of ash and charred sticks in the center. The campfire remains were within a ring of stones that, were they more off-center, might have perfectly mirrored the surrounding trees. Jonathan pondered whether this was where the painted mouse slept. He saw no tent, no sleeping back, none of what he would have thought were the necessities to surviving this sort of cold overnight. The mouse didn't even have a savage pile of animal furs to sleep in.

Yindji watched Jonathan as the wolf surveyed his little camp. Another look of amusement crossed his features. This wolf appeared a curious thing to him. He was accustomed to more lively wolves - wolves who yet had a kick of life in them. That Jonathan had followed him along the path to see this place might have indicated some enduring chance at a spurt of life, but the old wolf appeared so unknowing and clumsy to him all the same. Oh, he suspected that the wolf may well be knowledgeable. But just as the sensible old wolf had said; people may be knowing in a variety of different ways.

"Is this what you wanted to show me?" The wolf looked up from the ashes. His face showed confusion, perhaps a sort of mild frustration. Yindji was only further amused by it. Although he would seldom admit it, the mouse quite enjoyed toying with what little company he had on the very few occasions that he had it. It may well have been childish, but it was far too entertaining for him to refuse. He rose his slim-muscled arms to his chest, crossing them and donning a frown that conflicted with the smile he couldn't quite bandish from his own features.

"Patience," he scolded as best he could, though that it was ingenuine was transparent. He appeared less jestful as he went on. "It is where I will show you. You must trust me before I may."

Jonathan forced aside his disappointment over the dingy camp. He was curious, of course. And indeed, just as he was with his stargazing, he felt that the sight had been an unsatisfactory one. It wasn't what he was searching for. And yet, the mouse suggested that perhaps such might yet be shown to him - at least, within this incident. The stars were another matter to which this curious stranger didn't quite compare. Of course, Yindjibarndi was a fascinating oddity. He couldn't deny that. And now to see the secret behind Yindji's markings, he would have to trust the knife-wielding little mouse. A difficult matter.

"Very well," announced the wolf, though he didn't quite feel as trusting as he perhaps could. "What do I need to do?"

Without missing a beat, the mouse instructed, "remove your shirt and lie on your stomach." A moment forced its way awkwardly by. Jonathan became aware of the countless nocternal sounds, far-off creatures and nearby insects both, as a hush had been enstilled between the two. Jonathan was disbelieving. This was surely another of the odd mouse's jokes. But Yindjibarndi's face brokered no such notion. He had seen the mouse struggle to maintain a straight face when joking only a few seconds beforepaw. The seriousness with which he stated his direction couldn't be brought properly into question. The only things to doubt were the mouse's intentions and what lying about shirtless might possibly prove.

But Jonathan didn't ask that. All the baffled old wolf could really manage was a toneless, stunned "what?"

"I will mark you," the mouse stated. He gestured a clawed paw over to the ashes of the campfire. "The marks cannot be explained. You will doubt them and yet feel that you do not doubt them. Such is enough for madness. Instead I will mark you with the ash and you will feel it. I promise you will be safe." And as though to lend credence to his promise, the mouse tugged out his knife only to fling it at the ground. It stuck straight up again, bobbing back and forth from the impact. Perhaps those notches came from its treatment and not so much its use, Jonathan thought as a casual aside whilst sorting through the surreality and plausibility of the situation.

This may well have been like the stars. They could not be explained without some form of doubt if you used words alone. Instead, Jonathan had opted to show Yindji the stars through his telescope - to prove that they were nothing at all like sand by showing the mouse. Now the mouse would explain the significance of his paintings through similar ash markings. It made a certain sort of sense to Jonathan once he had reflected over it. That didn't make the cold, dirty floor seem any more appealing, of course. But he understood why the mouse may have thought such was necessary.

Then it dawned that Yindjibarndi had quite accurately explained what he felt about the markings. An odd doubt and certainty all at once - the unquestionable truth of the statement and the doubt as to why it was true. The realisation was startling and more than slightly perturbing to the old wolf, who now rubbed a paw against his chest as he worked his way through these odd ponderings. Yindjibarndi appeared content to patiently weather the quiet, his arms still crossed over his chest and his eyes still set on Jonathan.

That empathy enkindled his curiosity sufficiently. He had to know. He had to know whether the markings really held some odd sort of power - whether it was because of the paint that Yindjibarndi could converse fluently and perservere without problem through this cold. The cold that would no doubt be almost insufferable, perhaps even sickening to Jonathan. But damnit, he wouldn't hesitate and think things over any more. This was an opportunity for understanding, perhaps even one for contact with something supernatural that held odd, demonstrable truth. Finally, the wolf nodded to Yindjibarndi and with all the simplicity he could muster into but one act, he stated, "alright."

That was all that it took. Once he had conceded to a decision, Jonathan found it surprisingly easy to peel off first his jacket and then the jumper beneath. It became much colder very quickly. He struggled with the buttons of his shirt, as his paws wouldn't stop shivering. In the back of his mind, he still doubted whether he had made the correct decision. He could easily freeze. Perhaps that was Yindjibarndi's intent - make a smoke and mirrors show of quaint shamanism, then rob him once he freezes to death. He would die an idiot if such was so. Such a scheme for banditry would doubtfully work on anybody who wasn't such a foolish old wolf.

But his self-loathing aside, he finally did shrug his shirt off. He felt strangely self-conscious standing before this well-toned, athletic young mouse. Where Yindjibarndi's slight build appeared completely muscle (if only a compact amount of it), the passage of time had made Jonathan a bit fat and weak. It felt odd for him, a wolf, to appear so unfit beside a mouse. That was age, he supposed, as he struggled his way down onto the dirt on sore knees. He questioned again just what it was he was doing, as he came to rest his chin along the ground just beside the fire. He could see Yindjibarndi's paws pad their way over the freezing ground, stopping on Jonathan's side and opposite the fire.

Although he wasn't certain of it, Jonathan thought that he heard the mouse murmuring something. If that was indeed what occurred, the old wolf couldn't decipher the language the mouse used. Although he couldn't be sure that he heard the words at all, they sounded to his imagination to be odd, sing-song and sylvan phrases. A sort of nursery rhyme tune with words that felt, should they even have been uttered, to be ancient things. With no explanation save either his own growing insanity or the mouse's impossible conjuring, Jonathan found that he no longer felt cold at all. Not the almost icy brown floor beneath him, not the previously biting wind that drifted around them. He instead felt comfortably warm.

A weight came to settle on his waist, just above his bottom. He knew it at once to be Yindjibarndi. The painted mouse had stradled him and now used him as a seat. The wolf heard one of the mouse's paws dip into the long-extinguished campfire and scoop out some of the ash. Then followed the sensation of two nimble little paws running over his back, teasing through the fur as they pressed ash down agaist him. The mouse had begun to mark his grey coat with that slightly darker shade created by the ash. The wolf remarked late, perhaps to keep his mind from the mouse's position and almost soothing touch, "I don't feel the cold."

"Because it is not cold," replied the mouse. Once again, the wolf felt that same odd certainty of what Yindjibarndi said. This time it felt all the more reasonable, as indeed he didn't feel the missing sensation at all. He was left without an explanation as to why and instead attempted to entertain the notion that Yindjibarndi was some manner of tribalistic shaman, the last remnant of a time of magic and mysticism - something entertaining that might keep his mind from the mouse's position and almost inquisitive touch.

The mouse's paws started at his lower back. They worked against the flow of his fur, rising up along either side of his spine. Yindjibarndi was gentle. Each of his motions felt deliberate to Jonathan, as though the mouse was indeed following the pattern of a well-known body painting. Occasionally the mouse would remove a paw from Jonathan's body to retrieve more ash, and despite himself Jonathan felt a longing for that paw to return each time. He knew that he shouldn't feel any attraction for the fit young man resting atop his body, but he would confess to himself, Yindji had a particular attractiveness to him in that intentional but agile way that he moved.

Soon enough, the mouse had smeared ash in a curving pattern all the way up to Jonathan's shoulders. The wolf felt Yindji climb up and off of him, heard him shuffle aside to crouch. He felt disappointed that the massage - or the application of curious ritualistic magic, rather - had stopped. He confessed privately again to some excitement when he heard Yindji instruct, "you need to roll over to lie on your back now. The mark is only half way completed."

"Won't it smear if I roll onto it?" The wolf almost scolded himself for harming his chances at yet more contact. Then he did intrinsically berate himself more than a few times for being so very preoccupied by such base matters. He was supposed to be above that sort of thing. Proud and controlled, as an old wolf ought to be. Not entertaining such trivial desires for contact. He was doing this to discover whatever it was that Yindjibarndi couldn't just say to him. He wasn't here to enjoy the feeling of some pawsome mouse man running his paws all over his worn-out, aged body.

But all the same, he felt relief and that hint of excitement when Yindjibarndi replied, "no. Roll over. There is only so much time." The wolf did as he was told, and although he somewhat expeced it, he felt surprise nonetheless when Yindjibarndi climbed back onto his waist. Jonathan felt tense again, wondering what this sort of touching might connotate for the mouse. Perhaps this sort of thing wasn't at all odd or suggestive to Yindji, who clearly had customs of his own. It was impossible for Jonathan to keep less amorous thoughts from encroaching on his mind, though he did his best by constantly reminding himself of the lesson that this poor mouse was attempting to teach.

Yindji scooped up more of the ashes. He set his paws on Jonathan's rounded belly. The wolf thought for a second that he spied another of those wry, almost teasing smiles. He dismissed it as nothing but another misconception elicited by this odd circumstance. Yindjibarndi ran his fingers in an expanding swirl around Jonathan's stomach, painting a conch-figure into the fur there. Then he set either paw on the wolf's sides, sliding them up, inward and along. He arched his back as he drew his paws together between the wolf's chest. Jonathan watched on all the while. The wolf was afraid that the mouse atop him must have felt that gasp and shiver. He found it difficult to meet eyes with Yindji.

The painted mouse started to murmur in that sing-song tongue that the wolf thought he had heard before. He closed his eyes and as the dust inexplicably kicked up around them, Jonathan closed his as well. He could feel a sudden, warm wind billow about them. He heard the mouse's voice rise, singing the chant aloud. The wolf felt the mouse start to rock back and forth on top of him, rubbing his body against Jonathan's lower waist and belly. Jonathan felt the mouse's paws dart across from his chest, gripping his shoulders instead. The mouse's face mustn't have been too far from his, as the chant-singing sounded as though it were right in his ears.

Then he felt something that seemed even stranger than the loss of cold, stranger than the painting with ash. He felt the mouse's mouth meet his. For the first instant, it wasn't a kiss at all. Jonathan felt something impossible, something old and feral run through his body, before it seemed to dissipate into nothing. Then, the mouse's tongue ventured into his open mouth and tentatively prodded at his own, spurring it to react. What had become a kiss wasn't inquisitive or adventurous at first. Through the first few seconds, it was a strange series of gentle, curious prods on Yindji's part. Jonathan wondered in the back of his mind if it was a part of Yindji's ritual as he felt rational control of his body slowly receding.

The kiss soon became a more forceful, explorative thing. Jonathan found his tongue delving into Yindjibarndi's mouth, where Yindji teased it with his. He felt the mouse's hips roll back and forth against his and, despite all of his earlier worries, he didn't care whether Yindji felt what he knew to be a developing tent in his pants. After all, from what he could feel, the painted mouse had one of his own. The thought that had been such a private, tentative thing to him a moment before was now an honest source of excitement. A muscular young mouse was gyrating on top of him and he was completely alright with that.

Their kissing finally ended when Yindji, gasping for breath, rose up to kneel. He rested his arms at either of Jonathan's sides, adding force to his hips as he pressed his crotch time and again against Jonathan's furred belly. The wolf watched him, eqully aroused by the mouse's soft panting, the oddly graceful movements of his body and the hardened length pressing firm against him. Jonathan reached his paws up and placed them on Yindji's shoulders, where he let them roam down to the mouse's chest. He found the two little nubs of the mouse's nipples, which he seized between two dulled claws and teased. The faint moan he earned was, he felt, a fulfilling reward.

The mouse reached a paw of his own down to his trousers. With some notable effort, he fished out his member. He let it rub free against the wolf. The mouse's hips started to move at an almost feral pace, the force with which he thrust his now exposed member against the wolf's flesh and fur doubly puzzling and inexplicably arousing to Jonathan. He watched the almost determined, but unquestionably lust-mad expression that the mouse wore. It was cute to him that this strong little thing would be so completely lost in the act of lovemaking, surreal though this one was.

The wolf couldn't feel much friction against his own confined member. It was certainly pleasurable to feel this mouse grind against him, but he felt he needed more - it was an almost irrepressable urge. He lowered his paws down to Yindjibarndi's thighs, gripping the taut flesh there. He attempted to push the mouse back along his body, just by a few inches. Then he'd be able to feel that forceful thrusting against the part of him that ached for it. The part of him that had convinced him to abandon his problems of confidence and image and instead accept the rutting as it came. But just as the mouse started to budge down, he let out another gasp - this one more shrill than the others. Jonathan saw a look of relief and bliss cross the mouse's features, felt a sudden damp warmth against his stomach. The mouse's hips had stopped their vigorous movement. Something about the mouse's expression kept him from feeling too disappointed.

The mouse knelt there for a time, resting his weight against his paws. Jonathan rubbed his paws along his thighs until it was clear that Yindjibarndi's wits had retuned to him. The wolf felt a burning, arching desire down at his crotch. He wanted this mouse in every sort of way - he wanted each of the mouse's holes, he wanted them fast and slow, rough and gentle. But he didn't want to force this young man to do anything more than his odd ritual or own desires compelled him to do.

Jonathan was relieved when the mouse, once fully conscious again, elevated himself onto his knees to allow Jonathan some wriggle room. More relieved was he when the mouse told him, "get your pants off." Maneuvering as best he could with a panting mouse just above him, a distracting though spent member dangling before him, Jonathan squirmed his way out of his pants. The mouse, raising first one leg and then the other, struggled his way out of his clothing as well. If he were any less desperate for their actions to move along, Jonathan might have found the clumsy display from the otherwise almost supernaturally elegant mouse comical. Instead it just made him all the more eager.

Once they were both naked, Yindjibarndi scooped up as much of his own cum as he could. He reached back and started to stroke it over Jonathan's throbbing, wanting cock. The wolf gritted his teeth, shut his eyes tight and jerked his hips up into the paw. He felt some pride when he heard Yindjibarndi mumble a compliment about its size, but otherwise he was focused completely on the feeling. It had been quite a while since Jonathan last had somebody to do this sort of thing with.

Yindji stroked the wolf's shaft for a moment too long for Jonathan's liking. The wolf opened his eyes and set them firm on the mouse, communicating his need through that alone. The mouse could almost don that same nearly condescending, nearly mocking look, but he couldn't quite muster it through the lusty haze. He shuffled his way back along the wolf's body, reaching beneath himself to align the more than eager wolf's cock with his own pucker. Then, resting his weight against it, he took as much of it as he could in with the one smooth descent.

The wolf felt as though he might howl. The mouse was so impossibly tight around him. The feeling had come so suddenly, he couldn't have been ready for it. And now the mouse was rising and falling, rolling just ever so slightly back and forth. All of it was so swift, so fast to the wolf. Jonathan raised his paws and ran them up and along Yindji's thighs, feeling a need to do something outside of his hips. He pressed those up when he felt Yindjibarndi come down again, rising to meet the mouse as he lowered himself onto the wolf's waiting member.

The mouse craned his back and Jonathan peered up at his chest. He felt he didn't have a right to be doing this sort of thing to such a beautiful mouse. He was drawn in by the hasty rise and fall of the mouse's chest, the mouse's breath appearing in time with the motions the rest of his body was focused on committing. Yindji had canted his head back and Jonathan couldn't see whether his eyes were closed or not, but were they open, the mouse would be peering up at the same stars that had started this whole thing. Jonathan peered up to where he thought the mouse might be staring, stargazing as he thrust his cock up into that wet, moving and squeezing warmth.

Jonathan came abruptly, giving only a primal grunt as warning. The mouse atop him cried out in that strange, ancient-seeming dialect of his as Jonathan buried himself completely and satiated that carnal impulse the ritual had left him with. Then he slumped down against the dirt again, letting his arms drop along his sides. Yindjibarndi climbed off of him, leaving yet more mess in the wolf's fur. He crawled along to cuddle up against the old wolf, spent and quite pleased as well.

"What does that mark do?" Jonathan asked as he attempted to get his breath under control. The astronomer stared up at the stars. Yindjibarndi laid a paw along the wolf's chest and toyed with the grey fur. Despite how strange the whole situation was, now that his mind had started to return to him, he still felt an odd intimacy with the mouse he barely knew. Perhaps the consequence of the activities immediately prior, but all the same... He drew his arm around Yindjibarndi and drew the short, lithe mouse tight to his side. Yindji certainly didn't seem to protest.

"It is a powerful mark. The cold, the heat, the wind and the rain will not bother you. You will be strong. Your age will not bother you either. That is the way of it. Magic. Do you feel it?"