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For three days Frost did not hear a word from his delivery. He would often catch the young black fox staring at him but would never hold his gaze when their eyes met. Frost was beginning to wonder what he was thinking, about him, about the three he'd killed in Desperacion, about his own predicament of being sold as a sex slave, it had to be a lot to take in. Still, it was worth trying to talk even if he didn't speak any English.

"You got a name?" he asked one morning as they trudged beneath the New Mexican sun. "Surely you've got a name. Como te llamas?"

Nothing. Just the soft rhythmic footsteps on the sun-baked earth behind him. Frost glanced over his shoulder to see the zorro hiding his eyes beneath the brim of his over-sized hat, staring at the ground.

"I'm Frost. Me llamo Frost."

If he didn't know better he'd think this fox was deaf.

"How's your water holding up?" he ventured. "Uh... Como es su... agua?" Yeah, that sounded right. "Como es su agua?"

Again the fox said nothing.

"Shit" he muttered to himself. "This is going to be a long trip."

It was noon when they finally reached Santa Fe. Much to Frost's relief the people they passed on the streets paid far less attention to the pair as they made their way to the nearest boarding house. Perhaps it was the unassuming garb that hid the beauty of the young zorro, perhaps it was the fact that neither of them had bathed in at least a week, or perhaps it was the industriousness of the thousands of busy travellers on the bustling streets. Either way, Frost was glad for the anonymity. He paid for a room and the two headed up to the second story of the boarding house.

"Hope you weren't expecting your own room." He said to the fox. "I've got to be able to keep a close eye on you. We'll see if we can't get a bath up here, get you cleaned up a bit."

Frost did little to unpack. They'd be leaving in the morning and he wanted to be able to leave quickly if the situation demanded it. They had a tub brought up to the room and Frost heated a couple pails of water on the stove to fill it. When the tub was filled with steaming water he took a step back and gestured to the zorro to enter the tub. He stood there for a moment, staring into Frost's eyes for the first time in days.

"Thank you" he said quietly.

Frost was caught off guard.

"You're welcome." He said after a brief pause.

The black fox set his hat on the post of the one bed in the room. The raggedy duster he removed and let fall in a heap on the floor. He stepped out of his boots as he unbuttoned his shirt and left both where they fell. Frost opened the door and began to step out of the room.

"Wait," the zorro said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please."

Frost turned to see the one of the most beautiful young men he'd ever seen standing naked before him.

"Don't leave" he said, his eyes fixed on the floor. Frost was stunned. Not sure whether to be awed or annoyed, he just closed the door behind him.

"Hablas Englais?" Frost asked.

"Better than you speak Spanish" he answered. His voice was like nothing Frost had ever heard. It was smooth and soft, with just a hint of fear in it.

Annoyed. Definitely annoyed.

"Get in the damn tub" he said, and sat in an unassuming chair in the corner of the room near the window.

The beautiful black fox slowly put one slender leg into the water, then the other. He stood knee deep in the steaming water and shut his eyes.

"It's very warm," he said, his eyes still shut.

"Too warm?" Frost asked.

"No," he answered. "I have not had a warm bath since-" his voice faltered, "-in a very long time." He slowly sank into water, sitting and reclining against the curvature of the tub. "It's nice."

Frost could not help but watch the fox bathe. His slender form was mesmerizing, his pitch-black fur glistening wet in the warm, golden light that shown distorted through the cheap glass panels of the window as the sun sank in the west. The days of dust and mud that had matted his fur melted away in the warm water, revealing the near perfection underneath. He let out a long sigh of pleasure as he washed himself, one that caused a notable shift in Frosts own trousers. After several minutes of what Frost was sure had been the most sensual show he'd seen since the cabaret in New Orleans, the zorro stood up to reveal almost an inch of bright red cock beginning to peek from it's shining black sheath.

"Alvar" he said as he ran his hands over his sleek, wet form. "My name is Alvar."

Frost stood and handed him a towel.

"Thomas Frost."

Frost began to undress as Alvar dried himself. Pulling the chair right up to the tub, Frost turned it to face away from him and hung his belt over the back, his Colt within easy reach of the tub. His knives and Derringer he laid on the seat. As he bathed Frost could feel Alvar watching him.

"What?" he asked without looking back.

"You have many scars," Alvar said after a moment.

It was true. The wolf was a map of scar tissue, many of them visible through his thick grey fur. His career had been a long one and living by the gun had left its mark on his body.

"Yes I do" he said indifferently.

"Were you a soldier?"

"I was." The zorro was silent for a moment.

"Did you win your war?" he asked slowly.

"Some," Frost said with a sigh. "I've fought a few wars. And while we did win the first one, I've fought lots of smaller ones for less... noble causes. And as far as I'm concerned, when I got paid, I won."

Frost stood in the tub and asked for a towel. Alvar handed him a towel and Frost began to dry himself. When he turned he saw the immaculate black fox lying nude on the bed.

"You're not dressed" Frost observed.

"I have nothing clean to wear" Alvar answered matter-of-factly. Frost was surprised by how suddenly unshy this zorro was, naked before him, but he was a fox afterall and he did have a point about the clothes.

"We'll wash them then" he said and stepped out of the tub. When he was dry, Frost put on his other change of clothes, his gun belt, his knives and tucked his Derringer back into his boot and threw all but the duster into the tub. "Get to it."

Alvar washed the clothes nude while Frost sat in the chair, glancing back and forth between the street outside the window and the ass of his charge as he washed. It moved in time as he scrubbed the clothes against the washboard in silence, his tail held just high enough not to block the view. Frost suddenly realized that he was almost completely out of his sheath and staring Alvar's perfect backside. He shifted in the chair so that Alvar wouldn't notice if he glanced back. When the clothes were clean they hung them out to dry on the line that extended across the alley from the boarding house.

"We'd better get some sleep," Frost suggested as he closed the window. "We'll pick up what we need and leave at dawn tomorrow. It'll take us about five days to reach Pueblo from here."

Alvar, still naked, pulled back the covers and lay in the bed. Frost again hung his gun and knives within arms reach before joining Alvar beneath the sheets. The two did not say goodnight but quickly drifted off to sleep.

During the night Frost was awakened by a rhythmic rocking motion next to him. He looked over to see Alvar asleep and apparently dreaming. He was laying on his side and thrusting his pelvis back and forth, a needy expression on his face. Frost pulled back the sheets to reveal a surprisingly large cock, with an equally surprising knot, protruding from the beautiful young fox.

"Damn," he whispered, "this boy is going to make somebody a fortune."