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Now we get to the real story. This one is all about Arthur and his new pet, but Aaron gets some mention. Hope you like the second section of Trials!

The standard disclaimer too. You shouldn't be reading this if you are under the age established by your local laws, usually eighteen (18) with some at twenty-one (21).

It was kind of funny really, seeing his father seething with anger and unable to show it. Arthur knew he was damn lucky Aura was nearby when Aaron had caught up with him. The wolf reamed Arthur's mom for stepping in too, but they both knew it could have been worse if he (Arthur) had been lying. As it ended up, Arthur finally got permission from his father to get a slave. For the purpose Arthur wanted one for also. Seemed that Aaron was fed up with being walked in on by his son and wanted to give Arthur a distraction.

"Once you've got a pet of your own I don't want to catch you again! Once more and you'll be restricted to a certain part of the house, you hear me?" Arthur got the message. Once he had a 'pet' of his own he wouldn't need to interrupt his parents again, unless it was truly an accident.

Holding area for slaves was actually the old prison building, the government need money for war and didn't waste any on another stone structure when they already had one that was fully functional. All they really had to do was find some guards and some caretakers. The wolffox chuckled to himself at the last thought. His father had called some employees here that before. Hell, the commoners called this the Pound anyway. Perhaps they were right. The building housed petty criminals to unfortunate debtors and children of the latter. All furs too. Humans had their own building across the city. Arthur was not keen on going there, besides he cared more for is own furred sisters than a human.

Inside everything was as it had been for the past several years since the move. A cheery greeter, chained behind the desk, that was never the same for more than a year; especially since they were actually working off their debts to people, or the government. A couple of guards that were fit but never really had to be, except for inspections. Then the bright main hall with cells lining four or five stories and reaching over a mile to the rear stone wall. To a commoner who had scrimped and saved enough for a furred slave, or had gotten really luck at a game of chance plus was debt free, this was majestic. The stone work was above and beyond anything in the outer city or the slums. Such large windows casting large amounts of light on polished stone that reflected it upwards to the ceiling mosaic, which was illuminated at night. Only the royal complex was more overwhelming. But, commoners never got to go there unless they had a really good reason.

To one that went to the palace every few weeks this was not special at all. Arthur and his father also traveled to the other fur empires, East and South. Theirs was the North and the humans had the 'developed' West. Glancing around at the cells Arthur mused to himself what developed really meant. The North had the best military, the East had the most people, and the South was monetarily sound and resource rich. Not to mention the furs were all allied together, while the humans splintered into country states. So what did developed mean? The old definition, before the furs isolated the humans in South America and Mesoamerica (as well as Australia and Oceania), was the relative technology and birth/death ratio. Right now the furred people held both of those, even if the East was only a breath ahead in technology it was still ahead. That left one last option; it was a ploy by those in power to try and subjugate the lower classes by saying 'at least we're humans.'

Why wouldn't they do it in a much simpler way? The three empires all practiced slavery. Slaves made the lower class happy, knowing that there was someone below them, even if they could not afford one. It also kept them in line, one wrong move and they'd be in chains too. Rarely did slaves object. Why would they? Slaves were generally pets and bodyguards or in housekeeping roles. Plushy jobs when one was owned by a nobleman or noblewoman. Farmers never used slaves because food was more important than cotton or tobacco, or really any other cash crop. The places that did grow those money makers used government supplied slaves, those that were convicted of serious crimes, and security. Then again the ruling human elite were far to focused on nation states and politics to care nowadays. It isn't as though there were no state delineations in the empires, but there was a ruler with absolute authority that served as an anchor for those states.

His mind wandered for a while as he strolled the first floor. As a rule of thumb the stock tended to change very fast. Even some of the extravagantly priced slaves were gone in a few days. As that was, there was still never an empty cell. The sheer size of the empire saw to that. One slave had been present every time he came though. She was on the second floor near the back. It was fairly odd for a beautiful female to stay so long even though she was easily the most expensive slave. He was slowly making his way to her cell now, but it never hurt to look.

She was stepping out of the small and crude shower that was built into the stone of her cell. Steam was drifting out and covered her partially from view. It did not, however, cover her yellow spotted legs and blaze white chest. Water dripped softly off of gentle feminine curves to the stone floor where it ran to a drain. She tried to shake herself dry, but met with only moderate success. In seconds the vapor escaped through the barred window and door, but that was long enough for her to don a long olive green shirt. Modesty wise it was impractical and useless. It did cover her slit and scars at least, which is why she put it on first. Next she slid tan, and quite rough, cloth pants over her legs. It was comical to see how the nobles would react to seeing a beautiful and fully clothed slave. Several times they had purchased her before inspecting her body to realized all the scars she bore on her legs and back, only to sell her again once they saw said scars. It was a vicious cycle now. Less people cared about being secured and more about actually drawing attention to themselves and their money. Apparently she was a trophy to them. She was trained as a bodyguard, but so few people listened or cared that she had become a toy. As she was taught, she would always obey.

Her first few masters had bought her for the specific purpose of protecting their person or another. She excelled at that. Her original master was an eastern sword master. Everything she had learned had been from that master in terms of fighting. Other masters had her do other things, like cleaning and cooking. At her core she hated such mundane tasks. It was a waste of her talent and her master's money to have her work on such things. She ought to escort a charge everywhere and be alert for threats. That was her one place in life. Chores were belittling. As always though, she would obey. It was her honor and her reputation that kept her doing those things. A sense of duty if you will, to a master long removed. Everyday she hoped for a man who could see through the veil of bad luck that clung to her shadow.

No one had bought her in years because the previous masters had ended up dead. Some were natural, but most were assassinated. It didn't seem to bode to well for her, but one had to consider circumstances. All of the times her master had been killed were times where she was either incapacitated or removed by distance. Still, it seemed that death was following her. The scars and marks that adorned otherwise perfect curves were stories of past failures. Every time there had been to many hired blades, one got through and the blow caused a gash. She never let the doctors from the hospitals remove her scars because she felt that they were debts that she had to pay before dying. Each a physical and mental reminder of her arrogance and falling.

Arthur had made it up the winding stairs to the second floor. He was just glancing at the furs in the cells now. The Foxwolf had decided. The cheetah that no one else would take would be his new pet. She certainly had the looks for it, even with the scar running through her right eye. Simply imagining her form in the olive green cloth caused him to speed up his walk. He didn't know to much about her, but would read her profile that hung outside her cell door. She could use a sword too, her fur didn't hide the sinewy muscle of her arms and legs. Spotted cats always kind of turned him on anyway. She was a cheetah too, meaning less muscle and more form. He was getting hard just thinking of her. The jingling of coins made him glad his father had given him some extra coin.

Feet speeding up with every stride, the foxwolf nearly passed his intended target. It was kind of comical to see the normally composed noble glance right and skid to a stop. The cheetah was lying on her cot. She had noticed the wolf fox's abrupt halt in front of her cell, but tried to act like she hadn't. It didn't matter, Arthur was reading the packet of her personal information and history that sat off to one side of the barred door. The large cat tried to see his expression, but for being over six foot ten it was difficult. Perhaps the angle had something to do with it. She rolled onto her side and tried shift so that her head was far enough forward to tell his reaction the thick manila file. Still, his face was hidden. Now she was curious. The feline knew that from her cot she could see the facial expressions of anyone over four feet tall. The male was almost six himself. What, then was her problem? Was he simply and abnormal fur in terms of shape? Was he simply standing on the very edge of her ability to see? Then it occurred to her. He was shifting position at the same time she was. That would mean that the possibly lupine male knew very well that she was interested in his doings and was not to keen on her prying into his reactions. So he was smart... she'd outsmart him someday. If he bought her that is.

About an hour later Arthur and his new pet were in the private confines of the foxwolf's room. They had shared some of their personal information wit each other, but both still had a lot of secrets. Arthur was really content in knowing his pet's name, Shien.

Gently Arthur stroked his prize. This excited a purr from the feline. His left paw was up the back of her olive green shirt while the right was feeling one of her supple breasts. Both Shien's paws had found their way under the cloth of the noble's T-shirt. The soft touch of his feline companion was beginning to excite Arthur. One paw ran down the feline's back to her rear, while the other continued feeling her chest. Their mouths had yet to meet because he was taking in the smell of Shien's neck fur. For a slave it was remarkably sweet and alluring, like honey or a rose. Physically Shien was taller by at least a foot and a half. That was contributing to the nuzzling and sniffing of her neck on Arthur's part.

Still a virgin, the foxwolf was easily aroused simply by feeling his feline's breasts and ass. He almost tore the shirt off Shien as he pulled it off. She responded in kind, unbuttoning his jean slacks and pushing them as far as she could without disturbing her master's muzzle. The Wolffox happily finished the job for her, pulling both underwear and slacks to the his knees. The only real barrier now was Arthur's shirt. It didn't take long for that to disappear at all. Now that they were both nude, their muzzles met. Arthur had to look almost straight up and Shien the opposite. Even so, they enjoyed trading kisses on the cheek and nose.

Shien felt her master push her slowly towards the bed. An act she willingly obliged. Something about her master was actually getting her aroused. Of course going with out any other sexual interaction for four years made anything seem good. Whether it was real lust or just a need for sex was not important, pleasing her master was. To call him pleased would be an understatement. Once close enough the foxwolf shoved his new pet onto the plush bed. The feline enjoyed laying on something soft, a commodity that she hadn't experienced in far to long.

Now was the first time she had really seen her master. Black fur dominated his legs, torso, and head, as well as his underside. Arthur's arms were different. Black fur stretched halfway up his forearm before ceding to orange. It was strange to see a female vulpine fur pattern on a male, but something about it drew her in deeper to the mystery surrounding Arthur. Shien did not have any time to ponder. It was gentle, but still a pounce, when the wolffox jumped on top of his mate. Now they could have their muzzles even. The couple exchanged several more light kisses before joining their muzzles in a deep one. Shien let Arthur play with her rough tongue before wrapping her spotted arms his waist. Arthur wasn't one to submit easily. One paw stroked her hair, while the other aimed his now throbbing shaft.

A loud moan issued from the virgin foxwolf as he slipped his shaft slowly into Shien's tunnel. His whole body was hot, forcing him to pant hard. He wasn't fluid or graceful in his entrance, but that is what made it feel so good for the feline. They began to moan in unison as Arthur's pre and the cheetah's leaking fluids mixed together. Soon only the wolffox had to slip his knot into the warm and wet confines for them to be truly joined. Shien tightened her grip on the foxwolf as her climax neared. Her back arched. Yellow and black fur stood on end, creating a fluffy feel. She knew that the shaft was in as deep as possible, but she felt the need to at least try to get the source of her pleasure deeper. Ultimately she succeeded. Swollen and soggy lips caused the top of Arthur's sheath to disappear.

While the feline enjoyed that motion, the foxwolf did not. A loud yelp issued in protest. It did not last long though as Arthur was closer to his orgasm than his partner. He thrust the final time with such vigor that a yip of Shien's slipped out. Finally he couldn't hold it. Cream shot off into Arthur's mate. The sticky fluid coated her walls and filled the opening with almost a seal. To the wolf-hybrid it was heaven to finally getting a load into a woman. Every nerve tingled as jet after jet fired off into the warm confines. One was enough for the virgin hybrid, who hadn't been able to fully hilt his prize. Now some semen slid out of the feline's slit and onto the bed.

Even after Arthur was beginning to recover from his climax, Shien's began. Her muscles spasmed quickly as ounce after ounce of famine fluid surged onto the receding prick of her master and the bed covers. The pleasure of being orgasmed on was too much for Arthur, who slumped as he slid into unconsciousness. A dark stain grew larger with each jerk and twitch. Pleasure blossomed in her mind and lower body. If Arthur hadn't of collapsed into a deep sleep on to of the orgasming kitten, her back would be in a high arc. Slowly the stream subsided and Shien was left to pant away the heat from love a long time coming. With both paws she hoisted her master up so that he could comfortably lay his head in her chest. Once that was accomplished she felt secure in falling into a restful slumber.

The orange and black furred mix awoke first. Perhaps it was because he was younger, or maybe had more energy. He lifted his still sluggish body off of the feline that had known his first time. Even though nude, he felt secure walking onto his porch balcony. Based off the light, it was about seven in the morning. No one came down this street until eight. Work started for commoners at eight, unless their boss was nice. With a cursory glance he stepped out. It was normal for him to do so almost every day. He enjoyed the soft breeze of the morning across his whole body. All of it, completely unhindered by cloth. There was something different today though. It was a kind of sinking feeling in his gut.

Arthur was lucky that the parade made so much noise, otherwise it would have been to late. He barely made it as is. Softly ducking into the security of his room, the wolffox searched for clothes. He slid on the closest things; a t-shirt, some loose boxers, and a pair of jean slacks. Once more he slid out the door onto his small balcony overlooking the main street. Movement in the shadows caught his attention for a second. A figure slipped behind the nearest corner, not thirty yards from him. It looked female based on its figure. Questions shot through his head faster than he could sort them out. Had she seen him nude? Why was she skulking in the first place? And when the HELL was his breakfast going to come?

The female figure did not really bother him too much in the modesty department. If a guy couldn't feel confident showing himself off, then what could he be confident about?

By now the military parade was coming over the small hill crest down the street towards the castle. In front female flag bearers spun and twirled spears decorated with the Northern Empire's flag. A safe distance behind them came the soldiers themselves. Rank and file they marched, always in step. Uneven cobblestones didn't bother them. Aaron was actually glad the sun was hidden behind the towering royal palace to the east, otherwise the glare from polished armor would have blinded the son of a senator. Lines of five passed until the First Veteran Defense Battalion had gone by.

Next came the Army Band. In its entirety, the Band was a compilation of the divisional and battalion bands. Even so, they were in perfect harmony. Fife players and flutes made their way past. Soon though larger and louder instruments made the scene. A deep base thumping came from the eight or nine drum players. Trumpets and tubas shot brass all around, while cymbals clashed and clanged. To use loud really didn't do the group justice. High school and colleges did not have better bands. The sheer size and organization of the group was one of the proud points of the Army. They were the best on land. In fighting and music (or marching bands at least).

Three more rank and file soldier battalions marched by next. They were completely focused on their march. No one looked a different direction, no one even blinked it seemed like. Arthur tried to name as many species as he could. Ocelot, wolf, fox, fennec fox, snow leopard, timber wolf, he was actually amusing himself somewhat. It wasn't that the parade was devoid of anything interesting, but the fact that it was put on every year; each time it was the same thing, a long march from the capital to the coastal city of Athens. To put that in perspective, the capital was on the North Sea. The humans called it Norddich. From what he had see of the old maps in the royal library they were on the north border between France and Germany. Neither state existed anymore. To think that these furs would travel that far simply to demonstrate the power of the crown, that was true devotion. Aaron had once told Arthur that what separated their legions from anyone else is that they would never cut and run unless it was a direct order. Any other reason was inadequate. It rang true every time this procession passed. In each face their was a willingness to die for the Wolf-Queen that inspired allies and disheartened enemies. What could humans do against such devotion? Absolutely nothing, which is why they would run from battle or defect.

Finally came the main attraction. While the Northern Empire is famous for its disciplined troops, it was revered for its war machines. First small scout buggies rumbled up the hill. Their motors rang out a high pitched whine that was just barely tolerable. The vehicle itself looked like a dune buggy with a second seat set behind the driver and up slightly. Forward mounted on the steel roll cage was a high caliber sniper rifle. This rifle was meant for range and power, and was nearly impossible to accurately aim while moving. On the other hand the buggies were fast enough to allow the gunner one shot before moving to another location, effectively disorienting the enemy. They weren't really used in mixed groups or groups at all since that would reduce the actual efficiency. The buggies were good at scouting though.

Next came several LAVs. These moderately sized wheeled vehicles were great for urban combat. They had a small repeating cannon on top and a fair amount of armor, all without sacrificing speed. These vehicles were well known for appearing out nowhere and breaking infantry battle lines. Size and all, it was a cost effective way to deal with light vehicles and infantry.

After the rumbling LAVs passed, a group of armor came. Treaded and heavy, these steel creatures could slowly make their way across almost any landscape. A dual barrel turret made it bigger than the nearest armor equivalent. It only took two people to run too, loading shells was all automated. A small machinegun was mounted on the top of the turret, near the hatch. The gun had a purpose, but to use it the tank had to either stop moving or stop firing its main cannon. These vehicles weren't the most impressive sight by themselves. Once in an armored column or division however, they might even break the renowned soldiers of the same empire.

Finally came the newest addition to the Northern arsenal. Hover tanks equipped with dual chain gun emplacements on the fore two sides of the cockpit temporarily drew the attention away from the main use of this tank. Four large tanks (as in cylinders that contained liquids or gases) were set in two groups, up and to the sides of the main turret. A nozzle extended a good length from the turret itself, allowing for slightly better range. Small yellow diamonds were marked on each of the four tanks (again, cylinders) with a glaring 'Contents under pressure! Do NOT puncture.' warning. Each of the top tanks were filled, of course, with oxygen gas placed under extreme pressure. The lower two were pressurized gasoline vapors. This caused it to burn when the two mixed with a small flame from the inside end of the nozzle before being expelled a fire from said nozzle. Flamethrowers are not the most humane things, but war wasn't meant to be humane either. Fire scared anyone. No exceptions. It could, like a liquid, fit into a small area; such as through a bunker firing port. Fire was deadly too. Few people would survive it, and those who did wouldn't be able to fight anymore. Flamethrowers aren't humane. They're effective.

Arthur stood on the balcony for awhile after the parade had passed. It felt so comfortable to just relax in the sun for awhile. He had forgotten about being hungry for the moment, but like all growing men he was perpetually needing food. As the nobleman stood he half watched the commoners and routine patrols saunter past and half daydreamed. Shien had been wonderful. The spotted feline fulfilled his every need, almost. He was a hybrid, and as such could not have a child with her. Shien wasn't a mixed breed that he knew of, so Arthur would have to find either a hybrid, a wolfess, or a vixen eventually. That wasn't really top priority now. The wolffox would have to make his own reputation soon if he wanted to inherit his father's place as representing the common folk. Once he was well known enough he could find a noble lady to wed.

As the wolffox turned to go inside he felt a chill on the back of his neck. Fur stood on end, and he had a sickening feeling that something bad was right behind him. Slowly he turned to face the street. Instead he found something far worse than a bunch of specialist workshops and commoners going about their day.