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Tales Of Morveria: Loyalty

Two Lives Salvaged Through Friendship

By Mantrid Brizon

The young man peers into a cup of murky water. With gritted teeth, he lifts the clay goblet and takes a swig of the putrid, blue-grey substance, a potent mixture of herbs to help boost his strength. He sets the mug aside and parts with his last zakian. It is a small copper coin, hardly enough to buy a proper meal, but it is all he has. With nothing left in his coin purse - little more than a piece of sack cloth with string tied around the torn edges - the young man rises from the stool and thanks the apothecary before heading for the door.

“Where will you go now, child?" The old woman asks.

The young man stops and turns back, the cool breeze blowing in from outside. The weak and bedraggled human, all of fifteen-years-old, has been on his own for so long that he has forgotten how it feels to have someone show even a modicum of concern. He fills his ailed lungs with the fresh air that swirls around his tattered clothes only to hold in a cough. He had been sick these past few weeks, and only thieving a few coins could buy him any medicine at all. The aging woman has the wrinkled face of a hag, but her voice is as warm as her eyes.

“Will you be alright?" She presses him.

“I'm always alright." He replies with confidence.

He has perfected the art of lying, a necessary evil in the world of the homeless. Taking his leave, the scrawny and sickly young man hopes and prays to 'The One' that all will be well. As he steps outside, a stranger brushes past him, nearly knocking him over.

“Hey!" The teen growls, only to cough and wheeze.

He sees the brown cloak of the stranger, a hood tied through ringlets and pulled over their head. The stranger is quite large, standing more than a head taller than the young man and perhaps as many as eighteen hands tall. The flowing cloak masks much of the stranger's build, but even a glance serves to intimidate the young man. The bottom hem of the cloak flutters as the person walks on massive, paw-like feet. They are nearly the size of the young man's head! The tip of a tail protrudes just enough. It is unusual; fox-like, but with many long hairs hanging from it, much like a horse.

Glancing back, he can see the face of the beast man. At first, he appears to be Vostii, the general categorization for every member of the beast folk who are covered in fur and walk on digitigrade, paw-like feet. When he sees the stranger's face, however, it becomes clear that he is Zesharii, a hybridization of two to four beast folk bloodlines. Long fangs, like those of a bear, protrude from the lips of what otherwise appears to be a wolf's snout. The black “wolf" is also much larger than most wolf-kin, closer in size to the bear-kin. Raising his hands, he reveals menacing claws as long as the bones of the tips of his fingers.

The beast man narrows his piercing eyes as he pulls the hood even tighter around his head. His irises are a vibrant emerald color, gleaming in the sunlight and contrasting remarkably against the whites of his eyes and the black and grey of his fur. With a silent snarl, the Zesharii turns and carries on, disappearing around a corner. The young man wonders why a beast man would be walking without escort. It is not against the law, but socially speaking, it is heavily frowned upon to allow one's beast folk to travel freely. His master must trust him immensely!

In Morveria, many of the kingdoms allow and even enforce the enslavement of the beast races, whose superior strength and senses is diminished only by their weak minds; humans have prospered only because of their vastly superior intellect. The Kingdom of the Ilium Rose, where the young man resides, is not unlike the rest. His mind races. Who owns the mysterious Zesharii, and why is he roaming the streets without his master? Furthermore, how has he never noticed him before?! The town is large but it isn't that large.

Though curious, the young man has more pressing matters, such as what he will eat for dinner, if anything, and where he will sleep that night. With a little sigh, he walks the streets in search of his friends, a small band of miscreants who survive on panhandling, pickpocketing, and when their courage is sufficient, a burglary here and there. He wanders aimlessly along the earthen streets in search of his companions, only to bump into a town guard who recognizes him.

“You there! Amael! Stop!"

“What?"

“I said 'stop,' you little welp!!!" The guard roars, grabbing him.

“I didn't do anything!" Amael proclaims, the force of his shout causing him to briefly choke on his breath.

“We shall see about that! Lean against that wall and hold still!"

The youth cooperates, and is searched by the guard who is surprised to find no stolen goods anywhere on his person. With a mistrusting glare, he pulls Amael away from the wall.

“Hmph... Well... I hope you remain on the straight and narrow." He grumbles.

The guard walks away, leaving the youth by himself.

“Amael got busted! Amael got busted!" A girl's voice teases quite childishly.

He turns to see one of his friends and a member of his group, a thieving girl named Kassara. A short, dainty creature with sapphire eyes and shoulder length dirty blonde hair, which she pulls into a high ponytail, she is several years younger than him and has not developed to the point where she can practice that other profession common amongst the impoverished females. Most brothels purchase beast women to service their clients, anyway. Kassara is not homeless, but steals in order to help keep her family from becoming so. After giving the twelve-year-old a scowl, she giggles and darts off.

Though he is reluctant, he decides to follow her, to see if she will lead him to the others. It can often be very difficult to maintain contact with his group, as they are often in and out of the town jail, and are routinely hiding from the guards as well as more established criminals, who find them to be an annoyance. As he follows Kassara from a distance, a skill he has perfected over years of petty thievery, he stops in his tracks when he sees the stranger. The Zesharii walks past him and he can see the scruffy fur all around his neck. It is very shaggy and thick, but it cannot conceal his collar and tag.

The collar is very old and dirty, and the tag is no longer shiny. It appears to have been constructed of brass and a particular patina covers the medallion. The stranger sniffs the air with his black, canine nose only to turn toward a home and walk around it. Amael watches from a distance, wondering what the Zesharii is doing skulking about the property. He appears to be looking for a way inside, and after finding a window with unlatched wooden shutters, the stranger pulls them open and climbs into the home, head first.

Amael has heard the stories of such nightly rendezvous, beast men sneaking into the homes of human women to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh. The wives, sisters, daughters or neighbors of their master or master's friends often relish the attention of the simple-minded savages. In many instances, the beast men do not even need to come to them; the women sneak out of their homes and into the slave's quarters on their own volition. Though it is the middle of the day, he is fearful that he might be witnessing one of these sinister encounters and hurries away before he can hear any shrieks or moans.

He dashes some distance away from the home before he continues as he was. He searches high and low, but his delay has cost him the trail; he cannot find Kassara or their group anywhere. As his stomach begins to growl, he realizes just how long it has been since he has eaten. He makes his way toward a tavern inn, only to pause when he reaches the door. He gulps, afraid to enter the establishment where the owners know and dislike him. Unfortunately, there are few other places for him to go where he will not be recognized.

A young couple approaches the establishment, their little daughter, barely six or seven, walking between them. An enslaved beast woman walks behind the child, her long leash held by the wife. The Vostii of the bunny-kin is likely their nanny, and keeps a watchful eye on the child walking in front of her. They enter the tavern inn and Amael uses that opportunity to slip through the door, right behind the bunny. He turns toward the wall and makes his way to a darkened corner, obscured by the family. He sits and waits, watching the room, waiting for someone, anyone, to depart without a clean plate.

He sits for some time, enduring hunger pains and a growing thirst as the patrons enjoy themselves, unaware of his presence. To his surprise, even the owners, who have thrown him out several times before for thievery, do not seem to notice him. Alas, such is the fate of the homeless, youth or not. Amael sees his chance when two men finally depart, abandoning a table that is quite close to him. Several pieces of bread make up nearly half a loaf, and bits of pork and sliced potatoes could fill a beggar's cup!

He eyes the leftovers like a grand feast but waits until the barmaid is distracted. She turns to assist another group of men, rowdy men who drink copious amounts of ale in the opposite corner. That is when Amael makes his move. He walks toward the table and begins collecting the bread, stuffing it into a nearly empty satchel. He hates to leave the pork and potatoes, so he finds a mug. To his shock, there is still some ale left at the bottom! He quickly swigs it before looking about the room. He might be able to explain stolen food but a stolen cup, even a cheap pewter one, will earn him two nights in jail.

As he prepares himself for the theft, the door suddenly flies open, swinging so hard it bangs against the wattle and daub wall, cracking the white finish! The door leans on a broken hinge as the male patrons gasp and a few females scream. The bunny woman picks up the child in her care and moves closer to her owners while the rowdy men at the far corner turn to look. To Amael's shock, in walks the stranger! He looks directly at the rowdy men, ignoring the angry shouts of the tavern owner, who demands to see his tag in Ancient Hitrosii, the language spoken by most beast folk, tamed and untamed.

The stranger does not reply and takes long, heavy strides as he approaches the group of rowdy men. He raises his clawed hands and pulls his hood away, revealing a head of long, thick black hair. The natural waves give an almost regal appearance to the otherwise brutish Zesharii, who swings his arms wide as he opens his cloak to reveal tattered human clothes and a belt of gear adorning his body.

“You!" One human exclaims as he jumps to his feet.

The Zesharii snarls, baring his menacing fangs before lunging at the man who struggles to draw a dagger in self-defense. The beast man flips the table, throws one patron across the room, and attacks his initial target! Terrified, Amael scoops up the remaining food into the cup before darting away. He can hear the sounds of chaos in the background as a skirmish begins inside of the tavern inn. He races outside just as the family and their bunny girl nanny make their escape. He runs several blocks, his worn shoes thumping on the earthen streets as he makes his way toward the outskirts of town.

There, he finds an old abandoned well and sits beside it. It still contains water, though its quality is dubious at best. With his back against the stone circle, he raises the cup and lifts a chunk of partially eaten bread, eying his dinner. He devours it in record time, his stomach feeling full for the first time in days. He turns the crank and brings up a bucket of water, which he then scoops into his stolen cup. He guzzles the water before refilling it, only to hear distant voices growing steadily louder.

He worries about being caught with stolen property, as the mug bears the emblem of the tavern inn, molded into the very metal. He quickly breathes a sigh of relief when he sees Kassara and another young boy walking along the path. The boy is an orphan, an escapee from a temple of The Order of The One. The Order, a devout religious sect, would never mistreat children, whom they honor as The One's favorite of all creations, but the young boy is convinced that he can one day find his mother, who abandoned him at the temple. Amael feels a tinge of guilt when he cannot remember the boy's name.

“Amael! You survived!" Kassara chirps.

“What do you mean?"

“You were in the tavern. OH! You even got loot!" She coos, grabbing for his cup.

“You saw me?!" Amael recoils, protecting the cup.

“I see everything." Kassara quips, flashing a smug grin.

“Actually, I saw you and I told her!" The boy proudly proclaims, pressing a thumb against his chest.

“Alright, so I know everything! Better?!" She barks, starring daggers at the boy.

“Uh-huh..." He nods his little head, cowering from her dominating presence.

“What did you mean earlier, that I survived?" Amael asks the pair.

“Didn't you hear?!" The boy furls his brow in confusion.

“There was a big fight at the tavern. Two people were killed! I heard it was a massacre!" Kassara chirps, as though relishing in the carnage.

“Yeah! Guards came and everything!" The boy chirps.

“He said it was real bloody!" Kassara continues, her blue eyes wild. “I wish I could've been there..." She sighs with disappointment.

Amael looks over the young girl, an eyebrow raised in shock more than perplexity. He takes a step away from her and looks to the little boy.

“What happened?"

“We were going to ask you that." The boy retorts.

“Yeah! What did you see?!" Kassara begs.

“Well... I saw a beast man enter. He had on a hooded cloak and a belt of pouches and a sheath for a dagger... I think he was Zesharii." Amael begins.

“Ooh!" Kassara's eyes widen, her face revealing her awe. “WHAT HAPPENED NEXT?!?!"

“Some men were having drinks in the far corner, where all the drunkards sit. I was about to make my move when suddenly the Zesharii entered. He kicked in the door with such force that it broke a hinge and cracked the wall, then he approached the men in the drunkard's corner. One man seemed to know him, and then I ran." He explains.

“... What?" Her glee instantly fades, her eyes and lips now expressionless.

“I ran..." Amael repeats, then clears his throat. “... I wasn't going to sit around and watch, not when I had swag to escape with!" He boasts, holding up the cup.

Kassara rolls her eyes and turns to the boy. With her little hands tightening her ponytail, she gives the boy's shin a kick.

“Ow!" He whines and jumps on one foot, grabbing his shin. “What was that for?!"

“Wasting my time."

“Huh?! You said to take you to Amael!"

“I know what I said! Now shut up and follow me. Let's go find the others. He's no fun."

“But I-!"

“NOW!!!" She roars.

“Alright!" The boy's body slumps. “Bye, Amael."

“See you later, Kassara! Bye... You!" Amael replies, as the children depart.

Standing beside the old well with the stolen cup, he ponders what to do next. A gust flutters his clothes and his somewhat long, black hair, giving the youth a chill. He knows that the nights will only become colder as the seasons change, and winter is the worst time to survive without a home, easy access to food and supplies, or the income to purchase said supplies. His eyes light up when he recalls the old shack. Perhaps he can sleep there? Hardly anyone ventures there, as it is situated near an old graveyard on the north end of town.

Fearful of the town guards, who have already displayed a willingness and eagerness to frisk him for misplaced things, Amael decides to walk a desolate path near the forest, around the entire town. It is a long trail, and it takes him several hours to walk around the town as opposed to the thirty or so minutes it would have taken to walk straight through it on the main thoroughfare. He finds the cabin just as dusk approaches. He pokes his head inside only to find it empty and covered in dust and cobwebs. Perfect!

With a bit of evening light left, he hastily gathers some firewood from the nearby forest, collecting only that which has fallen as he has no tools to cut down better wood. He is lucky he has a flint and steel, one of the few items he possesses that wasn't lifted off some unsuspecting traveler. As he gathers the wood and even finds edible mushrooms and berries. They will serve as a late-night meal and perhaps even breakfast. It delays his gathering of firewood, however, and the sun sets before he is truly ready to use the rusty old potbelly stove inside the shack.

Knowing he will run out of firewood during the cold night, he decides to endure for as long as he can, bundling himself in an old, musty blanket left on the floor. The moth-eaten wool blanket helps keep the chill away as the twin moons rise into the sky. He stares at the beam of light coming in through one of two grimy windows, hoping the moonlit shadows of the withering trees will lull him to sleep. Suddenly, he hears branches shaking and twigs braking. Footfalls thud on the ground.

His heart begins to race, as he has no weapons with which to defend himself. A person wanders past the shack, as if they could not see it in the dark. He pulls himself to his knees and peeks over the windowsill to see a shade moving from the forest and toward the old graveyard. Overcome with curiosity, he makes his way toward the door and pokes his head outside. He contemplates calling out, but the shadowy figure has already disappeared. Though his mind warns against it, the perplexed young man steps outside and walks the old, forgotten trail toward the graveyard.

Before long he finds the stone wall, barely waist high, and supporting rusty iron bars that reach to his head. The spikes atop the bars were meant to keep grave robbers from jumping over it, but even a weak Vostii, Korutan or Sabaarii could easily leap over the obstacle, and a man as strong as the Zesharii he saw earlier could probably just as easily knock it down! Walking along the wall, he drags his fingertips against it, suppressing the urge to cough. He pulls the blanket tighter around his body, using it like a cloak as a gust of wind whistles through the trees.

A visceral fear sinks in, through his skin and down to his very bones. He looks over the mourning stones that mark the graves of the dead and shudders. His eyes scan the horizon, barely lit by the light of the twin moons, the largest moon waxing, and the smallest waning. That is when he sees it, his body tensing up. Over to his left, some hundred or so feet away, there is a shadowy figure standing before a mourning stone! The blob of darkness lowers itself, the person dropping to their knees before the grave. He hears a sound, the fluttering of pained breathing.

“I [am] sorry... I fail[ed] you..." A masculine voice speaks to the grave.

Amael is struck by the nature of their speech. It's simplistic form and missing words are indicative of a lack of comprehension. He moves closer, walking past the gates and toward the figure. If he is right then they already know he is there, but remaining hidden might behoove him. As he inches closer, he begins to discern the brown hooded cloak.

“I wish I save[d] you... I wish I [was] strong[er] then, but I-"

Step by step, Amael creeps closer only to hear the crunch of a twig beneath his foot! The figure stops mid-sentence and lifts their head, which had been bowed in reverence. The human's heart races even faster and he gulps as if trying to swallow his fear and anxiety. The stranger slowly turns to him and Amael's body begins to tremble. Green eyes glow in the night, looking the petrified youth up and down. Is this it? Is this when and where he will die? How ironic to be murdered in a graveyard.

To his bewilderment, the beast man says nothing, nor does he rise to his feet or even move from where he kneels. After sizing him up, the stranger turns away, returning his attention toward the grave. Thoroughly perplexed, Amael takes a step closer. If this is the same beast man who attacked the men in the tavern, then he is likely a murderer, and yet he shows no hostility toward the sickly youth. Amael continues his approach, his fear replaced by curiosity.

“What [do] you want?" The Zesharii abruptly speaks.

“I-I, uhm... I heard what happened at the tavern inn... I thought you were dead."

“They try, but they fail[ed]."

Amael steps even closer and the Zesharii pulls down his hood, his large hands and white razor-sharp claws giving him pause for concern. The beast man's ear twitches as the human steps a little closer, eventually standing right beside him. Amael stares down in silence for a moment before slowing sitting beside the stranger. The beast man looks over the human again but says nothing.

“It isn't usual for one of your kind to speak our language." Amael begins, trying to make small talk.

“..." The beast man remains silent, staring a hole through him.

“M-my name is 'Amael.' Uhm... What are you called?" He finally finds the courage to ask.

“Vashai..." The beast man speaks in a guttural voice, as if putting no effort into talking.

“That's a strong name."

“Yes..."

“Are you a warrior, Vashai?"

“I... [Do] not know what I am..." Vashai sighs.

“I don't understand..."

Vashai scoots closer to the grave and away from Amael, reaching out to touch the stone.

“He understand... But they kill[ed] him."

“Who?"

“I wait[ed] for many years, until I grow strong. I watch[ed] them grow old and fat, while I grow healthy and strong. Master knew I would grow strong. He tell me often that I [am] special. Master was very kind, very patient, until they kill[ed] him." Vashai begins telling his story.

“Why would they do that?"

“I [do] not know... I was young, like you..." Vashai glances back. “How many years [old are you]? Ten? Twelve?" Vashai looks back, sizing up the scrawny human.

“Fifteen."

“Fifteen?!" Vashai's face expresses his shock. “... Alright, not like you! But I was young! Anyway... They come for my master. They [are] angry with him. Master send[s] me away. He tell[s] me to hide. I want[ed] to stay and fight, but he tell[s] me [to] “go." I hide, and I watch three men attack my master..."

Vashai pauses as his eyes begin to water, his lips peeling away from his snout and revealing his gleaming teeth, his sizeable fangs unsettling Amael. He looks the sorrowful Zesharii over and realizes that he cannot be very old. The color of his teeth alone prove that he is barely twenty!

“They beat my master. Hit him with fists and feet, grab his throat and hold until he stop[ped] moving. I hide in [a] safe place. I see [them], but I [am] not able to help."

Unable to finish his story, Vashai squeezes the mourning stone, scratching it with his claws. He lifts his free hand and wipes the tears from his eyes, which no longer appear menacing to the young human. He sniffles and bows his head, overcome by the retched memory. Amael clears his throat and bows his head as he tries to think of something poignant to say.

“You were young. There was nothing you could do against three adult men."

“My master [did] not deserve to die! He care[d] for me as [a] father, and they took him away!" Vashai roars, startling Amael. “I never forget them, and I never forgive..." He speaks in a low growl, pointing a claw in Amael's face. “And now they [are] the ones who [are] dead..."

Everything begins to make sense to Amael. What he saw earlier that day was not a scandalous rendezvous between a beast man and someone's wife or daughter but something even more sinister. When Vashai approached the tavern, he was there for the men at the table. It leaves him puzzled as most beast folk do not appear to have such long and potent memories; they are carnal and savage creatures who live for each day, or so he had always been told. As he ponders Vashai's startling thirst for vengeance, something else occurs to the youth.

“How old are you?"

“I [have] live[d for] eighteen years." Vashai quietly replies.

“And how long ago was it when they killed your master?" He asks.

“Thirty-one seasons." Vashai replies, looking up at the sky. “I count[ed] each one."

“Oh..."

Almost eight years?! Why would he wait so long to claim his revenge?!

“Where have you been living all this time?! Where did you get your clothes and pouches?!" He cannot help but prod.

“I wear what my master wear. I save[d] his things after he die[d]. I [was] not able to remain inside his home, so I live[d] in the forest." Vashai answers.

“All alone?!" Amael gasps.

“No. I see people, I travel to other town[s]. [The] tag master give me keep[s] me safe." Vashai replies, grabbing the tarnished tag dangling from the ratty collar.

He caresses the tag in a peculiar manner, holding it from the front and rubbing his thumb in circles along the back. As he lets go Amael notices that the tarnished portion of the tag is primarily the front while the back is polished. He must enjoy holding his tag or suffers from some sort of nervous tick. Vashai stares at the mourning stone over his master's grave and hangs his head, his snout hiding between his legs as he curls into the fetal position, his arms wrapping around his knees.

“I [do] not understand this world. My instinct[s] help me to survive but my instinct[s] also oppose your law. I feel I have no place..." Vashai laments.

Watching the beast man as another tear escapes his eye, Amael is overcome by empathy. What a life Vashai has suffered! He too knows how it feels to be alone, unwanted, and confused. As he sits with the Zesharii before the grave, he realizes that this encounter might perhaps be fate's handiwork. Is 'The One' to blame for their meeting? He rests a hand on Vashai's shoulder, drawing the beast man's attention. He looks toward the young man's hand before shifting his gaze and peering into the youth's eyes. He studies him, and though he instinctively understands body language and facial expression, he cannot quite discern what Amael is thinking or feeling.

“Many people see me and fear [me]. Why [are] you not afraid?"

“Because I understand..." Amael speaks with a warm but confident tone.

Vashai is taken aback by this answer. Amael is so sure of himself; it makes Vashai believe him.

“I have no home. I haven't had home or family in so long that I truly have no memories of it. I have spent years trying to learn how to survive, and even today I struggle... I understand your pain, Vashai. I understand the agony of loss, and I understand why you did what you did. I don't hold it against you... In your place... I believe I would do the same."

Vashai has no words, sitting there and staring at the young man as he gives his shoulder a squeeze of assurance. He gulps as he tries to maintain his composure in the presence of a truly compassionate human, a rarity in this world. They look up at the sky and toward the two crescent moons, the points facing each other, and listen to the sounds of the night all around them. As the wind blows through them, Vashai's clothing and thick fur keep him warm but he can hear Amael shivering. Vashai turns to him but is reluctant to show concern, as most of his experiences with strange humans were less than positive.

“Where are you sleeping?" Amael asks, breaking the silence.

Vashai motions with his head at the grave.

“Here?!"

“What?"

“... Why?!" Amael furls his brow.

“It [is] where I belong."

Amael's face reveals his shock.

“You do not belong here. This is a place for the dead!"

“But this [is] where my master lay." Vashai retorts.

“Alright, I think I can speak with confidence when I say that your master, if he was still alive, would not want you sleeping here... Or am I wrong?"

“No... He [would] not..." Vashai murmurs.

“Well... Why not come with me?" Amael offers, rising to his feet.

“Hmm?!"

“It may only be as comfortable as the ground, but it will certainly be warmer!"

“I [do] not need [a] warm place to sleep."

“Stop it. I'm trying to be nice to you." Amael grumbles in frustration.

“Why?"

“What?! That's a silly question!"

“..."

Seeing that the beast man is serious, Amael holds out a hand.

“I'm being nice to you because no one should suffer alone, and neither of us has anyone."

“You offer only for yourself?"

“And for you... Are you going to keep questioning me or will you take my hand?"

After a moment of quiet, Vashai grabs Amael's hand and rises to his feet. As big and strong as he is, he did not need any help from the scrawny human but the gesture warms his heart, regardless. Amael feels something on his palm as he pulls his hand away, something sticky. He pulls an old rag from his pocket and wipes his hands as he leads the beast man to the old shack. Once inside, he uses his flint and steel over a bundle of dry grass and crushed leaves, sparking a fire. He moves the flame into the old pot belly stove and begins to add the sticks, despite knowing that he does not have enough wood to last the night.

As the fire grows, he retrieves a small candle from a pocket and lights it as well, setting it near where he had found the ratty wool blanket. The light from the flames brightens up the small cabin and Amael begins to see Vashai more clearly. He looks to his hands only to see them stained. The familiar red liquid, mostly dried, leaves him unsettled. Taking his rag and a bit of water from a small glass bottle he keeps in his satchel to quench his thirst at night, he begins cleaning the beast man's hands, wiping his palms, the fur on his fingers, and even underneath his long and sharp claws.

Vashai sits in silence, touched by the kindness of the young human. His instincts tell him that he shows weakness, that he is easy prey for the physically superior Zesharii, whose bloodline is strengthened by both Vostii of the bear-kin and Korutan of the horse-kin. However, his mind recalls his master, how gentle and compassionate he was. He was molded by the kindhearted man who raised him since before he had memory, and as he looks to Amael, who throws the tainted rag into the fire before offering him berries and mushrooms for dinner, Vashai cannot help but see a striking resemblance in their personalities.

He refuses the food but only because he genuinely has no appetite. Rather than eat in front of him, Amael saves it for later. He appears content to sit and talk with the beast man. The human admits that his Ancient Hitrosii is not very good and so he does not often communicate with any of the beast folk; speaking to Vashai is quite refreshing and Vashai shares this sentiment. Amael learns many things, such as he has no real connections to the town or any friends to speak of, and that he has survived through hunting, trapping and a bit of thievery for which the beast man feels quite remorseful.

This knowledge shocks him, turning everything he thought he knew about the beast folk on its head. They are still primitives, whose culture, when not guided by the hands of man, is brutal, carnal, and overall lacking in modesty. However, there is a depth to Vashai that he was not expecting, a character that could easily pass for human. If only his grammar was a bit more refined, he would blend into a dark room! It leaves Amael relaxed and comfortable with the beast man in record time, and Vashai is himself startled by the remarkable speed at which he warms up to the human.

After stoking the fire with the last of their wood, Amael and Vashai lie down to sleep on the wooden floor. Upon awakening, Vashai discovers that he had wriggled closer to the human and had placed his back against Amael's. This was not startling in the least as the beast folk are, more often than not, highly social and very tribal creatures. What surprises him is that he awoke to the sounds of Amael shivering, the fire having burned itself out during the night, and moved closer of his own volition, to comfort the human.

He sits up and feels his tail is raised. Peering over his shoulder, he sees that his long tail, a cross between a wolf's tail with a horse's mane, is draped over the young man's torso. He wonders what drove him to give warmth to the human who, only a day earlier, was a stranger to him. Vashai pulls his tail away. Once Amael feels the chill and awakens, he quickly remembers the food and offers what little he has to his new friend, despite his own stomach growling. It serves as Vashai's reminder, and he cannot help but grin just a little as he claims only half a serving. The rest he leaves for Amael.

“What [are] your plan[s]?" Vashai wonders, chewing on a cold mushroom cap.

“I rarely make plans. It's often a struggle to make it to the next day." The youth admits, popping a few berries into his mouth.

Vashai pauses, his gaze unsettling the human. Why does he stare at him like that? Is he contemplating something? The beast man's eyes turn away, looking at the few berries left in his palm. The similarities between his life and Amael's are too hard to ignore. Unwilling to voice his thoughts just yet, Vashai pops the berries into his mouth. Suddenly, his erect wolf-like ears twitch, shifting toward a sound that Amael's inferior hearing cannot yet detect. He lifts his head and looks toward the wall, a warning to his human companion.

Amael quickly shovels what is left of his meal into his mouth and crawls toward a grimy window. He can see two figures a distance down the road. They are wearing armor!

“Quick! We have to hide!" Amael runs back to Vashai.

“Where?"

“The forest!" He says, pulling at some loose boards against the back wall.

Vashai cannot help but wonder if he is bringing more trouble onto the human than he's worth.

“Come on! We can still escape, but we must hurry! Get up, Vashai!"

Only the youth's vocal insistence gets him moving. As he drops to his hands and knees to crawl out through the hole, Amael grabs his collar and yanks, tearing it from his neck.

“And you cannot wear this!"

“Hey, give that back!" Vashai roars in anger.

Amael recoils but his face is stern, his brow stiff and his lower eyelids raised as if shocked that the Zesharii would dare oppose him. It causes Vashai to pause.

“Did any of the guards see you yesterday?"

“I... [Do] not know..." Vashai admits.

“Even if they didn't, others did. We have to change your appearance. Thankfully, this collar and tag and that cloak are the most distinguishing features. We must be rid of them."

With a frustrated sigh, Vashai removes his hooded cloak and drops it to the floor. He then crawls through the hole only for Amael to follow him, leaving behind the ratty wool blanket. They make their way toward the forest and move beyond the trees before the guards ever have a chance to see them. They stop for a moment so that Amael can bury Vashai's old collar and tag. As he watches his master's name being covered in dirt, he feels a pain in his chest. The sorrow begins to overwhelm him, but Vashai's ears twitch again as he hears the guards reaching the cabin.

Amael was right. The guards remind themselves to be ready for the murderous beast man, then kick down the door only to find the cloak, which they remark as being the same cloak described by the witnesses. Vashai turns away, silently thankful for the human's guidance. Brushing the dirt from his hands, Amael begins to lead Vashai in the general direction of the nearest town. When following the road, it is a day's ride on horseback and nearly three days when on foot; it will be even longer when moving through the forest.

“If we arrive before word spreads, we can figure out a way to get you a new collar and tag, then I can claim you as my own, saying I found you as a stray. It's a story people will easily believe. Once you have new tags and papers, we should be able to travel freely without arousing too much suspicion, then we can travel to a place where word of your deeds will not reach anyone of consequence." He says as they trudge through the wilderness.

“Why [are] you help[ing] me?" Vashai asks.

“Because I don't think you're a bad person and you could use my help... And also because I don't have anything else going on right now!" Amael chuckles.

“..."

“It was joke... Come on!"

They walk through the forest for many hours, slowing their pace when Amael begins to cough. Though he tries to downplay the severity of his condition, Vashai knows better. His new friend and companion is not well. As they come upon a clearing, they discover a pristine pool, the clear water revealing the soft soil at the very bottom of the natural spring. They sit by the water's edge to drink their fill. Amael uses his stolen pewter cup while Vashai drops down to all fours and dips his snout into the water.

“Here."

Lifting his head, the water dripping from his chin, Vashai is surprised to see the human offering him a drink from his cup! He hesitates to take it, but only because he is processing the offer.

“Or would you rather dunk your head in it?" Amael chuckles, then coughs.

“No." Vashai collects the cup, unable to hide a little smile.

They share the cup while Amael refills his small glass bottle. Just then, they hear a startling noise. Loud thumping shakes the very ground and they both spring to their feet. Amael turns to Vashai, who sniffs the air. He looks to the human, but before he can utter a sound the trees spread apart. The duo stands in shock and awe as a pair of Toulpa! The nine-foot-tall beasts walk on two feet and possess two arms and hands, but there is nothing human or even beast folk about them.

They are covered in a thick, rough hide which blends in with the ground and the trees around them; they are often mistaken for hillsides, which they are content to rest on, or trees or boulders. Odd growths look like rocks and shrubbery, and they come in every color of the natural world. Driven by pure instinct and without any known speech, the Toulpa approach the spring without fear. Despite their size, neither Amael or Vashai is afraid, as though these powerful creatures are exceptionally dangerous when provoked, their natural state is one of apathy.

They treat most creatures with disinterest, lumbering about in search of water or food, which consists entirely of plants. They are never aggressive and rarely give chase, except in rare instances when their territory has been violated. They look to the pair with glowing orange eyes, narrowing them in a show of displeasure. The ground shakes as they separate and walk around the spring. Vashai turns his head, watching as they are slowly surrounded, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

Hearing a noise, he turns his head to look and sees a much smaller Toulpa, standing roughly as tall as Amael. It is their child! The Toulpa to their left raises a stony looking hand and balls a fist, their fingers making a sound like thick branches breaking.

“Run!" Vashai yells.

He pulls Amael away just as the beast swings its fist, the air forced away with a loud whoosh. The other Toulpa walks faster, their feet like tree trunks with roots going every which way slamming into the ground and causing it to shake. The pair race away from the spring and towards the forest as the little Toulpa splashes playfully in the water, absorbing it through the plant-like growths on its skin. The parents chase them for only a short time, unwilling to abandon their offspring. During the chase, however, Amael and Vashai are separated, running in opposite directions.

The beast man races as fast as he can, which is considerably faster than the sickly young human; even a healthy adult human could never match his gait. After running until he grows tired, he slows to a stop only to look back and realize that he is alone! He turns back and considers calling out to Amael only to ponder the duration of his sprint. How far away is he? Will the human even hear him? He begins to walk toward the spring, searching for signs of either his human companion or the Toulpa that chased him.

It is a fruitless effort, and after nearly two hours he is about to give up. He takes a seat on a log and lifts a leg, rubbing his footpads and sighing. Suddenly, an ear twitches. Amael's faint voice calls out to him! Jumping up from the log, Vashai turns toward the sound. When he hears it again, he begins the march to reunite with his companion. The closer her gets to Amael, the more he can discern the subtle sounds of his voice. The human is panicked, downright terrified. What's more, he coughs at the end of nearly every fearful shout.

“Vashai! ... Vashai?! ... Vashai, where are you?!"

Standing near an old growth tree, Vashai first ensures that another Toulpa is not blending in with the bumpy and crooked trunk. Satisfied that he is safe, he leans against the tree and continues to listen, a force he cannot explain keeping him from presenting himself.

“Vashai?! Where are you?! Vashai!!! ... Please, Adonai... Don't do this to me..." Amael coughs and hacks after a particularly powerful yell, only to whimper to the human's deity.

The force holding him still is the primal beast within him. It speaks to him, reminding him of the youth's illness. It tells him that Amael is fifteen-years-old but he is built like he's several years younger. It urges him to abandon the human and fend for himself, as he had been for nearly a decade. These troubling thoughts unnerve Vashai, who shakes his head and recalls a more pertinent memory. He stood barely two-feet-tall and wandered in the woods near his master's garden. The young boy was panicked and cried, calling out his master's name, only for hands to grab him from behind and pick him up.

“Master! You find me!"

“Of course." The man laughed, carrying the beast child. “I will never abandon you, little one."

“Never?!"

“Never." His master promised, his expression changing.

“Why [do] you look [so] sad?" Little Vashai asked.

“As you grow, you will learn that not everyone will support you, not everyone will care..."

“Oh..." Little Vashai whimpered, gripped with uncertainty.

“When you have someone who cares for you, someone you can trust, someone loyal, you should nurture the seeds of that relationship." He explained.

“What? I should plant seeds?" Little Vashai scratched his head.

“No."

“I [do] not understand."

“You will, someday." His master smiled.

Listening to Amael's panicked voice as he calls out to Vashai, the beast man understands what his master had said. How could he listen to his primal voice and abandon the sickly human who has already done so much for him? His master would be so ashamed if he was alive and witnessed that! Stepping out from behind the old growth tree, he calls out to the human, who turns and smiles.

“Vashai! I thought I'd lost you!" He exclaims, then coughs.

“No. I [am] right here."

They approach each other and Amael rests a hand on Vashai's arm, giving him a little pat as he flashes a warm smile. With Vashai's skill as a woodsman, they quickly regain their bearings and press on. However, Amael's illness has only grown steadily worse since the attack by the Toulpa parents. He coughs every few steps and neither he nor Vashai can ignore it any longer.

“We must stop." Vashai says, resting a hand on the human's back as he coughs.

“N-no... We can go... A little further... Before dark." Amael pauses to take deep but shaky breaths.

“I will speak plain[ly]... You [are] not healthy enough to continue. You must recover."

“No, I'm fine... I just... Need. To..."

Before he can finish speaking, Amael faints and falls to the ground. Taking a knee and rolling him onto his side, Vashai feels for a pulse. After breathing a sigh of relief, he takes a moment to ponder what to do. He formulates a plan and drags Amael toward a nearby tree with a very thick trunk. Removing his shirt and belt of gear, Vashai keeps the large dagger and sheath that once belonged to his master while leaving the rest in a neat pile beside the human. He heads into the forest and harvests herbs and a particular flower before returning, leaving the flora bundled in his shirt.

While Amael rests, he begins gathering branches and constructing a small hut, using the trunk of the large tree as a support beam. He crafts a semi-circular structure around the human, a task that takes many hours. He finds fallen branches of sufficient length and thickness, but when those are depleted, he resorts to breaking new ones off living trees with brute strength. Nightfall does not slow him down, his emerald eyes glowing as he sees clearly in the darkness. By dawn, the young beast man is thoroughly exhausted. However, his work is not yet finished.

With the shelter constructed and a fire pit dug in the dirt near the entrance, Vashai starts a small fire with Amael's flint and steel, then he burns the bundle of flora. As the smoke rises, thick and pungent, he tries to keep it contained by blocking the entrance with live branches still containing some leaves, then covering it with his shirt. Only then does he lean against the trunk of the tree, near the shelter's entrance, and rest. The smoke fills the shelter and penetrates Amael's lungs, cleansing the infected tissue.

He endures vivid dreams of grandeur and adventure that often devolve into a kaleidoscope of memories with drastically altered details. They make little sense and only serve to confuse him. Suddenly, the dreams end and Amael finally awakens in a dark chamber filled with sweet smelling smoke atop a bed of leaves. He sits up and looks around, finding a bed of coals nearby, glowing faintly. They are still quite warm to the touch. A trickle of light comes through a wall, which is not as sturdy as the others and has some thick fabric covering it.

After making a hole in the wall and crawling out of the shelter, Amael is shocked to find himself in a well-established camp! Another debris hut sits nearby, built against the opposite side of the same tree as his own, a central fire pit crackles and a butchered deer hangs from its ankles some fifteen- or twenty-meters way. He sniffs the air and turns to see the deer's meat carved into pieces and cooking on skewers. He hears heavy footfalls and tries to call out, only to feel a cool sensation in his throat and a tickle in his lungs. He nearly coughs but catches himself and clears his throat.

“Amael?" Vashai's voice speaks to him from somewhere nearby.

“Yes. Where are you?"

“Try not [to] talk very much. You [are] still heal[ing]." Vashai replies, his voice growing louder.

“Where did all this come from?" Amael looks over the campsite.

“I make it."

“You made it?! How long ha-"

Amael stops mid-sentence when the beast man emerges from behind the second shelter, nude. He glimpses his form only to quickly look away from him and the obviously equine genitalia he possesses.

“Where are your clothes?" Amael quietly asks.

Vashai approaches him, causing Amael to lean back. The beast man stands with his parts displayed, hanging quite close to Amael's face as he casually gathers his clothes which he had hung over the partially blocked entrance. Smoke rises in little puffs from between the desiccated leaves as he reclaims shirt and pants, after first shaking them out.

“Now that you [are] better, I [can] wear this." Vashai casually remarks, pulling on his pants. “And they smell nice!"

“Thank you... So, how long have we been here? How long have I been resting?" Amael glances around the camp again.

“Four days and four days." Vashai replies, pulling on his shirt and fastening the buttons.

“Four days?!" Amael exclaims before nearly coughing.

“Rest!" Vashai urges, taking a knee beside him. “You [are] not fully heal[ed]. [Your] lungs need time to gain strength."

Vashai walks toward the fire, his big paw-like feet thumping and crunching the dry leaves scattered about their camp. He retrieves a skewer from over the fire and presents it to Amael, along with his small glass bottle of water. It is still full.

“Eat, rest, and when you [are] better, we [will] continue." He says before rising to his feet and turning away.

“Vashai, wait..."

“Yes?" He turns back.

“You stayed with me and helped me..." He says, looking gratefully at the meal. “Thank you."

“You [have] show[n] loyalty. You [are] kind and caring. Those [are] traits [that] deserve reward[ing]." Vashai replies with a smile before ruffling the youth's hair. “Rest!"

For the next two days, Amael continues to rest. The deer meat feeds them throughout their stay and Vashai dutifully refills the cup and glass bottle with water, though after the first day Amael is strong enough to do it himself. Amael continues the smoke treatments and by the morning of the seventh day in camp, his lungs have finally recovered. They are finally ready to continue with Vashai's grand escape, however, they have spent so much time there that Amael knows word of Vashai's deeds have likely reached beyond the next town.

Amael instead offers to travel with Vashai to a city many miles away, a proposition that suits the beast man. He has never been to the city before, and traveling with the human gives him a literal and figurative sense of direction. Now that he has avenged his former master, he has nothing else, nothing driving him except survival. Perhaps Amael will change that? They begin their journey that day, but only after dismantling the camp. They travel for many days in the lonely forest, evading predators such as the massive dire wolves and the vicious quill-bears, while foraging and hunting for food.

Their company is all either of them requires; throughout their journey, Vashai teaches Amael survival tips, showing him how to hunt and trap and discern what water is likely safe to drink, as well as methods of naturally filtering it. He even teaches him about herbal medicines, a skill most valuable in the wilderness. Amael, likewise, schools Vashai on the inner workings of city life; societal norms, expectations of the beast folk, basic economics, and the dirty world of underground politics. Vashai always listens intently when he speaks, which warms Amael's heart. It is nice to have a real friend.

After a few weeks of journeying through the woodlands, they emerge into a clear-cut field. Farmers have already begun converting it. Far in the distance sits a massive abstract form; they gaze upon the walls and towering stone structures of the city! When they do arrive, they will need to part with much of their belongings, selling it to whoever shows interest and perhaps even a fence. They will need all the currency they can get their hands on if they are going to escape without capture. The more he learns, the more Vashai realizes the risks Amael is taking by helping him, and the more indebted to the human he feels.

Traveling in the wilderness and surviving off wild game, trapped fish, foraged fruits, and vegetables has made Amael's body become stronger and much healthier. He feels ready to tackle the perils of the city for the sake of his only genuine friend. If Vashai did not know any better, he would say that the youth had grown an inch taller as well! By the time they reach the city, they are more than ready to continue their little adventure. Amael keeps the Zesharii close and when they are stopped by a guard who demands his papers, it is Amael's turn to save Vashai.

He pleads with the guard, proclaiming that Vashai was a stray who had helped him after he became injured in the wilderness while journeying to the city to find his last surviving relative. To return the favor, and because he had grown fond of “the noble beast," he wishes to claim him, attain papers, and bring him to live with a supposed aunt. He even explains away the clothes and dagger as items he had given the beast man after he proved trustworthy. Like all good lies, he sprinkles in a surprising amount of truth and is so convincing that even Vashai begins to believe in this aunt.

“Just be sure you stop at the smith and buy him some tags, and don't dawdle!" The guard warns him before departing.

With the crisis averted, Vashai thanks his companion with a simple nod of his head. They wander the streets for a little while and it does not take long for Amael, an experienced pickpocket, to lift some coins and a time piece off an unsuspecting traveler. With a few zakians in-hand, he does as the guard instructed and takes Vashai to the blacksmith, who, in many cities and villages, stamps the tag that claimed beast folk are legally required to wear. He feeds the blacksmith the very same story and without forgetting or confusing a single detail.

He so thoroughly convinces the blacksmith that he offers a discounted rate for the young man. For the cost of one copper zakian he uses a special press, sets the type, and then stamps a bronze tag for Vashai. As no one heard his name during the tavern attack, they do not even bother to give him a fake one. Vashai looks at the pristine tag, a script his mind cannot decipher spelling out his name in the human's alphabet. He cannot help but smile. Finally, the blacksmith presents them with a simple hemp rope and a thin copper wire to serve as a temporary collar.

“Here. Use this until your aunt can give your new friend a better one!" The blacksmith chirps, attaching everything together.

“Oh, thank you, kind sir! If only more people had your heart!" Amael gushes, tying the rope collar loosely around Vashai's neck.

With a collar, tag, and a set of papers that the blacksmith drafts during the sale, Vashai is officially Amael's property and has a proper cover to aid in their escape. Upon leaving the shop, Amael uses his knowledge of the criminal underworld to easily locate a fence, disguised as a jewelry merchant. They sell the time piece and pewter cup, as well as a few small knickknacks that Vashai had kept among the many pouches he wears. After his time with Amael, they no longer seem as important as the once did. Combined with the coins Amael had lifted from the blissfully ignorant traveler, they carry five silver pieces, large ones.

Amael looks at the palm of his hand, holding more wealth than he has seen in his entire life. Just then, a sinister thought crosses his mind. Could he keep the zakians and go about his business? After all, Vashai clearly does not need his help with surviving! What if there is a reward for Vashai?! Turning back to his companion, Amael watches as the beast man plays with his tag in the very same manner he had with his first master's tag; he holds the front with his fingers and rubs circles on the back with his thumb. Vashai turns to him, as if feeling his gaze, and gives the human a rather innocent little smile.

All the wicked thoughts are banished from his mind. How could Amael ever betray such a good and loyal companion?! He has never had anyone care for him so much in his life, let alone help him as he has! Curling his fingers around the coins, Amael gives the beast man a nod and the pair depart the fence's booth where he promptly tries to sell a ring to a passing woman.

“Where [will] we go?" Vashai asks, looking down at the human, who jingles the coins in his hand.

“Well..." Amael sighs and slips them into his coin purse, now hanging around his neck. “I have always wanted to see the tropics... Have you ever been to Zhanai?"

“Hmm?!" Vashai's ear perk up, his eyes widening. “No! [Is] that where we [are] go[ing]?!"

“If you aren't opposed to the idea. I think we can afford it, and I'd like to go." Amael smiles.

“Where you go, I go, 'master.'" Vashai grins, reaching up to play with his tag.

“Good, because I'm beginning to enjoy having you around." Amael smirks.

They share a chuckle as they make their way through the thoroughfare, eventually spotting a wagon train near a small building at the edge of the city. A sign above the door displays the cost of tickets to set destinations, some of them quite far away.

“Full package trips. Flat rate. All considerations made!" Another sign proclaims.

Vashai looks to Amael, intrigued by the wagons and the powerful draft horses who pull them.

“[Will] we ride inside [of the] wagons?"

“Yes. We can take a convoy all the way to Zhanai."

“OH! [Are] there females in Zhanai?!" Vashai's eyes light up.

“Why wouldn't there be?"

“[Can] we find some when we [get] there?!"

“Uhh, sure. Why not?"

“Haha! I [am] glad I [did] not kill you in [the] graveyard!" Vashai exclaims, slapping his human companion on the back.

“..."