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If you aren't mentally mature enough to read about various forms of sex, then go away. I don't care what your physical age is - legality varies widely, anyway. If you're too repressed/undeveloped to be reading about sex, why are you here? This story not intended for use during operation of nuclear facilities, aircraft navigation/communication systems, submarine vessels, nuclear weapons, sharp pointed objects, or any other hazardous activity in which failure could lead to death, injury, property damage, environmental damage or lawsuit. All natural; No preservatives; 98% fatuity-free. Close cover when striking. Practice safe sex ... practice, practice, practice - until you get it right.

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This is the Final Edit. Deepest gratitude and many thanks & hugs to those of you faithful readers who've spotted typos/errors and emailed me.

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Healer, Advocate, Warrior Chief

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Introducing Ser Advocate Isaac Tufts, 26, and Samuel Riverman, 16.

This is to establish the situation, and give some hints to the story that grows from it.

There will be plenty of M/M & M/F yiffing later; even some F/M/M...

INFORMATION

World:

One in which miscellaneous mammals made the leap to intelligence; although it's possible that simians did, this civilization isn't aggressive about exploring (they lack the all-consuming monkey-curiosity of Humans) and no-one has crossed the Atlantic, so they aren't aware of what's on Africa/Europe.

Era:

Dating is from the oldest known written documents. Several centuries ago, the carnivores, herbivores & insectivores of Central North America came to an agreement. Each group has its own Supreme Council; the three Councils together are the government. Each Council is basically responsible for its own type, although authority is shared over all.

The science/tech level is approximately that of our 1900, with some variations.

Politics:

East of the Missouri River, South of the Great Lakes, things are more primitive, splintered into a myriad of Baronies - Strength Makes Right.

West of the Rockies, although the residents are quite familiar with how things are in the Lands of the Combined Councils, they choose to remain at a tribal level. Often savage, always dangerous, they have no interest in joining into larger governmental organizations. There's a steady exchange of individuals moving both ways between the Tribal Lands and the Combined Councils Lands, seeking a life more to their taste.

North is the Vast Wasteland (Canada), a frozen hell. At least, that's how it appears to all but furrs such as snowtigers, bears, snowfoxes, fisheagles & so on.

South of the SouthWestern and SouthCental Desert is the Desert Alliance of Lizards & Avians. A harshly-ruled empire, DALA is unremittingly hostile toward the Lands.

SouthEast is the Island Hegemony. As high-tech as the Lands (if not more so), they're Anarchic Syndicalist - the Hegemony is run pretty well by its Associations. They'll sell anything to anyone...

Religion:

Furrs have a very simple religion. No priests - it's taught in school Philosophy courses. No meddling deities, no Divine Intervention of any kind.

Its basic principle is that Everyfurr Is Part Of The All.

Its basic rule is All Debts Of Any Kind Must Be Properly Paid.

Its basic tenet is Never Do To Anyone That Which You Wouldn't Want Done To You.

Relationships:

As a rule, at least in the Council Lands, no-one particularly cares who/what you love. All that matters in the furrs' minds is: Do You Love The Other Furr And Will You Treat Your Lover With Respect And Affection?

Calendar:

Year commences on First Day of Spring 1, the Equinox.

7-day weeks - Onedy, Twody, Threedy, Fourdy, Fivedy, Sixdy, Sevdy

4-week months

3-month seasons

5-season year - the final odd bit is called Renewal. Traditionally, contracts, elections and other important decisions are made then.

~=~

First Week, Spring 2, Year 1580

Healer, Advocate, Warrior Chief

The two tods clutched each other's paws tightly as they were escorted to the imposing door of the Chamber of High Justice. The smaller one was slender and brightly colored - his red fur was almost like flame, his gloves, socks, ears and tailtip were glossy black like polished obsidian. His white neckfur and tailend were rich cream. At sixteen, he was often mistaken for fourteen. His slacks and shirt were spotlessly clean, but obviously well-worn. The other was a husky forty-year-old, more brown than red, dressed formally in pressed black slacks and a long-sleeved white tunic.

A vulpinoid couple stood nearby, the mel wearing the tunic of a Senior Healer and holding his mourning-clad vixen tightly. They glared silently at the adult fox.

The older tod withdrew his grip from his son, drew himself up, licked his lips, and spoke to the mature lynx with them. "In ... there now, Ser Tufts?"

The five-foot-eight lynx was dressed all in black - a severely-cut long-sleeved, high-necked tunic, plain trousers and high black leather boots. It looked very like a military uniform, but was the standard garb for advocates appearing in court.

Isaac Tufts, the fox's Advocate, nodded. "Yes, Sandy, in there." Turning to the Court Guards, he said, "I don't think we need restraints now."

One doberman Guard silently reached down and unlocked the legcuffs from the tod who was on trial.

As the door opened, the young tod stepped out of the way to wait as Ser Tufts escorted Sandy Fielder into the trial chamber for trial.

It was a stark room - there was no decoration, just a small statue of Lady Justice: a direwolf fem holding a sword wrapped with the flag of the Combined Council. Nearest the door, there were two simple small tables. A row of five tables, no bigger or fancier, faced those from across the room. The walls were solid slabs of polished granite opened only by light-slits at the top.

Going directly to the seats provided for Accused and Advocate, they passed close by one of the Justices who were standing about the Chamber. "Ser Advocate Isaac," a huge pantheress greeted the lynx. "Been quite a while since we have seen you here."

"Sera Justice Roamer, I have been busy with my regular practice - and doing a bit of extra duty with the Guard. The Border has been lively lately."

"Yes, yes ... something is going to have to be done about that ... and soon, or things could easily get very unpleasant."

Before the lynx could say more, the Chamber Guard stroked a gong, calling all present to the business of the Court.

"Hear all ye, hear all ye, the High Court of Carnivoria is called to judgment this Twody, the first day of the second month of Spring in this fifteen hundred and eightieth year of the Councils. By order of the Combined Councils, the High Court of Carnivoria is called to decide on the fate of this accused, Ser Sandy Fielder. Any not having due business in the case are requested and required to leave."

All took their assigned seats. Ser Tufts leaned over close to Ser Fielder's ear and whispered, "There's still time ..."

The tod shook his head. "NO. I'm not admitting to any guilt. It wasn't my fault that kit was killed."

Tufts sat back and sighed. He'd tried to make Sandy understand that false pride had to stop outside the Court door, that the Justices didn't care about the self-serving delusions of an Accused. He'd failed.

~=~

An hour later, the Court's Accuser having completed describing the charges and evidence against the tod, he turned and nodded to Tufts. "Ser Advocate Tufts, please now explain to the Court why Ser Sandy Fielder should not be punished to the maximum for the death of that kit."

Before Advocate Tufts could commence, the arrogant tod stood up and addressed the Justices directly. The Chamber Guard blinked in startlement - this was not how things were done.

"This is nonsense. It wasn't my fault the stupid kit ran out onto the roadway, even if I was going a little bit too fast -"

Before he got any further, the Senior Justice growled a basso-profundo "Quiet." The Justice, a huge tiger, leaned forward. "Ser Fielder, did you read what is carved on the door you came in? 'Protection for the helpless, Service to the community, Justice for the accused.' We are here because you stole a groundcar and recklessly raced it down a residential street, striking and killing a six-year-old kit, Leafley Wind, who was playing. At the time, you took your immature son with you on your ride. It has been determined that he had nothing to do with the stealing or driving of the groundcar, that he was just a passenger you ordered along and who could have been killed in the wreck. Now, the question is just how you shall pay for your -"

The tiger's upper lip rolled back exposing his fangs as the tod interrupted.

"That brat didn't belong in the road and ..."

"I see. Then you see no reason you should be punished? You deny that you were directly and personally responsible?"

The Justice at the left, an old wolverine, raised one paw and stopped the tod from speaking further. "I think we have heard enough. There is absolutely no doubt about what took place. Advocate Tufts, is there anything you can say to this Court in the matter?"

Isaac rose and bowed, shaking his head. "Sers and Sera Justices, I have tried to make Ser Fielder understand but have failed. He accepts no blame, takes no responsibility for what occurred."

"He is of full legal age, obviously. He is mentally competent, is he not? No, nevermind, of course he is or he wouldn't be appearing here."

The Justices looked at one-another, then rose and stepped into the private room behind their tables.

There was only a ten-minute delay, then the Justices returned to the Chamber, coming around their tables and standing in a row facing Sers Fielder and Tufts.

Tufts closed his eyes in a painful grimace. Then, "Justices? Must ..."

The Senior Justice raised a huge black-and-orange paw, silencing him. "Yes. In the name of the Land, in the name of the Victim, the Debt must be paid."

Tufts's ears were limply flat as he bowed his head. "Ser Justice, I - I ask only that, for the sake of the young one waiting outside, you make it quick."

"Advocate Tufts," the wolverine replied in a startlingly soft, gentle voice, "we always do."

~=~

The door closed behind Isaac as he stepped over to the young tod waiting outside. One of the Court Guards flicked a questioning ear, and Isaac shook his head. The Guard sighed and checked the soundproof door, making sure it was closed completely - it fit so tightly it almost made an airtight seal.

Isaac wiped his eyes; although he disliked the condemned tod, he hated to see anyone die when it wasn't really necessary.

"Is ... is he ..."

"No, Samuel, your father will not be coming out."

The nearby fox couple nodded their heads, not in satisfaction but acknowledgement. Sandy Fielder losing his life wouldn't bring back their kit, but it might help them rebuild their lives. They walked unsteadily away to a waiting groundcar, the Healer supporting his mate - she seemed to be moving by blind instinct.

Tears welled up in Samuel Fielder's big green eyes, making them appear gigantic, as he stared at Isaac's face. His lip quivered, then he almost crumpled to the ground. Isaac already had hold of him and held him tightly. He knew Samuel's mother had died years earlier and that he had not a single living relative now that his father was gone.

"Come. Nothing is left here for us to do. Let's go somewhere and - and have something to eat. You haven't eaten at all today, have you? Or yesterday either?" He knew he had to get the youth away from the Court.

Samuel whimpered, "No, no ... I don't ..."

Isaac Tufts led the young tod out the entryway, shaking his head at the waiting newsfurrs. He simply said to them, "He defied the Court."

"Samuel. Samuel? Are you ready to eat?" quietly asked Isaac. He forced a smile. "I've gotten to know you well enough these past weeks that I'm sure you can manage at least a sandwich. I don't think you've eaten enough to survive."

Samuel whimpered again, wiping his eyes with a black-gloved paw, and tried to regain his composure enough to smile up at Isaac. "Yes, well, if you insist, I'll force myself." His long, slender muzzle quivered a bit, but held steady. His attempt at a smile was a complete failure.

Isaac's mind stuttered as he gazed down into the tod's eyes. [This, this child is stronger than I am. I could not have held up as well as he has. And those eyes! By the All, they're like looking into green tunnels! I never really noticed before what a fine specimen of vulpinity Samuel is. That imbecile Sandy! How could he have done something so stupid, risking his only kit's life?]

"Y-yes. Well. Hmph. Let's go, then. How about roast chicken?"

~=~

Sitting in the restaurant, Isaac pressed Samuel, almost forcing him to make conversation. He knew the tod would recover - it was becoming clearer and clearer to him that Samuel had a fine core of strength.

Isaac thought: [Wonder if he inherited his moral fiber from Sandy? I hope so - at least that drunken fool left his offspring something.] Then he snorted loudly enough that Samuel paused in taking another mouthful of chicken and looked questioningly at him. [Oh my, those eyes again! What would I do to impress him? And why do I keep thinking that?]

"Er, I'm okay, just ... just something almost went down the wrong way."

Samuel smiled shyly.

[He's recovering from the shock. Good.] "Now. Um. Do you think you still have enough room for us to finish this off with ice cream?"

When they finished eating, Isaac drove back to the Orphans' Hostel Samuel'd lived at since Sandy was arrested. "I'll check on you tomorrow, all right?"

"Oh sure. Don't worry, ser, I'm fine. It was just ..."

"Yes. Well. You have my number if you need me. Just call and I'll come straight over. For anything. It's my obligation."

He watched Samuel turn away to go in. [Oh my. Just look at that gorgeous rear in those tight pants. His tail is like a giant poofy candle. I'll bet his tailhole is ... ahem]

~=~

Fourth Week, Spring 3, Year 1580

Over the next several weeks, Isaac made numerous visits to Samuel Fielder, taking him out for meals and a couple of movies. He was pleased to see that the young tod appeared to be recovering. Samuel would always mourn the loss of his father, of course, but it didn't seem to have torn him up inside.

Isaac spent many evenings questioning himself. Why was he so attracted to the tod? A tod ten years younger than Isaac was. A tod who had no family to support and protect him. Was he nothing more than a predator, wanting the youngster as he'd want a bird he'd run down? Suddenly, it struck him - No! Not like a predator! He wanted to protect Samuel, to care for him. To have and to hold him for a very long time.

This was something new for Isaac. He'd vaguely realized he was a tailraiser before he was eighteen. He'd never had any sexual interest in any of the fems he knew and, at his High School graduation dance, was startled to realize he was more interested in watching the tails of the dancing mels than in the breasts and tails of the fems. During his college years, he experimented infrequently with a variety of mels he met in the town bars. Never looking for a romantic attachment, only for physical pleasure and relief, he rarely dated the same mel twice.

Now ... what was this? Could it be that he had found the sort of mythical "soulmate" you read about in trashy broadsheets?

He did not know; by the All, he did not know. What he did know was that, every night as he fell asleep, he could see nothing in his dreams but Samuel. Samuel's white chestfur shimmering in the sun, Samuel's flat young belly and fluffy sheath, Samuel stretching, Samuel naked, Samuel submissively lifting his tail ... It was enough to make him chew on his pillow. Something had to happen ... It had to. What was he going to do ...?