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Chapter 20

Izra sat on the edge of the bed and dabbed Storm's face, waiting unhappily for her to wake. Solemn-faced and sleeping, the half-angel was tucked in the bed that he and Elohael had cuddled in so many times the last few weeks. It was odd to see her there, tall as she was, strong as she was, and yet helpless as a kitten. She was missing her bow, and her clothes were torn and bloody, her white mane was a mess, and Izra was genuinely terrified she would not come around. If she died, it would destroy Elohael, who often said he had nothing left to live for outside his daughter and Izra himself.

Izra and Elohael stayed at the cave for several weeks because it was Izra's hope that Mala would return to him, that she would cool her temper and forgive him. But Mala never appeared, and it was getting too dangerous to stay in one place while Artesda - who wasn't entirely trustworthy - was walking around with knowledge of their location. Elohael insisted it was time they move on, though he expressed regret that Izra could not make amends with his sister. The two of them had been on the verge of setting out for a new home when Storm showed up at the cave, half-conscious and bleeding. She seemed barely able to see, reaching out with a blind paw as she called for her father in a feeble, begging voice Izra had never imagined her capable of. As Elohael ran forward to catch his daughter, she collapsed in his arms. Sad and angry and shaking with rage, he carried his child inside the cave, lay her gently on the bed, and bid Izra to look after her. He then left without a word, intent on revenge and never waiting for Izra to argue.

Izra set about caring for Storm with a heavy heart, knowing that Elohael was on his way to kill Artesda. Who else would have harmed Storm? And the last time they saw her, she was in the company of Daphne, who Artesda had been so intent on finding. It was fairly obvious Artesda had attempted to kill Storm and had taken Daphne in order to continue the Summoning.

Izra couldn't decide if Elohael was angry with him or if he blamed him for what had befallen Storm. After all, if he had simply allowed Elohael to kill Artesda, none of it would have happened. Storm would not have been harmed and Daphne would not have been captured. Now it seemed Daphne would be sacrificed after all, and all because of Izra's foolish need to blindly follow his father's teachings. Maybe Mala was right about him.

Storm choked and coughed as Izra was dabbing her face clean, and he stopped immediately, wringing the cloth in the basin on his lap and keeping his eyes on his work as he listened to her wake. Eventually, he glanced up again to find her narrow eyes locked on him in silent accusation. They simply looked at each other a long time in silence, Storm with hatred, Izra with a sort of weariness that had nothing to do with her, and then Storm said quietly, "I thought you'd be dead by now."

Izra laughed softly. "Is that so?"

"Yes," Storm said darkly. "I thought my father would have his way with you, then you would run back to Voriza, and perhaps the forest would take you. Hillback is treacherous. It isn't like your serene little forests in Vaine."

"No," said Izra with a short laugh. "That much is true." He paused, thinking of how Elohael had been forced to wrestle a vicious bear into submission just the day before.

Storm's brows creased in an irritated frown. "So why are you still here?"

"Because I love your father," answered Izra unapologetically. He shrugged. "Or I will love him someday. Right now we're still getting a feel for each other. . . . uh," he hesitated awkwardly. "No pun intended."

Storm's face darkened, but she turned her eyes away and said to the ceiling, "I knew the second I saw you that my father would want you."

Izra paused uncertainly. "Really?"

"Yes," was the answer, and Izra was surprised when Storm gave a small, breathy laugh. "You are very much like my mother. White Star was kind and gentle . . ." Storm looked at Izra in weary amusement. ". . . and she thought she was smarter than everyone else."

Izra laughed dryly. "Yes. I'd say White Star and I had a great deal in common."

"She died before her time," said Storm, her voice almost breaking. "I was very young. Father had to raise me alone."

"That must have been hard for him," said Izra sympathetically. His eyes were on the basin in his lap as he went back to wringing out the washcloth.

"It was hard for us," said Storm, "but we survived. These last few centuries, we have been through things, seen things you wouldn't comprehend. Vaine is not a country torn by war and poverty. Its forests are not teeming with bandits and wild creatures desperate for nourishment. Blood does not cry from its earth, angry spirits do not make its statues come to life. There is no anger there. Here, we have survived those odds, my father and I. White Star did not survive. Her gentle heart could not take it. She left my father; she left her tribe to live alone and was murdered not far from here. If that happened to my father a second time . . . He would break." Storm paused, and looking at her, it occurred to Izra that she was asking if he could survive. She was trying to decide if he had the endurance to walk at her father's side or if he would leave . . . like White Star.

"I think I've spent more time here than in Vaine," Izra said wearily. "Even if I didn't live here, I've experienced my fair share. I don't mind a little more."

Storm did not seem satisfied by his answer. She hesitated, then whispered hoarsely, "Do you really care for my father? Do you really care for him?"

Is it just sex? is what Izra heard, and he began to wonder if it had only been sex for White Star. He swallowed hard as he looked Storm in the eye and said, "I care."

Izra was relieved when Storm's threatening eyes relented and it seemed she believed him. She relaxed against the pillow again and looked once more at the ceiling. "That is all I need to know," she said quietly.

Izra hesitated and went back to dabbing her face. He thought she might protest, and for a moment, it seemed she would, but she remained silent instead, quietly watching him, studying him as he worked.

"Where will you go now?" Izra asked and was surprised when Storm's lips quivered in a wry smile.

"You mean will I stay here and impede your sex?" she said.

Izra laughed. "No, I didn't mean that . . . well, maybe a little." He was surprised when Storm laughed softly.

"I have not lived with my father since I was a little foal, do not worry. Though I must warn you, my father and I are never far apart. After Mother was slain and Sun Tail left for the capital . . . we only had each other. I left my tribe when Sun Tail left. I tried to be near her but . . ." Storm hesitated, as if she'd just realized she'd said too much. She swallowed and muttered to herself, "I was unworthy of her. I treated her horribly. I . . . deserve what happened to me."

Izra frowned. "Where is Artesda anyway?" He hesitated, and tried to hide his worry as he asked, "Did you kill him?"

Storm heard his worry anyway. She smiled knowingly, and Izra irritably dropped his eyes to the washcloth as he dipped it in the basin again. "Your father has gone to find him, to take vengeance for you," he muttered. "I just wondered if he'd gone to find him in vain."

"It wasn't _Artesda_who stabbed me," Storm said through her teeth.

Izra's head snapped up and he blinked. "Then who . . .?"

***

Mala awoke with a start, almost sitting bolt-upright in her blind haste. She was held down by a gentle paw, the fingers of which were spread on her shoulder. Her head was spinning, and as weak as she felt, she knew she'd lost a lot of blood. But the pain in her side was gone, and the burns seemed to have healed over as well. The golden blades of the sons of Araton were sun-blessed, meaning they were enchanted to burn like fire when touched by a child of Araini. Araini had placed a similar spell on his own children's weapons, so Mala was silently satisfied to know that Artesda was lying somewhere in the forest, burning and broken as he'd left her.

Mala blinked away her reverie and glanced around. She immediately recognized the Old Hinny's cabin. She was back in the same room, on the same bed, with a fire burning quietly nearby. She glanced over to see who was touching her shoulder and smiled to see Jack sitting there. His hood was drawn up, and his brown robes were stained with blood. He had the tired, drained look of someone who had been slaving over her for hours, and she looked at him apologetically.

"No, it's alright," Jack said, releasing her shoulder and sitting back in his chair again. "Can't resist getting into trouble, can you?" he teased.

"What I can say?" Mala answered with a shrug. "It's in my blood." She could feel hard bandages under her fingers, and glancing down, she saw her middle had been wound in them. She was completely naked, but this time her bare breasts did not bother her. She felt comfortable in Jack's presence and completely at ease. "How'd I get here?" she asked.

"Your sister found you out in the forest," Jack answered with concern. "Flew you back here and the Old Hinny set about healing you at once. We thought you was gonna die. Took a pretty bad cut to the side. Someone was awful vicious about it."

Mala's face darkened. Yes. Artesda had been pretty vicious in his determination to take Daphne. She remembered hearing bells ringing as she was trapped in feverish dreams, and she knew: Daphne had successfully ascended the tower. It was over. She had failed. She closed her eyes in miserable defeat.

" 'Sall right," Mala heard Jack say soothingly.

"Is it?" Mala muttered. "How can I go home? How can I face my parents?" She stared dully at the ceiling. "I don't think I want to go home."

"You could come with me," Jack said softly.

Mala looked quickly at him. He was shy and hesitant, but when their eyes met, he smiled. "Ain't never had a friend before," he said. "Wouldn't mind tryin'."

Mala smiled back, touched by his offer. "But . . . why leave the Old Hinny?"

Jack shrugged. "Cause my time is up. Each acolyte only stays a few years, then we're sent out to find a replacement. Jenny - well, the Jenny you knew before - is already gone and done sent a new girl in her place. Only took her two weeks. Now it's my turn to go."

"Then what will you do? After you find a replacement?"

Jack shrugged again. "I'll live. I'll live by the wisdom the Old Hinny gave me. I'll do my best to add some good to the world, in spite of the circumstances the world gave me. The Old Hinny believes it's our duty to do as much good as we possibly can before we kick the bucket. So that's what I'll do." He smiled.

Mala lay there in silence, staring at her friend and admiring him. She couldn't imagine all the things he'd been through in his life as a slave, all the things he'd seen, and yet he sat before her, free of hatred and anger and ready to keep giving to the same ones who had harmed him. In that moment, he was far wiser than Izra or Mala's parents had ever been, this skinny little donkey who spoke like he'd never opened a book - and probably never had.

"So whadda ya say?" Jack whispered gleefully, and Mala couldn't help but smile at his boyish excitement. "You and me on the road, fightin' bandits, runnin' with wolves!"

Mala laughed sadly and her slanted eyes turned to the ceiling. She frowned. "I dunno. I dunno what I'd tell Laila."

It was Jack's turn to frown. He laughed in disbelief. "You never seemed like the type who'd answer to her."

"You're right, I'm not," Mala answered. "But . . ." she hesitated miserably. "We kinda had a fight last time I saw her. We found our brother. Said he was quitting the war and everything so he could shack up with some angel, can you believe it?"

Jack wagged his brows. "I can believe it. Them angels sure got big cocks."

Mala rolled her eyes. "That's not the point. Laila actually took his side! She said he should be allowed to retire, but in the middle of stopping a Summoning? So I told her I'd stop the Summoning, that I'd make Mother and Father proud if she wouldn't."

"Ah, I see," said Jack, realization filling his eyes. "You don't wanna face Laila because you can't face that you failed."

Mala stared miserably at her bandaged middle.

"I promise you, Mala," said Jack with a shake of his head, "Laila doesn't care."

Mala looked up, her ears going forward.

"That's right," said Jack, leaning back and folding his arms. "Laila doesn't care, Mala! She don't care that you failed. She only cares that you're still alive. You shoulda seen how she was scared for you. She came here frantic and covered in blood with you hangin' limp in her arms. When I seen you like that," his eyes filled with fear, "I thought you was _dead._As the Old Hinny and me set about trying to save you, Laila wouldn't stop pacing the room. She kept gettin' in our way, 'til we finally had to give her the boot. Been outside ever since, waitin' to hear from ya." Jack fell silent, and Mala was so surprised, she didn't know what to say. She had never suspected that Laila cared that deeply about her. Especially after the way she had risked Mala losing her eye just so she could save face.

"She could have just flown me home," Mala said in a last feeble attempt to convince herself her sister didn't care. "I would have had more chance to survive than --"

"No," said Jack. "There was no time for that. She wouldn't have made it. You would have died."

Mala dropped her eyes.

"Go on," said Jack with a little smile. "Go talk to your sister. Be glad you have a sister." His eyes flickered sadness as he said, "I wish I had someone who cared that deeply about me."

Mala looked up, and stricken by the sadness in her friend's eyes, she touched his knee. "Alright," she said heavily. "I'll go talk to Laila, and you pack up. I'm comin' with you!"

Jack grinned. "That's what I like to hear!"

Jack helped Mala put on her armor and she headed outside. Just as the donkey had said, Laila was waiting out in the sunlight, sitting on a wooden chair and staring anxiously at the ground. She stood the second Mala emerged through the door, and before Mala could get a word out, she was being hugged with shaking arms by her frantic sister.

"Laila!" Mala cried in baffled surprise.

Laila pulled back and her face was streaked with tears. "You idiot!" she shouted at once. "You could have been killed! Artesda could have killed you!"

"I know!" Mala said wearily.

"You know but do you care?" Laila demanded. "How could you just fly off like that? Do you have any idea what you put me through? Are you listening to me? Answer me!" She grabbed Mala's shoulders and gave her a sharp shake.

Mala smiled, and baffling her sister, she hugged her suddenly and tightly. She felt a thrill of happiness when Laila hesitated and hugged her back. "I love you too," Mala said, pulling back to look at her sister. "And . . . I'm sorry I flew away. I just couldn't stand the thought of losing Izra." Her face darkened. "Especially to an angel."

An awkward look crossed Laila's face, and Mala's eyes narrowed. "What?" she demanded. "What was that look? You look guilty!"

Laila pulled away and wandered a few feet from her sister, her face creased with regret and thought. Eventually, she stopped and rubbed her arm as she said, "I don't know how to tell you this, but I know you won't like it, so promise me you won't go flying off."

Mala hesitated. "What is it?"

"Promise me."

"I promise," Mala said at once. "Now what is it!"

"I'm . . . not going home with you," Laila said awkwardly. "I'm going to stay here . . . with the Old Hinny."

Mala didn't know what to say. Her knees gave out, and luckily, the step behind her wasn't too hard when her backside dropped on it. She stared into space a moment, then looked at her sister, and her face creased in confusion. ". . . are you sleeping with that old donkey?"

Laila laughed, her pretty eyes crinkling up. "No! The Old Hinny and her partner --"

"That angel you were with?" Mala demanded darkly.

"Yes," said Laila, blinking guiltily. "They have invited me to live with them. I think I'm going to accept."

Again, Mala didn't know what to say. She wanted to be angry, but how could she when she planned on running away with Jack? She stared at her hooves a long time, and she could feel Laila anxiously waiting. Eventually, she looked up and said, "I wish you all the happiness in the world."

Laila smiled in relief.

Mala dropped her eyes again. "I just wish I'd said that to Izra."

Laila frowned sadly. "I'm sure you'll see him again. Mother and Father will probably send you on many assignments in Oltru after this. They'll believe you were the only one to survive our mission."

"Yeah, about that . . ." Mala rubbed the back of her neck. "I'm not going home either."

Laila laughed. "What! Have a mysterious angel lover of your own?"

Mala made a face. "Huh? No! I'd never sleep with an angel! I'm going to live with Jack."

Laila frowned. "You mean the jack? The Old Hinny's student?" she asked in surprise.

"Yeah," Mala answered. She looked up when silence ensued and saw that her sister was staring at her awkwardly. "It's not what you think!" she said at once. "He and I aren't knocking hooves. We're friends!"

"Oh," Laila said, and Mala couldn't decide why she looked so relieved.

Mala frowned. "What if I _was_fucking Jack? Is that so awful?"

"No," Laila answered honestly. "He's just so scrawny that it's hard to imagine him with you. Seems like he'd be with someone bigger, taller . . . and probably male."

Mala rolled her eyes. "Aren't there enough beasts bending over for angels? Jack has already bent over enough for - er, I mean!" Mala halted too late as she remembered that Jack had made love with her sister's lover in the past. Thankfully, Laila didn't seem to pick up on her blunder, and seeking to change the subject, Mala stood. "I guess Jack and I better get going. I can always visit you here, right?"

"Right," said Laila warmly. "And who knows? Maybe Izra will be here too."

There was a hidden meaning to Laila's last words, and Mala frowned, but before she could ponder it, Jack emerged as if on cue from the cabin, a knapsack on his back. "Ready to hit the road?" he asked cheerfully.

Mala grinned. "Ready!" She kissed her sister's cheek in farewell, and then she and Jack were setting out together into the trees and the sunlight, into flowers and rain.

"So who's Artesda?" Jack asked as they walked side by side.

Mala hesitated in horror. "How do you know that name?"

"You talked in your sleep," Jack answered. He laughed. "Whoever he is, you seemed hell-bent on killing him."

Mala laughed dryly. "That's an understatement. He is my mortal foe!"

"That's not dramatic at all."

"Well, he is! He kidnapped my brother, he slashed my eye! Then he stabbed me! He's the reason I nearly died!"

". . . oh," said Jack in a small, apologetic voice.

"That's alright, though," said Mala smugly. "I got him back. I hope he's dead in a ditch somewhere. Preferably covered in maggots with his eyes eaten and gone."

"Whoa!" said Jack with a laugh. "Remind me never to get on your bad side. Rest in piece, Artesda."

"Or in Hell. I hope he suffers a slow, agonizing death!" Mala snarled. "Him and that bubble butt!"

Jack laughed. "Wow. That wasn't loaded with sexual tension."

"What?"

"You resent him because you wanna have sex with him, but you feel conflicted because he's your enemy --"

"Huh? Don't be stupid! I'd never touch him except to stab him!"

***

Artesda awoke when he felt a damp cloth touching his face. The pain in his belly was gone, though it itched and burned, and he could feel stiff bandages hugging his middle. Wherever he was, it was dark and cool, for no light bled through his eyelids. He could hear water and smell a distant fire. Someone was nursing him back to health, and he was terrified to open his eyes and see who it was.

"So you gonna pretend to sleep, huh?" gently teased a voice. "That's alright. You's pretty when you's sleepin'."

Artesda smiled, and in spite of himself, he opened his eyes. It seemed he was in a cave. He went still, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, until he could see the sharp profile of the young male donkey who knelt beside his pallet as he dabbed him with a washcloth. Artesda realized in an instant that he was completely naked, and remembering the bandits who had assaulted him, it was his immediate instinct to tense up and freeze. But the donkey who cared for him was very thin and small, with a boyish handsomeness that coaxed Artesda to let his guard down.

"It's alright," the donkey whispered gently. "It's alright. I won't hurt you."

Artesda relaxed, watching quietly as the donkey cared for him. If Artesda had to guess, his savior was very young and had lived in the forest for a few years at least, for the sweet smell of the flowers had imbedded itself in his fur. He was draped in a long robe, the tawny color of which made his looming figure far less frightening. His eyes were kind, twinkling from the depths of his hood as he whispered again, "It's alright, I won't hurt you. . . . Will you hurt me?" He paused, frowning sadly.

"No," Artesda said at once, struggling against his own hoarse voice. "I won't hurt you."

"Thank you," said the donkey in relief and smiled as he went back to dabbing Artesda's face. "You are very handsome," he said a little breathlessly. "Why were you alone out there? Who stabbed you like that?" He frowned in sympathy.

"It is a very long story," said Artesda wearily and his eyes went to the ceiling. He longed for a blanket to cover his nudity and felt helpless and exposed, large as he was on that little pallet. For the first time in his life, he wanted to cover his body, hide his penis. Especially when he found himself looking at the young donkey's flexing throat. It was a marvelous throat, covered in a white stripe that disappeared mysteriously into his robes. Artesda found himself wondering just how deeply that white stripe went, if it stopped at the donkey's penis. And what did the donkey's penis look like? Taste like? How thick and long was it? He was ashamed when his own penis started to swell a little with arousal.

The donkey noticed Artesda's arousal and paused awkwardly. "Should I leave and come back?" he said. "My friend will be back soon. I could wait outside to meet her." The donkey made a move, but Artesda - without thinking - quickly caught his paw and whispered in a tiny voice, "Please . . . don't leave me alone." He was suddenly very tired of being alone.

The donkey hesitated, and with pity in his eyes, he went back to dipping the washcloth. He smoothed it along Artesda's rippling belly, careful to wipe away the blood that had spread from the bandages. As he worked lower and lower, Artesda found himself fantasizing about the donkey rubbing his penis with the washcloth, rubbing until he squirted in a helpless release. Looking at the donkey, he could tell he was thinking of it too: the little jack paused quickly when he came too close to grazing Artesda's nether regions, and he stared for one beat too long at Artesda's penis.

"What is the name of my savior?" Artesda asked, hoping to break the tension.

The donkey smiled, glad for the distraction. "Most folks calls me Lorrie. Short for Lorrell. That is, before I became the Old Hinny's Jack."

Artesda frowned. He didn't know what that meant, and sensing his confusion, the donkey added with a shrug, "It don't mean nothing. Just know my name's Lorrie."

"Lorrie," Artesda repeated softly. He realized he must've looked doting, for the donkey glanced at him in surprise, then looked away bashfully.

"What's your name, handsome?" the donkey asked, keeping his eyes on his work. He brought the washcloth lower, near Artesda's thigh, and stopped nervously when he almost touched his penis again.

Artesda couldn't take it anymore. Without warning, he reached into the donkey's hood, gripped the back of his neck, and gently brought him down close in a kiss. The donkey responded readily, kissing Artesda back with a tenderness that melted him. Their lips peeled apart, and Artesda whispered, "Let me hold you. I want to hold your warm, soft body . . . here, take this off . . ."

The donkey's long lashes fluttered but he went completely still and didn't protest when Artesda reached to remove his robes. To Artesda's surprise, the donkey was completely naked beneath them. His body was lithe and thin, covered in dusty brown fur that was wondrously soft. His penis was small and fat and brown, dangling limp between his thighs as he leaned forward over the bed, and just as Artesda had supposed, the white stripe went from his chin all the way down to his little sack, which was swathed in fuzzy white fur. He looked at Artesda in cringing embarrassment, but Artesda thought he was young and beautiful.

"You saved my life," Artesda whispered. "Let me show my appreciation?"

The donkey hesitated and stammered, "I-I want to, b-but . . ."

Artesda touched Lorrie's face. "What's the matter?"

"I'm scared," Lorrie admitted, long lashes angled down. His face darkened as he added, "I don't want to be toy. Never again!"

Ah. Someone had hurt him in the past. Artesda understood. "May I just hold you?" Artesda whispered, looking at the young jack with longing.

Lorrie smiled, revealing a few crooked teeth. "Alright," he whispered happily and snuggled down in Artesda's arms.

They lay there in content for a long while, and as Artesda stroked Lorrie's soft, dark mane, he thought there was no where he'd rather be. It was amazing to him that he had survived, that after weeks of wandering blindly on the brink of death, he hadn't woken up in his father's hall, jailed and awaiting execution for his failure. Instead, he was found and saved by the most kind and loving beast in existence. He looked in Lorrie's eyes and saw only pity and kindness, and he craved it the way he craved the boy's cock in his mouth.

"You're so big, feel like I'm layin' onna mountain," said Lorrie after a while. He laughed softly. "It's like I can't get my arms around you!"

Artesda smiled, closing the little donkey in his big arms, so that their chests were pressed together and their hearts beat as one. He kissed Lorrie softly, slowly on the lips, and thought he felt the donkey's bashful heart flutter at the sign of affection.

"I don't deserve to hold you," Artesda said unhappily. "But I will hold you anyway. For years, if you will let me."

The donkey smiled. "That attached to me already?"

"Or perhaps attached to your kindness. It also helps that you are lovely to look at."

The donkey laughed. "I dunno. I don't exactly live alone. Me and my friend, we travel together. She was out when I found ya, so she don't know you're here. If she likes you, you can stay. I don't see why she wouldn't, though. You seem alright."

"Are the two of you bandits?"

"No! All donkeys ain't bandits," Lorrie scolded. "She and I met same way I met you: she was hurt and I took care of her. Now we're best buddies. We travel the world helpin' anyone who needs it!"

"So where were you off to next?" Artesda asked, amused by the young donkey's happy energy.

"We thought about going up in the woods near Aramora Hall. There's talk of a war brewing, so there's bound to be plenty of beasts to help around there soon."

Artesda frowned. "A war?"

"Yeah! Can you believe it? The king was assassinated!"

Artesda went still.

"Assassinated at his own ball!" went on Lorrie in laughing disbelief. "It was blamed on a foreigner, but a lot of folks think it was an inside job. Now the other countries are fired up. They don't like bein' accused of assassinatin' the king and going back on the peace treaty. On top of that, they hate that the princess has been crowned regent, and some of them want to invade to put someone with a dick on the throne." Lorrie laughed. "But the whole thing's a done deal, seein' as she's pregnant and all. Everyone thinks her foal will be male, that's why they don't mind. They had some mystic come in and 'read' her belly." Lorrie snorted. "Like he wasn't paid by the crown to say the foal was a boy."

Artesda stared in silence at the cave's ceiling. He had long wondered what had become of Daphne. Sleeping with the mare he captured from the demon had revealed her to be an imposture, but he'd been determined to throw the poor girl to Araton anyway. He lay for days outside the tower, listening to the bells that celebrated the girl's successful assent to Heaven, hoping his brothers would come down, that Araton would embrace him and welcome him back to his home. But no one ever came. When Artesda crawled his bleeding way to the bottom of the stair, the light of Heaven burned him, and he knew he was no longer welcome. So he wandered the forest, bleeding and aching and hoping he would die, knowing he deserved it.

"I'm . . . gettin' a little hard with you rubbin' my back like that," Lorrie confessed in a small, sheepish voice. "Can't help it. You feel good against me. W-Will you . . .?"

Artesda smiled. The arm that enfolded Lorrie reached around, and he carefully began to stroke, gently rolling the donkey's fat little cock in his large fingers. Lorrie frowned against this gentle fondling, looking as if he might sneeze. With soft eyes, Artesda kissed him, and they were moaning through the kiss when someone entered. They both looked up and froze to find a black sheep standing over them. Artesda felt his heart leap to his throat: it was her.

The sheep recognized Artesda too. She was not wearing her armor but a simple shirt and pants, and her mane was dripping as if she'd just bathed. She stared at Artesda in open-mouthed shock and anger, and he noticed her paw clench for a sword that wasn't there but lying - Artesda was ashamed to realize - on the floor near her discarded armor.

There was silence as everyone simply stared. Artesda and the sheep glared at each other while Lorrie stared at them in confusion. Then the sheep's eyes went to Lorrie and something in them relented. She glared at Artesda a last time and then, without uttering a word, climbed into bed with them.

Artesda lay there in surprise, wedged between the sheep and the donkey and so large that he nearly shoved both of them out of the bed. Mala's back was to him - naturally - but Lorrie was still cuddled against him, clinging to his chest, and now that Mala was there, Artesda couldn't bring himself to keep fondling the young male. His paw on Lorrie's penis remained still, though he did not let go.

"M-Mala," said Lorrie awkwardly after a beat, "this is my new friend. He wants to stay with us."

The apparent "Mala" did not answer, and it struck Artesda for the first time that in all their fighting and shouting, he had never learned the ewe's name.

Lorrie looked at Artesda apologetically, and looking in the cute donkey's dark eyes, Artesda thought, To hell with it! His large paw tightened on Lorrie's cock, and he fondled it fast, stroking so quickly, the boy's mouth opened wide and he frowned in bafflement against the pleasure.

Without pausing, Artesda scooped his arm around Mala, forcing her to turn over and face him. She looked at him, indignant and in disbelief, but when his paw reached around and slid down the front of her pants, all the anger went out of her. Her mouth opened wide in surprise and she stared at him, unseeing, as he fingered her to quick arousal. Her little sheep pussy was incredibly soft, the wooly caressing his fingers as he massaged her clit and stroked her swelling lips. He slipped his fingers inside and shivered to feel how moist and hot she was. Her hungry sex clenched as if to trap his fingers, and as he slipped them in and out between her soft lips, he could feel Lorrie's little cock heaving in his paw, as if to release.

They were both of them locked in Artesda's big arms, helpless to his merciless fondling, their nails curling in his chest as he pleasured them. Artesda yanked Mala's shirt up with his teeth, and hugging her closer, brought her breasts to his face and sucked her rigid nipple into his lips. She wiggled helplessly in his arm, curvy body twisting in delight, lashes fluttering. The heat of her moisture on his fingers made him suddenly stand, and he moaned when Lorrie closed a small paw over his erection and stroked it even as he was being stroked.

Tangled together on the pallet, they came together in sudden, hot mess and sagged. Mala and Lorrie dropped their cheeks against Artesda's muscular chest, looking tired and dazed but delighted for their pleasure. Artesda kissed their heads and held them tightly in his arms, loving the sight of Mala's black breasts crushed so deliciously together, loving the feel of Lorrie's little penis as it brushed hot against his own.

Artesda didn't know why, but he caught Mala's mouth to his and kissed her, warmly, passionately, twisting his face against hers until her tongue was twining with his. He pulled his mouth away and looked at her breathlessly, thinking he wanted his face between her thighs. Lorrie's cock was still in his paw, soft now, and its sticky juices were all over his fist. Artesda kissed Lorrie next, slowly and sweetly as he gave his cock a stroke that made it hard again. Lorrie gasped softly as he was aroused a second time.

Lying there with both of them in his arms, Artesda had never felt so content in his life. It was perfect. They fit perfectly in his arms, and he didn't want to let them go. He was surprised that they seemed to feel the same: they looked at him with fire in their eyes, and then they were kissing his mouth, his cheeks, his chest, their kisses traveling down and down, until their tongues were bathing his erection in long, wet strokes that left him throbbing.

Artesda stared in a happy daze at the ceiling, and his cheeks blushed crimson when their hot mouths covered his cock and sack at the same time.