FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Night fell swiftly in the valley, lit only by the soft glow of the two moons that hovered in the sky. A few smoldering campfires protected watchers from the night's damp chill, casting their own rings of golden haze across the ground. Save for the lazy bellow of a lonely kordox or the answering whinny of a horse, the night was silent and peaceful. One of the camp guardians pulled out a pipe flute and began to softly blow, the simple instrument transforming their warm breath into a gentle melody that drifted throughout the camp, soothing all who heard.

As if tiptoeing on silent feet, the song stretched out and tickled the ears of the lone figure who sat alone on the outskirts of the village. The young tarin rested on a small swell of land & looked up at the sky, an occasional flick of her tail the only sign of movement. Most of the others in the village were already asleep, trusting their safety to the guards in their silent patrols, but none of them paid any attention to the still figure who was such a common sight.

Engrossed in her thoughts, the young doe gave no indication that she noticed the approach of another shadow, bent over and lugging some heavy burden. "No no, don't get up. I've got it." Jorthon muttered sarcastically as he set down the heavy sack he had been carrying.

Nadirah did not bother to look away from the sky as she gave her soft reply. "You never asked."

"Should someone have to ask for help when it's obvious they need it?" Jorthon retorted as he settled himself beside her, not noticing the strange look that so briefly crossed his companion's features. "Anyway, don't tell old Rak about this." He continued. "We get caught, both our hides will be tanned and used as throw rugs for his hut."

"When do I ever tell anyone anything?" Nadirah replied, finally turning away from the sky to look at him, her lips nearly forming a smile. "And a throw rug? Bah, your nasty fur wouldn't even be good enough for a tent wall."

"You're ugly hide wouldn't even be used as a horse blanket!" Jorthon said with a laugh.

"Your worthless skin wouldn't even be good enough for a milk calf's diaper." Nadirah replied with a disdainful snort.

"Hey, now, that's a low blow." Jorthon replied, pretending to be offended. Nadirah simply looked at him a moment before seeming to lose interest and turning her gaze back to the sky. "Hey, um,..." Jorthon spoke after a few moments of weighted silence. "You know I was joking, right? I don't actually think your fur is ugly. Or... you, for that matter."

"You're too sentimental." She replied calmly, still not looking at him. "So what's in the bag?"

"Ah! Yes." Jorthon grinned as his attention was finally brought back to the bundle at his feet. In a slow and overly showy fashion, he unwrapped it to expose a large glass jug filled with an amber liquid. "I brought us a bottle of the finest Bitterpine wine I could get my hands on. It's strong stuff, so we'll have to be easy on it, but..."

Before he could finish his sentence, Nadirah reached over and lifted the bottle, pulling away the cap before taking a several deep swallows. She finally let it fall away from her lips before setting the bottle back to the ground between his hooves. "I thought you said this was strong stuff." She muttered accusingly.

"Well, for us _mere mortals_it is!" He exclaimed in disbelief., lifting the bottle to take his own tentative sip and giving a harsh cough as the liquid inflamed his throat. He set the bottle back down, nearly letting it slip from his fingers and causing some of the wine to splash across his thick fingers.

"Hey, don't go wasting it now!" Nadirah chastised. "Give me the damn thing if you can't take a decent drink." Without waiting for an answer, she grabbed the bottle and took another gulp before lowering it to her lap.

"In what level of human hell did you learn to drink like that?" Jorthon wheezed, his throat still burning. Nadirah just shrugged, tipping the bottle to take another swig before offering it back to him. The young bull accepted it and tried to imitate her actions, sending himself into another harsh coughing fit. "What in the world are you, anyway?" he finally asked breathlessly as he handed the bottle back.

"Cursed." Nadirah replied simply before taking another deep swallow.

Jorthon thought about her odd response to his joke and decided not to pursue it. If she wanted him to know her story, she would tell him when she was ready. "You're going to make one hell of a warrior, Nadirah Wolfcaller." He said instead, following her gaze up into the sky.

"As will you, Jorthon Longhorn." Nadirah replied, turning her head to look at him for the first time. "It's a good think you're Rak's best student, in fact."

"Huh? Why's that?" Jorthon questioned while hazarding another gulp of wine.

"Because if anything ever happens to you," Nadirah said softly, "Everyone will think I'm somehow responsible for it."

The young bull snapped his head around to meet her sad gaze, opening his mouth to argue, but the words died in his throat. There was nothing to say. They both knew she was right. They spent the rest of the night in companionable silence, watching the shifting of the night sky as the two moons slowly traveled in opposite directions.

In the days that followed, a tenuous camaraderie blossomed into friendship. During training, the pair were sparring partners. At night, they would meet on the hill and talk of little nothings while watching the stars. Meals were shared. One was rarely seen without the other.

At first they had both hoped that Nadirah's association with Jorthon would make her more acceptable to the rest of the village, but as the others looked on with curious suspicion, new rumors began to spread that she was a wielder of dark magic and that Jorthon had been enchanted by her sorcery. No longer considered to be under his own control, prior friends fled when he insisted they give the mysterious doe a chance, to come get to know her before passing their judgments. Occasionally someone would attempt to pull him aside to ask a question, but it was rare for Nadirah to ever be out of earshot. If not for the unspoken protection of the old warrior trainer, most of those in the village would have ran her off long ago.

And Nadirah knew it.

"I am very proud of most of you." Rakthon smiled as he addressed the gathering of his apprentices, each clutching tightly to a battle-worn weapon and wearing borrowed armor, covered in the scratches and dents of battles long past. Some also carried wooden shields on their arms. "You have worked hard, and you have trained hard. You have honored your tribes with your bravery and sacrifice. I have taught you all that I can, it is now time for all of you to put your training to the test and use what you have learned. I was just given word last night about a-"

The sentence was halted suddenly as all eyes turned to look at the stumbling figure who joined the group. There were several disdainful snorts and a few surprised gasps as Nadirah made her way to the front of the gathered warriors in training and stood proudly among them. Unlike the rest of the group, covered in heavy chain mail or scale mail, the doe wore a thick leather jerkin that was torn and stained with splotches of old blood that had never been washed away. She also wore a pair of matching leather trousers that had been torn away at the knee to fit her angled legs. A light chain mesh covered the upper half of the trousers but left her legs exposed and vulnerable. Covering the knuckles of her large hands was a leather band with sharpened spikes, and a long scabbard was tied to her waist.

"Nadirah!" Rakthon barked angrily, assessing her with a quick sweep of his eyes. "You're late! And where is your armor?! Didn't I tell you to be dressed and ready for battle?!"

"Sorry for being late." Nadirah replied softly, ignoring the other students, most of whom backed away with looks of annoyance or disgust on their faces. "I'm afraid it was unavoidable. But I'm ready now."

The old warrior trainer was taken aback for a moment before he realized that she was wearing the same armor that she had arrived in. "Are you mad or just stupid!" He snapped angrily. "No sensible warrior goes into battle like that! You'll be torn to shreds before you can even draw that fancy sword of yours!" He looked again to the long sheath that rested against her hip. Even from a distance, it looked to be a weapon of high craftsmanship, with the stretched out form of a running wolf along the scabbard's length, and the head of a snarling wolf at the end of the sword's hilt. He had never seen her with it before and wondered briefly if she had stolen it.

"This will do fine." She replied calmly, her voice carrying a decisive tone to say that she considered the matter settled and no argument would change her mind. "If I allow anything close enough to injure me, then it's my own fault."

Rakthon snorted in annoyance, hushing the disturbed group with an angry glance. "Suit yourself, you young fool, but no one will be burdened with carrying back your corpse."

"Understood." She replied simply. The conversation was over.

A heavy silence hung in the air for several long seconds before the old bull continued his speech. "Let her be an example to the rest of you. Those of you who paid attention, who are ready for this test," He said gravely, his eyes scanning the anxious group of youngsters before they came to rest on Nadirah once more. "Those of you who took your lessons to heart, you will come back to us as blooded heroes. Those of you who did not, will not come back to us at all."

Nadirah stood silently, looking down at the single large tent that inhabited the valley below. Occasionally, a small green form would exit the tent long enough to complete some minor errand before disappearing back inside again. Behind her, their torch fires kept low and hidden behind shields, the others in her war band drew up elaborate plans of attack and defense, something she had no interest in.

"Feeling restless are you?" Came Jorthon's voice from behind her, making the doe turn away from the tent. The young bull's borrowed mail clinked softly as he moved. His helmet jingled from its resting place at the end of one long horn.

"Not really." Nadirah replied softly, turning her gaze to the tight knot of plotters. "I just didn't feel like joining the planning committee over there. They can't decide if we're going to war or harvesting wood for the cook fires. These are just a group of hobgobs. They're stupid and weak creatures, nothing more than pests. This is not a serious fight."

Jorthon laughed and came to stand beside her, looking down into the valley below and the large, ratty tent resting at its center. "Yeah, Merska is well known for making a bigger deal out of things than they really are, but hobgobbies can be nasty little things. Just because they're easy to kill doesn't mean they don't pose a real threat." Nadirah's snort of disdain made him laugh. "Besides, this is supposed to allow us to get our first taste of real combat, and who's better at making a mountain out of a mole hill than the Blood Horns?"

"Blood Horns?" Nadirah questioned, turning to look at him curiously.

"Yeah, she's from Blood Horn village, out in the Badlands. Couldn't you tell that by her name?" Jorthon looked back at her quizzically, assuming such a thing was second nature to all tarous.

"What's wrong with her name?" Nadirah questioned back, throwing a glance at the albino doe that had appointed herself leader of the small group.

Jorthon tilted his head, studying her silently for a while before he spoke. "Are you sure you're a tarin and not just wearing an illusion or something?" Nadirah's inquiring gaze chilled, causing him to immediately threw up his hands in mock surrender. "I'm kidding! It's just... this is something we all learn as milk calves, how each tribe has their own names and what they are. I'm surprised you never learned it."

"So educate me now." Nadirah demanded coldly, her ears flipping back in annoyance.

"Ok, well," The bull replied, nervously scratching the back of his neck. "Like Split Hoof, for example. Our names end in 'thon' for bulls and 'than' for does. Rakthon, Jorthon, Usthan, you get the idea, right? Well, for Blood Horn village you would have 'sku' for bulls and 'ska' for does. It helps to identify where you came from."

The young doe bowed her head thoughtfully a moment, thinking over the new information she had been given. "What does my name say about me?" She asked quietly.

"You... um..." Jorthon continued scratching his neck, unconsciously tangling his mane around his thick fingers. "Not that it matters to me, of course, but uh.... You... you have a human name." He stammered apologetically.

"I see." Nadirah replied softly before turning away and looking into the distance. Her tail swayed lazily back and forth, but something heavy seemed to weigh on her mind.

"Hey." Jorthon said as he stepped closer to lay a comforting hand on her should. "You're not upset by that are you? I mean, sure it's odd but it's not unheard of. I mean, some tarous take human names, after all. The invasion and the Great War were so long ago that no one really hates humans much anymore. It's really just a... general distrust and-"

"Thank you." Nadirah interrupted, shaking off his hand. "I won't be losing any sleep over my name, or anyone's opinion of it. Including yours. So please stop tiptoeing around me like a prowling sakti."

"I'm sorry." Jorthon apologized with a bow of his head. "It's just that I'm trying not to upset you, is all. I've come to like you, a lot. I know I wasn't the most welcoming when you first got here but... haven't I proved by now that I want to be your friend? You can trust me, you know."

The doe turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. Her gaze was razor sharp as she looked him over, leaving Jorthan feeling exposed and vulnerable inside his heavy armor. "I can trust you, can I?" Her voice was a frozen whisper, sending chills through his body like an arctic wind. "And do you honestly believe that you can trust me?"

The bull swallowed hard and opened his mouth to reply, but no sounds came forth. Her fixed, accusing gaze, her angry whisper and cold demeanor, none of it made sense. It was not the doe he had come to know and admire. "Yes." He finally squeaked nervously, then cleared his throat. "Yes. Yes I do." He said more strongly, although he began to wonder if she really had bewitched him somehow like all of his peers had come to believe.

"Of course you do." She quipped back with a snort before turning away again and walking off. "I'll be back before morning."

"Hey!" Jorthon called, jogging to catch up. "Hey, Nadirah, where are you going? What's wrong? Was it something I said? If you're mad at me, I'm sorry. I'm not sure what I did but I'm sorry for doing it."

"Stop whimpering like a calf." She called back to him. "It's unbecoming of a warrior. If you want to prove your worth to me so much, you can help me find something decent to eat."

The bull gave her a confused stare as he fell in step beside her. "Find something to eat? But we have stew right here at camp. What more do we need?"

"Vegetable stew. It's about all I've had to eat since coming here." She complained bitterly, stopping as she spotted a wild boar snuffling around in a patch of weeds. "I haven't had a decent meal in weeks.

"What do you mean?" Jorthon asked in a confused tone. He barely gave the boar a glance before continuing. "The valley's been good to us this year, we've _all_been fed well."

"Grain bread and root stew?" She exclaimed disbelievingly. "That's what you all consider a good meal?" Shaking her head, she pulled a dagger from her belt and weighed it in her hand. "Not balanced very well, but I guess it will have to do."

Jorthon watched her with increasing perplexity. "What the hell is wrong with you?" He finally asked her. "Have I offended you in some way or something? You've been acting weird all day, and to be honest, I don't like it."

"Would you still like me if I was not what you thought?" The words were barely above a whisper. Nadirah gave a casual flick of her wrist and the dagger flew out, spinning end over end until it buried itself in the boar's eye. The animal let out an anguished squeal of pain and shook its head, trying to dislodge the dagger, then took a few stumbling steps before collapsing to the ground.

"What did you do that for?" Jorthon exclaimed in disbelief. "That boar wasn't bothering you! It could be someone's pet!"

The doe paused a moment and nodded. "Now that would be unfortunate, wouldn't it." She replied before approaching the downed animal, its legs still wiggling in its death throes. As she reached the downed boar she tugged on the dagger but found it stuck.

"Then why did you kill it?!" Jorthon demanded. He took a step back, away from her, which did not go unnoticed by the doe as she threw a glance back at him.

"Because I like pork." She replied calmly, resting a hoof against the boar's head and jerking the dagger free before using it to cut open the animal's throat. "Did you know the humans brought these over with them? They're quite a nuisance but they taste pretty good."

"You- you're a meat eater?!" Jorthon asked nervously, taking another step back. "You really _are_mad!!"

Nadirah paused again and looked up at him, the boar's blood coating her hands and hooves. Were eyes were narrowed, but in acceptance rather than anger, making him feel as if she had been expecting his reaction yet still blamed him for it; as if he had already failed some kind of test that he had never known was happening. "Not much of a meat eater I take it?" She asked, but the question was more like an accusation.

"No! No tarous is!" He responded harshly, unable to stop the flow of words. "Unless they're mad or starving. It's.... it's just unnatural! We're not predators and we never have been!" He flinched as another movement of the dagger brought the boar's organs spilling out across the ground.

Nadirah stood up and turned to face the bull, her face stubbornly set in a look of cool defiance and her eyes filled with disappointment. "You can run off back to camp if this bothers you so much, little Jori." She said coldly, holding his eyes with her own as she lifted one of her hands and licked some of the blood from her fingers.

Horrified and disgusted by the doe's actions, he turned and wordlessly hurried back to the camp. He did not look back and would not meet her eyes when she finally returned several hours later. Instead he pretended to busy himself with some other small task so that he did not have to look in her direction.

When night finally fell, he hesitantly entered the sleeping tent, but was relieved to find Nadirah's cot empty. He tried to put the doe out of his mind and go to sleep, but all he could see was her disappointed gaze. He had been measured and found wanting. When a restless sleep finally found him, he was haunted by his failure.

Morning brought no evidence of the doe's presence, nor was she noticed when Jorthon took his place with the others on the hill overlooking the hobgoblin tent down below. Nadirah was still nowhere to be seen, and no one missed her besides himself. Most of the young minds filled with thoughts of glory, brave deeds and stories of heroism shared around campfires that would impress even the most jaded of the old retired fighters.

The young warrior jittered nervously, tightly clutching their weapons or making a last minute adjustment to their armor. It was time to prove themselves as the warriors they had trained so hard to become. Their first blooding would be the final test. They would be celebrated upon their return and a feast would be thrown in their honor. For some, it would be the last chance to decide whether or not the life of a warrior was meant for them.

Every eye on the hill top watched for the sun, which took far too long to peek over the tops of the grassy mounds surrounding the valley. It had almost managed to rise over the first peak when a loud, unfamiliar sound echoed throughout the valley. The sound chilled the waiting tarous to the bone, momentarily freezing them in place. Later, when surrounded by their fellow villagers, recalling the stories of their own personal triumphs, they would brag that they had been the only one among the group who had not been overcome with terror at the sound of that terrible howl, playing off the shivers that ran down their spines at its memory as nothing more than the evening's chill. But they would never forget the sound.

It was the cry of a rabid wolf, some would claim, while others would argue that it sounded closer to the tortured wail of a banshee. It was the scream of death, one would finally pipe up, and all who had been there would agree with somber faces.

In the moment, however, on the eve of their first test of bravery and skill, the sound was both great and terrible, filling their young hearts with fear even as it incited their rage, calling them to battle. It took several precious seconds before they realized that it was coming from a lone figure who was already galloping down toward the tent, sword upraised and ready. It took them several more seconds to realize that it was the outsider, Nadirah.

Nadirah's large cloven hooves tore up chunks of the ground, sending them flying up behind her as she charged. Her sword slashed viciously as she approached a startled hobgoblin, slicing the creature nearly in half before it had the chance to react to her presence, then trampling the corpse carelessly as she continued on.

Confused and frightened by the doe's behavior, the rest of the warriors hesitated before finally a shout was given and they sped down into the valley, not wanting their carefully laid plans to go to waste just because of one misbehaving upstart.

Altered to the attack, the hobgoblins poured out of their tent, their own crude weapons at the ready. They quickly swarmed the young combatants like angry ants. Spurred on by a rising rage and their own pursuits of recognition, the tarous fought back valiantly and the hobgoblins fell swiftly to the fury of the fighters. With each kill, nervousness was replaced with confidence and innocence became blood lust. Drunk on the blood of the fallen, all plans were swiftly abandoned and the battle descended into a chaotic free for all.

Nadirah's path was no less disorderly, and she did not distinguish between friend and foe. Her face, usually a mask of apathy, wore an expression of pure excitement. Her bloodshot eyes were wide and her lips were pulled back in a toothy grin of glee. Her tongue lolled out of the side of her mouth and she occasionally laughed maniacally as she ran, slicing at a fleeing hobgoblin. To the others, she looked like she was having the time of her life, and they did all they could to avoid her.

It took only minutes for the ground to be littered with corpses and the tent lit ablaze. The last few remaining hobgoblins were being rounded up and slaughtered. Nadirah was still chasing one that had managed to evade her angry swings but it managed to disappear around a large boulder. Without hesitation, the doe followed, finding the small creature cornered and cowering against the legs of a human. The human was dressed in flowing black robes, a cowl covering their face. Nadirah paused, staring at the unexpected stranger in surprise. "Who the hell are you?"

The covered figure lifted it's head slightly, causing its eyes to become visible. One of them was cloudy with blindness, but the other was sharp and clear, staring back at her with a burning intensity. Without answering, the figure thrust out their hand, shooting a bolt of black energy from their fingertips. Had it struck her full on, the bolt would have been fatal, but the doe dodged by reflex, rolling her body as it struck the ground and narrowly being missed.

"What the hell is this about?" She snarled angrily as she swiftly rose, charging her attacker and forcing them to leap back to avoid the sharpened edge of her blade. "Is this another test?" She pressed on, but the human blocked her path by summoning a wall of green flame between them. Another black bolt shot out from behind the wall, causing her to leap aside out of it's path before righting herself again.

The heat of the flames was blistering as Nadirah approached it, making her stumble back a moment before she forced herself forward again, bursting through the dancing fire, but as her hooves crashed down on the other side, she was disappointed to find that her prey had vanished. "Where did you go, little fleshie?" She muttered to herself, looking around while taking cautious steps forward, her fingers clutched tightly around the hilt of her sword.

A soft crackle and fading heat was all the warning the doe received to the fading away of the magical fire. Too late she realized it was because her opponent had somehow gotten behind her. She tried swinging around as soon as she heard the sound of rustling cloth, but her shoulder was struck before she could complete her turn. The blow knocked her onto her side and sent her sword tumbling away out of her suddenly numb fingertips.

Rolling onto her back, Nadirah saw the black robed figure approaching to stand over her, single clear eye staring at her intently. Nadirah glanced in the direction of her lost sword, which sat several feet away, and gauged her chances of reaching it with her arm still numb and unresponsive. Reading her intentions, the figure swung its arm and another wall of green flames burst up around it, blocking the weapon from her reach.

"bastage." She growled angrily, flexing her tingling fingers as feeling slowly returned to her hand. She locked her gaze with the human's, her amber eyes burning like a cold fire. "Why don't you come just a little closer, little fleshie. Not afraid of a harmless little thing like me, are you?"

The robed figure continued to regard her for several more long and silent moments, its eye narrowing as it looked her over, searching for any other visible weapons on the young warrior. "Well?" Nadirah spat mockingly, "You going to finish me off or stare me to death?" The human pulled an ornately jeweled dagger from its belt and raised it high as if it would leap forward to stab her. Ignoring the increasingly threatening gestures, Nadirah rose to her knees, reaching up to pull back the thick leather of her jerkin from her chest to expose the skin where her heart lay below. "You want to kill me? Then do it! DO IT!!"

The dagger was raised higher and the robed human took a step closer, but stopped, wavering uncertainly as if expecting some kind of trap. "DO IT, YOU WORTHLESS COWARD! FINISH ME NOW OR I SWEAR I WILL WIPE OUT YOUR ENTIRE FAMILY BEFORE I ANNIHILATE THE REST OF YOUR MISERABLE RACE!"

The human clasped both hands to the hilt and once more the dagger began to fall. Nadirah closed her eyes and leaned back her head, waiting for the pain of the pierce. "I lost, Durkas." She whispered softly to herself. "Do I still deserve my rest?" The sound reached her ears first, of flesh being rent, the squelch of blood flowing free from open wounds. The warm, wet spray hit her face a moment later and she tasted the salty copper tang of arterial blood. She waited for the brief flash of pain that would finally bring peace with it and almost smiled in anticipation.

And yet it didn't come.

"Good thing I showed up, looks like you needed a hand." Came a deep, familiar voice. Nadirah gasped in surprise and opened her eyes, her hands falling away as she looked up at the tall bull standing before her. Crumpled at his hooves lay the corpse of the robed human. Jorthon smirked at his friend's foolishness and stretched out his arm, offering his hand. "Let me help you up."

"I didn't ask for your help." Nadirah replied coldly, her face falling back into its usual impassivity as he carefully pulled her to her feet.

"Should someone have to ask for help when it's obvious that they need it?" He asked, not letting go of her hand. "Who was that guy, anyway? Friend of yours? Almost looked like a necromancer."

"I have no idea." she answered honestly. "Don't know who he is or what he is. You can let go of my hand now." Instead, Jorthon looked at her intently for several seconds, not speaking. "What?" Nadirah asked irritably.

"When I... Look, I'm sorry about... how I acted before." He stammered nervously, finally releasing her hand. "I shouldn't have behaved like that. And... I'm sorry if I upset you. Made you feel like an outsider again. I was just caught by surprise is all. I still-"

"You're still too sentimental." Nadirah finished, cutting him off, although her expression softened a little. "Don't worry about it."

"No." Jorthon replied, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders, holding her in place. "You don't understand. Nadirah, I... I know you've got some odd habits but, that's alright. I can accept it. Your past, your habits, whatever it is, I can handle it. If... you'll give me enough time. To adjust I mean."

Nadirah tilted her head as she looked up at her friend. She felt strange and did not know why. Her head felt light and her legs suddenly felt less sturdy than they did a moment before. Her stomach began to ache, making her feel vaguely ill. She began to wonder if the human's magic had caught her after all. "What are you going on about?" She questioned the bull distractedly.

"I'm trying to say that I care about you." Jorthon said softly. "A lot. You're really a good person, and a good friend. And maybe... some day... if you, perhaps, ever wanted to..." He paused nervously, one hand leaving the doe's shoulder to gently stroke her cheek.

Nadirah's confusion only grew at his touch. The roiling of her stomach increased, and it was only by her will alone that her legs did not spill her to the ground. She began to feel feverish, and had to fight a strong desire to turn and flee. Jorthon's touch suddenly began to repel and attract her. "Want to what?" She heard herself say. Something was wrong with her, and the bull's blubbering was of no real importance, but some part of her felt that Jorthon's words were the most important thing she could ever wish to know. The strangeness and confusion of the situation was beginning to infuriate the young doe.

"Want to... be my m-" Jorthon began to reply, but his words suddenly choked off. His face seemed to pale beneath his fur and he turned his head away, staring out at nothing. Nadirah felt a slight pressure against her lower belly, surprising her out of her stupor.

Slowly, the doe lowered her head and looked down, her hand instinctively rising to push away whatever was touching her, but she froze as she finally saw it. Her pulse suddenly jumped, although she gave no outward sign of her surprise and concern. "Jorthon?" Her voice wavered as she spoke his name, her eyes falling to the pointed metal tip that parted her fur as it pressed lightly against her skin. "What is this?"

Nadirah's eyes quickly abandoned the head of the spear, her eyes traveling along the length of its blood-speckled wooden shaft until she reached the end, where it appeared to grow right out of the young bull's chest, his armor blossoming around it like the petals of some exotic flower. After a few more seconds, Jorthon collapsed to the ground, exposing the previously forgotten hobgoblin as the thrower of the fatal weapon.

Jorthon's body was later found, surrounded by shredded pieces of the creature that had killed him, scattered across the ground like gory confetti.