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A Ratfolk Love Story

"Once I start the ritual... I won't be able to stop. And you know there's no turning back. This is your last chance... if you have any doubts at all..." She crawled so close that he could feel the warmth of her whispering breath, and her jade eyes softened with concern. Every time he stared into them, her stark, animal-like beauty arrested him. His heart fluttered... or was it his stomach? Moisture started to bead on his forehead as his heart raced with anticipation. She'd been over the process with him time and time again, pouring over every detail and all the risks; he'd always been resolute. But now, in the final moments of his humanity, a twinge of hesitation tugged at his mind.

Renard gulped and pushed himself against the huge mound of pillows she'd stacked for him to rest upon. The fire in her hearth was dying down, casting the cozy den in a flickering procession of shadows. Still, despite it being nearly the dead of winter--a time where the underground could grow so cold that even the soil turned to frost--his tunic was soaked with sweat.

"I don't know if I can wait any longer Marion. My heart might not take the suspense. Lets get on with it," he whined.

She stopped for only a moment before thrusting herself to her feet with resolve. "Alright then! It won't take long!" Marion whirled, her whiskers fluttering, before diving into a dusty bookshelf to retrieve a huge tome wrapped in blood-red leather. Her clawed fingers raced through the pages, finding one carefully dog-eared, and her eyes widened at the glittering words within. She'd rehearsed the spell maybe a dozen times, and she was confident that it would work; she just hoped the old rector from the academy didn't come looking for his missing tome anytime soon. The thought of finally holding Renard in her arms drove the rat maiden's imagination wild. A new chapter for both of their lives was just around the corner.

As the sorceress scoured the passages of the tome one final time just to be sure that she wasn't missing anything (a hidden phrase, a riddle, a component, anything at all that could jeopardize the magic,) Renard's mind drifted to the very day this all began. A cool spring evening where he almost lost his life... but one where he gained a new reason for living.

"Only one shilling? Bah! What a waste! Leave him to rot." That gravelly voice was the last thing Renard heard before he started to fade to black. Stabbed in some back alley in the rotten city where his father had sent him... he'd only been there three days, learning a cobbler's trade with his uncle. Better to be stabbed in the city than on the battlefield, he mused, even as his blood pooled in the cobblestone. The pain was gone, and his fear had been quelled; everything was slipping away, and he'd come to accept it. Then, just as his limbs turned cold, a strange, spreading warmth--like being covered with a quilt that had been held over the fireplace too long--rushed into his body. From a gray sheen, his sight returned to a blur, only briefly; and then, his vision began to sharpen.

The voice he heard next might have been an angel, graced to him from heaven. "Not today, you poor thing. What cruel bastards did this?" It was then that he felt her gentle hands pressing against his rib cage, the site of his wound. The mortal slash was now closed, and his blood ceased its trickle, leaving only a violet scar behind. Renard was too weak to move anything but his lips, and he tried to speak, but his savior shushed him. "Shhh... don't say a word. Save your strength. By the gods themselves I bless thee, and return life to thee, just as a fountain fills its basin with pure water."

She drew her hand away just as the world came back into focus. It was only then did Renard get a good look at his rescuer, illuminated by the flickering lantern she carried. Perhaps it was her kind and gentle face, or maybe it was her purring, soothing, feminine voice; he could never pinpoint the exact moment that she lit an unquenchable spark in his soul. Renard had never laid eyes on a creature like her before, and his mouth dropped open with both awe and surprise. Hardly human, the maiden knelt before him carefully; her nose twitched at the end of a snout, and both her bristling brow and her whiskers furrowed with concern. Her eyes were a brilliant jade or emerald, shockingly human-like and hardly the lifeless orbs one might expect from a rodent. She wore a bright green and yellow kirtle to match them, and her fur--soft, well-kept, and not the least bit filthy--was the color of pure snow tinged with ash. The creature--a sort of beast-folk, undoubtedly a mouse-folk or a ratling--had a woman's form, young and athletic, and he couldn't help but to stare.

"There now. You're coming around, thanks be to all the gods! And I... I mean, it's only my gift to you... as one of my order, I..." her voice trailed off as her eyes locked with his. Marion was struck by the young man's face, just as he was with hers. He had a square jaw, strong for such a youth, and a ruddy complexion, smeared with dirt and feverish sweat... but still, he was rugged and masculine, and his eyes were bright blue and fearless. This was no drunken buffoon. Was he a soldier? An adventurer? A scoundrel? A knight? A dozen fancies suddenly whirled in her mind, and she tried to control herself, but it was to no avail. Her guard was lowered, and it gave him the time to speak.

Renard propped himself against the stone as his strength returned. Instinctively he reached for his coin purse, finding it gone... but then he whirled back to face her. "You're... I've heard of your kind, the folk whose blood is crossed with both men and beasts." He blushed for a moment, realizing he might have insulted her. "I mean... I bring no offense, madame. I've never been so close to one such as yourself... but I must owe you my life, surely!"

The rat maiden smiled, revealing her rodent-like incisors, which he was surprised to find were pearly white and not at all revolting, as he imagined they'd be. In fact, everything about her held an uncanny, captivating beauty. Renard's skin started to tingle with pins and needles, and he felt blood rush to his cheeks; butterflies danced in his stomach as he stared at her, mesmerized. Surely he wasn't enraptured by this... beast-kin? Was this the effect of some kind of potion she'd poured down his gullet, maybe while he was unconscious? Or perhaps it was a love curse, or some other sordid black magic? No human could be drawn to a ratling in such a way, like a moth to a flame. It was unheard of. Preposterous.

"It's my duty to save lives of any kind. And to take them, if need be. I am a magician of the Order of the Faun. My name is Marion," she fluttered. She held out a clawed hand to help Renard to his feet, which he cautiously took. Silently, they stood eye-to-eye in the alley for a moment. He was bewildered; he'd never imagined that a rat-person would be so tall.

"And I'm Renard. Certainly I'm no wizard. Just an apprentice at shoe-making." Renard's voice trembled for a split second as he confronted his savior. "Still, although I know little of magic, Marion of the Order, I must thank you again from the bottom of my heart. I'm ashamed that I've no coin left to donate to your shrine."

She started to look away, but she was drawn to his gaze with unwelcome magnetism. "I can tell you're a stranger to the City of Erdris. This is no country village. Never roam the alleyways at night. The constables are too few and far between to stop every bandit. You're beyond lucky, smooth-skin, that I stumbled across you when I did!"

Her words barely registered. Renard was still too befuddled by her bestial elegance to acknowledge them. He finally mustered up the courage to confront her about it. "Tell me, Marion, what spell did you cast upon me?"

At first she was taken aback, and she stuttered, racking her brain for the right answer. "Oh! I, um... it... it was just a mending prayer, a kind of healing word, I don't think it has a proper name..."

"No," Renard retorted. Feeling emboldened, he took a step closer, looking her straight in the eye. "What other magic have you cast upon me? What spell has made me... obsessed with your beauty?"

Marion gasped, and her mouth hung agape. Blushing through her fur, she was at a complete loss for words. No human had ever dared say such a thing to her. In fact she couldn't remember the last time a non-rat said anything kind to her at all, much less such a brazen confession. Could it be love at first sight? Outrageous. Impossible. Her embarrassment was only worsened by the reluctant fact that she felt the same way. What had come over her? Was it some kind of sickness? Or mania? And he dared accuse her of witchcraft!

It was too much to bear. Unable to respond, Marion snatched her lantern from the cobblestone; quickly, she turned and ran, her tail almost slapping Renard in the face.

Renard started to reach out for her, but a shocking jolt ripped through his torso. His mortal wound had closed, but its phantom pain still lingered intensely.

"Wait! Please wait!"

It was too late. Marion's silhouette was gone. The only trace of her was a line of bare footprints across the muddy stone. Just at that moment, it was like a small sliver of his soul was ripped away. "I'll find you!" He shouted, wincing from the white-hot pain in his flank. The whole city block might have heard him, but he didn't care. Renard was beyond reason.

"I'll find you! I swear it!"

His attention was shaken back to the present as Marion grabbed a stone goblet from a dresser, along with a bottle of cherry brandy she'd set aside for just the occasion. With a grimace, she pierced her thumb with her own razor-sharp claw, drawing just a tiny droplet of blood into the cup; uncorking the bottle with her teeth, she filled the rest of the goblet with brandy. It was a potent but simple tincture.

"You have to take the cup of your own accord, Renard," she urged. "And bring it to your lips on your own, willingly, and then submit to an oath, before the magic can work." Gingerly she held the goblet where he could reach it, and with both hands, he carefully scooped it up. Marion sat on her haunches, the huge book open on the wooden floor before her, intently studying the parchment's arcane passages. "Do you, human, with every ounce of your soul, desire this magic, to become more than you were, to join us in rodent-kind, forevermore? To dance with claws upon the stone, to stalk the shadows and revel in firelight, to become like beast and man as one in wild revelry?"

Renard stared at the oily brandy before looking Marion directly in the eye. "With every ounce of me, I submit to this magic!"

The rat maiden didn't blink. "Then drink, Renard, and know that our hearts will only grow closer!"

No longer trembling, the human brought the cup to his lips, closed his eyes, and guzzled as much as he could. The brandy burned his throat, but he welcomed it; he hoped it'd calm his nerves. As soon as he downed the first gulp, Marion started reading from the book. It seemed so mundane at first, nothing more than a bit of simple poetry; but as her words echoed in the chamber, an electric tingle of magic took hold, surrounding him like lightning about to strike. The air seemed to crackle across his flesh. It was a strange and otherworldly feeling, one that Renard was hardly prepared for... and this was only the beginning.

"I summon thee, lord of fauns and woods, weaver of the spirits of men and beasts, whose breath of life raised us from the grass and moss! Grant this man, who has taken your oath, your gifts beyond sight! The warmth of pelt and gift of scent! Bring him to us, your children who dwell beneath the strides of giants, to nest in the warrens as your son, and our brother in blood!"

Renard focused on the incantation, letting its mysticism filter into his heart. From out of nowhere, a warm wind gushed into the chamber, nearly snuffing out the last embers of the fireplace. It ruffled Marion's fur and tussled her gown; scrolls and sheets of paper blew off her bookshelves, but she was undeterred. As the ether whipped across his skin, Renard became keenly aware of a new and frightening sensation, one which Marion had tried to warn him about, but which he couldn't possibly ignore: his very flesh began to crawl, twist, and re-form, as if a thousand tiny creatures danced along his body with feet like sewing needles. It started on his arms, where his hair began to sprout into tufts of bestial fur; the feeling quickly raced across his trunk, causing his flesh to kindle with uncanny heat and nettling pain.

Renard yelped with shock as the stinging warmth rushed across his frame. He held up his hands, desperate to understand what was happening to him, only to witness his fingernails begin to crack and turn brittle, peeling away to make room for pointed claws. He forced his eyes shut, but that only made his discomfort more potent.

"By all the gods light and dark!" he shouted. It was the only thing he was able to stammer before his mind was torn away from the present. Suddenly and unceremoniously, perhaps like a dream or a nightmare, memories came flooding back to him... memories of fondness and longing.

Every other night, they came together in secret. On nights where they didn't meet, Renard couldn't keep his mind off her; and she, him. Their favorite spot was a quiet garden, hidden near an outer wall, far off in a corner of Erdris that was easy to reach and away from prying eyes. He always brought a flask of the cheap wine his uncle kept (who never suspected his illicit meetings, even when they happened in broad daylight,) and Marion never forgot a basket of little carrot cakes, scones, or tarts, baked in her own kitchen. For months they courted, and their passion never waned; in fact, as time went on, it only burned hotter, for as much as they desperately desired it, they could never finally give themselves to each other.

Renard learned quite a lot about the ratfolk during this time. Marion was always thrilled to open up about her people's colorful parties, lively music and dances (which she demonstrated for him on more than one occasion, to the point where he was confident he could join in if he wanted to,) and almost every other bit of minutiae about how they lived. It wasn't all happy. The rats were fanatically protective of their own kind, and courting a non-rat was strictly and vehemently forbidden. As a member of a mystical order, Marion could venture far beyond the halls of the ratling warren, but she was always careful to never grow to close to anyone without whiskers. Falling in love with a human would be a criminal offense, one that she would never be able to hide, since even a casual embrace would taint her with Renard's scent, unmistakable to one of rodent-kind.

No amount of perfume would be able to mask it, and there was no magic spell she knew that could conceal the evidence. If someone found out, she'd be ostracized, maybe kicked out of her home, forced to live in squalor; she might lose her position in the Order, or she could even be jailed (if the ratfolk magistrates got their way, which they almost always did).

Of course, the consequences were even worse for Renard. The ratfolk were friendly towards humans, and they often traded with the folk of Erdris and the surrounding hamlets, but the kingdoms of men viewed beast-kin as inferior creatures at best, monsters at worst. Being seen fraternizing so closely with Marion would have drawn suspicion, which might have been inflamed into vile rumor. Men had been hung for less. Renard risked his own neck (and his family's reputation) every time he met with her; but his love for her was too strong to ignore.

Eventually, as he learned more about magic and the power it could wield, Renard came to realize that there was only one option if he wanted to be with her. A drastic, dangerous, and foolhardy option, one that involved the most potent transformation magic in the kingdom; an option that could never be taken lightly. Still, it was his choice, and his alone... although only Marion could guide him down this path.

"Oh lord of fauns, command him! Grant him teeth to gnaw and talons to scratch!" Marion's voice was booming now as the hot wind swirled in a maelstrom within her den. The cacophony jolted Renard back to the living world for a brief moment, but he was fading in and out of consciousness, and every startling sensation that gripped his body threatened to thrust him back into darkness. In that short moment of lucidity, he was unfortunate enough to feel the presence of a long, rat-like tail breaking through his flesh, snaking out from under him, as if a blacksmith had decided to forge a few more chain-links to the end of his spine. The sickening pressure sent him reeling, and his skull burst with blossoming stars. Choking back tears from the shock, a vision of the letter he wrote just a day prior flashed before him.

"Uncle. I can't stand by while your brother fights in the east. He sent me here to protect our family line, but it should be a sworn duty for a man of my age to ride by his side. You've been kind, and I've learned much. I bid you farewell."

It would be enough. Maybe one day, in a few years, when the kingdom had grown softer to what he was about to do, perhaps Renard could return and reveal his identity. But until then, they'd assume he died on some distant battlefield. He left the letter in his uncle's boot. Spiriting away just enough wine to keep him going along with a few silver coins, Renard vanished into the night, never to return to his uncle's cottage. Just on the edge of town, Marion waited in secret... this was the night of his oath. The night where everything would change.

The rats lived in vast under-halls beneath the soft hills, beyond the walls of the city. Entrances to their warrens dotted the region, from sequestered gates and hidden doorways shrouded by trees and fog, to caves carefully overgrown with vines. Marion led him through one of the lesser-known paths, deep into the underground, in pitch dark during the deadest hour of the night. Humans were forbidden from entering; during the day, ratling guards would have seized him at once, and he'd be thrown into their dungeons, accused of trespassing for some nefarious purpose (not the least of which would be to corrupt the ratfolk with his presence). Renard stayed close behind the rat maiden as they darted through the shadows down narrow corridors and alleys, between rows of cozy dwellings and darkened windows. He'd expected a filthy, sewer-like hole, but instead, the ratfolk village reminded him of the folkish halfling abodes of the green hills: homes mined right from the dirt itself, with large round wooden doors on well-polished brass hinges.

He'd left his boots behind; human footprints weren't all too different from the rats' after all, and the imprint of leather shoes in the soil would have immediately aroused suspicion. Renard had no clue how far they'd gone, or even where he was. All he could see was the dim glow of Marion's den through her fog-laden windows. She opened the door cautiously, her eyes darting this way and that; she was mortally frightened of being caught. In the blink of an eye, he found himself in a crowded chamber surrounded by shelves of colorful books and glittering nick-knacks. Everything was paneled in cedar, and wooden trusses held up the ceiling, which was surprisingly high. A simple stone hearth smoldered in the back of her den. Suddenly, the very memory of that warmth brought his mind flooding back to the present. There was a sharp ringing in his ears that slowly faded, and then... silence.

The howling wind that pierced his flesh was gone, and the incantation was finished. With his eyes closed, for a moment he wondered if Marion was still there, since the chamber was deathly quiet; but without her saying a word, he felt her presence, for the first thing that filled his mind was the sound of a heartbeat. A heartbeat, clear and warm; the gentle huff of her moist breath; and her impatient squirming, mixed with the crackling of the last few embers of the fireplace. With a sudden, jolting understanding, Renard knew that he was hearing a tapestry of new sounds, the music of life so faint that no human could know it with their shallow senses. He breathed deeply through a maw that was an entirely inhuman shape, and his heart quickened at the realization of it; he ran his tongue over sharp rodent-like teeth, and he discovered his rat-like incisors at the end of what could only be a snout.

Instinctively, he reached up with newly-clawed hands to run his fingers over his ratfolk snout, just to convince himself that it was real. The soft fur that lined his face definitely felt real enough, and his whiskers tingled as his hand unknowingly brushed them aside; a peculiar feeling indeed.

With as much calm as he could muster, Renard allowed his new, piercing senses to wash over him. He sucked in a huge gulp of air through his nose, and a hundred potent aromas flooded into his olfactory. His newfound sensitivity to sound was one thing, but he was completely unprepared for the utter assault of scents and odors that danced across his skull. He relished the pungent cheese and tart cherries Marion kept in her larder; the hint of sandalwood incense and candle wax that had seeped into the walls; the last few droplets of brandy in the goblet he'd drank from; the dried oils of countless footprints soaked into the wooden floor of her den; and even Marion herself, a rich tapestry of musk, dander, and flowery old perfume.

At that, he threw open his eyes to look down at himself. In the dim light of Marion's warren, it was almost hard to tell what had happened to him; his eyesight, unfortunately, was more or less the same. Still, everything was enhanced by his smell and hearing, as if a new world waiting beyond the mundane veil of the earth had at last been unlocked for him. It was astonishing, almost unbelievable. If this was how the ratlings lived, how could any human possibly resist joining them?

"It worked! By the lord of fauns, it worked! I never knew I had the power in me!" Marion crooned. As far as she knew, Renard was the only human alive who'd undergone such a transformation, at least willingly. Perhaps it was her pure desire and love for him that the distant god of nature admired, granting her the strength to complete the ritual.

Her wide green eyes glittered in the dying firelight. She stared at him, watching patiently as Renard adjusted to his new form. He would need time, but she was happy that he was taking the transformation in stride. And by the gods... he was handsome as a young human man, but his body as a beast-kin was truly a sight to behold for a rat maiden like herself. No human could appreciate the subtle, rugged features of his rodent cheeks, his rich brown fur like the color of lightly roasted coffee, and his taut, chiseled physique. She started breathing harder just looking at him, and wild impulses began to swell in her chest. Marion struggled to control herself.

She turned, and with a single word of magic, the fireplace burst with a whoosh into dancing orange flame, casting the whole den in pleasing amber light. Marion crawled closer to Renard, getting a closer look at him, even as he shielded his eyes from the unexpected flash.

"How do you feel?" she squeaked, beaming with anticipation.

"I... might need a few minutes!" The first words out of Renard's rat-like mouth came effortlessly, and he was honestly surprised by it. His voice was nearly exactly the same, but if he listened hard enough, he could detect a subtle upward pitch; although his speech was far from the mousy squeak he expected it would be. Marion sat close to him with her legs crossed, gawking excitedly as Renard explored his new body.

As he mulled over his hands--which weren't entirely inhuman--Renard wondered how strong his claws were. They were certainly sharp, almost like needle-points. Stretching his legs out, he wiggled his bare toes, admiring the similar claws on his feet; his uncoated skin was a bit more pink than when he was human, and it was balmy to the touch. He accepted that he'd go barefoot from now on, just as Marion did. Renard grinned to himself; he felt liberated by the very thought of it.

"Your claws are as fresh and as sharp as a newborn ratling," she mused. "Don't worry... they'll get worn down a bit over the next few days I suppose. And your soft soles will toughen up too. After a week or so, you'll wonder why you ever wore boots in the first place."

Renard propped himself against the wall of pillows in her den, and with a bit of discomfort, he maneuvered his ratty tail out from under his rump, laying it across his lap so he could get a good look at it. A strange sensation; he could move his tail almost like a third arm, although it wasn't totally prehensile. Carefully, he ran his fingers over the scaly skin, and a shiver raced down his spine... his tail was uncommonly sensitive.

With his tail in hand, he turned to Marion, eyes wide. "What all can I do with this thing?"

She had to hold back a chuckle. "Whatever you can think of, silly! Have you ever seen me grab something with mine?"

"Well... no... I suppose not." He felt a little embarrassed, but he couldn't help but ask stupid questions. Renard was overwhelmed with curiosity about himself. He wanted to explore every nook and crack of his altered form.

Renard grabbed the trails of his tunic and pulled it up and over his head, leaving him bare-chested. Tossing it aside, he let out a long sigh as the warmth of the fireplace washed over his torso. He looked down at himself. Every inch of his ratfolk body--except for his hands, feet, and tail--was covered in a soft layer of chocolate brown fur. Renard marveled at the fact that his fur didn't stop the warm air from tingling his skin. Slowly, he brushed his hand through the pelt of his chest, letting tufts of fur run through his fingers. It was comforting and downy, hardly wiry or coarse. It barely hid his still-human nipples, and it did little to mask the contour of his sinewy, muscular torso. Becoming a half-animal had somehow only tightened his already well-honed physique. Renard chuckled to himself as he rubbed the fur on his arms, followed by his shoulders and neck; it felt marvelous. All the while, a myriad of tantalizing scents and sounds enveloped him in a cocoon of pure sensation. He never imagined that becoming a half-beast would be so invigorating... it truly was like being reborn.

Marion felt a swelling heat build in her chest as she stared at Renard fondling himself. He was without a doubt the most gorgeous, most alluring ratfolk she'd ever laid eyes upon. She wanted him so badly that tears were starting to leak into the corners of her eyes. For months and months she'd yearned for this; Renard was the one thing she ever desired, and now she could finally give herself to him.

He was so enraptured with caressing his own pelt that he didn't notice Marion's hand reach out and grope his chest. As her claws tickled the sensitive skin beneath his fur, he stopped what he was doing and snapped his gaze towards her immediately... but he didn't move. She sat for a moment, her hand outstretched; Marion could almost feel his throbbing pulse beneath the folds of his heaving chest, and with his newfound rodent senses, Renard could sense the blood rushing through her fingers.

With a profound understanding that sent his heart leaping into his throat, Renard knew what this meant. Marion had never been able to touch him in such a way before. But now, he was one of her kind, and his passion burned for her as brightly as the fire of her den. The pain of unfulfilled desire that had kept them apart for so long was rapidly melting away, like candle wax set too close to a hearth.

Marion looked deeply into his eyes and purred. "Are you happy, oh prince among rats? Are you convinced that your new life is real, and not just a dream?" She didn't withdraw her hand; instead, slowly and gently, she messaged his breast, moving closer to his navel. Her touch was seductive, almost overpowering.

"Marion..." Renard wheezed, barely able to contain himself. "What other senses do we rats revel in? Tempt me no longer, and hold nothing from me, my lady in white... show me everything the folk of the underground take for granted." He drew closer to her, grasping her hand with both of his. Leaning forward, he brought his snout so close to hers that he could taste the moisture of her breath. Her whiskers threatened to tickle his nose. Their eyes locked together, and their hearts began to race.

Marion's lips--if you could call them that--trembled for a moment as she closed her eyes, leaning even closer to him. Then, with almost no warning, the rat maiden embraced her lover with both arms, wrapping her mouth around his own. Renard let himself be taken, and he returned her kiss in kind, a deep, writhing, hot-blooded exchange. He fell backwards onto the pile of pillows behind him, and Marion plunged herself on top of him, fully capturing Renard in her flushed, furry grasp.

It was a primal, unrestrained kind of love, the sort of love that couldn't be contained once unleashed; it was a love that comes only after an unbearable era of isolation. Their tongues met, and Renard tasted every morsel of her devotion; his newfound senses exploded with intensity. She was mint and fruity brandy, nutty cheese and bread; but also musk and sweat, a whirlwind of savory earth and sweet juices. She lavished her snout over his, and Renard could barely help but devour her. She was every tantalizing, irresistible succulence that he could imagine.

Marion pressed herself harder on top of him, raking her claws down the pelt of his back, and Renard tried with all his might to squeeze her closer. Her body heat made him sweat--a curious sensation beneath his fur--and the pungent salt of her maw mixed with the blossoming raw aroma of her femininity stung his nostrils. That feral odor triggered some primitive instinct deep inside him. Without thinking, Renard tore himself away from her mouth, only to lunge forward and slavishly lick her face. Lapping her over and over, his tongue groomed her snout, followed by the shallow fur of her pale neck; he was only a few inches from her breast before she gently stopped him.

Renard coughed and puffed, barely able to catch his breath. Marion grinned from ear to ear, and she pushed him back against the now sweat-soaked pillows before thrusting herself to her feet. "You groom well for a rat who was once a human only a moment ago," she quipped.

Grooming? Is that what it was? Was he overcome by bestial instinct? Renard was too overwhelmed to care. By now they were both drenched in each other's pulsating scents; even with his keen nose, he could barely tell where his own musk ended and where Marion's began. Her den had become a sea of passion and sensation, and for Renard, it was almost like paradise.

"But there's a lot more to groom if you want, my rat prince." Renard's mouth hung open, his gaze fixed on her, unmoving; Marion could smell his masculinity growing bolder with each passing moment. She wanted this. She wanted to drive him mad, to unleash his most primal, rat-like impulses... but she wouldn't tease him. They'd waited long enough.

Slowly, the rat maiden untied the laces on her flowery kirtle, and with hardly any ceremony, she carefully peeled the dress down, wiggling out of it, letting the firelight reveal every hidden curve of her body to him. In just a few moments, she stood gloriously nude in the center of the chamber. Tossing aside her clothes, Marion closed her eyes and let out a soft hiss as the warm air of her den licked her body. Sensuously, she ran her clawed hands down her belly, flaunting herself before him; she felt wild and free, and the beast inside her was desperate to take hold.

Marion might as well have been a goddess among ratfolk. She was lithe and muscular, and her feminine contour was just barely masked by the white-and-grey fur that coated her body. Renard gulped a few times; he was far beyond being able to compose himself. Her breasts were perfect; she was athletic and youthful, with soft pink nips only partly hidden by her fur. No longer masked by her clothes, a bold, pungent, feminine aroma poured from her, a potion of pheromone and musk; as the scent assaulted Renard's olfactory, a tear of joy came to his eye. She was the purest, most beautiful creature he'd ever laid eyes on... and she was giving herself to him fully.

Renard didn't need to say a word. He scrambled to his feet, tail whipping behind him. Almost stumbling, he took a few steps towards his love, but he stopped just an arm's length from her. She waited patiently, satisfied as his lustful gaze flooded over every inch of her womanhood. The reborn ratling tucked his thumbs into the corners of his wrinkled trousers, and with one motion, he pulled his breeches to the ground and kicked them aside, releasing himself to the warmth of her den. Renard let loose a long, deep exhale; his fur kept him warm, but it didn't make him feel any less naked. Peering downward, his manhood was already as stiff as a board; not completely inhuman, his member was nevertheless freed from a furry sheath that protected it, much like an animal. Without thinking, he wrapped a hand around his package, curious to caress the soft fur of his balls.

Marion giggled, and a fluttering appetite for him started throbbing in her gut. Renard was just as well-endowed as she imagined he'd be... perhaps even more-so. With no further hesitation, she grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him against her nude body. She had to feel his warmth, to let his rich, earthy scent gush over her.

As her soft bosom pressed against his breast, Renard could feel the hot blood in his manhood throb even harder. The delicate softness of pelt against pelt was a sensation he wasn't ready for. Her body was like creamy velvet, massaging him, comforting him; they wrapped their arms around each other, and he clamped his mouth around hers once more, kissing her brutally.

They stopped only to breath through muffled groans and growls of slobbering pleasure. He grinded himself against her; the luxurious softness of her fur was a feeling Renard doubted he'd ever get enough of. After a few moments, he found himself grooming her once more, only this time, his neck craned to let his tongue slobber between her breasts. With rat-like fervor, he lapped his pink tongue over her bosom, taking great care to cleanse her nipples at least once. The savory taste of her flesh was addicting; Renard almost couldn't stop.

Marion let loose a squeak and a moan, relishing the cool massage of his mouth against her body. But she wanted even more. Taking a few steps with Renard in her arms, she carefully guided him back to his nest. He understood her intentions, and his heart thundered so loud she could hear it. The rat-man whirled Marion around; gently she fell away from him, letting herself collapse against the soft pile of pillows behind her. The rat maiden spread herself wide, arching her back against the nest, vaunting herself towards him. "Take me, rat prince. Take me like the beast you've become!"

Renard growled with excitement before splashing on top of her. His animal instincts were clawing at his mind to escape, and this time, he let loose their cage; he embraced his rat side fully, holding nothing back to feral, unbridled release. Marion let out a high-pitched yelp, followed by a rodent-like squeak of pleasure as he drove his half-rat member deep inside her. She splayed her toes and wrapped her legs around him, forcing him closer. Her tail slapped wildly against the floor as he thrust his rock-hard shaft into her again and again. Waves of lust crashed over them both, and beads of sweat dripped from the fur of his brow onto her chest; Renard slavishly basted her breasts with his tongue, and with each lick, he bucked even harder. Her juices soaked into his fur and tainted the rug underneath them, but his energy was relentless. Marion howled into the chamber, her sultry moan echoing across the den, the hot firelight still dancing over their carnal union.

The rat prince huffed and heaved, his breath hot in Marion's face. "How long... can you take me?" he groaned. They'd been tangled together in a sweating, steaming knot for an hour, maybe even two or three... Renard had lost track. On occasion, she'd throw him beneath her, riding him like a famished beast for awhile; or she'd growl and clamp the rug on all fours, letting him hammer her from behind like an animal. Yet, every time he thought he was about to finish, he caught a second wind. As a human, his stamina would have waned long ago; as a ratling, he felt bestial, powerful, almost feral, like the woods and the wilds coursed through his veins, and he showed no signs of slowing down. Through throngs of pleasure, Marion tried her best to answer. "Rats... don't just... make love... they mate!"

Deep into the wee hours of the morning, the two rat lovers were still naked, lying in a disaster of soiled pillows and spilled wine. They were cradled together, cuddling so tightly that they might have resembled a single ball of fur with two pink tails sticking out of it. Once more, the firelight had drawn to an ember, and Renard groggily awoke, finding Marion's snout tucked lovingly under his chin. She yawned loudly as he stirred, and she draped her arm over his back, gently caressing him. Renard smiled, letting their afterglow warm his heart. For a brief moment he wondered where he might be able to buy a wedding ring in the underground. He'd worry about it later.

Groggily, Marion pushed herself from the floor. Her fur was matted and filthy, and both of them were sticky with sweat and the flavors of love-making. Renard forced himself to sit up. He scanned the nest quickly, finding a still-upright goblet of wine; he downed it in one gulp, a few droplets dribbling down his chin. Marion was rifling through her spilled books and papers, returning things to their shelves and cleaning up as much as she could. As foggy as he was, Renard's stomach started to clench yet again as he stared at her nude form. His longing for her was still ferocious and unsatisfied. In fact, he couldn't foresee a time when her beauty wouldn't mesmerize him.

After a moment, Marion turned her attention back to Renard, who was still sitting quietly, waiting to wake up from his dream.

"Are you awake yet?" she gibed. "I hope I didn't take too much out of you!"

Renard smirked. "If this is how every rat makes his fancy, then I'd better cut back on the wine and cheese. I'll need all the strength I can get!"

Marion padded over to him. "By the gods, you're a right mess! Look at you!" She brushed the fur on his head back, and wiped a spot of bread crumbs off his shoulder. "I'll take us to the hot springs. Have a nice relaxing soak! You can think about things there... it always helps me regroup."

Hot springs? It was the underground, after all. And in fact, nothing sounded to better to Renard's ringing ears. "Alright then... what time is it?"

"The sun rises differently under the hills, but it's not daylight yet. I don't have to return to the temple until the morning. You can come with me if you want. Actually I think you should... they might be able to find a use for you!" Marion hadn't thought too much about what Renard would do in the ratfolk city after his transformation. He was a cobbler in Erdris, and an apprentice at that; what use was a cobbler in a world where no one wore shoes?

Renard looked this way and that for his trousers, but Marion stopped him. "No need for that. We can go as we are."

He seemed shocked. "What do you mean? What if someone sees us like this?"

Marion laughed. "We rats aren't as skittish as humans when it comes to that sort of thing. In the underground, sometimes you might even prefer to go skyclad. Embrace your animal side from time to time."

He was dubious, but Renard drew himself to his feet. Marion took him by the hand, and then cracked open the round wooden door to her den, revealing the dark corridor beyond. She stepped into the shadow with him in tow; the moist, soft earth felt wonderful under his padded feet, and the cool, dry breeze of the underhalls tickled his skin even through his fur. The draft carried an almost overpowering odor of rich, fertile soil, mixed with the smoke of dying hearths and the dank musty air of moss and lichen. He'd never felt more free and alive. After only a moment's hesitation, they bounded into the dark, towards a new future, two hearts beating as one.