FSE

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...Prologue...

The earth was hot, broken, parched, and scorched by a boiling red sun. Clouds of dark red dust swirled across the broken and barren landscape like small red devils dancing on the broken surface of a fresh layer of hell. Lone pillars of ancient petrified wood still dared to reach for the sky across the arid lands. The pillars, once known as trees, stood silently like monuments to a time long forgotten. It was, in the shade of a petrified tree, that a young man stood and looked out over the forsaken barrens ahead of him.

The young man was tall, taller than most men who lived in these times, and healthy enough to retain a scrappy muscular build. His bright green eyes looked out over the dust ridden hell and took in the sight of the sun baked wilderness. A shaggy mop of dark brown hair decorate the man's cloth-cap covered head. The dew-rag on his head was covered by a hardened leather cap decorated by the image of a stag carved into the leather. Below the cap and the cloth rag was a heavy brow with thick bushy brown eye-brows. Flowing from the corners of the cap was a dense week-old beard that was darker than the man's hair. His thick beard covered most of his jaw and trailed down his neck. Flecks of red and tan dust hung in the beard coloring it lighter than normal.

Despite the searing heat around him the stranger wore a thick leather jacket to protect his chest, arms, and back from the scouring sand and dust in the air. The jacket was studded on the back and shoulders with bright metal spikes. The collar was stiff and tall enough to protect the man's neck from sand and dust. A scarf protected his neck skin as well, and metal-plated gloves shielded the man's hands. Armored leather pants protected the man's muscular legs from the sand, dust, and sun. Below the pants were two large spiked boots. The whole outfit was designed to repel the elements and protect the wearer, but the man was no ordinary wonderer.

On his hip two plasma pistols hung loaded and primed for combat. Over the man's gloves was an energy matrix that could produce short foot-long energy knives. In both close and ranged combat the man could be quite deadly, but it was his stern attitude and steady gait that showed his true combat prowess. The man was a trained fighter which made him a rare site in the wasteland, but he was wounded despite his training. A single bloody gash on the man's side oozed dark red blood as he leaned against the old petrified tree.

In addition to his combat gear the man carried a pack on his back. Medical and survival supplies were a must in the wasteland, but a unique black-metal capsule also rested in the pack. It was this capsule that had brought the man so far out into the wastes.

Despite the swirling dust devils, the burning sun, and the other harsh elements the man resumed his silent trek across the wastes. His boots fell heavily on the dusty ground as he walked on and on through the waste. Occasionally he would stop to drink from his aqua-suit (an expensive military device worn under clothing and armor that harvests waste water and recycles it for consumption), but the man carried only a tiny amount of water on his person. He carried even less food...

The boiling red sun beat down on the man as he walked on. His path was set, but he had no destination. There was no place that was safe for the man, and he would have gladly walked until he died just to see his cargo lost in the waste. But even that was not a permanent solution to his problems, so the man walked on and on. His legs eventually buckled and the man fell to the ground knocking his head hard on a stone. He didn't notice the dust-covered fence post just a few yards ahead of him. His eyes glazed over, and his sight faded to black.

...The Stranger...

Dust, dirt, and sand, the three things Cane knew best. It seemed like there was an endless supply of all three out in the wastes, but that didn't matter much to the young rancher. He lived in the wastes because that was where his family had always lived. Cane was young, only nineteen, but he was tough and hard like most waste folk. He wore thick cloth over nearly his whole body. Beneath the cloth Cane was skinny and malnourished. Even though he worked hard for his living there was no guarantee he would have food or drink at the end of the day.

Most days Cane was busy looking after his ranch. He had nearly twelve cows and a few goats and sheep. Cane also had a rare horse. Today his herd had been spooked away from the northwest corner of his property. Cane didn't want to chance a possible spike-rat infestation or worse yet, a pack of waste coyotes. When he reached the corner post of his property Cane was surprised to see a man... or the remains of a man.

After dismounting from Buddy (his horse), Cane jumped over the short fence and inspected the stranger laying face down in the sand. "Hey Stranger," Cane said and shook the man, "you dead or alive?"

A low groan from the man told Cane that the stranger was alive. Cane tried to rouse the leather-clad man, but it was obvious that the man was dangerously close to dehydration and starvation. Most wastelanders would have left the stranger to die, but Cane had a soft spot for wounded animals. He reached over to take the man's pack, but a strong hand shot out and stopped him. "Don't take it!" The man shouted incoherently.

Cane was shocked the stranger could even manage to move, much less fight. It was nearly more than Cane could manage, but he got the stranger loaded up on Buddy and then carried the guy back to Cane's house in the middle of his sprawling wasteland ranch.

...

Soft... pillow soft... some sort of sound, like singing, but not a girl singing. "Ugh..." It was the first sound that came out of the stranger's mouth. The man's eyes slowly opened and looked up at a surprisingly handsome face. This was a kind-looking face, young, male, and just old enough to have rugged stubble covering most of his cheeks. The young man smiled as he looked down at the stranger. His eyes were a soft blue color, like fresh spring water, but the stranger had never seen blue water before.

"Howdy Stranger?" The young man said as he bent over his guest and helped the man sit up. "You've been sleeping for nearly two days Stranger... how are you feeling?"

"Ugh, sore as fuck," the man said gruffly as he sat up.

"Figures, you were exhausted sir." The young man said cheerfully. "So what do ya go by? Or do you prefer Stranger after all?"

"Some folks call me Stag." The man said and rubbed his bushy eyebrows. The name seemed to fit well enough. Stag had long auburn hair that was currently brushed and pulled back into a pony tail. His beard had been shaved earlier, which surprised Stag... but not as much as the fact that all his gear was gone. "Where the fuck is my gear!?" Stag tried to jump out of the bed, but a painful stabbing feeling in his side made him groan in pain.

"Whoa there big guy!" A strong hand pushed Stag back into the bed and then the pain stopped. "You're still not all better Stag, you've got a wound on your right side that I've been doctoring these last two days. It musta happened when you fell or something cause you got a huge gash there."

"I... I was in a fight..." Stag said as he struggled to remember. Everything in his head was fuzzy... he must have hit his head when he passed out. "I was carrying something precious..."

"You were carrying food was what you were carrying. But hell, I didn't introduce myself. I'm Cane. I've lived on this ranch all my life, but you're welcome to stay here and rest for as long as you need too."

"A ranch in the waste?" Stag asked and furrowed his bushy brows at Cane.

"Heck, it aint what it used to be, but I manage somehow." Cane stood and went to the next room. He emerged with a bowl filled with a bright green soup. After feeding the soup to Stag, Cane served himself a bowl and chatted with his guest while they ate. Apparently Cane lived alone; his folks had passed on a few years ago. The young man told Stag about his ranch and how it used to be one huge farm a long time ago. As he spoke Stag remembered something important.

"Seeds!" Stag said and hit the side of the bed with his fist. "I was carrying seeds! Some kind of special seeds."

"Well... I hope I didn't do something wrong, but I used those seeds in the soup we've been eaten these last few days." Cane said guiltily. "In fact, it's those seeds that saved ya Stag. I gave you all the medicine I had, but as soon as I fed you that soup you turned away from death's door."

Stag started to laugh when he heard that. Somehow it was just too funny to think that he had eaten something he had risked his life to protect. "What the hell, did we eat them all?"

"Nope, only a handful a day," Cane said and smiled. "Sorry for wasting it if those seeds were precious or something like that. But what kind of seed would even grow out here in the waste anyways?"

Stag felt like he should know the answer to that, but his mind went blank again. He just shrugged and looked at Cane. "Is there any more soup left?"

...

Another day passed before Stag was able to stand again. He was almost starting to enjoy being with Cane when he found out something that really made him angry. Apparently Cane had sold Stag's gear to pay for the water they were drinking. It made sense really, but it didn't make Stag happy to hear it. The weapons and most of Stag's clothes were still there, but the other gear was all gone.

Cane wouldn't let Stag leave him for long, so what was the weakened fighter going to do with his gear anyways? As another three days rolled by Stag found himself helping Cane with the work on the ranch. However, things were starting to get tough around the ranch. Cane had precious little money and water as it was, and before long it was obvious that his limited supply wouldn't last forever. The two men found themselves outside one morning discussing what to do about the lack of food and water.

"We gotta barter for more water Stag," Cane said sadly. "I can sell another cow, but that will only buy us around a week's worth of water."

"When dose the water trader come?" Stag asked.

"He'll be here around noon," Cane said and shook his head.

Stag watched Cane pace up and down the dry dirt pathway that led through the ranch and then out towards town. The house was stripped bare, the animal barn was filled with only what was needed to care for the animals. According to Cane the sheep's wool was worth money, and the cows could produce milk. Unfortunately without food for the animals they produced nothing, and pickings had been bad this year. Even the goats had dried up lately...

As Cane wracked his brain for answers and ideas Stag looked at his armored clothes. He promptly peeled off his studded jacket and then his armored pants, gloves, and boots. "We'll sell these," Stag said and handed the clothes to Cane.

Cane looked at the muscled chest of his guest and blushed. In the time the men had been together Cane had struggled with his feelings for Stag. The older male was only in his twenties, but he was confident, stern, and best of all strong. Stag was still weakened by his wounded side, but he was getting stronger every day. His muscular chest was broad and pale, and below his chest Stag had a well defined six-pack. A hot flush of blood went straight to Cane's cock when he looked at the strong tall man standing over him. "H... how will you work with no clothes?"

"I'll wear the old work clothes in your house..." Stag said gruffly. He left to go get dressed and while he was gone the water trader came. The older man was surprised to see Cane holding a large set of well-crafted military grade armor. Other than a puncture in the side of the jacket the armor was in great condition. Cane was able to barter for two month's worth of water, three sacks of grain for the animals, and even some food for himself and Stag.

"So, how'd you get this armor?" The trader asked as he looked at Cane with curiosity in his old eyes.

"I picked up a drifter who's working for me now," Cane said and shrugged. "He's a pretty handy guy, so I told him to stick around for a while."

"Hmmm," The trader said and rubbed his bearded chin. "After I sold that gear you gave me last week some damn mercenaries moved into town asking about folks visiting the waste farms and ranches. I hear they're looking for something valuable... I heard they're looking for seeds."

"Seeds?" Cane asked as he loaded goods into his cart. "What kind of seeds? I got some old corn, apple, and flax seeds..."

"Not those kind of seeds boy!" The merchant said gruffly. "Them seeds are worthless in waste soil. Naw, these folks are looking for some kind of special seeds. They said these seeds can heal wounds, grow in waste dirt, and even do other crazy shit!"

"I aint seen none of these miracle seeds, but I'll give ya five cows if you get a hold of some." Cane said and smiled.

"Damn kid, I'd want more than five cows... maybe eight." The merchant said and waved his hand at Cane. "Aw well, if you see a big brown haired man let me know. The mercenaries want him alive and they're paying good money to anyone who can catch him."

"I'll keep that in mind," Cane said as he nodded and began hauling the cart back to his house. He was surprised when Stag emerged from the old farm house and helped him unload the goods. It wasn't that Stag had come back out, but that the man was wearing an old pair of cotton pants and no shirt. As he worked in the hot sun Cane became concerned for Stag's skin. "I hope you don't get burned Stag..."

"I'll take breaks," Stag said quickly.

As the day progressed the men fed the animals and then moved on to getting other chores done. Stag never did take breaks, but he sure drank a lot of the water. Cane noticed that he too was thirstier than normal, but not like his friend. The rancher passed it off as a side effect of Stag healing. At least the man didn't seem to hungry lately. The two men ate a very light dinner that night of more seed soup with some other dried vegetables the armor and clothes had bought.

Most nights the two men chatted or shared stories, but tonight things were a little tense. "I'm sorry we had to sell your armor Stag..." Cane said softly. Thoughts of the merchant and his words swam through the young man's head as he looked at Stag's meaty chest in the flickering fire light. Maybe it was Cane's imagination, but he swore he saw a few stray hairs on Stag's exposed skin.

"I don't need the armor Cane," Stag said and frowned. "Who's going to attack us out here?"

"Well, raiders do come this way sometimes... mercenaries do too." Cane said softly.

"I'm tougher than most raiders and mercenaries Cane," Stag said gruffly as he scooted closer to Cane.

To the smaller male's surprise Stag put his arm around Cane and pulled him against his side. Cane was used to being cold, but it was nice to feel the warmth of Stag's body beside his own. "I'll fight them off if they come here. Nobody's going to mess with us Cane."

"Who's going to fight when you leave?" Cane asked softly and looked up at Stag's sparkling green eyes.

Stag's bushy brows furrowed as he pulled Cane against himself in a protective hug. "I'm not leaving Cane. I'm staying with you... forever."

Cane didn't know what to say. Had Stag really just said that? Why would he care about a wastelander like Cane? Nobody bothered helping people in the wastes, they were just leftovers from an age past to most folks. Who would choose to stay out in the waste on a god forsaken ranch regardless? "Why?" Cane asked innocently.

"You saved me." Stag said and looked at his companion. "I owe you my life, so you get one full grown Stag from here on out. I'm not leaving you kid..."

A soft sob came from Cane's throat as tears welled up in his eyes. He had been expecting Stag to move on as soon as he got better, but now he wanted to stay with Cane? The young man surprised Stag when he wrapped his arms around the man and buried his face against his chest. Cane began to weep as he hugged Stag tightly. His tears were a soft milky green color, but neither male noticed that. Stag just held the kid in his arms and let him cry.

As the tears touched Stag's sun-baked skin tiny dark green hairs began to sprout from the man's chest. A dull itch on his chest made Stag grunt and shift Cane in his lap. However, he was too soft-hearted with the kid to pull him away. The man endured the itching until Cane ran out of milky green tears. When he finished crying Cane slipped into a soft slumber. Stag just sighed at the kid and carried him over to the bed on the other side of the room. Stag laid down with Cane in his arms and absently scratched his chest. He was too tired to notice how his fingers touched the tips of the thick dark-green hairs growing in the cleft of his chest.

Cane fell asleep in Stag's arms, but the hairs kept growing through the night. Every hour or so a new dark green hair would sprout from Stag's bare chest. Through the cracks in the ceiling the moon light filtered down on Stag's body. Like magic his new chest hairs began to stand up as if they were reaching out towards the light. As the pale moon light bathed the hairs they thickened and spread. Before morning came Stag had grown a thick patch of dense green-black hairs that covered the whole cleft of his chest. A few thick stray hairs were adventuring up the side of his meaty pecs too.

As the hairs grew larger tiny roots began to push down into Stag's muscles. The fibers of his chest muscles began to thicken and harden. Before long Stag's chest was hard like a dense solid oak wood. His pectorals bulged larger and larger through the night as his muscles were fed by the strange hair on his chest. It wasn't until the moon set that the strange changes suddenly stopped. Stag had been sleeping on his back, but when the moon set and the light left the room he rolled over and pulled Cane against his thicker hairier chest. A deep musky scent came from the thick hairs, and Cane unconsciously nuzzled the hairs as he slept. He didn't know it, but with each breath he was pulling tiny microscopic spores into his body.