FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

It started out dull, mostly numb. But once noticed it began to spread. Give pain a glance, and it shall take your stadium.

He stirred. He changed to the other side, hoping that would make it ebb. To his relief it did, for a time. Before the gentle caress of sleep could tickle his scalp to dream, it throbbed of its own volition.

He winced, rousing fully. The dull, foggy ache began to trickle down into his arms and legs. His right hand was cramped, as if he had taken a rock and tried to crush it throughout the night.

He did not realize he pushed himself so far. It certainly was not apparent before he slept; unless the pain in his rib was a harbinger. Then again, the repercussions were never predictable. Often, up to an hour without stop would yield barely a pin or needle; sometimes, barely ten minutes would leave him numb and paralyzed.

There was a correlation between his physical stamina, and the severity. So he was discovering. No doubt the blow to his head influenced his present ails.

Perhaps just a while more, and meditation would alleviate them.

As he lay in the cocoon-shaped rock into which he crafted his own bed, he drifted half-submerged in slumber. Tending to one hand with the other, and trying to keep as still as he could, the discomfort eventually receded.

His ear twitched. Slowly, he opened his eyes as the call of the brass bell bounded from far in the distance. By its third hail, the boy began to scurry from his nestle and cautiously rush out and to the right. With every step and beat of his heart, his scalp dizzily throbbed, but he bore it with a clenched jaw as he ran the low-ceilinged corridors.

He scurried up the long ladder, light of the sun caste aslant the mouth of the tunnel at the neck. The inner wall against which the ladder leaned continued unbroken, and this the boy used recklessly as he continued to climb it beyond the rungs for at least three foot-falls. Then with a whirl he pushed off the wall, stumbling a bit from the disorientation.

Even with a headache, some habits to thrill the day die hard.

He ended his usual routine in a fumble on his palms and knees. He gazed out into the open, eyes squinting as he centered on the city.

From high upon his cliff-dwelling home, the tallest spire only just matched the point of his index finger, when the top of the wall was flush with the knuckle. Though there was distinction between light and shadow, at such a far distance the intricate structures and architectural detail was made blurry and smudged as if beheld from behind a thin sheet of ice. Or perhaps a thin waterfall, as the edges and spire-tips wiggled and rippled ever so slightly.

The boy exhaled in disappointment, laying prone upon the ledge and staring at the bright landscape. He had missed the moment when the sun's light broke the seal of darkness on the sand far to the west, and the rolling breeze that ripped across the sky as the sun-bearers' invisible feet marched across the dunes.

It was that moment that he felt most alive. To greet that blazing discus of flame in the ethers. To welcome, or be welcomed, by the kindred spirit which he understood and by which he felt understood. To assert that so long as its flame spurned on without balking, so might his.

To miss it made him feel disrespectful, ashamed, and bereft of strength.

He rose to his knees. As the gentle breeze sleeked the fur on his cheeks and made the voice of his home hum, he promised the sun would see him there to help break the next dawn.

The growl of his stomach called for attention. It reminded him that all he had offered it in the past half-day was cactus meat and sourdough. With the looming thought that he still needed to procure rations, he made his way back down the ladder for breakfast.

He supported himself by the wall, his recklessness having tasked his balance. Eat, and then the day would be used to rest. Not in bed, but basking in the sun like the serpent after acting like a glutton.

In the corridor before the kitchen, he halted. A wave of shivers ran down the nape of his neck as he heard a crackling. Staring down the dark tunnel, save for the light which broke through the ceiling a yard before the other end turned into the destined room, he was petrified.

Not of fear.

Someone was here. But, in his entire life, none dared journey to the cliffs. So then maybe his mind was playing tricks on him. Surely that was it; the ache in his skull was fooling with his mind. He'd heard stories in the city.

They called it delirium.

Anecdotes told about a friend-of-a-friend who started seeing things that were not there, or hearing noises that were not made. It was usually caused by something. Loneliness. Loss of a loved one. A rejected and broken heart.

But he was not raised to be overwhelmed by superstition. If he would only find the will to lift his foot, he would soon turn the corner and dispel this illusion in its act.

The air began to take warmth near the shaft of light. As it passed over his pink nose and ears, and swept down his back and tail, it was clear the sun was not the cause. The smell of charring wood wafted with a puff of white smoke around the turn.

He rested his hand upon the inner bend, and cautiously peeked about the corner.

The kitchen room beyond was roughly circular in architecture. In the center, a dwarf boulder squatted stoutly, its sides roughly rounded and its bald top roughly flattened. In the center of this boulder, the tongues of a small fire licked thin sticks and bramble, speaking in crackles and snaps and bellowing smoke. The white puffs of cloudy air swirled gently, rising to the ceiling which was covered by a lattice of lain boards.

Just a few inches over the fire, an iron griddle ring held up several slices of meat.

The aroma of the cookery pervaded the room, and stirred the growl in his stomach.

But the room was otherwise empty.

He stepped into the room, his feet barely making a scuffle. He rested his hands upon the boulder, which served as both stove and table, and watched the fire continue to make a meal. Then, he closed his eyes.

Evenly breathing for a moment or two, he concentrated. The pain in his head began to recede from his thoughts, and he focused on the sound and heat coming off of the fire.

Then, it happened.

As a dark-yellow and rippling aura, the fire was visualized in his mind, set against a dim, black-purple haze. The light that spilled through the spaces in the lattice roof above, began twinkling like little white stars in the night all upon the table.

And then, as he released his focus on the fire and tried to ignore the lattice-light, a third aura came to attention. It was faint, barely a brighter purple than the haze on which the auras resonated. He slowly stepped along the circumference of the table, until he was nearly a quarter-clock from where he'd started. Dark red streaks slowly faded where his palms had run along the stone's surface. His bright-green hands set on either side of the fading purple aura, and he focused on it.

As he tried to force it to brighten, another amber glow caught his attention. It came from behind him, emanating from low by his calves. He slowly turned about, letting one hand off the stone.

Close to the ground, the amber aura was still, and quiet.

The dark haze lifted as he opened his eyes. The low cupboards were revealed to him. He left the table, and in four steps he was before them. He positioned himself diagonally to the closed door, and wedged his fingers into the flange.

Slowly, he slid the face along its track.

Inside, there came a gasp of fright.

From in the shadows, her white face and sand-stained toga reflected what little light fell into her hiding place. Her wide eyes glowed, like shimmering jade laden with flecks of gold. They wiggled from side-to-side ever so slightly, pupils narrow like the seam of a crescent moon.

As he poised with the face of the cupboard still in his hands, a deliberation began in him.

Intrusion meant death. This was a credence instilled in him time and time again. To let a trespasser live violated the sanctity of home, and made it vulnerable.

It was not instilled in him solely for his protection--that merely made it more urgent. Such a resolution was just for an intruder.

Therefore, it was just for him to take her life at this very moment.

And then, his breath caught. The realization donned upon him like a thick black toga.

The cold shivers of fear down her spine subsided. As he gazed at her with his soft, blue eyes, she saw him change twice in some way. Perhaps it was the subtle relaxation in his face, or the way his pupils slowly dilated. On the sixth beat of her tense heart since he discovered her, he reached to the face and slid it back nearly to place. Half-concealed in the hiding shadows once more, she saw through that rift to the outer world that he stood.

There came a soft clatter over her head. His toga bobbed in and out of view through the rift. Then, he began to walk away, toward the table. She could not see, for he went toward the opposite corner of where she could see from. But she heard: his footfalls went toward the table; followed by two distinct, gentle clackings; and then silence.

A moment passed. She held her breath. Two. Distinct, set apart by a heartbeat. It gave her a bit of courage, a bit of curiosity. Cautiously, she reached for the cupboard's face. She slipped her fingers through the rift, and slid it aside. It scraped along its track, and then faster still as she used both hands. She then shimmied to the front, until she could awkwardly get out.

She saw him standing at the table. He was watching the fire, but as she rose to her feet he glanced at her. He stood before a clay plate, and another was set two hours to his left. Wetting her palate, she slowly approached him.

His eyes locked to hers as she warily neared, idly running her hand on the table while she went about the circle to the plate. When she arrived, she watched the fire for just a second, before her eyes went back to his.

He looked patient, almost relaxed.

Her back began to ease, the crick in her neck from hiding causing a quiver in her muscles. She looked to the fire, and saw that the meat was beginning to singe. Deftly, she reached for the griddle and pulled it from the fire, scraping it a bit on the table out of nervousness. She hastily looked to the boy, fearing some kind of scolding, but he remained quiet.

She waited for the smoke to thin, and then gingerly pinched the slices of meat and took them from the griddle onto the plates, three apiece. She took in a breath and folded her hands upon the table, waiting expectantly.

For a moment he watched the tendrils of smoke rising from the slices, eyes glancing toward her now and again. He began to understand that she was waiting for him. He reached for the plate and pulled it closer, then picked a slice of meat up. He rolled it into a tube, and brought it to his nose.

It smelled like nothing he had ever smelled before. He had never actually seen such an amount of meat in one place. Now and again, he had had slivers of it in porridge and oatmeal, but never had it been a meal by itself. He opened his lips, and pulled it to his maw. Biting down, it broke tenderly. The taste made his mouth salivate, and his tongue relished in the smoky, dry flavor of the sinew. Even as he swallowed, he crammed the rest of the tube into his maw.

Out of the corner of his eye, she brought fingers to her lips and gently closed her eyes. Her shoulders twitched and the corners of her muzzle rose; and yet no laughter came from her throat.

His chewing stilled. He swallowed, his stomach immensely gratified.

She then picked up a slice of the meat, rolled it much like him, and began eating.

He opened his lips, and broke the silence. "You... cooked this?"

She paused, a small shred of the tube still pinched in her fingers. She swallowed, lifting her chin up to make it easier, and then looked at him. She gave a quick nod, the last bit of the slice disappearing into her teeth.

He rolled up another slice and bit a small piece. He chewed, savoring the flavor once more, and reluctantly swallowed. "It's... very good," he said, his neck-hairs wiggling as he struggled to find words. "Better... than I can do."

She beamed.

He took his time while she began to aggressively consume her second slice. She out-paced him rapidly, mercilessly starting her third slice as if she hadn't eaten for days. But he understood, as he pushed the last bite of his second slice past his teeth.

She could hardly believe how wonderful this tasted. It was no wonder that meat cost so much; not only was it the most delicious kind of food to ever roll upon her tongue, but it filled her belly despite how paltry it appeared on the plate. She felt a bit bashful as she finished her meal while he just barely started his final slice.

Her patience was tested. He chewed slowly, gazing at the fire with a look of contemplation. Until he finished, her mind began to race with doubts and regrets. She started to feel she shouldn't have come; it was obvious he disdained company. But there was no turning back once night fell and she departed from the city walls.

The last bite popped into his mouth. She felt her heart beating faster. The gesture felt not enough; perhaps she should have gotten more? A better cut? Did she cook it wrongly?--She only had her wits on that matter.

His hands rested on the table.

She reached for his plate, intending to clean it for him. She carefully pinched the rim, and lifted it off so as not to bother him with the noise of it scraping. Slowly, she hovered the plate toward her own.

"That was..."

She stopped, chest tight.

He closed his eyes. "I couldn't ask for a better final meal."

The plate clattered and reverberated as it spun for a second or to; it stopped.

The boy looked at the girl from the corner of his eye.

Her lips were agape in surprise, her brows slowly rising.

"It's okay," he said lowly. "I understand. I'm sorry for what happened, but I can't change it... so, just go ahead and give me what I deserve."

He waited as her hands and lips closed simultaneously. Her eye narrowed, and her other hand went to the join of her toga at her chest. He closed his eyes, and curled his fingers, pressing his knuckles hard upon the stone.

Perhaps all of this was fate. It had a way of orchestrating such elaborate schemes for those who commit unforgivable acts. It was fitting, for he was made almost to feel like a hero and a savior; when in reality even before the day started, he was a murderer.

He heard the tinkling. He envisioned the knife as she pulled it from the sheath. Perhaps she would finish what the lion started; rid him of the vile appendage that trespassed into her body. Then rid him of his vile spirit that killed in cold blood.

But several heartbeats passed, until he heard another tinkling. It was muffled; a soft impact. He slowly opened his eyes. Upon the table right before him, still in her grasp and the size of an adult's balled fist, was a purple satchel made of felt. She relinquished her hold, revealing the knot tied at the top. They exchanged glances, and she rolled her hand insistently.

He reached for the knot. It was a crude one, easy to undo. As he pulled the twine away, the bag's form collapsed, and a shining glint from inside caught his eye. He pulled aside the bit that had fallen over the contents.

Nearly two score coins gleamed from the purple cloth; a dozen were gold, just over a score silver, and the rest copper. A quarter cut of the silver alone was more than enough coinage he had ever seen in his life, at all.

His lips hung agape as he reached for one of the gold pieces. He pressed his fingers to it, and then hastily receded. "I... I don't understand," he said, looking to her. "Why are you here? Where did these come from?"

An expression of dread crossed her face. She bit her lip, and then jutted her chin up just a little. Using a hand, she scratched at her throat. When she finished the gesture, his expression was unchanged.

"Are you... all right?" He asked.

She grit her teeth. Then, she glanced at the coins. She swiped a copper piece and held it up, pointing to it. She then pointed to her throat. Covering her eyes with that hand, she tossed the coin behind her.

He watched as it flew toward the cupboards, catching a stray beam of light in its flight, and then sang as it landed in a place lost to his sight. He then went back to look at the girl.

Still sensing he didn't understand, she opened her lips.

He winced. From her throat came the sound of grating pebbles, amidst a pitifully weak strain of her voice. Her eyes began to water, as if the act of doing so hurt her. When she went on for longer than he could bear, he reached out to touch her shoulder.

She stopped.

"You... lost your voice..." He stated.

She nodded with melancholy.

His eyes caste down. "I'm... sorry."

Her hand snagged his wrist and squeezed. She brought it in both her hands after catching his attention again. Her face took on a sad expression as she shook her head, clasping his hand to her chest.

He pulled it away; she reluctantly let him go.

The aroma of smoke and meat began to leave the room, and with how near she stood to him, he caught an odor that disgusted him.

She bit her lip as his face grimaced, thinking she had done something against him. She reached for his hand again, eyes pleading, and squeezed. He looked confused for a moment. To a wave of shivers down her back, he reversed the hand-holding.

"You... still reek of that... that place," he told her.

She reached up to dry her eye.

"We should bathe," he suggested. "Get the stench out." He was met with a nod. He began to lead her by the hand. "There is a spring here," he explained, taking her down the middle path that spread from the kitchen.

She paused, tugging his hand. When he stopped, she glanced back at the fire.

He was quick to quell her forlorn gaze. "Don't worry, it'll die on its own."

Holding her eyes upon it for a moment longer, she nodded, and smiled back to him. She held onto his hand, which was twisted backward. She marveled at the way this home looked. She was so used to walls of wood-reinforced sandstone and rafters; but here every hall was a little cave and every room a little hobble.

There were forks and side-paths that led to where she could only imagine. Such an intricate nest must have taken a great length of time to create. How much chiseling? Or perhaps these were natural.

Very quickly the tunnels went from being lit by thin rays of sunlight through cracks in the ceiling or wall, to darkness.

She walked by him more closely, wary of straying in the slightest. But in the distance, she saw a glow of light, and felt a bit relieved. As they neared the light, she began to realize it was different; it glowed a soft bluish-violet.

His nape sprung up as she gasped, and he was keen to turn and ask her what was wrong. But he soon understood as she ran up to the patch of flowers on the wall.

They were beautiful. They glowed, the luminescent aura pulsing gently. They were not in bloom or even open; instead, their petals wound about in a narrow bulb, with a single glowing aglet sticking out of the culmination.

"Don't touch them," he warned, as her hand reached out.

She balked, stepping back.

"They're very fragile." He stepped beside her, and leaned forward. He sniffed.

She did the same. Their smell was faint, but it reminded her of;

"A still night under a full moon."

She nodded in agreement.

"They're called Umbra Lanternarum; Lanterns of the Shadow." He spread his arms. "They're all over the caves and passages, but only where it's absolutely dark. They grow naturally, but they can also be cultivated."

She silently giggled, the only real indication of it a rapid stuttering of air. When she looked back to the boy, he had an unsteady and bemused smile on his face. She reached for his hand again, and tugged it.

He nodded, and they continued on.

They were nearly there. The gradual decline did have a short-cut, but it required lots of climbing. Besides, she seemed to appreciate the work that had been done to the channels.

It soon settled on her just how lost she was. Even with the security of the Lanterns in gathers throughout, if she had to run and escape she would have little sense of how to get back. They had been walking for minutes now, and she had been so focused on her thoughts she did not take note of which turns were made and what fork was taken--He paused, looking back.

"Don't worry," he reassured, his nose flicking downward. "I'm not going to hurt you."

She looked down at their join; she was practically trying to pop his hand off with how tightly she was squeezing. She relented.

"Not unless you try to hurt me," he added.

She shook her head insistently.

He looked toward where they would go. "Listen," he spoke in hush.

Her ears perked. She heard the sound of the wind; it made a low and soft howl, like a very distant war-horn signaling a battle halfway to the horizon. In the stillness between its hails, another sound tickled her ears. It was peculiar, akin to a roaring fire but different.

"That's the spring," he said. "It's only a minute or so away."

She followed him gingerly. She did not entirely understand what he was saying, which in part contributed to her anxieties. Lost, with a strange boy who took lives before her very eyes, and led her to a noise which began to sound more threatening and imposing the closer they neared.

At a brisk pace, he let go of her hand. She saw that the tunnel they were in broke into a room, in which the sun was dominant. It spilled several feet into the mouth of the tunnel, reflecting light onto the other wall in solid beams. The noise was beyond that threshold.

He passed into the light; she remained in the dark.

He turned, and noticed her hesitation. "Come on," he spoke loudly, cupping his hands about his muzzle.

Hesitantly, she stepped to the mouth of the cave, and peeked about the corner.

There, she saw more water than she had ever witnessed in her entire life. More than enough to quench the thirst of what she measured to be a hundred strong men--and still more would remain.

It appeared to come straight out of the wall, as if by some kind of miracle. From the mouth of its cave, the water crashed in a white cloud onto a rocky incline, until it swirled and frothed into a reservoir that at its widest appeared nearly twenty paces.

And just as miraculously as the water emerged from the wall, so too did it bubble and froth as it disappeared into the floor on the opposite side.

The disappearing-end of the reservoir was partly in sunlight, but the emergence-end was in shadow, caused by an overhanging wall which blocked off light high above and allowed it through underneath.

She finally emerged when he took her by the hand again.

They approached the spring. She was able to feel the noise against her skin and beneath her feet.

"It comes from the land above us," he explained, loudly. "And feeds into the land below," he pointed outward. "It may even go to the city." He knelt down, and dipped his hand in the gentle current. "It's drinkable," he stated, lifting his hand like a cup and taking a sip of what did not dribble onto his chest and chin.

She dipped her hand. It was surprisingly cool, and fairly clear. She cupped a bit, and lifted it to her lips. She had never tasted such richness; it was like drinking pure gold. It had a curious taste to it, one that rested on her tongue even after it passed, but it was almost negligible. She cupped both hands, and let her parched palate relish in the act of slaking its constant thirst without paying a price.

Staring into the water, she tried to speak again.

Just over the rush of the shallow waterfall, he heard her crackling voice. He rested a hand on her shoulder, squeezing. It sounded painful, and stilled his blood; and once again he saw beads of water well into her eyelids.

She sat back, exhaling out her nose and closing her eyes in a calming moment. Then, they flicked open and she watched him expectantly.

He looked about nervously. "Um..." He got up, and went to the back wall. Resting on a shelf-like protrusion of the wall's contour, two clay urns were nearly disguised in the shadows. He pulled them away, one in each arm and pressed against his torso, and carried them back to where she was sitting.

He carefully set each one down. Kneeling, he uncovered the lids. He dipped his hands in each. In his left, a small mound of ash, and in his right a scoop of tallow. He plopped the tallow into his other hand and began kneading it gently, working it into a ball. When he was finished, he set the ball at the edge of the pool.

"You're welcome to go first," he said. "I'll wait in the corridor to give you privacy," he pointed back at the cave form which they came.

She looked back, noticing the shadow ever-so-slowly cutting off a glint of the quartz. Then, she quickly stood.

The boy began to stand as well, but as he lifted his hind off the ground and his eyes were passing the girl's waist, her toga abruptly fell about her ankles.

His heart skipped a beat.

A wave ran up his spine as the fur on his back stood on end. For a few seconds he stared at her calves, predominantly white with blotches of brown, orange, and black; before closing his eyes and looking up. When he felt he was at a safe angle, he opened them barely. Beyond the red haze of his slitted lids, she watched him with her hands resting on her stomach.

He closed them again, and finished his turn on hands and knees. "I-I'll be--" As he tried to stand up and hurry away, the back of his toga began pulling off of him. He recoiled back just a little, keeping his balance as he was forced to turn; his toga pulled him until he extend his arm, and fell free of his shoulder. About-faced, her eyes shimmered from the glow of the sun, stilling him in his efforts just long enough for the fabric about him to be loosed.

He managed release from the trance only to see his toga clutched in her hands.

The wind breached into their hollow.

He felt it caress his short fur. It touched his thighs, chest, and shoulder-blades; as well as below his stomach. He took a step back, and quickly she seized his shoulder, a look of sadness and fear on her face, and she clutched her other hand at her left breast. When he quickly glanced to the cave and back to her, she shook her head, clasping her balled hands together at the knuckles in a plea.

He nodded. "I... I won't leave," he promised.

Her eyes and shoulders relaxed and her muzzle curled up in a smile. She hastily turned about, and went to her toga.

As her feet lightly tapped upon the rock, he started to close his eyes on instinct. But then he paused, and let them fall open. Her tail, covered in black-and-orange, and a bit of white, slithered so fluidly and smoothly from its origin at the base of her rump. The fur on her back had a slight sheen that caught in the sun, making her appear like glazed porcelain for just a blink.

Her back, calves and rear had the curious pattern of overlain splotches of brown, black, and orange. It was as if ink, mud, and clay had been blotted onto a pure white canvas of papyrus.

She abruptly bent over at the hip, and only slightly at her knees.

Before he winced and looked aside, he caught the lift of her tail, and the pure white fur of her rump in his periphery.

She retrieved her toga, bundling it with his. As she stood, she glanced behind. From the corner of her eye, his pupils flitted from her to straight ahead, his gaze out toward the dunes. His fur, short and brownish-tan as the rocks that surrounded them, caught flecks of light from the sun on his shoulder and temple. His broad ears, not quite as overwhelmingly large as one would imagine, took on a red tinge; whether from the sun coming through the thin skin, or to match the bit of red that was on his cheeks, was hard to tell.

He slowly turned back to face her as she walked with the togas concealing her from the navel down. She made her way to the wall where the urns had been, and set their garments at on a bit of a slope, in the sun.

She stood up and turned.

As she approached, his eyes stayed upon her face. He held his breath, and only when she reached to take his hand did he exhale. With a slight smile on her muzzle, she curled her fingers about his; he fought not to look down at it when she made contact, instead squinting his eyes.

The rapid stutter of her breathy giggle was muted by the rushing spring.

He reluctantly followed her to the water. Now and again she glanced back, as if to make sure he was still there; still keeping his promise that he would not leave. And that was exactly what his nerves kept telling him to do. To rip away; flee.

But he had promised, and so he quelled the urges.

They stood at the bank of the pool. Her toes hung over the edge. She released his hand, and squatted down. She dipped her hand into the water once more, and bit her lower lip. Then, she plopped onto her rear, and dipped her legs in, letting out a bellow.

As the cool water chilled the blood in her calves, she looked up at him with a smile. In her lower periphery, his flaccid appendage hung at his loins. She patted the ground by her, ushering him.

He sat beside her, dipping his legs into the pool as well. The current was gentle; a slight push such that without flexing the muscles just enough to steady, his limbs would be pushed and bobbed about.

They sat for a while there, her looking into the pool and he glancing from her to the pool with nervousness. He was just getting used to the water's chill and the relaxing heat of the sun on his back, when her hand rested on his thigh.

She slipped in. She huffed and gasped at the change in temperature. It was not freezing, but it was certainly very chilly. She held onto his ankles to steady herself, though the pool was only deep enough that the water reached up to her waist. When she managed to catch her breath, she tugged him gently, and backed away.

Gritting his teeth, he slid into the water as well.

Before he had time to even catch his balance, her body pressed against his. He was wrapped in her arms about the lower-back, and he reflexively held her likewise, though she had hunched a bit and so he was just under her shoulder-blades.

She looked up at him, her chin on his chest.

He felt her body tremble in his arms. "Is it that cold?" He asked.

She nodded. She righted, and pressed against him even more, resting her chin on his shoulder, letting a quivering breath out against his neck.

Her movements brushed him, nudging his boyhood and sandwiching it between their stomachs. Between the cold, and her shivering abdomen, he felt it begin to grow. The angle was a bit awkward, and he started to vocalize his discomfort through the catch of his breath in his throat as it went slowly rigid between them.

She looked into his eyes. His pupils were wiggling back and forth. She shushed, and pulled her waist away just a bit. The growing flesh against her hip settled upright, and with its placement his breath steadied--until she pressed against him once more.

This time, his breath held from nervousness and tension rather than discomfort. As the beat of his heart hastened, he closed his eyes. The dark, foul-smelling room came back to him. The closeness of her warm body pressed against him like it had before.

She was suddenly pushed away. She caught her balance despite the gentle push of the springs, and watched as the boy began breathing heavily. His eyes caste to the side, and he rested back against the bank once more.

As he fought to calm himself, she approached his side. His flexing hand was covered gently by hers, and his trembling vision was steadied by her worried gaze. When he could finally breath evenly and his eyes were steady, she slowly closed hers and tilted her chin down in apology.

Then, as he tried to say something, but faltered, she reached for the soap he had made earlier. With her other hand, she minded the urns and closed them up. With the soap in hand, she dipped it below the water to moisten it, and sidled up beside him.

He watched as she lathered her palms for a second, and then rested her hand on his back. He was rubbed, and gently pushed at the same time, until her instruction was understood. He lifted away from the bank.

She stepped behind him, and gathered some water in her palm. She lifted and drizzled it on his back, soaking his fur and making its color darker. She pulled off a bit of the soap and kneaded it in her palm, then began tending to the parts he likely had difficulty reaching.

He looked back to her out of the corner of his eye.

She noticed his stare and smiled at him, then focused back to her fingers. The chill of the shade and water began to get to him, but he fought the shivers.

She set the soap down on the bank and then stepped behind him. He started to speak when she very quickly rested her hands on his back, and let her thumbs gently push onto either side of his spine. She rubbed in circles, pressing firmly.

He spasmed more than shivered as the unfamiliar pressure made his muscle tense. But as she continued to rub and knead without relent, he eventually relaxed.

Then she moved, and pressed in a different spot higher up along his spine. As her thumbs gently dug into the muscle, his jaw came unhinged and his back arced all on its own. His eyes closed, his fists clenched, and he let out a gratified groan as, for the first time, a knot was worked loose. When he returned to his normal position, her chin rested on his shoulder from behind. He craned his eyes to see her; she was smiling and looked a bit smug.

She slid from behind him and snagged the soap along the way. She lathered her hands again, set it aside, and moved in front of him. She pressed her hands upon his chest. Her eyes gazed into his as she ran her fingers over his sternum, and up across his shoulders.

He leaned back against the bank again, his hands resting on the edge.

She went from the soap to his torso, working the cleansing mix into his arms, chest, stomach, and then his scalp and face.

All the while, he matched her eyes. They looked so focused and determined, and yet in their shimmer was a bit of cheer. It made him... happy. As her thumbs and fingers rubbed along his cheeks and brow, her nose close to his, he thought not about the things that had gripped his heart the last several days. Even without the sound of her voice, just her presence and touch began to work the emptiness and silence away like how she worked the grime from his fur and the tension from his muscles.

She backed away slightly.

He anticipated she was finished, and so he dipped his hands in the water. But when he started to pull his palms to his face, she held them. He looked up, and she pressed her hand onto his chest, pushing him gently. He backed up, until his rear butted against the bank.

And still she pressed.

Hesitantly, he pulled out of the water, sitting on the bank. The hand against his chest fell away, and she went back to the soap.

She lifted his leg, standing beside it, and held it with one hand under the ankle while the other ran along. She quickly worked the soap into his fur and then let that leg drop back into the water. She moved to the other side, taking the diminishing ball of soap with her, and gave the same attention to his other leg.

As she let his leg fall, it was her turn to anticipate. She pressed her hand on his knee, and stayed in front of him as she reached for the remaining bit of soap. She mashed and gathered it on her fingers and palm, and then looked back at him.

He watched as she looked into his eyes, and then shocked when he felt the touch. His boyhood twitched as her fingers wrapped about it and gently pulled. He then clasped her wrist.

They watched one another other for moment, before she carefully let go of his girth.

His grip relaxed, and she began massaging her fingers about his inner-thigh.

She stayed locked to his eyes as she worked by feel about his loins. Her attention became deliberate when she saw him hold his breath, let it go, and then quickly suck in another. She lightly touched her fingers to his thighs, wedging her thumbs between them, and then moved her palms apart.

He winced his lids as, leaning back, he acquiesced. His heart raced with anxiety as her hands returned to his genitals. And then, when he closed his eyes, the hands fell away.

His anxiety abated and he opened them. Her hands were held up, palms facing him, her expression calm. After a moment, her hands slowly lowered back to where they had been.

She looked down at his boyhood. The pale-pink appendage was warm and turgid against her fingertips. She tried to think of how to voice herself, gritting her teeth behind her lips that she couldn't say what she wanted. And then she thought of a way. She looked up at him, and, using her thumb and forefinger, held the tip between her fingers.

He looked down, watching her gesture as she looked back at him to gauge his face. He felt a gentle squeeze, and his eyes pulsed. Then she immediately lifted away, and held up her hands, shaking her head.

His face went from a bit perplexed, to gradual understanding.

He recalled how the rabbit had bitten him gently, causing him pain. She poised, waiting for him to understand. "You're... not going to hurt me..." He said.

She nodded emphatically.

"I... I didn't think that at all," he admitted.

Her turn to wear the mask of confusion. Her lips parted and an ear twitched. She tapped her scalp and pointed at him, then tapped her lips and pointed at herself.

"Tell you... what I was thinking?"

Another nod.

"I... I don't... why're you...?" He looked to the sunlight, unable to come up with words.

She tapped his thigh, catching his attention. She touched his finger to his groin, and tapped. He looked down reluctantly. At the base of his tumescence, patches of dark-tinged fur were clumped together. At first, the sight took him by surprise, until he quickly understood and remembered the blood that had coated him. After he--

She squeezed his knees as he hissed, closing his eyes and balling his fist. His knuckles hit into the stone, and then another hiss--this time of pain--escaped him. She dipped low when he looked at her again, and rested her chin on his knee.

A tear fell from his eye.

"I..." He started to say, but she abruptly rose.

She snarled, and then lowered back. She moved between his knees, and rose once more. Looking at his groin, and then to his face. She slowly moved her hands closer.

He watched as she looked and focused on his loins, her fingers gently scrubbing abound his pelvis and genitals. The soap and ash mixed into his fur, and she looked up at him with meek smile when the stain began to come out.

He looked toward the outside once more, watching as the city gently rippled in a blurry heat. He began to breathe evenly as she massaged her fingers about his groin. Now and again he squinted, but it was almost as if she was watching him, for when he did her fingers slowed and became more gentle and deliberate.

Then, his heart began beating nervously again when her fingers went back to his boyhood. She was exceptionally gentle, as if afraid the slightest pressure would hurt him. He couldn't help his thighs and legs twitching as her fingers carefully traced along the sensitive skin.

Finally, he looked back. On his groin, there was not a spot of tainted fur anymore. And yet she was close to his member, eyes examining and fingers tracing. It was nudged to the left, she looked at the tip; pushed up so she could see his sac and underside.

Then her eyes flicked up.

She took on a look of panic, and quickly backed away. Her hands clapped onto her muzzle, and she turned about, water disturbed in ripples about her waist.

He intended to calm her. He followed her into the water, but in his hurry his foot slid upon the polished rock. Instead of comfortingly laying his hand upon her shoulder, it came crashing down in a desperate grope for support.

Down they went below the surface, flailing in blind confusion.

He expelled bubbles as a stray hand slammed into his gut. He sank a little further, before finding the deeper bottom of the shallow pool. Oriented, he found his way back up, all too eager to cough out the water that had tickled his throat.

"Ugha-ugha; ugh-ang o-ugha--Wait!"

She turned, her fingers gripping the bank and poised to flee the pool.

"I d-igh-in't mean to--ugha." He slammed his fist against his chest, turned his head, and opened his jaw. He gagged as diluted bile fell over his tongue. But as it left his throat, so did the urge to cough. He held up his hand. "I didn't mean to hit you," he said. "I slipped, I swear."

He walked to her, and reached out to put both hands on her shoulders. Her eyes watched his hands; the closer they drew nearer, the more wildly her slitted pupils vibrated about. Until he was just about to touch her, she let out a silent scream and closed her eyes, trembling bodily.

Her heart felt about to burst. She waited--she already felt hotter. It would only take a second, just like she had seen four times before. She tried to scream, but all that came out was a pitiful crackle like a buzzard with broken beak.

A moment passed.

At last, she opened her eyes.

He watched her reaction to his approaching touch. He had stopped just inches away, and did not recede. When her eyes opened, he was frozen where he had been when her eyes had shut. They were much less erratic now, her pupils still and her posture less frightened.

Still, he decided to hold off on touching her. He understood why. He backed away. "I didn't mean to scare you, either." He spoke softly, barely above the water's growl. He moved his hands behind his back.

They stared aside one another awkwardly, she collecting her nerves from the outburst; he from the accident.

The water served to make the seconds not entirely silent. However, only one of them could really break it. He struggled to find something to say--anything! Just keep her from running away.

He wanted her to stay.

"Th--thanks," his lips blurted. "For--uhm... getting my back."

She brought herself to focus on him. He was still with his arms behind his back, shoulders up straight and rigid. She bit her lip, and pushed off into the water, walking toward him. She approached him slowly, leaving his gaze only when she had to keep herself from falling.

He stopped forward as if to catch her, but his arms did not leave from behind him.

She caught herself just fine, all the same. In three more careful steps she was close enough to touch him, but not without just a bit of reach. She looked to the side in thought for a second, and then back to him.

He wet his lips, ready to try and interpret what signs she might try to use to talk to him. Instead, her only action was to raise her hand, and show him her palm. He watched it for a second, waiting to see what else she might do, but she only held it up; her pupils watching him expectantly.

Hesitantly, he loosed his left hand. He brought it out of the water, droplets falling forth. He shook it several times to rid them, and then fanned his fingers. He reached forward, showing her his palm just as she did to him.

Their hands neared, until they were just barely touching.

Their eyes glanced from their hands so close, to one another. Until, finally, she pushed forward.

Their palms pressed together as he matched her force. They brought their hands down, and stepped close to one another, the backs of their hands at level with their chests.

As she was closer to the bank, she had the higher position, and looked slightly down to him. She did not let that be for long, as she twined her fingers with his and wrapped her other hand about his wrist. She walked backwards, pulling him along.

She guided them back to the bank, toward the urns.

As they stood by the urns, she released the twining and held his hand in hers.

He watched and allowed her to take control. He extended his fingers when she turned his palm sideways, and placed hers against it once more, patting it a few times.

They both looked at one another at the same time.

She patted their palms together a few more times.

"Don't worry," he assured her, curling his fingers. He pulled his hand from her grasp as she let it go. "It's... I'm... safe," he said, trying to come up with the words to assure her, though he could not hide the dubious tone in his voice.

He was never a good liar.

She smiled. Then, taking a step back, turned toward the urns. Uncovering them both, she dipped her hands in, and mimicked his motions, kneading the ash and tallow into a ball. Though, when she uncovered it, hers was neither as thoroughly blended nor quite as evenly composed as his had been. She wrinkled her brow, glancing at him with embarrassment at first.

But he only returned her a shallow smile.

She resolved her discontent at her work, and covered the urns once more, while at the same time turning to him and proffering the ball of soap.

He held out his hands in a cup, and she turned her wrist over to let it drop.

There was a second or two of stillness, until she abruptly turned, splashing the water just a bit about her waist. She glanced back at him out of the corner of her eye, and raised her shoulders evenly. She blinked, waiting.

He gathered a shilling on his thumb and rubbed it into his palm. When his hands touched her back, she leaned forward and braced herself against the bank. He tried to treat her the same as she had treated him. He kneaded her back, and her muscles responded by flexing and shying away from his touches. Fearing she was being discomforted, he stopped kneading and just worked his fingers through her fur.

Her coat was a bit coarse at first. But as his hands disturbed the grime and grit from between the strands, it became soft and plush to the touch. Because of this, it was easy to find places he had missed, despite that her pattern of ink-blots made it difficult to see. And so he spent quite a bit of time evening out the fullness of her coat, until it felt right to him.

When he believed he had thoroughly cleansed her back, he stepped away.

She glanced back to him with a smile, and then arced her back in an emphatic, bodily stretch. Her head fell back and she pushed her chest forward, the bank as her fulcrum. Her entire body quivered in the stretch, and it was one of the best she had managed to have in a long time.

Relaxing, she turned about to face him. She waited for a time, treading her fingers in the water as he stood, almost dumbly, and blinked at her. She giggled silently, shaking her head, and flicked her hands in a come-hither gesture.

He stepped closer, intent not to break eye contact.

She slowly blinked, halfway understanding him, and decided to go ahead and close the gap. In a single step their noses were inches from one another, and she looked down at him just slightly. She half-stepped back, and pulled her arms behind her back, lifting her chin.

He bit his lip. He knew this was likely to happen. And yet a knot tied in his gut. He looked down at the ball of soap and shaved off a sliver.

In the last day he had learned, by accident, quite a bit about the differences between genders. But he always knew that older women had more pronounced chests. He did not think much of it. Yet the day before, he had watched the opulent lion describe the chest before him in a strange way. In his mind, he knew its contour: slightly pronounced, with a pink dot near the outer-bottom.

And yet, because of the words of the opulent lion, he felt a sense that to even gaze upon it was forbidden. Much less than what he knew she was silently telling him.

He was suddenly snapped back to the present as his hand was taken. He quickly glanced up to see her gentle eyes and smile. His lips fell ajar, as if to try and say something, but nervousness lost his own voice.

She took his hand and, while locking onto his eyes, gently rested his palm onto her left immature breast. She laid both her hands atop his, and pressed it firmly to her chest, to secure him from tearing it away.

He closed his eyes, a rush of anxiety welling his spine. He recalled the memory of her body being touched and fondled as each intimate part was described like she was a farmer's tool or artisan's raw ingredient.

Amidst the fresh memories, a gentle beat rapped against his palm. Once noticed, it took his focus. Gentle, and even. Like the steady march of a phalanx felt in the earth from a distance.

He opened his eyes to once again see her patient, soft smile. And somehow she imbued in him the simple courage to look down.

The knot in his gut tightened for a moment. He blinked infrequently, watching as her chest subtly expanded and fell with each breath. Though mottled with impurities, the suppleness and vibrancy of her white bosom-fur was easily perceived. On each barely-raised breast, her nipples were pert, and reddened to the likes of a rich berry.

As he examined her bosom more closely than when bound to a wall, her hands fell away from his. Against his palm, the march of the phalanx hastened, and when he noticed he looked to her expression.

Her cheeks were blushed and her smile timid. Her eyes glanced aside bashfully, her chin reaching to touch her shoulder. Despite, she pulled her arms back again, took a breath, and angled her shoulders back to more pronounce herself.

He felt his phalanx hasten the same, as if their two armies had spotted one another and were now rushing forward--but the imagery broke there, for they were not in a battle.

They were in a bath.

He raised his other hand, and slowly hovered it above her other breast. He looked to her, as if assuring he had permission. He received no acknowledgement, nor deterrent. With his breath caught, he laid it gently upon her.

They let out their breaths at the same time.

She found the means to look at him again, her smile broadening. She chuckled silently at the way his eyes went down and back up, and the way his lips twitched nervously. It was like he forgot what he was doing--merely resting his hands on her chest, taking in his fill. She once again took his wrists, and began moving his palms over her.

Reluctantly, he complied with the motions that she started.

Her skin was particularly soft and well-padded at the chest. As he worked the fur to its normal plushness, a growing blush across his cheeks, he found himself liking the way she felt. His blood nervously tingled, his fingers running over the budding mammary. Without forethought, he gently squeezed them, experimenting. At their core, a somewhat hard lump resisted his gentle pressure.

She giggled.

His spine whipped in a shiver and his hands receded. But the smile on her face and the way her eye-lids slowly fell half-open helped lay his palms upon her again.

Only to realize he needed more soap, he distracted himself with that, and then gingerly went back to his activities.

He expanded his concentration beyond her pert nipples and soft bosom, moving his fingers toward her clavicle and about her shoulders. She leaned her head up, to give him way, but quickly raised her shoulders to her chin as his fingers tickled her neck.

It brought a nervous chuckle to his throat, and he was careful not to agitate her too much as he washed the ticklish spots. She raised her arms out and he went from her shoulders down to her fingertips, watching as the impurities fell away from her fur with his gentle scrubs, leaving the vibrant colors and pale white on the tops and bottoms of her arm.

More comfortable, his hands went to her sides and stomach. Again, she wriggled and squirmed as his touch shocked her with tickles. He gave her apologies, but could not relent. The tickling was a necessary side-effect in order to get her cleansed.

She seemed to understand, bracing her hands on his shoulders to keep from outright pulling away from him. But, at last, when he began scratching around and below her navel, she couldn't stand the stimulation, and backed away. Smiling, she quickly rubbed about where he'd gone, detailing his work for him.

He thought she was pushing him away at first, but kept confident that the smile on her muzzle meant she wasn't.

She took a bit of the soap and scrubbed her cheeks and face, and then ducked under the water.

He waited as she rid herself of the soap. He stepped away to give her room as she popped from the water, taking in a breath, and wrung her arms and shook her body.

Droplets flew, some against him. He raised his hand to block them, and then lowered it as she finished. He smiled, started to chuckle, and then covered his mouth to keep from outright laughing. Her fur had become erratically fluffy, and made her look just a bit bigger.

He regretted it when he saw her embarrassed glower, and his laughter quelled almost instantly. Still, she stomped to him, splashing water up as she did, and put her hands on his shoulders. He sank as she shoved him down, spewing bubbles from his nostrils.

When he surfaced she was less angry and more vindicated, having gotten her bit of revenge. He shook his head, and apologized. "Your fur's... really soft and nice." He said, hoping the compliment appeased her.

Her hands clasped at her chest, and an odd look came on her face. But then, she smiled, and blushed as she looked to the side. Collecting herself, she beckoned him again as she backed toward the bank.

He followed.

When she felt the edge against her hand, she quickly hopped up and sat, her legs still into the water up to her calves.

He stalled.

Her face abruptly changed to reluctance, and her next action made it clear why. Her thighs opened, and before he could look away, he glimpsed a dark and stained mess of fur.

He swore, balling a fist and resting the knuckles against his forehead. The knot in his gut tied again, taut and winding. He grimaced, and pressed the knuckles harder, as if to bore a hole.

Then, after the initial feelings ran their course, he dropped the fist and relaxed his face, eyes still closed. He stepped forward, hands out, until he felt the curve of her knee. He opened his eyes, looking up at her.

Her expression was pained, but sympathetically so.

"It's... only just... right?" He spoke. "It's the least I can do... to atone with you."

He balked as she suddenly leaned forward, hands clasping his shoulder. Tears began to well in his eyes, his chest constricting as her grip tightened. In his bleary vision, she gritted her teeth and then softened. She moved one hand to his chin, and vigorously shook her head.

His emotions came together, slowly. He felt a sense of comfort as her hands cupped his cheeks, a tear falling from her eye. He watched as she grit her teeth again, and then her lips started moving. She started silently speaking, her only sound a rush of air as her voice was lost somewhere in her throat. The way she spoke was clear, though; her face was vigorous, as if what she felt compelled to say had more meaning the all the gods' morals.

But she quickly faltered, as if she only then remembered her voice was unheard, and so she let go and slammed her fists beside her in a fury. She looked up, breathing heavily, her shoulders hefting up and down with her frustration.

He watched, pangs of sadness hitting him. Only after she stopped talking did he sense anger from her; directed at her inability to talk. He was about to say something, when she dropped her emotions and focused back to him, her hand resting on his head.

She gently pet him.

The nape of his neck tingled at her gentle strokes. Her fingers brushed his ears, scratched his scalp, and cupped the top of his head. The tender gestures sent their message, and he did his best to keep them in mind as he dared look down between her thighs.

He winced again at first, but then focused.

Her groin was mussed with dried blood. It had dried, turned darkish brown, and concentrated about the crux of her groin. It seemed like a much smaller amount that he remembered. The terrible sight of her looking at her own bloodied palms crept into his mind.

But he had work to do. Amends to make. The disgrace of her was his fault alone. Though cleaning her did not seem to come from her as a punishment, he could not let the thought leave his mind.

His nervous fingers rubbed against her flesh and fur. He paused as she leaned back, and looked down at him. She let out shallow breath, as if to encourage him.

He would not be encouraged. He would be obliged.

His fingers delicately rubbed the intimate region, starting at the very edge of the mess, halfway down her inner thighs. The fur was stiff and rigid, crusted together. He worked the ends between his fingers, loosing the coating of her own dried blood in slivers. His efforts were greatly aided by the soap.

As his attentions went closer toward her body, her legs spasmed. He flinched, hands pulling away and gaze glancing up at her, fearful he'd hurt her again.

She smiled.

He gritted his teeth. The expression was unwelcome to him. He didn't want to see her smile and then look down at the blood. His hands went back to work, ignoring the subtle spasms of her thighs.

His eyes began to water. As he revealed more and more of her white fur from beneath the black coal-like blood, he could only recall the events of the day prior. He stared, trying not to actually see what he was looking at.

Her finger appeared at the bridge of his nose. It brushed against his lower eyelid, wiping away the tear that had beaded and threatened to drop. He looked up again; she leaned over him and held a tender expression of gratitude in her eyes.

He could no longer ignore the details of his work. His eyes had to focus, for what lay nestled between her thighs was complex and intricate. As if she understood this, she leaned back and widened her legs.

The dried blood had congealed in small clumps about her vulva. It must have been thin, for as he carefully traced his thumb over them they crumbled easily like brittle, dried leaves.

His thumbs rubbed just outside her folds, scrubbing away the blood almost more easily than on her thighs. He could see her abdomen expand quickly as she started to breathe a bit faster. He looked up to her.

"Does this... hurt at all?" He asked.

She shook her head.

He nodded. "If... if I hurt you... even just a little... kick me. Hard."

She shook her head, but he likely didn't catch it as he started back to work. If only he knew. The touches he gave her were the antithesis of pain; each rub made her insides shudder with a kind of gratification she barely understood. It was familiar, the same basic feelings that had come from when the stallion had prodded her with his phallus. And yet, where that was terrifying and dreadful, this was appealing and pleasant. She leaned her head back, closing her eyes to help concentrate on the sensations.

He neared closer to her lips. The supple flesh was much like the nipples on her chest. Though he did not fondle them much, the way it was pinkish-red and smooth to his touch was distinctly similar.

He regretted the sickening curiosity that suddenly swept him. The burning in his cheeks was a confusing mix of anger and nervousness; anger at the memories, and nervousness that he was about to brazenly touch that which his eyes had seen put on such erotic display.

When his thumb prodded the yielding flesh of her labia, his eyes shut. Amidst his thundering heartbeat, he heard the crackling of what was left of her voice, and assumed the worst.

"I'm sorry!" He shouted, on the verge of panicking and dashing away himself. Before he could tear away, a wrist was snagged. He looked back, bracing for a dull pain to come to his side as her heel dug into his gut.

They waited in stasis for a time. Not a sound but their calming breaths against the rush of the spring's falls.

She tugged.

He resisted, albeit faintly.

She overwhelmed his reluctance, emitting a breathy shout as she grasped his forearm and reeled him in, firmly pressing his palm against her groin. She shuddered, the pressure sending pleasant waves through her thighs.

He felt her quiver at his palm, and gently applied pressure on his own. She fell back, as if he'd caused her pain, and began breathing rapidly.

"I... I don't understand... If it hurts so much--"

She sat up, shaking her head. She reached down, taking his shoulders in her fingers, and began massaging him. His face scrunched at her actions, and after a few seconds she ceased. She then reached down and pushed his palm again, rubbing it against her crotch, her thighs flexing at the tingles. Then, she pointed at that, and pointed at his shoulders.

He stared at her a bit dumbly for a second, then looked at his hand between her legs. "It... feels like a... massage?"

She reached out and pressed his nose.

He squinted, and his face wrinkled at the gesture.

She smiled.

"I thought... it was hurting you," he explained.

She nodded, and tapped her head.

He lifted his palm away, and took a quick glance. "I--I think it's... it's clean." He took a few steps back. She looked aside a bit, as if in thought, and then sighed. At first, it looked like a disappointed one, the way her shoulders dropped. But then she looked back at him with another of her sweet smiles, and began slipping into the water.

He watched idly as she ran her hands to get the soap off. All the while, his heartbeat steadied and his breathing evened. He felt relieved, but for exactly what reason he couldn't determine.

Maybe it was that she was okay. That deep down, even when he tried not to worry about her after their escape, he kept the thought in the back of his mind.

Or maybe that he'd been given the chance to amend for his mistake. Allowed reassurance that his initial rescue had not been entirely in vain.

Perhaps it was less about her in particular, and more that he had an unexpected guest just when he really needed it. That one of the few times someone had entered his domain, was when it was empty and cold to him. And someone close to his age, no less.

She straightened, catching him as he watched her. She felt embarrassed at first, that he stood almost silently and stared. But the look on his face made her forgive the awkwardness. She turned sideways, holding eye-contract for as long as she could until she turned about to fully face the bank.

It wasn't until she disturbed the water that he pulled himself from his introspection. He arrived in the present just as she hefted a knee up, and his eyes pulsed. He thought he should look away. But when the other knee rose up, and she crawled out with her rump in the air and her tail fallen to the side, he couldn't find the thought anymore.

A wave of heat rushed to his cheeks, and it was not one that he had control over. He felt a stirring, and to his dread he felt his boyhood stiffening. He felt it jolt as she shook a bit, her rump and nethers swaying side-to-side as water flung from her fur.

She straightened up, and looked back. She fought a giggle, keen of the expression on his reddened face. She stood up and turned about, ushering him with her hands.

A streak of panic went down his spine. Surely if he emerged with an erection she would get upset. And yet she was insistent, patting her thighs and leaning over, cocking her head and questioning why he was stalling. He gulped. Maybe he could just cover himself with his hands. Maybe if he made an effort to show modesty, she would be gentler in her reaction.

He cupped his genitals in his left hand beneath the water, and awkwardly waddled to the bank. Resting his right hand, he furrowed his brow in thought of how he could get out while still concealing his erection. An answer came with her extended hand.

She smiled, gripping tightly as their palms touched. She tugged, stepping back and leaning for extra leverage.

He hopped and hooked a foot up, but it nearly slipped back in as the other came up. He started to grunt in distress, but she pulled him harder to keep him from falling back in.

He crashed against her, enveloped by her arms. Braced by her, he found his balance, both hands clutching between his legs, covering a blatant part of his body.

She noted his posture, and glanced down. He reacted by raising his shoulders nervously, avoiding her gaze when she tried to lock eyes. Sighing patiently, she reached down, and took hold of his wrists, and forced his hands loose.

He put on a mask of despair as she forced him to reveal his hardness. He gritted his teeth as she stared down at him, his hips still pulled back in a slight hunch. After a moment, she looked back and compelled him with silence to match her eyes. Reluctantly, he did.

She reached up, and tapped his nose.

Again his face scrunched, eliciting a silent giggle from her. She held his shoulders and had him straighten up. Then, she rested her hand on his chest, and inclined her chin, closing her eyes.

"Y--you're welcome," he said, interpreting the gesture.

She took her hands and balled fists. Touching the fists together at the thumbs, she curled one forward and the other back, and then flicked water at him.

He stared blankly as the feeble droplets hit him in the face. Then he realized what she meant. "Oh... We need to dry off, I guess."

She touched his nose again. Though he did not scrunch his face this time, she still had a small giggle.

He smiled. "Well... we don't have--" His words caught. He said it without thinking. But after only a beat, he picked up. "There's... no towels. But... there's a place where the sun is really nice. I usually lie down and dry off there."

She hastily went to the urns and hefted them up, walking them back to the shelf. She then retrieved their togas, and looked at them a bit quizzically. Straightening them into lengths, she slung them over her shoulder, and then walked back to him. She held out her hand expectantly.

He took hold of it, and led her back into the passageways.

"Most of these paths are dead-ends," he said, as they padded up the shallow incline and passed one of the forks. "Most are natural. Some... were made," he glanced back, to see if she cared. Her smile and the way she looked about implied so. "I think this is the longest one. Even I haven't really been everywhere." He paused. "Look, up there," he pointed at the low ceiling, just a foot or so beyond their heads.

She followed his finger to see a set of glyphs. On one end, in the direction where they came from, was a series of squiggly lines one atop the other. On the other end, a crude square with a cross running through it. A small line joined the two, though it did not quite touch the glyphs.

"The wavy lines go toward the springs. The square goes to the kitchen." He pointed both directions. "I drew them myself." He added.

She rubbed his head with three fingers.

"So... I guess..." He nervously scratched the back of his neck. "If you... Wanna stay for a while... You won't get lost here."

She looked back up at the glyphs. Then, she grabbed his hand, and brushed past him, turning him about so that she took the lead.

He followed gingerly, their footfalls pattering now that the sound of the springs was faded to near silence.

She walked briskly, glancing up at the ceiling every few seconds. Once, she stopped, thinking she had found another marker. In the dim gloom of the Lanterns of the Shadow, she squinted her eyes at a curious shape.

"Just a shadow," he chuckled.

From her nose emerged a huff, and she stamped her foot. They kept going. A few moments later, they came across a fork. She paused, and looked up. There, in the center of the junction, the glyphs were rather distinct. Written in a black, coal-like ink, the wavy lines were nearly above her head. Straight ahead, the square directed them to home. But splitting off back toward her right, on the other arm of the vague Y, the line pointed to--nothing.

She pointed, and looked at him.

He shrugged. "Like I said... haven't been everywhere."

Her eyes lifted and she nodded in understanding.

"The next fork is the one we want."

Taken by the hand again, their bare feet clapped against the stone once more. She did not recall the channels being this distant on first pass, caught in the illusion of familiarity. She began second-guessing whether or not she had missed the fork, and if he was not telling her. Her leadership began to falter, and she would pause now and again, walking more cautiously.

Then, after a shallow turn, the next fork appeared as a passageway to her left, and off-center-straight.

She looked up. The two familiar symbols from whence they came and almost straight familiar, and the third new.

"A sun, with rays," he explained, pointing at the circle with straight lines pointing down to a flat line. "It's a short walk, c'mon." He took charge.

Separately they jogged.

She noticed that the Lanterns of the Shadow were not in this corridor at all. But that was readily apparent as, several lengths ahead, a strong beam of light spilled into the channel like the water spilled into the pool at the springs.

As she neared and her level of vision bobbed up and down with her pace, the sunlight began sparkling and glittering off of the crystal-faces of the exposed quartz. Even at their distance, they flashed in her eyes like a mirror, some almost blinding.

"Argh," the boy growled, even as they were still several paces away. "I... forgot... there's no... ladder."

She slowed with him as they approached the sunbeam. Their fur was lit aglow, and the warmth made a shiver run down her spine to rid the chill that built up in her saturated coat.

"There used... to be a ladder here," the boy explained, catching his breath. "I... it broke..." he rested his hands on his knees and hunched over.

She was concerned. Sure, the little jog had made her breath shallow, too; but he was nearly doubled over. She rested a hand on his back, helping him upright.

"If you... wanna wait here, I'll go get one. Otherwise... it's a bit of a climb." He sucked in his breath. He must have been more fatigued than he realized. But she gripped his forearm, almost imposingly. He looked down at her squeeze, and up to her eyes.

She let him go, and took a step back, looking up. As she surveyed the rocks, her eyes flitted from one spot to another. She craned her neck, and started to turn, tracing a path with her pupils, all the way up. From inside the channel, looking out, she could see that opposite where the sun shone down, the cliff wall was high and bathed in white light.

She brought her focus back, and tugged the togas off her shoulder. She whipped, folded, and set them on a small, flat ledge that jutted out into the sunlight. Then, she backed up into the shadow. She glanced to the boy, his blue eyes keenly watching. Only a little nervous, she raised her fist as if to play roshambo. Her fist fell once, twice, thrice; her feet slapped against the stone.

He dodged aside to give her room as she dashed past him, his eyes going wide.

Her feet and hands quickly shuffled, and climbed the wall with the grace of a spider.

After her burst of energy, she paused several feet from the channel's floor, her right leg crooked up to meet the foothold, and her left hand braced flat against the stone. She glanced down, and her blood tingled with what she hoped was an expression of awe on his face.

Perhaps she had even impressed him.

The boy's jaw fell a bit, matching eyes with the girl as she glanced from over her shoulder. Her tail swished with momentum, settling down and hanging limply. He followed her hand as she reached down and clutched it at the base, and pulled its length upward. She circled it about her waist twice, and threaded it through, cinching it.

The lack of her tail hanging, coupled with her awkward posture on the holds, exposed her a great deal. The boy's eyes fell down to the place between her legs, brazenly displayed along with her buttocks. Then, catching himself, he looked up with dread.

Her eyes blinked, and she lifted her chin to show a bemused expression, before looking up. She spotted the path she had traced out before, and readied to follow it.

The boy watched as she put weight on her crooked knee, priming the motion she was to use.

She moved once, twice, thrice; and again on the fourth committed. She darted sideways, having to leap just a little. Her legs dangled for a bit, her fingers gripping tightly to the knobby rocks. With a huff, she reached up and hooked her fingers over the lip of the edge, and pulled herself up.

With only her legs visible, the rest of her cut off at the ceiling, the boy watched as she started to kick and flail a bit to get traction. He held his hands up, and stepped forward, ready to catch her if she fell. And though he was vigilant, his only frame to watch was her waist and crotch, several feet above his head.

She finally managed enough leverage, and lifted herself up. Catching her knee, she laid out upon the platform and breathed heavily for a few seconds, her blood tingling with adrenaline. After the short respite, she turned about and peeked down the hole. He was looking up at her, still poised to catch. She leaned over, pointing at him and then flicked her hand to tell him to come up.

He dropped his stance, her beckon releasing him from the weak trance he found himself under. He smiled to himself, and rubbed his hands together to improve his grip. He had taken her path, once upon a time. But he had an even faster way of getting up.

He backed into the tunnel, as she had, but even further. He needed speed, and enough room, for what he was going to do. "Here I come!" He shouted, and his footfalls pounded against the stone.

The wind rushed past his ears as he dashed, and then his muscles tightened as he poised for the jump. He sprung forth like a grasshopper, and extended his hands and feet forward. He touched the bare face of the rocks lightly, and scaled them by sheer momentum for just a second. He used that momentum to squish against the wall, and then bounded off of it, pivoting about.

Then, his head throbbed and a spell of dizziness hit him. Panic welled in his mind as his eyes rolled. He reached out, groping for a handhold. He caught the one she had used moments ago, missing the ledge by several inches. It was his only grasp, and he barely had it. He grunted, his legs flailing more wildly than hers had moments before.

A wave of relief came over him as his forearm was grasped. His vision began to clear, and he saw her other hand reaching down. He grasped it, and she pulled, walking backwards in a squat. Slowly she pulled him up, until his feet managed to find traction. He scurried up, releasing one of her hands to secure himself on the platform, and finally pulled himself fully up.

He panted, the adrenaline swirling about his back and tingling in his fingertips. He fell into shadow; she leaned over him with her hands on either side of his head, gazing down full of worry and concern.

He sat up, and rubbed the back of his head. "I-I can make that, I just..." He explained, embarrassed. "I just... My head hurts."

She nodded, and raised her arms up as if she was holding something. She moved them forward, miming the act of clobbering him.

He stretched, feeling the sun on his skin. "Look," he groaned, pointing out.

She turned, for the first time really noticing where they were.

The shelf they were on was fairly high. The cliffs were still mostly above them, sheer walls chiseled by the wind. The shelf was high enough that the city was bright and glowing in the distance. It was golden, like an elaborate figurine. The blurry heat was magnified greatly, however, such that nothing was really distinct at all. The high towers even appeared to get separated for a second, as if a cleaver cut them in places.

"This place gets sun all day long." He explained, switching from a kneel to a sit. "We'll dry off in no time, here."

She placed her hand between them in thought. They were several inches apart, and she hesitated for a moment. But as he watched her she nervously committed, scooting closer beside him. His legs were slightly longer than hers, so as she touched hers to his, she teased the top of his foot with her toes.

"Stop... That tickles," he chuckled. Thankfully, she heeded him, and he reached forward to stretch his back. Catching his feet, he pulled, lifting the heels up. But it was slightly a rouse, as when he finished, he quickly snapped his hand to the pad of her foot and ran his fingers on it.

She spasmed and leaned forward, batting his hand away with silent giggles.

"Payback." He clarified, and reclined back, closing his eyes as the sun's rays began to warm his stomach. He felt her motion as she shifted beside him, parts of her body brushing against his. Finally, after a second or two of her activity, he glanced over.

She lay on her stomach, tail twitching about every few seconds. Her arms were folded, nose and muzzle resting in the crook of her elbow so that all that showed was her eyes. She glanced over to him, and then pushed her arms out forward in a stretch before returning back.

"Sometimes I just like to lie up here," he said, his voice a bit sleepy; "The sun is really relaxing after a while. At least when you're not on the sand." He raised his arms up behind his head, to give himself a make-shift pillow, and leaned back. Closing his eyes, he let the heat of the sun warm his face and permeate his muscles.

Her tail brushed against him. A moment later, it flopped on his stomach, causing him to chuckle. For a time, they rested well after their fur had dried. Now and again, her tail landed on his stomach, an occurrence he at first didn't mind, and then grew fond of.

His own tail was embarrassingly thin. Though he could curl it and wind it about his leg, it was not prehensile. Were it not useful for his balance climbing about the cliffs, and the thought of the pain, he would have done away with it long ago.

He opened his eyes tentatively. She breathed calmly, eyes shut and nose buried in the back of her elbow. Her relaxed expression eased him. As he rested again, he began to wonder if the other girls were also able to put on that expression.

Though it sounded a bit cruel to him, he could not bring himself to worry over the others in the same way he had the one who lay beside him.

The back of his head began to smart. Plus, this half of him was dry enough. He hoped to find more comfort in lying on his stomach. He lifted his trunk and rolled his legs to do so. He had rolled toward her; if by volition, it was subconscious. The space between them was made that much thinner, to where parts of them touched.

She seemed not to stir or protest, but he did hear her breathing change for just a moment. Surely, she couldn't have fallen asleep so quickly, even for a feline.

The comfort did not improve, merely went elsewhere. He did not usually lie nude on the rough surfaces of the cliff flats, and so he was acutely aware of the pressure points the contour beneath him caused. He wondered how she could look so peaceful, given that she must have to be dealing with the same prodding bumps.

But he found a bearable position, and in doing so had brushed against her a bit more. This time, she adjusted and stirred. When he noticed it, he started to recede. But just as soon, her arm wrapped about his waist, and pulled him back to where he had been.

Their sides pressed against one another. She no longer hid her muzzle behind her arm, for it was now about the boy's waist.

Her foot brushed over his calf, and her toes hooked back. She pulled his leg a bit, and then turned to the side, trapping his limb between her knees. Her feet began to fidget with his that she had snared, playfully rubbing and scratching his sole with her toes.

He was discomforted again. But this time, it had little to do with the rock. A drizzle of embarrassment fell over him as he became aware of his boyhood. It started to stiffen, he could tell. As it thickened, the angle and pressure underneath him became intolerable.

Yet he felt like he couldn't do anything. He became anxious again. Tried to think of how he could change position without revealing it. But as she playfully kept him trapped, he found no solution. Desperate to relieve the pressure, he pushed up to rest on his hands and knees.

She sat up as well, hearing him grunt. Worried she was disturbing him, she let him go and hugged her knees. She watched him with concern for a moment, before looking down his body. She spotted the likely reason he had moved so abruptly.

Her feet crossed one atop the other, top toes scratching the bottom foot.

He sat as well, but his movements were just as stiff and rigid as his appendage. It stuck up so noticeably from his lap, and at that moment he kind of wished he had thought to bring their togas up so he could cover it.

He felt a touch on his arm.

She looked to him with concern, cheek resting on her knees.

"I'm okay," he assured. "Just... lying on my back makes my head hurt after a while," he reached up and gently touched the bump on the back of his skull. "And... well, on my stomach..." He blinked, letting his words trail.

She knelt behind him, arriving there on hands and knees.

He was hunched forward a bit, as if to hide himself.

She touched his shoulders and coaxed him to sit up straighter, and then rested her hand on the top of his head and coaxed him to look down.

He squinted, and finally closed his eyes. He wasn't sure what she was doing, but either on purpose or inadvertently, he was forced to look down at his own crotch, which just made his shame that much more blatant.

Then, he felt her gentle fingers. He spasmed, the touch so light and and timid that it sent a quiver down his back. After he relaxed, she brushed her fingers over the back of his head again. Her fingers were tender, carefully and lightly parting his fur to show the skin beneath.

He had quite a bump on his skull. It wasn't pronounced, but she could tell it almost took up the whole back of his head. She carefully parted the fur, apprehensive of even making him wince again, let alone the violent shiver he'd gotten. She looked over every inch of the injury, noting the redness that was present and the dark bruise at the epicenter of the impact. But, she found relief in that there was no open wound or bleeding.

Satisfied that his injury was set to heal, she rested her fingers on his shoulder again. She gently pulled.

He started to lean back, yielding to her instruction. But when he passed a certain threshold, his hand braced him from going any further. He tried to glance back, but he could only get her in his periphery. Still, the pressure on his shoulders was constant. He released the brace, and followed her coaxing until his head came to a rest.

She stared down at him, a meek smile on her face.

His neck and shoulders were reclined on her knees, and his head squarely in her lap. At first, he smiled, understanding what she was doing. Her lap was soft and plush, the fur gentle against the injury like a feather pillow.

But then, he began to think of where exactly his head was resting. His crown butted against her stomach, his neck nestled in the ridge of her legs together. The back of his head...

As if she had predicted him, she pressed her hands on his chest and her smile turned to a bit of a frown. Her brows dipped, just briefly, before she shook her head. She began to rub her palms onto his chest, her fingers scratching.

He continued to look up as she leaned forward a bit, her hands slowly moving downward. His pupils found themselves following her chest after it came into his focus. Her nipples were erect; immature pink beads that stuck out from the thinner fur of her bosom. Now, without her fur soaked and matted, he could see a bit of the areolae, just as pink as the inside of her ears.

He was pulled from his trance when he realized that she had gone still. Her palms rested down by his navel, and he was suddenly worried she had caught him staring at her. His eyes snapped forward.

His boyhood stood proudly, though he did not feel such about it. Its angle was aided by the slight pressure she applied to his stomach. Though he could not see her eyes, he could feel them. To this thought, a muscle in his groin flexed, and the appendage bobbed toward her.

Her fingers curled.

A mix of emotions rippled over his stomach. Some of them he recognized: embarrassment, shame, humiliation. But others were unfamiliar. They all went to different places, overwhelming him. His only response was to panic. He knocked her arms away, and bolted up, crawling on hands and knees away from her.

He knelt, covering himself. The emotions still coursed through him. He felt the warm flesh in his hands twitch again, the unfamiliar feelings tingling in his blood. He tried to calm them, forcing himself to breathe evenly.

After a few moments, he managed to quell the feelings and calm himself. But his hands were still enclosed about his stiffness. As much as he wanted it to, it did not soften.

Reluctantly, he about-faced, awkwardly shuffling on his knees.

She was hugging hers, hands about her ankles, looking at him timidly, her muzzle hidden behind the caps.

That her body was covered gave him relief. And then, another feeling about it followed. It was unfamiliar, too, but... It was almost akin to disappointment.

Looking into her eyes, she was almost half-afraid, the rest guilt. Yet he wasn't angry at her--of all the feelings, known and foreign, that had gone through him, not one of them was antagonizing toward her for her actions.

In fact... In a strange way, he began to wonder if he wasn't angry or upset because he didn't want to discourage her.

Maybe, in an even stranger way, he liked the feelings.

"I... I think I'm dry, now." He managed to say.

She nodded, remaining still.

He stood up awkwardly. "I'll... Climb down," he said, walking forward. "That way if you fall I can--"

She abruptly got to her feet as he neared her, and stopped him. Hand pressed on his chest to keep him, she shook her head. She took a step away, and then made her eyes relax. Her head began to roll about, and she lifted her hands up as if to steady her balance, and took a further step back, and then back forward. Then, she dropped her miming and pointed at him, shaking her head.

She pointed her thumb at herself, then down. Then, she raised her hand to her brow and squinted her eyes, as if surveying the land. Finally, she started her hand up high, and used her fore and middle fingers to "walk" downward.

"You don't need to get a ladder,"he reassured. "I'll be fine."

She folded her arms and glared.

He winced. He hated the way she looked. "Okay, okay," he acquiesced, plopping back down. "I'll wait here."

She patted her chest over her heart, and used her forefinger to cross over it.

"I promise."

She began to turn, but kept her gaze on him as if to mean she didn't fully trust him. Then, she made her way to the hole.

"Be careful," he muttered, as she knelt down at the brim.

She gave him a passive glance, and looked down into the hole.

He made his way to her, feeling comfortable enough to let his attempt at modesty fall.

As he neared the brim, she looked back up at him and smiled. Then, without much warning, turned about and began slipping into the descent.

He rushed to her, kneeling down and extending his arms to either side. She returned him a look. "Just in case you need to come back up," he said, poised to grab her if she slipped.

She gave a smile, and, lifting one of her hands, suddenly dropped.

He swore, leaning over the brim as she abruptly fell away from him.

She did not push off, but merely let go, and kept her palms and toes near the wall to blunt her momentum. Since it was at a slight angle, she followed the wall all the way to the bottom in just a few heartbeats. When her feet hit the ground, she stumbled back away from the wall with her momentum, before turning about and clapping the other wall to stop herself.

"Are you okay!?" He shouted, about ready to break his promise.

She wrung herself a bit and then looked up at him, and pressed her palm up. She pushed it forward and back a few times.

"But are you okay?" He insisted. "You didn't hurt yourself?"

She shook her head, and gave him a thumbs up. His face receded so that only his eyes and up appeared from her vantage.

"You better not be lying..." He muttered.

She smiled up at him.

He blinked, relaxing his tense grip on the brim. He watched as she brushed herself off, and then looked about. She then looked back up at him, and lifted her finger. Then she quickly dashed to their togas, throwing them over her shoulder, and scurried off.

He pushed up as he saw her steal the garments with her. Even as her tail whipped behind her and disappeared from his view, he questioned why she took them.

But, after a few moments, he gave up the thought. Falling back down to rest on his arms and peering into the hole; he waited.

Again, he found his thoughts wondering. Why was she here? Reluctantly, he thought back to the day prior. His last memory of that day was of her palm slamming against his cheek and her footfalls desperate to get away.

By logic, she should not want to be anywhere near him. Unless she meant to kill him... But she had had plenty of opportunities to hurt him, and took none of those. She even made herself vulnerable to him.

He wished she had her voice. Now he wanted to ask her why, but there was only so much she could tell him with her hands and eyes alone. He barely remembered if she had a voice to begin with. She had screamed; that was how their paths had first crossed. But didn't she utter words, too? Even just one?

He opened his eyes. Panic drifted over him like a fog. He lifted up and craned back to look at the sun. Had he fallen asleep? He couldn't tell. He didn't know where the sun had been when she left.

He looked back down into the hole.

Maybe... she had left. Maybe she was so insistent that he stay up there so that she could have enough time to find her escape. He had threatened or scared her away. Or maybe that was her plan all along. To follow him, then run back to the city. Tell the guards of his location, and they would come in his sleep.

Or maybe she had gotten lost. Maybe she had lied to him, and she had gotten hurt, but was embarrassed or proud. She'd gotten lost, or fallen. She was trapped, somewhere in the labyrinth of channels, trying to scream for him to come to her while he stupidly stayed here on a promise.

His heart felt like someone was clutching and squeezing it.

Which one? Surely, she would have been back by now. Even if he hadn't slept, it had been far too long a wait. He tried to think of where the nearest ladder was. Hard to say; they were not plentiful. They broke easily and were time-consuming to make. Plus, with his abilities at climbing, there was little need for them anymore.

The only one he knew for sure was at the entrance. Maybe that was where she was headed, since she likely knew it was there when she trespassed into his home.

But again, surely it would not have taken this long. She would follow the symbols back to the kitchen, and from there she must know the way for she had gotten there on her own.

How long? How long to wait before he broke his promise and went to search for her? Another minute... Maybe a few at the most.

He tried to calm his breathing, peering down into the hole. The contour of the light and shadow at the bottom began to wiggle and blur in his eyes as they focused so intently.

Three.

Two.

One.

That was it.

He stood up, his adrenaline building. Walking to the spot he knew he could get down from, he calmed the growing trembling in his agitated limbs. He may already be too late; if she was hurt or lost it may be hours before he finds her. He gritted his teeth, imagining her curled into a ball and crying in fear because she'd accidentally gone down a path he hadn't marked.

Pak, pak, pak, pak.

He looked about. What was that noise? There were no buzzards about. Down in the...

His shoulders trembled with relief.

There, almost aglow in the sunlight, she smiled up at him and clapped her hands together.

"Y--There you are!" He exclaimed, kneeling down. "I was..." He trailed as she disappeared out of his view again. But she was not gone for long; a second later, and she came back, tugging a ladder by its top rung.

She dropped it, and then looked at it, pacing about. She looked back up, smiling at the boy. Then back down. Finally she huffed, and went a few rungs from the end of the ladder.

She lifted it, and propped the top against the wall. Going back another few rungs, she lifted it a bit higher, looking toward the channel to make sure it had room. When she couldn't raise it any higher, she went back down and repeated.

After three or for repetitions, he was able to reach down and grab the top rung of the ladder. He helped her by pulling it up on his end, until the bottom of the ladder pulled through the channel.

He moved it to rest against the dead-end side of the hole, and she braced it at the bottom. It was more than tall enough, half a dozen rungs sticking out of the hole. It looked almost like the vertebrae of a spine.

He used the top rungs as a starting point, on the opposite side. He changed to the other side, and began the easy trip down. It was a bit humiliating. Not only because he was sure this whole ordeal was unnecessary, but also because as he looked down and she looked up, he quickly realized she was given a gratuitous view of his rump, at the least.

As he neared the bottom, she backed away. His feet touched the ground and she smiled as he dismounted the ladder. When he looked to her, his cheeks were red. She squinted her eyes. She stepped close to him, prodding his shoulder with her finger. Then, she reached up and tapped his scalp. Finally, she stepped away, waved, and then made like she was going to run.

"I..." He bit his lip.

She placed her hands on his shoulders and shook her head sympathetically.

"I was... more worried you'd gotten lost."

She smiled, shaking her head again. She looked back, and pointed at the symbol on the ceiling. She shrugged.

"Then... Why'd it take so long? Is this the ladder from the entrance?"

She shook her head again, and pointed down the channel. She then pointed left, and then straight again, indicating the directions she'd taken. She turned about, and pointed at the ladder again, and then squatted down. She held her hands out, gripping her fists, and re-enacted the struggle she had moving the ladder through the constrictive tunnels.

"You didn't have to go through all that trouble, you know." He spoke dimly.

She stood back up and bumped her nose against his, staring into his eyes. Then, she receded, and reached up with her finger toward his face.

He blinked, staring at it, trying to figure out what she was trying to say... before it pushed on his nose. He winced, wrinkling his face. He heard the chittery air of her giggle. Then his wrist was seized, and she began walking.

Her pace was assertive, as if she had walked the channels a hundred times. Neither needed to look up at the symbols to understand their destination.

Very soon, the tunnel was lit by ambient daylight, and the big boulder in the center of the kitchen squatted in the cool shade.

She arrived at the boulder first, resting her arms on it and leaning forward, gazing at the pit in the center.

He approached a bit behind, resting his palms on the cold stone. The pit was quiet, the flames dead and ashes calm.

They exchanged glances.

He took in a breath. "It's quiet here, isn't it?" He received a smile. "Sometimes it's peaceful," he admitted, turning about to half-sit upon the stone table. "But, lately... it's been..." He looked to his left, down the passage where he had first come through much earlier. "I'm afraid there's not much to do. Other than climbing, eating, and sleeping. Exploring the caves can be dangerous, and you probably don't want me climbing about in case I get dizzy again, if I had to guess."

She smiled, inclining her head toward him.

"So... If there's anything you want to do..." He trailed again; she turned, catching his attention.

She glanced back to the fire pit at the center of the stone, and then back to him.

She tapped her finger several times, as if debating with herself. Then, she reached out. His hand met hers half-way, and she looked to his eyes as the back of his hand rested into her palm. She laid her other palm atop his, and closed her eyes.

She tapped a finger on his palm as she opened them, an expectant look upon her face.

He gazed at their connection, taking in a breath. His eyes focused to the right as she pointed to the fire pit, and then tapped his palm again. He exhaled, and curled his fingers loosely.

"I guess..." He looked toward the fire pit once more. "I guess it's okay if... I explained it. But..." He showed his palm. "If you're planning on going behind me..." He gazed into her eyes, and then snapped his hand into a fist.

She whipped left as the fire pit flared to life, emitting a threatening roar before setting down and minding its manners. She blinked, watching as the flames sizzled. Then, gathering her courage, she held level with his eyes. She breathed evenly, consciously and carefully making sure her face was sincere, and calm.

But she neglected her hand, which gripped his wrist tightly.

He frowned. "It's okay." He spoke somberly. "I'm only saying that because I have to." He slipped his hand free. "I don't want to threaten, or even harm."

He raised his hand, palm close to the fire.

She watched attentively as the flames nearly touched his fingers. Then, over a moment's time, the fire receded back into slumber. Tendrils of smoke slithered into the air.

"I don't know how or why." He admitted, resting his hand back on the stone. He met her attentive gaze. "I've been able to do it for as long as I can remember." He turned to her, holding his hands out with palms up. "Here; feel. Don't worry."

Hesitantly, she raised her own hands. Hovering her palms over his, she looked to him for a final reassurance. When he gave her a friendly smile, she lightly set her palms on his.

"See? Nothing, right?"

She blinked, concentrating. She nodded.

"Now watch."

She held her breath. Watching their hands, her heart began to speed. Anticipation. Excitement. Anxiety. Thrill. At first, she thought these things were the cause of the heat she felt, and that she was still waiting for what she expected. But then, she felt it distinctly. Like she held her hands a few inches from the flame that had been in the center of the table, her palms felt the permeating heat right off his skin.

She recoiled out of instinct.

He chuckled. "I told you, it's okay." He raised his hands, showing he meant no harm. "But... I would be careful touching my hands," he admitted. "Wouldn't want to get hurt by accident, right?"

She nodded, pressing her palms together and then looking at them, as if to ensure there was no sign of harm.

He once again held his hand above the fire pit. "If it's close and easy enough, I can light it on fire."

She watched again as, right before her eyes, the fire pit began to spark to life. The fire awoke slowly this time, uncurling and stretching from the ashes, rather than the violent roar in which it had stirred before.

It had taken her nearly ten minutes to start the fire earlier that morning, with full kindling.

"And you already saw... I can put it out, too. But, there's something else." He smiled, a bit coyly. "You ready?"

She clutched her hands to her chest, nodding.

"Watch carefully." He slowly lowered his hand.

The nearer his fingers got to the flames, the wider her eyes became. Until, at last, the thing she expected and yet dreaded happened. She flinched as she saw his entire hand pass into the reach of the licking tongues of fire. Her hands covered her muzzle; her ears expected to hear an agonizing scream as the tendrils of light dashed up his arm and consumed him.

But he remained calm. He turned his hand over, as if he had merely dipped it in a small pool of wash-water and was collecting some for a sip. He lifted it up, his fingertips and palm carrying with it a few orange teeth of heat. And then, they receded into his palm.

He brought his hand to her. "It's safe." He assured.

She tentatively reached out, and touched his palm with a finger. As soon as she felt his soft skin, she pulled back. Then, more boldly, she clapped her palm on his, wincing.

It felt warm, but only as warm as life would make it.

Opening her eyes, she let out an embarrassed chuckle, her voice crackling just a bit instead of solely air.

"It doesn't hurt me." He explained. "I've never tried it," he clarified, "But... I'm pretty sure if I had to, I could protect more than just my hands." He stared at the fire pit thoughtfully.

And then, the girl noticed, a melancholy mask covered his cheeks and brow. But it lasted for only a blink, as he quickly sloughed it off and looked to her.

"Does... Does that answer your curiosity?"

She nodded, resting back onto the stone. She took a turn to gaze at the fire, and listen to the flames pop quietly. She saw a sort of difference in these flames. Whether or not it was only her perception was unclear, but they appeared brighter; more vivacious. It was almost like this fire was truly alive, and staring back at her with just as much fascination and curiosity as she had staring at it.

"This is hard to explain," he said, breaking the silence and catching her attention. "But... If I close my eyes," he did so, "I can sort of... I can see fires. And not just this one," he pointed at the pit. "But, other things have fires, too. Like..." He turned toward her, "You."

Her heart stuttered as he said that, opening his eyes.

"That's actually how I found you, in there." He pointed. "I could see your fire, even behind the cupboard."

Her lips fell slightly. She had thought he had found her by some mistake she had made in her hurry to hide.

"Oh!"

She flinched, surprised by his sudden burst of energy. He looked about, and his focus fell upon the felt cloth, and the coins which lay upon it. He reached forward, snatching a copper piece from the pile.

"I think you'll like this," he said with excitement. "It's a trick I learned a long time ago, when I was seeing what metals I could melt." He extended his hand toward her. "Watch carefully, but don't get too close."

She met his eyes, eager and excited at his words, and then looked at the coin in his palm. She leaned her nose forward, her face a few inches away from the tips of his fingers.

A moment passed. And then another.

Halfway through the third, she felt the tell-tale heat. Receding just an inch more, she kept her eyes attentive on the coin.

"Just a... A few more... seconds..." He said, furrowing his brow.

She blinked as a spark flew from his palm.

"There!" He exclaimed.

She gasped, daring to bring her nose two inches further to his palm.

"C--careful," he reminded, but smiled as her face was caught first in wonder, and then in delight as she began to giggle.

In his palm, the copper coin was at the base of a turquoise tongue of flame. It rose nearly three inches in height, thicker than any candle flame but to one akin in body. As it shifted and twitched, the coin beneath it began to turn green, and then black.

She looked up into his eyes, a smile of amazement on her muzzle. Then, she lifted up a bit, and pointed to her eyes.

He looked at them, and then back at the flame as she pointed to it. "Oh... Yeah, you're right." He smiled. "It's the same c--Agh!"

She covered her muzzle in shock as the coin fell from his hand. His face contorted in what looked to be pain, and he gripped his wrist as his fingers tensed and gnarled. He breathed through his teeth, wincing as he curled his fingers back into a fist.

She closed the gap between them, taking his hand. She nursed it, cradling it in her own and holding it tenderly. She looked to him with worry and concern.

"D--don't look at me like that." He said through his teeth. "I'm fine..." He winced, trying to uncurl his fingers. "I told you to... Be careful... Remember?" He admonished.

Her eyebrows fell in a scolding look. She held up his hand, gaze softening as she laid her palm atop his.

"Somtimes," he said, calming, "Using it too much does that. It's like..." He looked to the side, then back. "If you're not careful and you run for too long, it starts to wear on you."

Her eyes took a bit of guilt.

He smiled, hoping to ease her. "Little things like this don't usually bother me, though." He explained. "I think... with all the stuff I did yesterday... I tried to show off too soon." He chuckled, making the moment as light as he could.

Still, her guilt seemed to stay. She looked down at his hand, and moved it upright between hers. With her thumbs, she began massaging his palm.

"It's fine, you don't need to do anything." He pulled his hand free. "I'm... I'm more worried about you."

She blinked, trading guilt for intrigue. She pointed to herself.

"Your voice." He clarified with a nod. "If there's anything... Anything I can do..." He trailed, folding his hands together and blinking.

She gazed at the fire pit, watching as it slowly fizzled down. She bit her lip. Bit down enough to sting. She curled her fingers, gathering her courage. Abruptly, she stood up.

"What's the matter?" He questioned quietly.

She looked at him, and then whipped her hand to beckon him.

"Did you hear something?" He stood, looking about. "Head back to the drying spot," he instructed calmly. "Pull the ladder up, I'll--"

She gave him an impatient look, and huffed through her nose, before stepping around behind him and prodding him in the back.

He tried to glance behind, but the prodding finger became a pressing knuckle. "Okay, okay," he acquiesced, stepping forward. With her knuckle still pushing him gently, he went through the passage he had come through before they had met.

The light in the rift had disappeared, for the sun was out of alignment. Yet the wind was still able to pass through, gently circulating from above them as they passed the sliver.

She seemed to know exactly where they were going. As they neared the path to the right, she stepped around to his left and moved her knuckles across his back to coax him to turn, even though he was already doing so.

Perhaps she recognized the glyph above. It was similar to a letter I, except one side of the ends extended twice as far. In the empty space between the brackets, a thin line started from one end, and curled into the crook of the other.

The short hallway opened to two rooms, one almost immediate and the other a bit further down. She stopped at the first room, clapping his shoulder to get his attention, and pointed in.

He turned, and shook his head. "That's..."

She noted that he started to look into the room, but quickly averted his gaze and turned about.

"Just... Ignore it." He told her.

He started to walk again.

She looked in the room one last time into the spartan room before following him.

In the room beyond, she recognized the cocoon-shaped rock formation that emerged from the ground. It was a bit off-center, and toward the back of the small, roughly circular room. At a slight incline, it had rounded walls, one of which curled up and over. The other was shorter, and between them was a small rift that ran all down the side.

"I don't get it," he said, turning toward her. "Why the rush? I thought you were trying to tell me someone else was here."

She shook her head, and looked to the stone cocoon.

He followed her with his gaze as she passed him, heading toward his bed. She knelt at the opening, peeking inside. With a quick glance to him, she smiled, and entered.

"H--hey, that's my bed," he protested, stepping up the rift. He peered in.

One of her bright turquoise eyes met his, her nose and one of her cheeks peeking through as well. Her muzzle was curved up playfully.

He Shook his head. "Okay, if you wanna take a nap, that's fine." He turned and sat with his back leaning against the cocoon. He looked up at the ceiling, a lattice roof allotting the ambient glow of the room similarly to the kitchen.

"I get you're tired," he reasoned. "There aren't many comfortable places to sleep here."

He felt a tickle against his back. Jerking away, he looked to see her fingers twiddling through the rift. He leaned in. "What?" He asked.

She stared, smiling, and her gaze flicked toward the entrance of the cocoon.

He glanced with her, and saw her finger pointing. Warily, he crawled on hands and knees to the entrance, and dipped his head to look inside.

It was significantly darker inside the cocoon. Her eyes glowed almost as brightly as the Lanterns of the Shadow; were they any more luminescent, it would have caste a hue upon her white stomach.

Dim as at was, he could see as she brought a hand to her mouth, and gently bit across her forefinger.

A tinge of warmth came to his cheeks. She rested her other hand across her stomach, the motion catching his eye as he thought she was going to gesture. But all it managed to give him was an inadvertent glance to the way she lay, with her thighs pressed together and the bit of light that fell through sheening off her contour.

His tongue pressed more against his palate.

She raised the hand, and flicked it toward her face.

He receded from the entrance, leaving one eye to gaze in. "I... I can't get in i-it's... It's barely big enough."

She flattened her brows as his face disappeared. Releasing the hold on her finger, she scooted down, hurriedly trying to get out. Thankfully, he hadn't left the room; hadn't even turned about. She stood up, and he stood with her.

She stepped up to him, standing about two hands'-lengths away. Her lips started to move, just barely, as if she was hesitating on whether or not she should try and talk. He felt a grip about his heart. He squinted, starting to look to the side.

But her hand caught his chin. Relaxing his lids, she kept him from looking away. Then, her hand fell to his shoulder.

She pressed her lips together, as if with determination, and took in a breath. Her hand slid down to his tricep, and then slipped into the pit of his arm.

He half-stepped with his back leg when she moved forward, closing the gap between them. But he made no further movement as her arms wrapped about him firmly.

An embrace. A gesture which was a scarcity for him.

As she drew her arms tightly about his back, pressed her chest and rested her cheek against his, he felt the beat of his heart all the way down in his toes.

For a few moments, they stood together. He had spent that long in the forgotten hold before he returned it. Slowly, as if afraid she might get scared at his touch, he rested his hands upon her back. Her fur, soft and yielding and freshly-bathed, parted about his fingers like the grains of the finest sand. As his hands intersected and roved to the opposite of her sides, she stepped forward, diminishing what little space there was between them to nothing.

He could feel her breathing against his body. He held his own and closed his eyes, listening as the air quietly left her nostrils. Her thick fur made her warm against him, and tickled his more readily exposed skin as her abdomen expanded and contracted in his arms.

She shifted, pulling their weight toward her.

Her body brushed against his. The way her stomach made friction against his; her left hip jutting against his right. The way her mons rubbed his hardened girth. It sent the memory through his mind, and abruptly the bliss turned to dread.

She relinquished her hold as he pushed away, stumbling back only to fall on his rump. He looked up at her with a frightened expression; she could only return sympathy.

"I..." He tried to speak, staring up at her. His limbs felt cold. He could almost feel the way her blood had coated his boyhood. When he saw motion, he winced, the sting of her hand colliding against his cheek coming back.

But when he tentatively opened his eyes, she was leaning over. One hand on her knee, the other extended. He reached up, slow to take hold. She lashed forward, closing the gap and taking his. As she rose, so did he to his feet.

She lowered the join of their hands between them, and before he had a chance to move or recede or flee; she gently curled her fingers about his girth. His eyes bolt wide and his pupils shrank just a little; their azure color almost went pale. Yet she boldly kept his firmness in her fingers.

He uttered the start of something, an attempt at a thought. But gazing into her eyes, she had a look of sincerity, and even a bit of gentleness. She held him; his masculinity made vulnerable in her hands.

She got to her knees, and switched her grip from her thumb toward him, to her thumb away. Her nose neared.

He watched, rigid, as she openly examined him. His knees began to bend, and she looked up at him. She patted the ground with her other hand. He lowered to a kneel. Awkwardly, as she was intent to keep him in her grasp.

With her eyes level to his, she leaned forward. He receded as she passed the invisible barrier between them, and held his breath as her nose nearly bumped his. She had come at him from slightly downward, such that she was looking a bit upward.

She gave him a gentle squeeze.

He let go of his breath out of surprise.

She did nothing more, but watched his face, as if studying his reaction. Then, her eyes blinked curiously.

He held still as she moved once more, lowering her head.

She turned it to the side, and pressed her ear against his chest.

He breathed slowly, and held his breath for a second or two between each. Her ear twitched against his chest, and then he eased as her hand released him. But his ease was interrupted by a shiver that went down his spine, for her fingers barely brushed over his back. Her palm rested below his shoulder-blade, and she began to gently stroke him.

At first, he didn't understand, his body tensing in confusion and reluctance. The foreign emotions he had felt earlier were returning, with more potency than before. They made him uneasy; went against his instincts. Part of him was convinced that this was a dream, or illusion. That he was still suffering the delirium he had started feeling earlier that morning.

And yet, another part of him spoke otherwise. These thoughts originated from where the unfamiliar feelings had. They planted the seeds in him that her actions were intentional. Maybe even deliberate.

As the strange and alien thoughts and feelings began taking dominance, he felt his body calming. The tension in his muscles relaxed, and his racing heart slowed to a trot.

A moment later, he felt her other hand touch his boyhood once again. There was a flicker; a last minute rise of the fear and unease, before it was quelled by the gentle caress upon his back.

She stirred, and straightened. Satisfied that he was calm, she looked down at what she held in her other hand. She traced her thumb up and down the side of the length, feeling the smooth and tender skin. She looked up at him, and moved her fingers to fit him between her thumb, middle and fore-finger.

She gently wiggled it back and forth, a curious look on her face.

"I... I don't know why it's like that," he admitted. "I'm not making it do that, I swear! I-it's doing it on its own..."

All the while he spoke, he averted his gaze. She tried to catch it again, only managing to after the silence settled. She let him go and sat back on her rear. She reached forward, touching him with her fingertip, and then moved her hand back to touch the fingertip to her own nethers.

She watched as his eyelid twitched, and then his face went almost into anguish as he understood what she was trying to say.

"Y--yeah," he said through gritted teeth, casting his eyes away. "I guessthe... the rabbit was right, after all." He bit his lip, the clenching in his chest and the original part of him finding a handhold once again. But it was taken aback as her hands gripped his shoulders, her fingers digging into his muscles.

He had seen that look of anger on her before, at the springs. Her slitted pupils locked into his eyes, and the flare of her cheeks was more menacing than any gods' he could imagine. He could hear her growl despite her silence, and feel her thoughts through her fingertips.

Yet as threatening as she was, and as fearful as he felt, it only affected that part of him that was against her. That part of him that brought the words he had just spoken to her ears.

"I--I'm sorry!" He burst, closing his eyes. "I don't know what you want from me! I didn't mean to do what I did--I didn't mean to hurt you--I-I don't even know what happened!" He tore away from her, enough to relieve his shoulders but no more. Staring into her eyes, he spoke as genuinely as he could muster: "If you want revenge... Just take it, I don't care. I cleaned you... I apologized... I don't know what else I can do for you. I can't give you back your voice."

Her face relaxed. As she listened to his words, a tear or two began to bead in her eyes. When he finished, she raised her hand to wipe them away. Shelooked at him for a few seconds, pained at the way he kept trying to recede from her. But now she understood him, or at least that was what she felt.

She rubbed her knuckles together, her mind desperate for how to convey her thoughts.

He watched her with apprehension. She'd cornered him. He tried to ignore it, tried to pretend like it wasn't there. But she wouldn't let him; she had just kept provoking it. He felt bad for what he said, felt as though he'd caused a sting against her when he saw the tears well.

But then, a few moments after her knuckles feverishly emitted a ribbing noise, they stopped. A look of inspiration came upon her, and at first she stared at him without seeing him. Then her pupils widened, and he came into her focus.

She held up her hands near her chest, catching his attention. When she saw he was watching, she worked to put the final pieces of her thoughts in place. Then, she nodded to herself. Closing her lips, she raised her hands to her head, and set the sides of her thumbs on her scalp. She extended her fore-fingers upward.

He watched as she wiggled her fingers. At first his mind was blank, his thoughts still working to quell the swirling feelings in his head so he could concentrate. "R...rabbit?"

She exhaled, and leaned forward, reaching out. With her finger, she touched his nose, causing a blink. She clapped her hands, and then patted her knees. When she thought of how to say it, she held up her hand again.

He studied her motions. She pointed at him, and held up her fore and middle fingers. After a moment of his thoughts, she pointed at him again, held up the two fingers, and then made the motion for rabbit. "I... I don't understand..." He finally admitted.

She held up her hand again. It shook a bit with both excitement and anxiety. She had him listening; she couldn't lose this opportunity.

He sat upright, crossing his legs and resting his hands at his ankles. His change in posture seemed to ease her, or maybe it was that she started to speak to him again. She made the gesture for rabbit, and then tapped her lips, pointed at him, and held up her two fingers. Again his mind reeled, desperately trying to think of what she was saying.

Clenching her fist, she stood, and waved her hand.

He stood up as well, more readily than even he expected to. He watched as she stepped back and held up her hands in the rabbit gesture. Then, she took a step forward with a strange posture, angling her side toward him. Then she held up her two fingers, and gripped one. Finally, she struck a pose, holding her right arm out in front and her left hooked around.

"W...warrior?" He questioned.

She made the rabbit gesture again, and the warrior gesture.

"Sword and shield?"

She held out her hand and drew her thumb and fore-finger close, but not touching. She stared at him through the gap, and then returned back into the stance.

"Like a guard?"

She lowered her brow, and changed her stance. She swung the imaginary sword and butted the imaginary shield.

"Fighting? Gladiator? Hero?"

Suddenly she dashed forward and held him by the shoulder, and he scrunched his face as her finger touched his nose and rubbed it up and down. The gesture was gentle, but intense. He feebly struggled against her, managing to coax her away. She had a relieved smile on her face.

"Hero...?" He confirmed.

She gently touched his nose.

He shook his head. "That's... That isn't what I meant when--" He stopped when the hand on his shoulder squeezed tightly once again. She had a sincere look in her eyes.

She stepped back, and raised her hands into the rabbit gesture. Then, she showed him her two fingers, and gripped her fore-finger. She stood in the hero gesture.

"Right, I know, he--"

She held up her hand, telling him to wait. Then, she dropped the other fingers but her two, and this time gripped the middle finger. She raised both hands up, opened her mouth, and curled her fingers. She made a menacing face, lashing out with one hand like a claw.

He nodded. "I get it." He stated. "You're talking about what... 'Big Sister' said... right?"

She stepped up to him, and tapped his nose.

"Right. I am, too." He explained. "I forget the exact words... But... The second thing you said... Monster?" He nodded. "That's what she was right about." He looked away. "You saw it. I killed those men. Then I--" He was interrupted again when she thrust her palm gently into his chest.

She gave him a glare, and held her hands out, her wrists together. She made it look like she was struggling to get them apart, and then finally had them burst free. She then started counting with her fingers.

He gritted his teeth. "That doesn't make up for it." He growled. "It doesn'tchange that I killed them," his voice raised, getting angry, "And it doesn't make up for hurting you."

She stepped back at his words, receding at his tone. But then she folded her arms and glared at him. Soon enough his face relaxed.

"It doesn't." He repeated.

She raised her chin, and pointed at herself with her thumb.

There was a moment of silence before he finally said, in a half-weary voice. "Y--you."

She returned to her folded arms.

He blinked, a bit confused. "What... do you mean by you?"

She huffed through her nose, and pointed at him and then pinched her ear and wiggled it.

"I'm... I'm listening." He said with a collecting sigh.

She dropped her posture and pointed at herself, and then raised her hand. She dropped her wrist forward, once, twice, thrice.

He shrugged. "I... H-hammer?"

She pinched her thumb and fore-finger near each other, and repeated the gesture.

"Work?" Head shake. "Pound?" She squatted, and repeated the gesture, this time accompanying it with her hand clapping against the stone. He looked upward. "Um... Judge?"

She stood up and held her hand out, and stepped toward him. She gently touched his nose. Then she pointed at herself, and made the judge gesture.

"You're... a judge?" He questioned, raising his brow.

She shook her head, and then pointed at him.

"Me." He stated.

She nodded, and performed the three gestures. First to herself, then judge, then to him.

"You're... my judge?"

She turned her face to a snarl, and slashed her hand across, and then showed the rabbit gesture. Then she dropped all of her miming and stepped close to him.

He felt relief. A strange feeling of ease came over him as she embraced him once again. "I understand." He heeded, taking in a breath.

She receded, and smiled. She pointed to herself, gestured judge and then at him. She paused, for a second, waiting for his eyes to fully focus on her. When he saw their azure hue sharpen, she raised her right hand up, and her left crooked.

He shook his head. "I'm no hero." He spoke lowly, dropping to a sit. "If I was anything of the like, you wouldn't have had a reason to run from me." When he looked up to her, he half-expected the rage that progressively worked its way onto her face.

She stamped her foot on the ground, and balled her fists. She wanted to scream, to roar and shout and have her voice echo all throughout the caves. But all she could muster was an erratic flailing of her limbs.

He watched with cold sympathy as she worked her frustration. When she finished her writhing, her fur had turned into disarray. Though her outburst subsided, her gaze and trembling fists were no less scornful.

She stepped toward him, each footfall deliberate. From the back of her heel to the tip of her toes, each step had the full arch of her foot. She squatted in front of him, squinting her eyes as if believing she had the power to light fires at will herself.

He matched her gaze, and then his eyes fell away to the side. He sighed, the rationality that he had come up with to match his own feelings settling into stone.

Until his jaw felt a crack.

Even a second later, he did not feel the sting. Only when she stood and stomped toward the stone cocoon did the sharp pain make its way across his cheek. He bore it quietly, the clench in his chest tensing for several seconds before it ebbed enough for him to breathe easily.

He watched as she slipped into his bed. As soon as she was gone, it felt like she was gone from the entire room.

But she could never leave his mind. Not now.

The silence was daunting. With every beat of his heart, he relived the memories of the lives he had taken. And the harm he had caused to her.

"You lost your voice... Because of me." He stated.

He did not know why he hoped for her to speak. But he was saddened when she gave no response.

"You trusted me to help you." He explained. "But you were scared, too. You saw me kill three--" He blinked. "Four," he corrected. "You saw me kill four people right in front of you."

He looked at his hands.

"But then... Just as you were freed... I hurt you."

He clenched his fists.

"I remember... There was more blood than what I cleaned."

He stood, and slowly made his way to the cocoon. Kneeling by the rift, he peered in.

She was looking at the ceiling, making no effort to acknowledge him.

"I don't use my powers like that." He stated. "I don't... I try not to use them at all."

He raised up, and walked on his knees to the entrance of the cocoon.

"I don't want to hurt people. But... If I have to... Sometimes you don't have a choice."

He gathered his courage, and leaned over, peering into the darkness.

Her eyes flitted down to him, but she remained motionless.

He moved to be at the entrance entirely, lowered almost prone to peer up into the cocoon.

"I want to help you get your voice back. Tell me... What can I do? I'll do anything."

A few heartbeats passed. He closed his eyes, looking down to her feet. When he noticed her toes twitch, he looked back. She had propped onto her elbows, craning her torso to stare down at him.

Her gaze was soft, and patient. It looked much better that way to him. He quietly sighed with relief, expecting a scowl and to be ignored.

She raised her hand, and beckoned him.

He blinked, and bit his lip. His fingers curled under. He could not protest again, even if his last was a clear lie. While the cocoon was by no means spacious, there was more than enough room for both of them--they would just be very close.

She beckoned him again.

He steeled his nerves, and opened his palms. Crawling, he entered into his bed. He did his very best to avoid touching her. To the point where his arms and knees trembled as he tried to scale the cocoon by its inclined walls. He closed his eyes, daring not to and desiring not to see where his nose was about to pass.

But he could not stop himself from smelling. With each breath of concentration, he could smell that familiar scent. That bodily aroma of musk that skulked about the dank room like a thin fog.

Then he was forced to stop. Her hand held his shoulder, preventing him from going any further. He stole a glance up to her, his body trembling and eyes questioning.

She reached with her right hand, and touched his scalp. His temples began to pulse with nervousness as she forced the angle of his gaze downward. He closed his eyes.

She squeezed his shoulder. The squeeze was nearly painful, hitting him in a pressure point.

His eyes forced open.

There, just below him, barely visible in the dark, was her intimacy. She had parted her thighs just so, and even in the dimness he could see the supple pink lips. The hand on his shoulder was relieved, and he saw it snake down from his right. The fore and middle fingers traced down the seam of her nether region, and gently worked them apart.

A string of wetness clung from one side of the opening to the other.

She pulled his gaze up, revealing a bashful smile on her face. Her hands went to his shoulders, and she tugged, coaxing him to move up.

He fought to keep from touching her, but her insistence on helping him ended with his body falling limp onto hers. She let out her airy giggle as his nose butted against hers.

"Wh--why did you...?" He tried to say, but his words failed him. His cheeks began to burn, and he was acutely aware of how ticklish her fur was against his body.

She smiled at him, and reached down.

His eyes twitched as he felt her hand touch his boyhood. He pulled his hips up, and looked down. "Why?" He grimaced, seeing how hard it was. As she cradled it in her palm, she ran her thumb over the top. When it passed over his tip, he closed his eyes as an overwhelming clench of his muscles came over him.

She gasped.

"I'm sorry, I--"

"Shh..." She said.

He blinked. Though it wasn't a word or with voice, it was the first thing she had told him directly; without gesturing or having to point. A direct command, directly from her lips alone.

She pressed her finger to his shaft, and then brought her hand up to point at herself.

A tear welled in his eye. He looked away. "I know. I get it. But I can't contr--"

"Shh..."

He managed to look back at her.

She met his gaze with a smile, and pointed at herself. Then, she reached down, and touched his tip. When she brought her finger back up, she stuck it in her mouth.

His lower region clenched again, making him wince. The feeling was... good. Those emotions, so foreign, were beginning to saturate him. He looked back at her, watching as she smiled coyly while the finger was still in her muzzle.

"Y-you... You want...?"

She took the finger out, and very slowly and deliberately pressed it to his nose.

His eyes closed as she depressed his nose, and opened as she released. "But... It'll hurt... Th-the blood, and--and--"

"Shh..." She shook her head. She placed her hands on his shoulders, and then pulled them off and clasped them together, bobbing them at her chest.

He was nearly paralyzed. His eyes tried to focus, but his vision was too erratic. He couldn't believe what she was telling him. It tore him. The familiar half wanted to scream and scurry away, while the foreign wanted nothing more than to bend to her will.

Once again, he felt her hand touch him. But this time, it was in a different way. She closed her eyes, and began moving him--guiding him. She held her breath, both hands working almost feverishly. Finally, she released him, but only to wrap both of her hands about his waist.

He didn't protest as she slowly pulled his hips toward her.

In unison they exhaled.

He cringed, anticipating her reaction and the thick feeling of the warm blood as it coated his nethers.

But all that he heard was her heavy breathing. All that he felt was a kind of warmth unlike any other. He dared open his eyes, and saw her pupils round and her gaze a bit distant.

After another while, she blinked and her breathing steadied. She focused on him.

Her hands moved to his sides, slowly trailing up and down. Normally he might be tickled, but her fingertips only evoked a kind of static in his skin that made him tremble just slightly.

He had an acute sense of his boyhood. The tip was buried in a place warm and snug. It reminded him of once bundling in a blanket on a cold night. About the middle, he could barely tell where the warmth started and the cold, exposed base separated. That he could feel with his thighs and waist her soft fur and warm body, left no doubt of where he was.

"Th--there," he stated. Though reluctantly, he started to recede from her. He felt relief that she did not show any sign of pain nor that he felt no evidence of the blood he had before.

But as he pulled free, she suddenly came to full focus. She snapped her arms about his torso and snared her legs about his lower half, halting his efforts. She could feel him trembling, weakly trying to resist. She did as before, but this time grasped his buttocks. Then, she abruptly thrust him forward, and pushed up with her pelvis.

He went limp over her. Collapsing on top of her, his mind was splashed with sparks as the warmth that treated his tip suddenly encased his entire length. He breathed heavily, his muscles twitching as strange but wonderful feelings coursed through him.

He gathered his senses, and started to recede once more, but as he expected, before he was too far along, she pulled him back in. Emitting a grunt, he relished in the sensations. In the way the soft and smooth passage yielded to his intrusion. In the way her breath caught and then rushed from her lips. In the way that pleasure peeled like lightning from his boyhood.

She let him go.

This time, as he receded, he willingly pushed back into her. He closed his eyes, focusing on the effects of the act. He moved slowly, the dragging friction of the motion a wonderful caress no hand could hope to deliver.

Over time, he began to hasten. Awkwardly at first, for this motion was new and unique, but quickly he developed the rhythm.

She relinquished her hold by the legs, and rested her hands beside her head.

He opened his eyes at her motions, and watched as she stared back at him, her muzzle openly panting as though she were tired. But the most curious expression on her face made him slow for a moment.

The way a half-smile crept up the corners of her muzzle. The way her whiskers curled back toward her. The way with every thrust her pupils threatened to cross or wiggled. The way her hands clenched now and again.

All of it made his heart flutter. Made his blood warm and tingly. With his boyhood at the helm of command, he hastened his humping further. Her expression became more erratic, her chin bobbing slightly as her body was nudged up and down. His ears caught the sounds of their juncture; wet, squishing utterances akin to the mixing in a mortar and pestle.

Though eager, he became quickly tired of his actions, and so sought the sanctity of her wonderful depths. With a sharp intake and exhale, he thrust his groin forward earnestly, the flexing of his groin spurring a rhythmic twitch within his tip.

She tensed, resisting his intrusion on the instinct of heightening the pleasure that sent her body halfway numb. They struggled against one another, pelvis fighting pelvis. The continuous pressure began to build in her. She could find no other way to release the roiling energy within her nethers.

He faltered. Opening his eyes, he watched as she emitted a crackling squeal that halted the pace of his heart nearly dead.

Her eyes squeezed tight, her fists--and nigh her entire body--clenched, and her muzzle was agape. From her lips the sound that pained him was thrown.

Tears fell from his eyes readily. "I-I-I-I-I'm sorry," he stuttered, resting his forehead upon her clavicle. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know that would hurt!" He shouted, guilt and regret flashing through him.

Her heart thundered. She couldn't move, but desperately wanted to. The pins and needles worked through her body, and she begged them to hurry. She couldn't stand his weeping posture, couldn't stand that she had no voice to keep him from misunderstanding.

At last, the strength to move! She reached up, and held his head between her hands. He looked to her, face full of the things she did not want him to feel. When his eyes stopped tearing and his focus was on her, she took a few breaths and opened her lips slightly.

He winced as her throat struggled, but she kept him focused by rubbing her thumb over his cheek. She took in another deep breath, and tried again. Her voice began to push through, but barely. A higher pitch here and there. A third attempt, and it was clear she was able to grate more notes than ever since morning.

She was satisfied when his face relaxed. She closed her lips, and then thrust her hips up. His eyes blinked and his face held mild disbelief. Yet with her insistence, he began to pick up the motions where he had left off. Though she shook her head, and reached down.

Looking into her eyes, he let her instruct. She grasped his buttocks once more, and began jerking her hips quickly. Then, she pushed against him sharply, but not for long before collapsing and breathing heavily.

"You... want me to do that again?" He asked.

She could only lean up, and press her lips to his nose.

She kissed.

A wave of warmth rushed over his fur.

"But... It didn't hurt?"

She shook her head, and then let her voice go again.

This time, the crackling and chittering of her vocals did not pain him--it reassured him. Invigorated by her, he flexed his groin muscles, springing his boyhood to further life than before.

She gasped as he twitched and surged within her confines, and laid back to close her eyes. It seemed that everything about this was meant to sting her with pleasure. From the friction of his thrusts, to the resistance his stiffness provided as she clenched down on his girth.

She felt the numbing pleasure take on even faster. Anxiously awaiting the powerful thrust, she began bucking back up at his actions, enticing him. She began to squirm, her entire body hot with the pleasure; her scalp felt matted and tingly as sparks of light sprouted in her vision.

He prolonged as much as he could. He wondered, if just maybe, she was finding the same kind of enjoyment of his acts as he was. And as he began to slough the reluctance and fear, he began to understand what she was doing. He grunted, a feeling of ecstasy beginning to build.

As he reeled back further, nearly to the very tip, he paused. She audibly took in a breath, and he took that as reassurance.

He uttered a groan as his entire, cooling length plunged into her warmth. A tear fell down his cheek, and his head grazed the top of the stone cocoon as he angled all his efforts to burrowing as deeply as he could into her.

And then, he heard it. It was like his own, but so much more intense. Had he not uttered the same, and understood the origin and cause of its intensity, he would have relapsed into believing he had injured her beyond a means of forgiveness.

But as her exclamation of pleasure vibrated from the cocoon and echoed through the caves, he felt as though an unbearable weight were dropped from his shoulders.

And he yearned for that voice again. He pulled back, and began quickly thrusting once more, the building ecstasy nearly drenching his body. He pulled back, and this time did not wait for her intake. He thrust forth, and began flexing his boyhood and grinding his pelvis against hers.

Her voice undulated in his ears with his grind, sending his body both aquiver and rigid. And as the ecstasy began to overwhelm him, he fell upon her and quickly thrust one more, forcing from her throat a series of whimpers and mewls.

Wedging his arms behind her, and she wrapping her arms and legs about him. He found little room to pull back any more. So he intensified his thrusts, pushing into her, feeling the way her warm, slick walls began to ripple and clench about his girth.

The hail she gave him was unlike any he'd ever heard before. Her voice sang in his ear in a way that made his entire spine shudder with pride. The constricting warmth about his boyhood began squeezing and clenching, tugging him into her as if she could not bear to let him leave. Her entire body squirmed and writhed in his grasp, her fingers gripping against his flesh as if clinging for steadiness in her turbulence.

And all of this sent an eruption of pleasure like a fire through his body, right to his groin. The surges he felt were unlike any he could consciously make; more powerful and vigorous. He fell into a trance, a tingling numbness overtaking his mind as an intense euphoria made him convulse and tremble.

They both felt the strange substance streaming from his tip. He was loosely aware of the relief and pleasure it gave as it passed through his length with each pleasurable spasm. For her, the warm and thick substance crashed deeply into the back of her passing, tickling and stirring a wave of heat all about her body as it was stirred and churned within her depths. With each twitch of his firm body inside her tender passage, his tip grazed and scratched an itch that nothing else could gratify.

They collapsed into one another's arms. Exhausted, the tingling pleasure receded from their limbs, as did their energy. With every passing heartbeat, they fell further and further into sleep, holding onto one another as if in hopes to reunite in dream.