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Here it is, chapter three. Yes, STILL no Yiff. I PROMISE it is coming! Til then, have some story!

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Rukbat D'Sagitrus ran through the woods, her feet knowing the way well as she did so. She wore her normal soft breeches and blousy shirt, the sleeves rolled above the elbow as was a necessity in both her life, and her grandfather's. For nearly six years, she'd been an apprentice sword smith, and finally, she had produced a sword to her grandfather's satisfaction. She was a sword smith in her own right, and hence no longer considered a child. Free to have her own forge, free to make her own way. . . free to marry the wolf she loved. Oh. That last was the most joy to her. She tore through the wooded paths, her heart pounding, not from exertion or fatigue, but from the fierce pride and strong love coursing through her spiritual veins as strongly as the red blood flowed through her physical ones. She rushed into the clearing, her smiling mouth spreading to an even wider gleam as she saw the one she sought. He was leaning against the marble wolfess, as he always had, his head to one side, a smile blessing his fine features. No words were spoken, no words were needed. This language was one of their mute ancestors, the language of the wolf. A dialect of that language that was understood by all followed, the dialect of love. Love to a wolf was perpetual, binding and true. Their very souls lived and died by love. Whether it was love of the hunt, love of the pack, or love of a mate, it was a language these two were only beginning to speak, and in some strange way, had already mastered. She leapt to his arms, pressing her muzzle against his, all abandon that the universe ever granted a lover in her mind and actions. As they kissed, the sun itself seemed to dim, the very leaves of the new-greened trees dulling as the brightness only they could see and others were gifted to feel surrounded them. Soon in mortal time, an eternity of ephemerality to the two lovers, the kiss ended, only to be followed by another, after the requisite and bothersome intruding breath of air was taken. Their bodies pressed together, the wolf leaning over his wolfess, dominating her in every way possible. He would take every part of her. . . and in return, give unto her all of him. Rukbat couldn't help but feel the pounding against her rib cage as both her lover's heart and her very soul fought against it, each trying to join the other. Donato felt the same, and also, felt the stirring of his blood that only Rukbat ever brought about. The dizzy feeling in his head as he kissed her, the shivers that ran from his lips, to the tips of his ears, to the bottoms of his feet. The tingling went on and on, and it was their sole pleasure to drown in it.

Rukbat finally came back to herself and to conscious thought at the foot of the statue of The Mother, the Matriarch as some called her. She was Regina Vincenterini, Donato's ancestor, the founder of Fidospiritu, the city of Dire Wolves, and of Faithful Spirit. Rukbat was cuddling with Donato, her body and back against his stomach, and they were talking in hushed, sweet voices, a kiss interjecting the sentences every now and then. "Then he looked at me, and at the sword. He just sort of grinned, and said. . ." She forced her voice to a low and resonant bass. " 'Get out of here, sword smith.' " Her voice returned to its surprising mezzo lilt. "Can you imagine?" She whacked Donato's thigh lightly as he chuckled at her imitation of her grandfather.

"Yes, Ruk, I can imagine him saying that. . . with you here in my arms, sweet one, I can imagine much." The wolf nuzzled the back of Rukbat's head with his snout, and rested his head on top of hers.

"Scaring the life out of me. . . and then pulling that. Acting like everything I do is wrong, and then smiling at me and dubbing me a smith. . . I suppose that's because he was initiated the same way." She leaned further back into Donato's embrace, inhaling his sweet, deep scent.

"Yes, I suppose he must have. I don't question Giovan." Donato chuckled. "I don't have the time for his epic answers. Long winded. . . is an understatement." He smiled, and looked down to the wolfess in his embrace. "Can you imagine it's been a year, Ruk? A year since I asked you to be my lover, and now we are both finally free to be what we so desire?"

"You've been free all this time. I half-expected you to run off and marry some princess." She smiled, and curled her hand into Donato's, the silver ring on her right hand sparkling in the dim green sunlight of the forest.

"Ruk, I gave you that ring with a promise. Until the time had come that you were free, I would take no other. I meant that. And now I mean to give you a different ring. With a different promise." He smiled, and tilted his head down, kissing Ruk on the broad top of her muzzle. "Oh, it will be fine. . . the dancing and feasting. . . the tournaments. . . the colors of our choosing bedecking the halls and the kingdom's lining the streets. I'll have father declare a week of holidays! Maybe two. I may find you a better treat than I thought." He smiled again, pulling Rukbat tighter to him.

"Or maybe only a day. You may not be able to take a D'Sagitrus wolfess." She chuckled.

"I certainly won't be able to stand it if you grow anymore." He tickled her side, eliciting a high yelp from the wolfess. At seven foot even, and at nearly eighteen years of age, Rukbat was slight for her kingdom, but then so was her prince and lover. His family ran a bit short since his grandfather had married a common lass, a wolfess of sweet eye and pure heart. Donato himself stood a scant inch under eight foot. Though he knew that both he and Rukbat were mostly done with their growing, it would be his luck for his wife to be taller than he. Not that it mattered much, as Rukbat was the love of his life and his soul, and nothing of her physicality could change anything of what he felt for her.

There was a shock awaiting the two lovers when they reached the city, a few of the king's guard were waiting for Rukbat at her father's house when she returned near sunset that day. An officer in a gleaming silver-white coat of chain mail from the guest's place at the table, and spoke in the quick, clear and concise manner of one who was used to commanding others. "Rukbat D'Sagitrus?" He uttered, and Rukbat couldn't help but stand a little straighter. Even though Donato was at her side, she was very much afraid of what this wolf's presence could mean.

"Yes, sir?" She spoke, her voice clear and willing, with a rise at the end, the question more than it sounded to be. In truth, she was not only replying, but also inquiring of the wolf the reason for his presence, and perhaps his name. This was a tone she had learned from Donato, and learned well.

"I'm Vincent Cooper, a low-ranking official of the King's Guard, Ma'am." He smiled, and it immediately made his features better. He no longer looked the part of the marauding predator, but actually resembled a civilized lupine.

"Master Cooper, I am sure my family has offered you refreshments, but is there anything else I may do to be of service to you?" Rukbat waved her hand gracefully around the small house, trying to make herself more comfortable as well as seeing to the comfort of Master Vincent Cooper. "We've not much, but you are welcome to it."

"No, thank you, Ma'am. You're quite the lady, as the king has said." He nodded, and his expression grew a bit more serious. "Which is actually why I have come. Your family has served the king well these past years, and he sends his compliments to you."

"That's all? My father sends his compliments?" Donato sniffed. "He couldn't have told her this on the morrow?"

"With all due respect, and begging your highness' pardon, you didn't let me finish." He glanced to the prince of the realm and continued. "Miss D'Sagitrus, it is by the king's request that you are summoned from your family's arms and into his services in Galea." Rukbat nodded, and went to a corner of the room, binding her hair with a length of leather thong she kept there.

"This is preposterous!" Donato's tail twitched behind him, his hackles slowly rising. "She's been a sword smith less than eight hours, and you summon her off to the war?" To Donato's great surprise, it was not Master Cooper who answered him, but Rukbat.

"My love. Quit your worrying, and stop this whining this instant." She went over to her lover, and stroked the fur lining his spine down to its flat and normal state. "You know the law. Those of age must serve six months with the troops." She smiled, and hugged him gently. "After all, was it not a year ago that you yourself fell under the sway of this law? Now it's my turn." She kissed the hollow of his neck gently. "I will be with you when it is over. You'll see. Six months will pass like six days."

"My love. . ." Donato pulled Rukbat against him. "How can you leave my side for even a moment when the moments pass as days when you are not by my side?" He curled his head down to rest behind hers, nuzzling the back of her skull with his chin.

"It's not easy." She pulled away. "Take heart. I will be back before the snow falls." With that, she nodded to the soldier, who stood, bowed to her Grandfather, Mother, and Father, and spoke the words he hated speaking. Especially to a family that had already given so much to the kingdom. He had served with Michaeli and Giovan as a raw recruit back during the Camat invasion ten years ago, and it hurt him to tell these wolves he respected so much that he had to take their -if one such as he might have said so, he would have- beautiful daughter.

"Masters D'Sagitrus, Mistress D'Sagitrus, it is by the power vested in me I hereby conscript your daughter unto the king's service, to serve him in the ways of battle for six months, or until such time as the king deems worthy to release her." He fought back a wince at the thought of this pretty wolfess falling to an enemy's sword. "Should it fall that she is unable to serve, by injury or death, compensations will be made as they can." He turned to Rukbat. "Come with me." The wolfess nodded, and after a brief goodbye to her family, turned to follow the soldier.

Training was rigorous. Up at dawn, train until dark, serve at the king's table until the feasting was over. For some festivals, for this was summer and high time for such, the feasting went on all night. For a tired-out nothing rank recruit, there was no rest on those days. "Rest," The captain would drill every day into the trainees' heads, "is what God gives ya when ya die." For six weeks solid, when she was not at the king's table or off on an errand for the captain, Rukbat was training in arts that she already knew: The Staff, Bow, and Club Training were a learning experience, but at the Sword, Rukbat had to laugh at her companions' ineptitude. She'd been around swords since she was old enough to say the word, and here these oafs were stumbling over drawing the things. She bit back her laughter, however, when she saw her captain's swordsmanship. He was a seasoned soldier, who fought well, his body flowing like a river of muscle and fur, his arm following the sword as though the weapon and appendage were one. Though when he saw her skill, the two had sparred, Rukbat quickly learned that though she may know enough about the fighting arts to scare off most peasants, she would have a time of it in battle. She didn't know what the other troops trained in after that match, for she was pulled aside to train with others, with the pages and squires of the realm. Nobles. Wolves who knew other languages, who could not only converse but read and write in them. Of these lessons was she the most afraid. Her 'peers' would have been training for seven years at this. She would have been training seven minutes, if the clock on the wall was correct. She waited for her classmates to file in, along with the Master of Languages.

"Rukbat D'Sagitrus?" The thin, aged wolf piped up as he saw her. His voice was friendly, welcoming.

"I am she." She stood, and bowed slightly. Her classmates raised their eyebrows, and muttered a bit, but she paid it no heed. Well, a little heed, but she hid it well.

"I am your Languages Master, and I'd like to bid you welcome to my class! Now, I know you must be worried about being behind and all, but you've only missed about a week or so. You'll catch up!" Rukbat could have cried with relief. Though her ear was good, she had been afraid she'd missed an eternity more than a week. She did not cry, but a laugh escaped her.

"I'm sorry for laughing, Master. . . but you see, I thought I'd missed six years of this. . . Latin, is it?" She smiled, and immediately dropped it as her classmates laughed jeeringly.

"Fancy the commoner learning Latin!" One barked.

"Indeed, what next?" Another chimed in.

"Did you hear her accent, practically primitive! She still growls her 'r's!"

"That is enough, gentleman!" The master growled, his voice suddenly not as friendly as it once was. One of the boys waved him off.

"So, Mistress D'Sagitrus," He sneered, "Where does your family reside?"

"In the woods?" A red wolf to her right suggested.

"We live on Temple Way, near the market square." She kept her voice even.

"Oh, and what does your father do? Does he make those little toys with the metal gears inside them so that they dance?" The large grey wolf at her front seemed to be the ringleader.

"My father is a carpenter."

"Oh, a carpenter! And I suppose your grandfather was one before him?" The Red snickered.

"My grandfather is Giovan D'Sagitrus, and he made that sword you're wearing, you bastard son of a whore!" Rukbat snapped, her voice suddenly deadly. There was complete silence from all, even the Languages Master, as they all looked on at her. "Now you get this straight, you overbearing stuffed shirt! I may be a commoner, but I will bend no knee to any noble who does not deserve it." With that, she sat down near the window.

That one outburst bought her more than she had bargained for. Not only did it make it perfectly clear who she was, but also what she would stand for. It was her quiet determination and quick ear that brought her the respect of her classmates. She was finally with wolves that knew as much of swordplay as she did, and smiled whenever one of them was able to stand with a blade at her throat. After a total of eight weeks of training, making it ten weeks after she had arrived, that they finally were outfitted for battle. It was here that she was separated from her new-found friends and put into Infantry. The battle was set for one week from the current day, in a field perhaps two day's march from the city. So it was, clad in a pair of loose leather breaches, and a blue-and-white tunic, Rukbat marched out of the city, armed with only a staff. She remembered the crowds when Donato had gone off to battle, and thought it rather odd that not one wolf showed a tail-hair at her own departure. It was to be expected. Who were they? The Infantry. Arrow fodder.

The field was beautiful, green, and apparently peaceful as the soldiers stood at the ready, waiting for the Generals to negotiate terms. Rukbat stood in the third row back, waiting impatiently. Nervously, more like. Though she knew what the kingdom stood to lose from this war, she saw that they stood to gain little. A narrow strip of rocky land at best. It was stupid to fight a war over such a thing. She had asked Donato about it, a few months ago, and he had gone on to explain about minerals and raw materials. She understood the importance of steel ore, and of gold. But not of this strange metal that Donato described. Whiter than silver, he said and stronger. It was more valuable. Whatever it was, it seemed to be a damn small bit of land to waste all these wolves over. Rukbat was jerked out of her thoughts by the order to run. Here it was. All she had trained for. There wasn't enough room to take a step, let alone swing her staff. She saw a red tunic flash by her, and jabbed at it with the end of her weapon. There was a groan, and her attacker fell. He was young, perhaps her age, and by the look of him, he'd seen battle before. He stood, shakily, and drew a sword. "You'll pay for that, cur!" He spat, glaring at her. His eyes widened as he saw her, and he laughed. "Here, lass, let me cut that down for you!" He sliced at her staff, breaking it clean in half. She smiled, and nodded to her adversary.

"My thanks." With that, she swung with one half of the staff at his head, and another at his side. The idiot blocked the side blow, and a sharp crack rent the air. He fell again, and this time, did not get up. Rukbat took the sword from his paw, and smiled. "God keep you, you served Galea well." She turned in time to slice through another red tunic, staining it redder from a gash she had cut from the young wolf's shoulder to his pelvis. Through the course of the day, Rukbat cut through God only knew how many soldiers. Seven, eight, twenty, did it matter? It was enough to keep her alive. Alive at the end of a victory for Fidospiritu. It was only at the end of the battle that she realized the cuts she had received, an arrow jutting from her shoulder. She felt as though an immense weight were on her shoulders, and her eyes hurt. Everything hurt. She fell to her knees, and felt her eyes close heavily. If this was death, she didn't care anymore.

It wasn't death, as she discovered. She awoke in the city, on a bed she'd only heard about before. The Royal colors of blue and white were draped in velvet above her, and there was a chuckle at her side. She looked over, and blinked, sitting up. There at her side sat Donato, toying with a feather. He pushed her back into a lying position, and chuckled again. "Sleep, Ruk. You've got a lot ahead of you." It was only then, as she lay down, that she noticed the medal gleaming at the foot of her bed. She wanted to ask about it. . . but sleep found her first.