Chapter 12 Quite Extraordinary
#13 of Fox Hunt
Quite Extraordinary
Chapter 12
When Aina awoke, evening light was spreading its pale fingers across the floor. The curtains were drawn back, and the sky that filled the high windows glowed pink, purple, and golden as the sun sank away beyond the distant line of smoke-furling buildings. The site of the dogland at sunset was almost breathtaking. It certainly wasn't as breathtaking as sticking ones head above Celankobi's red treetops at dawn, but it was still an incredible sight. Aina watched the golden underbellies of the clouds churning thick around the sinking sun, and her breath caught in her chest. But she quickly came to her senses. This was her chance to escape!
Lying against the pillows, bound at the wrist and ankles, Aina's red mane flowed around her as she glanced around. Red Mane was gone, but Long Face was lying beside her, sleeping deeply, his brows pressed together as his dream absorbed him. He was still fully clothed, boots and all. Aina could see the knife sticking from his boot. She slowly pulled herself up and paused when Long Face snorted. He smacked his heavy lips, his lashes fluttered, but he didn't wake.
Aina brushed the Great Dane's tail aside and pulled the blade from his boot. It slipped in her fingers and down between the binds on her wrists. She caught the handle and worked it, until the knife went up and down. The ropes fell away easily, and before long, she had freed her ankles and was standing at the end of the bed with the knife.
Aina stood indecisively for a long time as darkness slowly filled the room. All reason told her to kill Long Face and hide his body. Once she was gone, he would be the first dog to sound the alarm. But she looked at him sleeping as deeply as a fox cub, and she couldn't do it. He had been kind to her when he didn't have to be. He even tried to convince the foxhounds not to skin her. But she couldn't just leave him either.
Making up her mind, Aina grabbed the pillows and ripped off their cases. Long Face was a huge dog, but the pillowcases were enough to tie his wrists and ankles. He was so deeply in dreams, he hardly registered what was happening and only muttered "Sarah?" as she bound him. He never woke the entire time. It amazed her.
The corridor was shadowy and silent. Lights with round glass casing were at intervals on the walls, flickering a soft shimmering orange. Aina kept to the shadows as she moved carefully past dour portraits, vases, tables, couches, and corner chairs. She knew exactly how to find White Wanderer. The scent of her perfume was still sharp, and Aina realized the female foxhound had come to check on her not too long before.
At the end of the corridor was a stair, curving away along the wall. Somewhere down below, dogs were talking and chewing. She could smell roast meat and baking sweets. It was supper time. The whole manor would be down there. Good. It was the perfect time to escape. But would White Wanderer even be in her room? No doubt she was below, eating whatever it was foxhounds ate. Aina hoped they didn't, in fact, eat foxes.
White Wanderer's scent ended at a door that stood slightly ajar. Knife in paw, Aina paused outside and listened. She frowned. Someone in there . . . was crying! Crying deeply and wretchedly. She pushed the door open and looked in. White Wanderer was lying prone on a large canopied bed. The white curtains around the bed were drawn back, and the room was completely dark but for the moonlight that streamed through the open window. Only hours before, White Wanderer had been resplendent in her gown and adornments. Now she was in a long white nightgown, and her mass of white curls tumbled around her, hiding her face as she wept into her arms.
Aina sneered. What had the greedy foxhound to cry about? She owned all the land! And before long, she would own Aina's land too! Aina glanced around the room in disgust. Such extravagance was shameful. White Wanderer was clearly in a role of leadership, and yet she lived not among her clan but above them, on a hill, with clearly far more in earthly possessions and food than they would ever see in their lifetimes. The dogs treated their leaders like gods and their clan as a whole like dirt. It made Aina sick.
Aina slowly closed the door behind her. The foxhound didn't hear. Big surprise. She was sobbing so hard, she wouldn't have heard a gunshot either. Heart thundering in her ears, Aina darted through the room and grabbed the foxhound by her mane. She ripped her head back, ignoring her helpless cry when she pressed the knife to her throat.
"What have you to cry about, bitch?" Aina hissed in the female's ear. Her mass of white curls was touching Aina's cheek and smelled deliciously sweet. She sank her fingers and explored, surprised by the softness of such a mane, surprised by the yielding of the White Wanderer. The dog didn't beg. She didn't try to break free. She lay on her belly with her head pulled back in hard fingers, and she cried silently.
"Are you crying that you killed my love?" Aina whispered. "No doubt you are crying that you broke your favorite shoe!" Aina backed off the bed, dragging the foxhound with her by the mane. The beast screamed when she threw her to the floor. She landed hard on her back, and her big breasts bounced behind her nightgown. Aina tried not to stare at them: by the gods, they were huge. She was on top of the hound in seconds, and in seconds, had put the knife again to her throat. She grabbed the foxhound by the top of her mane and shook her by it.
"Ah!"
"Answer me!"
"You speak my language." The foxhound looked at her curiously with her wet, red eyes. Her face twisted with pain and her eyes shimmered with fresh tears when Aina pulled her mane again.
"How perceptive. Why do you cry? Are you injured?"
The foxhound looked at her in surprise. "No."
"Good. Then you can lead me through your dogland, take me back to forest --"
"I will do no such thing!" the hound returned at once.
Aina pressed the knife so hard, the hound whimpered. "Need I remind you," she hissed, "who has the knife here?"
"That can be easily rectified!"
The hound moved fast. Aina was faster. Every move the hound made, Aina blocked her, pinned her, smacked her. Fangs flashing with her cry of frustration, White Wanderer grabbed Aina by the wrist and twisted the knife away. Aina ignored the pain tearing through her arm and gave the hound the back of her knuckles. The hound screamed softy as her head turned with the blow. She slowly turned her face, and with blue eyes burning fury, launched at Aina with long nails extended. Aina barely dodged and felt the nails snag across her cheek. As a line of blood oozed hot down her face, she managed to wrestle the hound's wrists away. They tumbled across the floor, rolling, snarling, and when they stopped again, Aina was on top. The hound was flabbergasted.
Hazel eyes predatory bright, Aina growled as she slammed the hound's wrists to the floor, and the motion was so violent, their breasts smacked. She remembered for the first time that she was completely naked. The hound realized as well: she stared in astonishment at Aina's trembling breasts, then dragged her eyes away and blushed to her mane.
"I get it," the hound said, refusing to look at Aina. "You've got me. I surrender. I'll take you to Crinning --"
"Celankobi," Aina spat. "Do not use your names for my home, dog."
White Wanderer looked Aina in the eye. "You're right. I'm sorry."
Aina blinked. She studied the hound suspiciously a moment but backed off. As she picked up the knife and dusted off her fur, the hound got to her feet and adjusted her mane and nightgown. Her blue eyes glanced over Aina once, as if absorbing her curves, her high breasts, the round backside riding high under her thick red tail.
Aina glowered behind tendrils of red mane. "Hada. You're as bad as a little boy. Stop staring at me, dog."
White Wanderer cleared her throat. "I'm sorry."
"Stop apologizing!"
"D'you want some clothes? It's cold out there now. And it's a long way to the forest without horses, assuming you want to travel on foot. Can you ride?"
Aina's face creased angrily. Of course she couldn't ride! She moved past the hound to the door and started pushing furniture in front of it. "Get dressed," she said, reaching for a chair. "We go out . . . hole."
White Wanderer smiled. "You mean the window."
"Get dressed!" Aina snapped. She glowered and went back to shoving a table in front of the door. Behind her, she could hear the White Wanderer removing her nightgown. She swallowed hard and willed herself not to look, but she couldn't help it. As she bent to push the table again, she glanced back over her shoulder. The foxhound was standing sideways in the open window. She pulled the nightgown over her head with a toss of her white curls, and her high breasts bounced heavily. Aina saw the hard pink nipples jutting and felt the lips of her sex threatening to swell. She admonished herself and went back to shoving.
"We can take a sheet out the window," the foxhound said behind her. Aina could hear her opening the closet, rummaging inside for clothes. "We'll have to head across the rooftops of the manor. We can drop down in the courtyard over on the west wing and take the back road from there. . . . what does hada mean?"
Aina made an impatient noise. "Tch. Why do you care, dog? Shut up and --" She stiffened when she felt fabric against her back. She straightened up and turned to find the hound was holding a white shirt up, as if to measure its size against Aina.
"Of course, you'll have to put the knife down to put it on," the hound said with twinkling blue eyes. She was now dressed in a riding coat, tight breeches, and boots. Her wild white curls had been pulled into a side tail, and one curl fell across her smiling eyes.
Aina hesitated, suddenly embarrassed when the hound held the shirt open for her. She threw the knife on the table and snatched the shirt, only to awkwardly fight her way into the sleeves. She tried to ignore the fact that her breasts were flying everywhere and that the hound was watching. One of the cuffs tore when she finally punched her fist through, and the hound winced.
"Oh dear. You tore one of Charlie's shirts. Guess it won't matter. I'm not coming back, am I?"
Aina made a face. "Do you ever shut up?" She started buttoning up the shirt with quick fingers. One of the buttons was odd and so confounding that she cursed.
"Here . . . let me," said the hound softly. She brushed Aina's paws away before she could protest and buttoned the shirt for her. "The ones at the top are cameos. Takes a bit to push the shape through the holes . . ."
Aina stared at the foxhound, absently inhaling the intoxicatingly sweet scent of her long curly mane. "Why don't you fight?"
"Ha. I'm smart enough to know when to stop fighting. No one has ever bested me," the hound admitted without lifting her face. She laughed softly. "I thought perhaps I was dreaming when you slammed me down like that . . . You are quite . . ." She slowly lifted her eyes, and Aina went still when her small paw touched her check. She blinked slowly, and her blue eyes were warm as her thumb spread through the red fur under Aina's eye. "Extraordinary."
Aina flinched away and smacked her paw off. "Don't! You kill my love and say such things to me?" Eyes glinting, she snatched up the knife and placed the tip lightning quick under the hound's chin.
White Wanderer lifted her paws and laughed weakly. "Yes," she said, blue eyes smiling. "Quite extraordinary."
"Shut up. We go out hole." Aina jerked her head. "Move!"
"We can't."
"Then perhaps I throw you! Stop smirking, damn you. What is so funny?"
White Wanderer smiled slowly. "My lovely . . . you aren't wearing any pants."