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Book One: Asuragiari

Scroll One

Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)

For too long had the mountains and valleys surrounding Sodom been a wasteland, an acrid wilderness posing great danger to even the most seasoned of travellers. Bandits and thieves lay oft concealed in shadowed nooks, sharpening weapons with the rough edge of a stone, ever watching and ever waiting with growling bellies. A family of two-legged canines trekked through the unforgiving terrain, their orange-beige fur and dignified muzzles dressing them as pure bred Canaan dogs. The dog at the head of the group raised his muzzle, which was graced with threads of grey, towards the breeze and sighed as if the weight of the world rested firmly upon his shoulders. Demurely, his wife pressed the heel of her sandal into the dirt, deigning to pay heed to his world weary sigh: she had heard too many of them in her time. She was shorter than he, roundly cheerful in natural nature, and her iris blue eyes shone with intelligence, a sharp cunning traced down her bloodline. Their two daughters, carrying bulky travelling sacks, waited silently for their father to survey the land. The taller sister stood with her eyes downcast, the corners of her lips turned down, while the second, elder sister stared out at the land with ears pricked and a challenge in her stance.

"It appears that we have arrived," the lead canine, Lot, said with an air of great deliberateness, painfully slow. "This, my family, is Sodom." He sounded the word as if it came forth with difficulty. "We shall stay here with my dear friend, Raguel. I do trust that he shall be a most gracious host and you shall be his most just and honest guests."

Edith, his wife, knew all of this, yet nodded politely, saying nothing. Lot had always been a canine of formalities and tradition at the head of their family, though she could not deny that she had lost faith in his leading paw. As if to colour her wayward thoughts, unbecoming of a wife, Lot scratched behind his ear, ruffling through his thinning hairline: age told no tales. Despite boasting a scant few years of youth over her husband, Edith wondered when it would be her time to 'welcome' the consequences of age.

The elder daughter, Pheine, looked over the sand-coloured city, lip curled with distaste. It may as well have risen from the sand beneath their hind paws for all the variation it offered. She rubbed her one sandal against her opposing leg, sniffing quietly enough so that she would not draw attention to her unspoken opinion. Glancing slyly at her sister, younger but taller with the slimmest figure of the family, Pheine coughed into her paw. Turning her nose up from the dust, Thamma frowned, shaking her head from left to right so slowly that it was barely discernible as a head shake at all.

"Are we to descend to the city or stand here upon ceremony?" Pheine muttered, softly enough that only Thamma's sensitive ears caught the words. Her sister's frown deepened and she said bit the inside of her cheek, distrusting her tongue with her father within earshot.

Lot would undertake everything in his own time and it was with a heavy exhalation that he finally roused, scratching his rotund belly as his shorter, typically fluffy tail swayed uncertainly from side to side. He gestured to his wife and adjusted his modest, brown skirt, the white stripes across his upper back striking when his torso remained bare of clothing. He longed for the comfortable, embroidered cloth, something only wealth could acquire; his coarse attire itched at best, more so when the heat of the day brought beads of sweat to dampen his fur. If he and his family had travelled in their best garments, dyed to make a rainbow fade with envy, they would have been a glaring target for outlandish rogues. Sacrifices had to be made.

Lot started down the rough slope without warning, leaving the female furs to scramble in his wake. Loose stone caused them to slip and slide, Thamma clinging on to Pheine's arm with a vice-like grip, fearing for her footing. Pheine huffed, rattling off a steady stream of complaints in her head - she would not have dared to voice them aloud - and hiked up her unwieldy robe to avoid the sharp rocks. Despite her best efforts, a fine layer of dust clung to the fibres, painting her as a canine of the lower classes, even more so with the shawl cast over her shoulder like a mutt's daughter. She wrinkled her nose, pawing at the soft, fabric felt cinching the material too tightly around her waist, retaining her modesty. What was modesty? Uncomfortable, it seemed.

Thamma's eyes felt as if they were about to leap out of her skull to explore of their own accord once surrounded by the city walls. There had been no singular, main entrance to the city and she was surprised to discover their chosen route unguarded, even if the citizens appeared at first glance to be normal and unobtrusive to the environment. There was the same easy distinction between the classes that could be seen in any other city, such as the clothing worn and tasks undertaken, some furs carrying pots down to the well while those in power strode unburdened. She wished that she had the courage to ask questions of a group of nearby female furs, who were intent upon their task of drawing water from the small well set in the middle of a carts and merchants, a hub of activity. Her father had never had much good to say about Sodom, however, so she remained cautious yet wide-eyed.

"Where does Raguel live?" Edith asked by way of making conversation. The long, rather quiet journey had taken a toll on her and she longed for conversation that flowed like a fine wine, cursing her husband's silence. Lot glanced at her from the corner of his eye and shuffled forward with greater haste, ears slanting back.

"Not far, Edith," he assured her mildly. "Do not concern yourself. We shall be indoors in due course."

She pressed her tongue against the roof of her mouth and said nothing, duly nudged back into her place. How she yearned to question... Keeping a close eye on her daughters, so innocent and beautiful in her mind, she ensured that they followed, though not as near to her heels as she would have preferred. Pheine had a faraway gleam in her eyes, only directed after her parents by Thamma's guiding paw, and the younger daughter's open wonder made a faint smile tug at Edith's lips. The older Canaan's tail wagged, fluffy white fur fluttering in the breeze: so innocent.

The group paused in front a wooden door with a small carving of a rabbit set at chest level. The home was potentially modest with few exterior extravagances, but their host for the coming days was said to be a humble fur, though he did not want for coin or knowledge. Raising a paw, Lot knocked heavily and wheezed a cough; the dust of the day had affected his tired lungs. Someone moved within the dwelling and the door opened noiselessly to reveal a Californian rabbit on about eye level with Edith, white with black ears and a dark, twitching muzzle. His grey eyes roamed from one family member to the next, taking every single one of them in without revealing a trace of emotion.

"Raguel," Lot said calmly. "What a pleasure it is to see you."

"As it is a pleasure to see you, old friend," Raguel replied quickly, too quickly. He stepped back and held one arm out to the side. "Please, enter."

Bowing, Lot entered first, wife and daughters a pace behind. Pheine's eyes narrowed critically as she observed Raguel's humble abode; her subsequent sniff was barely polite. Thamma, on the other paw, was fuelled by curiosity, awed by fresh surroundings, and smiled kindly at their host, who slid his gaze away blankly.

"It is a lovely home you have here, Raguel," Edith spoke up, voice strong and confident. The rabbit wrinkled his nose and smoothed his ears back with one paw, muzzle tilting skyward.

"It is not my home," he replied, presenting a shoulder to Edith, body rigid. "The innkeeper is away on business so the task falls to me to man the door if expecting guests. He does not have many rooms here - it is a compliant building to manage." He paused, whiskers twitching. "Please, follow me to a more comfortable arrangement. I would not have you standing as we talk."

Rattled by his wife's forwardness, Lot shook his head, eyes intense as he stared the plump canine down, his body square to hers. Edith bit down a growl, a spark of defiance flaring deep within her gut. She had not meant to infuriate Raguel, how could Lot not see that, let alone misunderstand? Was it so unfeminine for her to show her appreciation of Raguel's generosity in hosting them? Her tail curled down against her rump. No: no, it was not wrong.

Raguel took no notice of their silent confrontation and led the way into a pleasant reception room set with low, functional seating. The seats were complete with modest cushions for comfort, spaced around a circular table upon which a simple but colourful pot stood, sides curved to meet a gaping rim. It was far from the comforts of home that the family had become accustomed to, but the rabbit, the poor lapine, believed he was offering them the epitome of luxury. He motioned to them to sit and they did as bid, Pheine sweeping her robe to the side and pulling her lips back in a canine smile, careful to not show her teeth. She had little idea as to why they were there - the daughters were rarely party to important information - and was reluctant to offend their host by probing. The little she did know came from deciphering what she could from her father's notes, penned in a crude paw and recklessly unguarded one drunken evening. Their visit concerned supplying Raguel with assistance, though she could not know of what kind. There was some force of holiness or sin in Sodom that she was yet to discover.

Uncomfortable with silence, Edith shuffled her hind paws, shifting as she sought out a position that would put her at ease. The corners of Lot's black lips turned down in a miniscule frown, observing his friend. Raguel had not slept in days.

"I came with due haste upon receiving your message," Lot said, breaking the overly polite hush. "Is there news?"

"None, none to be heard," Raguel shook his head, long ears drooping. "It's been six moons since I last saw her muzzle. She is somewhere within the city, concealing herself in sin. Do you think..." He trailed off, lowering his muzzle to his paws.

Sin? Thamma's ears pricked discreetly and listened intently, muzzle obediently angled downwards. Why would sin be significant part of Sodom beyond the norm? Why was sin even so important? Most of it did not seem to be that bad. Thamma breathed a sigh. On the tan cushion at her side, Pheine smiled privately to herself, wondering at how her father had not ushered the females from the room at the slightest mention of the unholy; he was apt to do that. So apt, in fact, that it was only by listening at closed doors that she had heard more than her innocent younger sister.

"Ah," Lot rubbed an ache from his shoulder, fingers rasping through the thick fur. "That is the way of Sodom. You should not have ventured here."

Raguel observed him gravely, raising his muzzle and folding his paws together in his lap.

"Yet you are here," he offered. "You must be of the mind that there is something you may do for my wife and I?"

"Of a kind," Lot said, swallowing hard to buy time. "The situation must be observed for the next few days. It is likely that I will succeed in locating your wife in the city."

"And then?"

"And then," Lot rubbed the bridge of his snout. "We shall see." Raguel slumped.

"Yes, we will see..." The rabbit trembled. "She's only likely to be located if she is not being raped by her captors," he added lowly, as if he did not want his words to be heard.

"She was kidnapped?" Lot's eyes narrowed to slits. "In your letter, you claimed that she left willingly to the lure of the body."

"My wife would never walk into the arms of sin."

Lot privately felt, from his lofty awareness, that Raguel's canine wife, sister to Edith, was far more likely to walk into the sin of fornication and lust than his family. After all, they were the ones offering holy aid in such a terrible time. Suddenly conscious of the female members of his family, he looked them over sternly, confident that they would not stray from the path of righteousness under his guiding paw. He would not allow them to. Hefting his bulk from the low seat, he advanced on Raguel, appearing like the carnivore that he was in stride and air of command. Raguel flinched, shrinking back.

"Do not worry, friend," Lot placed his paw genially on the seated lapine's shoulder, patting twice. "We shall have your wife returned, healthy, whole and free from sin. Now, we must rest and regain our strength."

Hopelessly, the rabbit nodded, rising gracefully to his hind paws. He could do nothing, nothing other than follow Lot's lead: it was out of his paws.

"Allow me to show you to your quarters."