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Fantasy Gifts From A Moon God

She sounded to growl.

New Moon fever was it. Was this to happen every time?

But his warmth as it wrapped around her, different from the sun in its incessant beating,

What happened? "Uh." Her lies were open, but not blatant. "Nothing. We're further south now. But. We might have some men coming after us. Maybe. The ones from before... perhaps. Also, they work under a man who flies a banner of Beastmen killing. Nothing to fear." Not really, anyway. They had swords more like. Save for young ones like Ivak, the sword was not the ideal weapon against Beastmen. It marked their inexperience with fighting this kind of war, and their freshness would serve them sudden deaths in their rally. But it did not mean they wouldn't grow to learn quickly.

"We passed their convey. Part of the one you killed. Not sure if they're chasing us." Ivak didn't seem to alert her to any followers. His head was spinning. "You were on Bastion for a while." She stripped the bracelet from her wrist, rubbing the twine marks. "And that's all." He was looking around for something, and she filed through all the unpreparedness of waking up. Food, water, dress, orientation. Water, they were surrounded by a slosh of marsh which'd have to be boiled beyond recognition to drink. A lot of it. She needed a fire still, even to start that. Find dry brush, anything else to burn.

The pitted marks of her skin reminded her. "Were your wounds alright? I didn't know whether to use powder in your sleep... I thought it was a bad idea this time." He had seemed on edge. Himself and animalistic. She was not afraid of him. But she needed to take some steps to not be stupid. "Are they healed?" She pressed to him, her hand touching his chest and searching then his arms for the wounds she saw before. It was all starting to blur together. But there was an enjoyment in what was happening. Her concern was irritating to her, same as a woman with nothing to do. But the simple closeness to touch him again, alive, and animate, receiving her; even if she were to be shrewish and worry for his ministrations more than needed; it fulfilled her to have him alive.

Wy'Ziot edged close to her, and she noticed him taking in her scent, the skin on her neck, and her face. Detecting what had happened? An unfamiliar face close to hers. She hadn't washed anything but her hands. She touched his face with these. Not discouraging him. Allowing him free to draw his conclusions. Waiting to correct him if he were paranoid. But she had missed him. And this closeness was missed.
 
Wy'ziot listened quietly as she spoke, nodding carefully at the right moments, huffing at the thought of those men following. His one large hand was scooping at the soft, peaty earth to his side, and as he dug down, water began to gather. He rolled to his side, stuck his face into the bowl, and slurped greedily. It was tangy with tannins, earthy, gritty, but it was clean, so far as toxins went. His stomach rolled a little further than he had, and as he straightened, he stared at Panyin hard. His face paled further, the harsh, inflamed red slashes across his face, neck, chest and shoulders seemed to stand out sharply, hot and irritated, as he scrabbled forward and heaved a few sips of his water up.

"Djou..." He managed between heaves. "Djou... gave me potions... for humans..." He heaved once more, a deep rumbling belch reverberating out. Further afield, a dark head bobbed up from its hunting, a mouse dangling from its jaws. Amber gold eyes saw the man stood, and returned to hunting. Wy'ziot poked at his wounds, borne from the bear he'd slaughtered. He steadied himself against the side of the Vanner, Bastion giving a gentle snort, as the man removed the hide from the horse, and grabbed his roll of clothing. He managed to dress himself slowly, once again leaving the intricate netted sleeves of the armoured shoulder pads off, the new wounds still stinging with movement.

"Zhank djou for caring for me Pan. But I 'ave alvays struggled vizh potions designed for Man. My stomach cannot cope." Lowering himself, Wy'ziot drew the thick bear pelt to himself, laying it across his crossed legs as he took his bone machete, tested its edge, and started to hack wide strips from it. The blade made short work, removing legs, then segmenting the back and belly into workable hunks. He turned the foreclaws inside out first, and slowly started to work the blade across it, using the repetitive motions to take his mind off his almost hang-over feeling. He smirked at Pan, taking away all the meat and fat from the skin, before setting it aside and working the next. He tapped them at her quizzical look with the tip of the blade. "Gloves... and boots. For djou. So djou don't feel zhe Cold." He grinned.

He ignored her attempts to minister to his slashed face. He wore these like a badge of honour. The claws he was working on had caused these wounds. He was proud to bare them. Rustling made his eyes harden, and his grip change on his blade, until Ivak scuttled in, and lowered himself down, tail flailing around, making cackling sounds and dropping a pile of rat, mouse and vole bodies in front of Panyin. Wy'ziot' bushy white brow rose as the Fox wove himself around Panyin, his blade being set down, as the Fox stayed behind her, and with a few creaks and pops, the boy ended up sat behind her, muddied and streaked with the blood of the prey he'd captured.

"And ve 'ave anozher stray?" Though the words sounded like there should have been humour to them, there was a lack of it across Wy'ziot's face. Yes, he'd rescued the boy, had intervened on his beating... he had assumed he was local to that area, and would have returned to his family... and he was a Fox. Ivak grinned in an impish way over Panyin's shoulder, but ducked again as Wy'ziot made a move to grab at him.

"Nah ah, Big Man!!! Ivak catch fresh meat for Big Man!! Ivak useful, see see! Lady Witch won't let Big Man get Ivak, no no!!" Wy'ziot's eyebrows shot up, and a perplexed expression passed over his face before it returned to irritated, troubled, and quizzical.

"Oh? Lady Vitch von't let me get djou? Funny..." His quivering, mottled eyes hardened as they met with amber-gold. "Djou assume I vouldn't squash 'er to get at djou, dirty little Scraath?" Ivak ducked at the vehemence used with the native tongue that passed from Wy'ziot. Ivak didn't understand it's meaning, but it made him frown, and he released a series of angered Fox cackle sounds. Wy'ziot lifted his lip and snarled at the boy, before taking up his blade, and setting to work on the skins again, slurping down the meat and fat that he gathered of the hide. "Panyin... vhy is 'ee still 'ere?" Ivak pawed at Panyin's wrist, and looked up at her with large, wild eyes, his Fox ears twitching, his tail bushed out with anxiety, rather than sleek. Wy'ziot a voice was low and dangerous, and Ivak was starting to feel unsafe. Why had he been saved if the Wolf had issue with the Fox? Had he not noticed before, what he was?
 
"I--" Didn't, she was going to say. Did she? She thought hard. How could she make him drink if--Oh... she did. She drank like water and forgot about them. She hadn't given him potions, but she had cleaned his wounds.

"...Oh..." She said with another echo of insight. He was reacting so strongly to just washing out his blood with a concoction she had made. It was embarassingly no wonder Ivak had...

Ahem. Wy'Ziot stated that potions weren't metabolized the same with Werewolves. Beastmen, really. Oooh, boy; she couldn't help averting her eyes. She forced down how many potions on the fox? Four or five? Plus healing? She completely forgot. Her mind calculated remissions and solutions but found all her answers to solving the symptoms came back to potions.

They were not human. They were not human. Yet she looked at them and forgot. Their bones rearranged into something else by their will and yet she thought as human in the forms she could recognize. The eyes she looked into. She thought of the blood that coursed through their veins, the flesh molded around their bones as being so different from hers. And yet it was that she could not make sense of. That they were different to her as much as monsters were different. And much more human than beasts she had met with their own human skins. She blinked at her inanity, as her eyes shifted to his work. He tapped the hides he was stripping.

For you.

"Ah--oh..." Her chest went heavy and alight at the same time. All she had in her stomach was upset at him, for hours on end, and when he awoke all he had was intent to keep her safe and warm. He considered her even in a state she did not fully recognize. She felt touched by this, as all his easy motions toward her managed to do, and guilty, feeling to hide what she had felt.

His hand changed around the blade.

And we have another stray?

She opened her mouth. "Isn--"

"Nah ah, Big Man!!! Ivak catch fresh meat for Big Man!! Ivak useful, see see! Lady Witch won't let Big Man get Ivak, no no!!"

Her eyes snapped to Ivak, surprised he remained behind her. And that the two of them were not getting along.

"Well, which one of us is it?" She'd thought surely he'd be more amenable to the man who had saved him, whom Ivak had shown some vague sense of kinship towards in shared blood. But here he was, acting prey to predator. It annoyed her, and it was not going smoothly.

She'd somewhat expect Wy'Ziot to fix all the things that plagued her as problems.

In some vague thought she would not allow, she noted his clinging to her like how children regarded their mother. Scared, beaten, shouting and willing to sever ties; but yet when an outer threat loomed, ventured back for comfort. She couldn't parse his thoughts.

Nor Wy'Ziot's apparently.

"Oh? Lady Vitch von't let me get djou? Funny..."

His eyes met with hers and he could feel her simmer.

And he regarded the little fox as little more than a rat. Noted. It was everything else that pushed her to the brink of this absurdity. Her mouth made the words before she could hone the energy to say them.

"Why?" If he did not look to see that storied temper flash like a flare behind her eyes, he felt it.

And she stopped. Held. She regained her composure, one that could be felt on its bursting edge, and tilted her head toward Ivak. "I thought these were for you. Eat." She held the rat and mouse back up, until he took them in his hands. You're malnourished and dehydrated; even moreso from throwing up and running. "And drink more water."

She watched until he had scarfed them down under her heavy gaze, and then looked back out to the wetlands. "If you're hunting for us too, I need something bigger. Rabbits and fish are fine." Though the rats were not a bad haul either.

Her eyes dropped down to him and she needn't utter the word 'now', before he shrunk back into a bestial form, and hopped away to the underbrush.

Back to Wy'Ziot. She knew it would be presumptuous if she were to think Ivak could not hear them, if he had any mind to listen, but she proceeded forward.

"I..." She boiled. Held it. "...thought that was your intent. What was I to think when you faint right after a dramatic little show? I assumed he was to come along until safe grounds were found; wherever he could go and find his way back to whatever family misses him--but apparently there's none of that to be spoken of." You did this. You did this to us.

It was absurd for him to leave her with choices he thought was obvious. To apparently abandon him after saving--she had a cold enough disposition to do, but had to work up to it. She hadn't been prepared.

She noticed what she'd said sounded like an admission to adoption. "I didn't plan to bring him along," At all, she mouthed, "to where we're g--where it's going to be dangerous," Because of them. "But I thought in your intent to save his... actual state of life, I was going re-nourish him," put a proper form on his bones, "and hope that whatever path we were going came across his homeland." Or a more agreeable biome to him, where he would fuck right off after using them for the ride.
 
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Ivak could tell the Lady Witch was trying to scurry him off, so he scoffed the prey down fast, gagging slightly as he did so from not chewing properly, before slinking off as a Fox, and going back to skittering back and forth over the heathland, chasing what rabbit he could find, and trying his paws at fishing, neither thing bringing him much luck, but both providing him a grand enough reason to be far from the Big Man. That Wolf had an issue with the Fox, and Ivak wasn't going to hang around and make that creature more angry. Being such a huge Man, it was no doubt he'd be a huge Wolf, and Ivak wasn't sure he'd escape if chased by THAT!

Back at the camp, the 'shiiiek' of his blade over the greasy hide of the bear covered over the giant albino's huffing; his ears were intent on Panyin's tirade, but he kept his lips pressed tight, eyes flicking to her occasionally. When she stilled, he, too, set his blade down again, and took a deep breath. He looked up to the darkening skies. Wiping his broad hand upon the grass around them, he took her own hands, and practically dragged her into the crook of his arm, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, squeezing her tight for a moment, before releasing.

"I am sorry, Panyin. Djou're right, djou vere not to know..." Wy'ziot's eyes passed over the distance between them and the boy, skittering around still. Too much energy... so familiar, and so heavy on his memories. "Djou vere right to bring 'im. Zhey vould 'ave found 'im again, and 'ee vould 'ave no one to rescue 'im zhat time." The blade was tapped with a long clawed finger, as thoughts spread across his mind, and painted a myriad expressions across his scarred and battered face. Bruises were spreading across his pale skin like ink spilt in milk. Deep purples, navy blues, and a smattering of lurid yellow staining, deep muscular damage from his tousle with the bear.

Wy'ziot's hand rose to rub at a particularly deep bruise that was spreading over his chest, and he smirked, a low chuckle escaping him. "Listen to us, dear one. 'Ee is old enough to run off, vhenever 'ee feels like. I guess... ve vill just 'ave to 'ope zhat is soon." Draping his long arm around her slender figure again, the albino leant his head against hers, a cheek planted in the top of her head as he breathed her deep. "It vas selfish of me to leave djou to start zhis journey. I 'ope I can vork zhis 'ide sufficiently, to make it vorzh zhis... inconvenience..."

A screech of a rabbit rent the air for a moment, making Wy'ziot tense, and snap his head up. The dark furred Fox came trotting back into the circle of their camp, carrying with him a fat rabbit, his smug face faltering a little seeing the way the two were huddled. He snorted, and ignored it, depositing the beast before sitting, still in his bestial form, unsure how quick he'd be as a Man form to get away. Wy'ziot returned the snort with one of his own, before throwing some of that bear scraps at the little creature.

"Don't get comfortable, Fox." The giant grumbled, as the kid scarfed up the scraps, savouring a taste he'd not had before. "Both of djou. Get djourselves settled; Panyin, eat." He took up his blade with a smirk, using his other to lift Panyin's chin, planting a soft press of lip to her forehead, her dainty nose, and finally her full lips. "I zhink I 'ave 'ad enough sleep for many nights. I shall take vatch." He grinned at Pan's expression, before unwrapping from her, and setting back to work on his crudely cut clothing articles. He'd need to find a trader or a small town on the way, to get the lady bits he'd need, like the lacing, and some extra salt just to fully cure the hide. The sun would do a fair job.

Freed of his loads, for the most part, Bastion had slunk off to drink, and find better pasture to eat. Around them, wood was somewhat dry, and Ivak gathered a few bits, bringing them to Panyin, and gathering up dirt in a mound, and hollowing the center. When both adults gave him a quizzical look, he grinned, pleased he knew something they didn't. "Hides glow! Stop followers seeing! Ivak teach you!!" He took a few small pieces of twig and stick, and built a shallow fire, before using the striker held out for him, and got sparks going. It seemed he had certainly come from a Tribe or Clan of some sort, but whether that was still an option for him to return to, it was hard to ascertain.
 
Wy'Ziot sighed, and his easy dismissal rolled fear across her. Her thoughts turned to that he was growing tired of her. That she was too much. And he didn't have to stand for this, that he never would, if he just left.

She knew it wasn't true, but it was there. He took her hands and held her to him.

He was gross, admittedly. Smelt of fur of different kinds, blood in varying states of dryness, from varying different creatures. He was stuck with horse sweat, and his own smell, and she felt grit and dirt between their skin as he hugged her. But she resisted groaning. It was a mild complaint. He squeezed her with aliveness that let her know, he was with her a moment more. Her worries warmed away; he struck clean the strife between them about the boy.

He apologized. As he was wont to do. And she felt none the better, as she always did. Guilty, rather, her stomach turned that she was able to twist this gentle creature into apologizing to her. She'd felt that she'd hurt him, and she edged with pain.

dear one.

Her cheek pressed into him, the side of his chest. Where her skin stuck with the salt on his, the dried sweat and sticking air of the swamp. Wanting to hide her eyes. She was curled into his side, and felt the world fall away for a moment as his heat and affection ebbed into her.

It was selfish of me to leave you to start this journey alone. I can only hope this can make up for it.

And the guilt returned with an eke of sadness. He was right. She was right. But she was undeserving of the kindness.

She heard the cry but didn't lift her head. Listened to the soft, sandy steps approaching, and only as it paused she rolled her head to look. He'd caught a rather large rabbit, and she should be impressed to find it. But it would hardly feed Wy'Ziot, and she thought with it, her expression unchanged.

Don't get comfortable, Fox.

Impassive, she eyed the wolf talking, as he threw scraps begrudgingly to the mal-fed child. This Wy'Ziot was unfamiliar to her; and it piqued her interest without evoking judgment. It was not expected to go either way with Kin of his kind. He could be friendly or unfriendly as he wished. But he seemed defensive. Uncomfortable with the child. And that fluffed something in her brain.

Eat.

She turned into him as his barely clean finger took her chin. Kissed her, undeterred by their singular audience. She pouted, feeling that he was distracting from something.

The skittering of feet and brush pattered around them, and she moved back from Wy'Ziot, watching Ivak in his ministrations with the fire. As he explained, and neatened out his mold, a pattern caught her eye, spread like leafy veins across the canvas of the bear backside as Wy'Ziot scrapped across it. Grabbing a knife, Panyin reached over Wy'Ziot, crawled half into his lap, and scraped into a bowl this untouched fat. She looked up at him, assessing for a moment something else than the look he was giving her. Then extricated herself with her scrappings, and sat again by the fire which Ivak had buried. She took an iron grate with legs, remarkably small, to stick over the fire, burying the feet into the ground with a soft sandy smush. She played a tin pot over the edge with its sharing its base on the piled dirt.

She groaned, tired, thirsty, and picked a thin spade from her bag to dig again into the dirt as Wy'Ziot had. Ivak sat over by her, watching her do this mundane thing, and she dug it deep and shallow, allowing it to fill. Another pan was fetched, and scooped into the water, some into her mouth, some offered to the fox, before she put it by the pot near the fire. The filtration was significant here, and all she needed to do was to scrape the topside of the ground off, and boil it if she really were concerned.

She half unrolled the bedroll, lazy to open it all, and thought to her things before turning back to find Ivak with his wet and sandy paws standing and investigating what seemed like a rug to him.

"Ay--ah-off!" She shooed him like an animal, and he hopped to the side much too slowly for her liking. Her hand then pressed to her face for how inhuman she acted like he was. But he's a filthy little child on her blanket.

"Drink." She pointed to the pool, and noticed its seeping was slower. She dug another set of holes within it.

With a tap, Wy'Ziot indicated her again to eat. Bade the same way she just bade the fox. Pft.

Among the sounds of the quiet lapping tongue, the aching call of birds across the scape as they began to settle, she pulled out some more dried meats from her pack, absolutely undesiring to cook. Or consumed. But the rabbit was going to go bad. With a piece softening in her mouth, she beheaded the rabbit on the oak slab she used as a board, and tossed the pelts at Wy'Ziot. "Here." She'd forgotten the brains last time. She carefully split the skull, and bisected it in two for them to share. One to Ivak, the other forced into Wy'Ziot. Same with the eyes, though Wy'ziot denied her this one, she ate it herself.

The rest... without vegetables--there were some roots in her pack she wasn't willing to look for--she put the organs aside, Ivak coming up for the stomach but hearing a snap from her to clean it before he ate it. He huffed, waffling at whether he wanted to do the task, and she offered a stripped cartilage of ear for him to chew while he waited. With a thicker knife, along with the small one, she yawned and began to chop the rabbit to pieces, bones and all. She looked up at the sky sometimes. Watched the colors fall out to a mute navy blue. Turned the pan and pot every now and then. The chunks of white bear fat had begun to distill down into an oil. The chopping was a constant, rhythmic hum. She drew strength from this, as she was reposed, and added some salt, grinding it from a mass, and herbs that would provide a lasting effect for strength.

The rabbit became a fine ground mash of bone fragments and meat, scraped into a round mass as she set the knife aside.

She chilled and strained the leaf-fat of the bear, and put aside the cracklings; the rendered little nuggets of fat hardened into fried pieces. Her hands washed, she took the set aside oil to tend to the marks of the claws and fangs left across the Werewolf. Surely he could not protest her as the salve was nothing but warm bear oil, but as she went to him, she found his wounds nearly closed. Quite neatly, despite the state she'd seen them just a few hours ago. The new moon and its affects were said to be stronger for him, but she pouted at her acknowledging the strength of its healing.

"Tsk." She went ahead, her fingers having already dipped into the jar, to spread them across the nearly closed lacerations. An afterthought, as it began to drip down to her palm, she spread a thinner layer across his chest, and arms, where the bruises cropped up like blooms of algae upon a still lake. She did this until he pushed her away from him, probably feeling quite greasy, but she was content with this. And with having bothered him.

The oil spread across her hands. She began to ball up small portions of the meat, adding the crisplings to the mix, and dropped them carefully into the oil still in the warm pot. It began to sizzle as she set it upon the fire. Ivak's head popping up from its content position, a new set of smells and sounds hissing into his space.

She drank quite a bit of the water from the pan that'd been set aside to cool, and poured the rest into the pot with the meat. The sizzling reached a peak, and she covered the pot with the topside of the oak slab, before washing her hands, sitting back, and collapsing into the half-laid out bedroll.

Ivak yipped, or some sound, coming towards her with the half mangled ear in his mouth, making a huff or something. She opened one eye, unsure of what he wanted from her, but he seemed excited. His tongue went across his mouth, and he dropped the ear on her face, where she yelped and threw it off by reflex.

"What, stop. And turn back if you can. Foxes can't eat fried foods." With some effort, she heard the array of popping required to return him to a human form, where he sat beside her, and picked up the ear still to chew on.

She laid on her side. She felt gritty. The dirt here was sandy and disagreeable to her. She watched the fox in his little animal things.

"Where are you from, Ivak? Cardinal directions. North, South, East--"

"North?" He said around the chewed cartilage. He savored the taste for a moment, or just the feel of it. "Ivak come down a long way. A lot..." He frowned, not quite recalling his migration.

Panyin had stilled. North. Really?

The north here was a long way up, and rumored to be a barren wasteland of ice, and snow. Most expeditions there failed, and the lack of flora and fauna in the landscape turned back most travelers who sought their way up there in search of the several mystical rumors. The auroras signaled a high-intensity of magic, there was said to be isolated cities of elves, or magical creatures, few and far between--so far apart that they knew not even of each other. There was said to be a dragon-serpent that threaded the ice like it was water, reshaping the land from day to day. There were old cities of gnomes and nocturnal elves whose ancient ruins were untouched in pockets under the ice.

So it was said. She wondered what life could grow there, what she could find if she headed up, in time, to pay respects to her art.

"Is North really what you mean?" A drip burned away in a hiss that prompted her back up, and she opened the lid on the pot, releasing a swell of fragrant meat and fried juices. She turned the dumplings in the shallow liquid with a wooden spoon, frying the outsides. "Okay. Eat."

She picked the balls out onto the cutting board, and used a hand to block Ivak's reaching for one. There were three of them now. She only carried one fork at times, and now there were three of them. She pointed him back, knowing she was wrong to say they were to eat. and cut a few open to release their heat more readily. With her other hand, she found the fork, and forced it upon him. She set another pan of water to boil as they waited for the meat to cool. She handed Wy'Ziot the large spoon to eat with. She herself used the paring knife.

The bones of the rabbit were thin, and cracked basically into meal. They gave a slight crunch to the texture, beyond the softness of the steamed meat, the fried skins, and the bursts of fatty crisp popping in surprise as they chewed.

It would make them slow, but: Wy'Ziot would heal from it, Ivak needed the fat, and she was tired.

Night had almost fallen. The sun was below the horizon, and the shadow of the moon was in sight.

Wy'Ziot caught her eye, but before he could speak a word of compliment, she spoke. "You're going to run off?" She indicated to the moon, her knife dripping with fat, her tone more bitter than she'd meant.
 
Wy’ziot mused at how active Panyin always seemed; she could never still. Her hands were active near constantly, her brain whirring with thoughts. They were very different; Wy’ziot enjoyed stillness, enjoyed quiet meditation. Enjoyed allowing time its passing. The actions he took were for a purpose beyond being busy. He worked and shaped the thick, musky hide, to form the necessary coverings to protect Panyin from cold, biting ice. She was so petite, she’d freeze readily, and probably lose fingers or toes. His movements were slow, methodical, his eyes transfixed, his ears picking up on the speedy and wasteful use of energy between her and the Fox boy. So alike... so much about them the same.

The giant noted her approach as she assisted with scraping fat from a section he’d cut for a gilet, the fur to be turned in on itself. He watched her quietly for a moment, his eyes flicking to the large Fox sat with them, a lift of his lip warning the boy off touching his stuff. She was busy working her hands, to stop her mind, and Wy’ziot returned, again, to his tasks. The smells of the fire were harsh; the wood here damp and thick with tannin, giving an almost unpleasant smell to the smoke. It was hot though, and did a good job of rendering the bear fat, and boiling water. His blade continued its persistent, slow, deliberate movements over the last of the hide, which had been fashioned into the parts of thick trousers, all parts now waiting for twine or string to lace them together and become articles of clothing. The claws remained in the long gloves and shoes he’d fashioned from the paws, and he smirked at these, pleased with their appearance. Panyin’s approach startled him, as did realising she’d given him the split skull of brain to devour. Her purpose confused him, and he frowned as she stood over him with her bowl.

Ivak snuffled away at his own meal, The rabbit ear, the brain, chewing in the skull casing too, with his strong teeth. He was oblivious to the precarious nature Panyin was in. She’d straddled his legs and crouched over him, examining Wy’ziot’s wounds. She was so close, and beneath, in his chest, he could feel the Wolf pushing forward, wanting to get at her. Wy’ziot turned his head as she started to use the bear fat in his wounds. The scents of healing herbs stung his nose, as his nostrils flared, not just with the scent of the mixture she spread and caressed into each fissure on his chest, neck, face and shoulders, but her. His skin goose pimples with her ministrations, and he held his hands tight to his side, one gripping the blade handle, the other spare bear hide. Slowly, quivering mottled eyes met gold, and perhaps it was that moment where she saw wildness, but she slowed her care-giving and held still. The Wolf clawed, and a low growl rolled through the Werewolf’s chest as he gently pushed her away, swallowing hard, and turning his face to look out to the wide expanse of swamp. She seemed disgruntled, but acquiesced to his bid to be left. The Wolf in his whined its displeasure, and it almost seemed the Fox could feel it, as the boy edged closer to Pan upon her return, eyeing the big man with trepidation. Wy’ziot felt flushed, like he’d been caught dong something he shouldn’t, when he knew Panyin could be just as wanton of flesh as he. He cleared his throat, and fought his feelings, and his need to touch her flesh.

Ivak, however, was having great fun trying to work out the weird tool he had been handed. It was difficult to work, and it had pointy end and a blunt end, and it seemed he was expected on use this on the food? He grumbled and chattered to himself, trying to figure out the way of it, opting, when help seemed beyond him, to throw it down and grab at the cut open dumplings with tentative fingers; fire erupted at their tips and he squeaked! Such heat from food? Why? He was confused!! Food wasn’t hot!! Wy’ziot has turned his head at the yelp, and shook his head at the boy.

“She ‘as to cook food to eat.” His growled voice was low. “Pan cannot stomach zhe raw food djou are used to. Use zhe fork, and blow on it, scraath.” The Fox boy frowned, and picked up the utensil again, watching Panyin use the knife to stab the food chunks, blow on, then pop into her mouth to chew. He opened his mouth as she did, and blew out his cheeks when she had food in her mouth, then haphazardly tried to copy. Wy’ziot had taken up the raw rabbit head, and sucked down the jelly like brain, before setting the split skull down again, and taking his blade up to neaten edges on his clothing patterns. He chose to ignore Panyin’s frustrated gaze and demand to eat, so Ivak took full advantage of his lack of reaching for food to take more bites.

Feeling eyes on him, Wy’ziot turned to gaze at Pan, a hard set face glaring back at him. She was beautiful in the glow of the fire, and it shocked him the intensity of her glare. It tightened his abdomen, and made his Wolf push forward for her more, and it rolled beneath his skin almost painfully. Ivak felt the shift, and cackled a little with fright, the notoriously unpredictable nature of Werewolves over all the Beastmen races not lost on him in the teachings. He edged closer to Panyin, whom made her statement, and her upset at the thought of it, very harshly clear. Wy’ziot reached for her hand, taking it carefully, and dragging her towards him, pressing the knuckles against his lips, as his mottled eyes looked up at her, his harsh brow soft as he smiled around his slight pout.

“Never.” A simple word, but e put as much meaning into it as he could. Ivak stuck on this tongue and made a gag sound, realising now that this Witch Lady really did have a Werewolf “Pet”, and saw similar in the Wolf as he’d seen in his parents, and other older members of his Clan; that deep seated need to seek a mate. Ivak found it weird that a Wolf would wish to be with someone like he was, which he could sense in the Witch Lady, but still, it meant Witch Lady was definitely very safe!!
 
He stared at her, detecting her upset and bending to it. It was not her intent to pressure him. It was simply that she thought that were the way of things. She expected him to need to leave. The new moon was nearly upon them, if not today, then tomorrow. And she was not stronger than an instinct.

There was a noise behind her and she looked over to find Ivak quite disgusted with them. She reached up and tapped him quite hard on the forehead, to which he was surprised and started to show fangs in reflex. On her other side, there was a warning to take that any further, and the fox stopped short in his surprise, and Panyin turned back.

She looked at her hand in his.

"…It was not an order…" just as well. Not a wish she wanted to supersede his nature.

I would do anything for you. You need only tell me.

The sentiment rattled throughout her mind. Known but barely felt. Her, unwilling to fully take the reigns of its power.

Her hand was strong in Wy'Ziot's.

"I don't expect you to stay with me beyond reason. If I'm asleep… you may as well run off to your heart's content..." So she thought, but he had been tardy the night before, when she thought he would be there when she woke. "There's no need for you to stay by my side if I am not there to witness your devotion." Yet she was looking at their hands, and it was hard to look at his face. "I permit you to leave when you feel like it." A soft feeling of a sigh.

She stretched out, hand still in his, and popped another dumpling in her mouth, leaving two more there, before she stretched down into the bedroll behind her. It drew Wy'Ziot close to her, but it was not an invitation to come to bed. He sat more comfortably near her, her hand a tether to their connection, and she closed one eye as a finger stroked along the side of her face, brushing hair out of the way.

She was quiet. She was tired. The flame was dying and the glow as well.

She was ready to sleep but not.

A thought occured, flicking into her mind like the dying crackles of wood.

"Ivak." At what seemed like a bid, he crawled closer, kneeling at her side. Wondering if he were to lie with her--to keep her company like a pet.

"You said your Clan taught you how to do this with the fire. Where are they now?"

Yet she felt she knew the answer.
 
Wy’ziot watched her soften, even after her admonishment of the boy for making fun of them, and his unbidden snarl from his position. The boy was learning quickly, and he returned to chewing on the ear and the skull he had, trying to ignore the two. His lines told of a little jealousy, perhaps, even if he wasn’t really old enough himself to realise what it was he was experiencing. It reminded Wy’ziot too much of himself. Another unbidden grumble, but the squeeze of her hand in his brought him back. He watched her deliberately slower movements as she tried to form her desired words. Wy’ziot’s face softened further, a small smile playing around his cheeks, forming small dimples. He shook his head listening to her, returning the squeeze to his fingers.

“Panyin, djou are silly. I cannot go again. It would be to the Vild I disappeared, and I could go for days.” Just the thought of what he was about to suggest made his muscles tense, and his Wolf growl and vibrate within him to show his displeasure. He could feel his body starting to shake. “No, Panyin. It is vizh djou I stay. Vhere I am safe, and djou... djou safer still.” His sharp grin was tinged with unspoken need, and a desperate want to return to a Wild state. The Fox boy sat, his eyes wide as he listened. He didn’t know what it was that drew the albino to needing to change, but he could scent the Wolf, and how close it was. He knew it would be painful to deny the animal. Golden eyes looked to Panyin, and could see his own worry etched upon her features. He slunk back a touch, deciding it likely safer to stay away from the Wolf.

Panyin seemed to accept that her Wolf was being stubborn. She wasn’t happy, but she kept her hand within his, dragging him closer. Wy’ziot moves, so he could sit as close as possible, and as she settled into her sleep roll, he lifted her legs over his lap, and stroked the long pins through the thick pelt of his brother. This was not lost on Ivak, whom kept away, that was, until she called him. He approached cautiously, and listened to her query.

“Ivak not know. People come. Cages and chains. Took’em.” Thr boy’s shoulders slumped a little, like his search was still on going, and what better way to get around was there that then two City folk... or at least, he’d assumed they were City Folk considering how they were dressed. They knew their way around towns! Ivak prodded at the fire with a spare twig, and set himself into quiet contemplation.

Wy’ziot was sat quietly, his idly stroking hands stilling as he seemed to fall into quiet contemplation himself; however, his beaded brow only spoke of the effort it was taking to stay where he was. He was thinking, and it was a though he was hating. “Panyin...” He murmured, his eyes seeking the horse. “Vhat... vhat if ve found a vay for me to stay...?” He murmured slowly, eyeing the place in the pack he knew there would be extra rope... and a thick tent peg... where he could be tethered.
 
He would go for days.

And then she would be mad.

Was this to roll around every New Moon?

She huffed in her reclined state, listening to the sounds of settling around them. A vibration through her hands as a growl threaded through his fibres, sprouted from his core. It seemed like something beside himself, something he could not help, and did not acknowledge for its unbidden nature. The Wolf, she assumed. As this sometimes happened.

Her legs stretched out their length, over his warm thighs; ameliorating as she pointed her toes, she allowed the stretch to climb into her back, arching before she settled. He was unsteady. But she did not acknowledge it. She could not do anything. So she relaxed. Her eyes were half-lidded, observing him in his quiet struggle.

And closed. Until he had a suggestion.

A frown, opening. "A way for you to stay..." It sounded like nonsense to her. He wanted to stay so he would stay is what she had thought it was going to be. But by that he meant, and she propped herself up on her elbow, that even if he wanted to, he would not be able to stay. The sigh was heavy on her shoulders. He was breaking his promise to her. Or he would be. He would not be able to stay.

Even as her eyes followed to his gaze and that he was thinking. A way to stay. In the first, impossible instance she thought he was sacrificing his ability to turn. But she hadn't anything like that. The rope was next.

"Where would you be held? In this sandy ground? If you could do it with your own strength--wouldn't it be impossibly easy for the other one to undo it with his?"

But if he insisted. A lasso or a noose? One tightened and one held strong. "And I don't even know how big your neck is unless you... do..." Turn.

She may as well make him sick with her potions if they had to leash him to stay with her. The whole thing made her ill with feeling. Annoyed at how spoiled that she could not get what she want. Upset with the idea that she should. Disappointed that she was not enough, and that she would think that she could be.

She rested her head a moment, an arm holding her side. "...It's not that I'm saying... that you should go for days..." Panyin, you are being silly. But her eyes glossed for a second at what seemed like reality in them. "But if there's nothing to do about it..." Then there's nothing to do. He would run. He would leave. And he would come back. It ached inside her, and a rage followed, heating her neck in she should feel so entitled to want, to want something so badly, for so little reason, when it pained him and hurt him to do so.
 
Wy’ziot closed his eyes listening to her, her pain striking him in his chest and burning his edges. He slid his long legs from beneath hers, and stood, not looking at either as he moved towards Bastion. The horse shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, but Wy’ziot soothed him with a somewhat clammy hand down his neck, cooing at him quietly. The pack was checked, and the thick rope taken into his hands. The clamminess seemed to extend from palms to his whole body, making him feel vulnerable. Panyin was right, the ground here was sandy and loose. A tent peg wouldn’t contain the beast easily. But he had to try. The stakes were thick, long as his forearm, and sturdy. He took both items back to the low glow of the fire.

Whilst Wy’ziot was stood with the horse, Ivak edged closer to Panyin, and snuffled into the crook of her arm as a Fox. He whined and chattered, ears flat, pupils wide. He sought comfort at the fear that was radiating from him at this prospect. This Wolf was going to be dangerous. He shuffled back as the Wolf approached, his eyes wide, tail tucked hard below him. He didn’t move far from Panyin, and as she sat up to watch Wy’ziot, he peered around her back, trying not to be as fearful as he felt. He was failing, and keeping the woman between himself and the Werewolf seemed like the smartest thing to do. Wy’ziot was quiet as he returned, his hands running over the thick rope, feeling it’s roughness, swallowing hard.

Again, his eyes closed, and he sat quietly, sweat beading on his forehead as he tried to calm his mind. Beneath his skin, he felt rolling muscles, the prickle of fur pressing against his outer layer, the tenseness of muscles, the ache of bones and joints. Every fibre of his being was screaming to turn, and to run, but he held it, and without even realising, his fingers had formed the noose. It was a harshly tightening one... one his body remembered so well. Fingers traced the noose, the other hand raising to circle his throat, and the hard, raised scar there. Eyes were still closed as his hands raised the noose over his dreadlocks, knocking them out the way, and settling it loosely around his neck, the knot itself hanging against his bare chest. The rope was long, and a further noose was tied, and hooked into the notch of the tent stake. He continued to ignore the two, and dug a pit into the sandy soil; once the ground started to gain some traction, through the sand, sludge and water, into thicker, suctioning muck below. The stake was planted deeply, and the debris from above backfilled and tamped down.

Animalistic eyes finally peered up to the two, tucked away in Panyin’s bedroll. Sweat was dripping down his pale skin, freely, as he pulled a tense smile. He didn’t speak, not trusting his voice, but hoped it spoke the words he wanted to say. ‘Here’s hoping this works.’ He stood, shedding his breeches. There was no point risking them; he’d already shredded his first set, and he didn’t have many more clothes to shred believing he could control this. He sat himself back down into the sandy earth, his skin appreciating the coolness as he tried to settle his tetchiness. He seated himself close to Pan, holding out a hand to her. He crossed his legs, turning his wild gaze to the slowly flickering flames. He started to slow his breathing, his body stilling. The tenseness eased, as his breathing evened, his mind extending his body down into the ground, with his staked rope, then extending at the top to the moonless sky.

Ivak watched the whole act in quiet nervousness. He kept himself still behind Panyin, keeping his animal form. The nimbleness if the Fox made him feel more confident, but as the Wolf seemed to fall into a trance watching the flames, his body slowly popped and changed, and suddenly the boy was behind Panyin again. His head tilted to the side as he looked down at himself. His clothes; the raggity vest, the loose shorts, were kept when he changed form. He had been taught the innate magical skills required to do this from an early age. His parents had told him it was a genetic skill the Fox had over many Beastmen, and he was so very happy that was the case now, as he stared at the Wolf, sat like a statue.

“Lady Witch... Lady Witch... he stopped?” The whisper was hushed, strained, fearful. He held her upper arm, claws pinching a little on her skin as he tried to understand.
 
The backlit shadow of a moon was climbing higher, and with a warm form withdrawn from her side, she stroked a silken fox. His nervous chitter formed a babel of sound around her, but she noticed only the wide, black ears, and the large head, as she lay in a trance that was comfortable for her. Comfortable as she came into the familiarity of being bereft and helpless, lulled into the freeing and empty nature of it.

Her eyes were on the wolf, but they stared without seeing; all her senses through her fingertips and her mind. Ivak's huffs and standing fur raised over his gray, coiled form. How she had barely noticed the color until now, in her periphery.

And Wy'Ziot was merely a glow of coals on white. A form backlit by darkness and a faint blue, overtaken by shadows as he returned.

Ivak hopped over her, hiding in her shadow. Wy'Ziot was starting to wake her from her resignation. Her eyes went down the thick braided rope. She watched him in silence as it formed the shape. His other hand traced his scar, and a beat went through her stillness. She was quiet.

He raised the noose over his head and fitted it on. It hung like a great, macabre necklace that he was wont to wear. She watched him dig a pit, bury the stake where the ground would not yield. Then he looked at her; his smile laced to the edges with sweat, a light desperation and an odd thing. Hope.

It woke something in her.

She picked up his trousers and set them aside, folding them in an unusual act of propriety so that he could have something back; humanlike when he returned.

There was a large, pale hand waiting for her, and she placed her hand within his, looking up at his spectacle. His held restlessness settling into a muted form. Everything in him steadied. Quieted. Even the hairs and goosebumps began to calm.

She watched him for a while. Her stillness becoming a different kind of quiet.

Ivak behind her.

The edges of her mouth smiled a distant, unusual thought, and she turned to him briefly. Allowed a soft pat and gentle rustle of his hair, setting in him a warmth through to his head that made him quiet without her intent. She returned the attentions to Wy'Ziot.

There were many acts of promised wisdom over the years that were absurd when heard, useful in hindsight, and prolific and profound without worth to her. A thought bubbled up from that tar of mess, and it had tugged at her lips in the way that surprises did.

She knelt by him in the sand, and raised herself up to his height. Her hand, trembling from low blood and accruing fatigue, wiped a band of sweat from his brow, where she then placed a kiss. His skin was cold.

One of those bubbles of words that seemed to effervescently come and go now turned her thoughts. She had thought it patently inane.

Her fingertips lay softly over his eyes, willing him to keep his concentration. Her lips moved down below his eye, and placed another kiss there. He felt her retreating, and pausing. The shaking was felt, if effort and indecisiveness, and he felt her breath warm across his lips again.

Her own thought was that she forgave him.

This kiss was barely a touch.

And that even if he could not commit himself to stay she forgave him.

The kiss held, before she retreated the small distance, resuming her place on the bedroll. Her hand remained in his.

She hoped it said what she had meant while for now she couldn't say it. She never understood this sentiment as more than an absurdity. But now it found a place.

'To plan for failure was to invite it'. To distract from commitment to the desired outcome was to prophesize it. All she did was plan for failure; millions of little plans as she expected for the worst to come to pass.

But perhaps now was not the time. Failure or not, she forgave his transgressions, simply for the virtue of trying. He tormented himself. For her sake. The least she could do when he stuck his neck out was to not cut it.

She lowered herself back to the roll; pulled it, piling it up where she could be made more comfortable. Ivak skittered, a Fox, uncertain, and she patted her legs, not sure if he would come settle. Slowly, gaining confidence, he curled in by her thighs, where she stroked over his head a couple of times. She set into the space she had made to lay, and placed her head on Wy'Ziot's thigh, where she could see their hands within each other.

It wasn't that she would believe the improbable. But her thoughts did not feel empty, nor full to bursting for disappointment.

The ground was sandy. The beast was strong.

And night was climbing. Improbably as well, she could sleep. If it came, it came.
 
Ivak watched the woman with cautious golden eyes. He trembled slightly, fear twitching his muscles, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He kept himself far from the giant that was suddenly so statuesque, as the albino meditated to keep the monster within at bay. The rope seemed too loose. Ivak wanted to rush in, tighten it, but was too fearful... and the Lady Witch seemed to trust him. Her delicate movements were beautiful as she circled the giant, her hand in his, clutching despite being in a trance. She leant towards him, kissed him with such feather-light touches, kisses that didn’t disturb his trance. Ivak frowned a little, confused by her actions as she moved her bedroll closer to the Werewolf. As she called the Fox in, Ivak was hesitant. He slunk, careful and deliberate, and settled into her lap.

Wy’ziot felt everything, though his body was still, unreactive on the outside. Inside was a storm. The Wolf was shredding at him. It clawed at every fibre. As moments ticked by, more beads of sweat stood on his skin, droplets like pearls against his white skin. A fine tremor began to shake his muscles as the moon rose, lightless, into the black, quiet hours ticking by so slowly, so painfully. Twitches started to move his solid frame, and his eyes tightened. The mind of the Man, clinging so desperately to the edges of consciousness, was losing energy. He’d never fought the New Moon like this before. His bruises seemed to darken upon his flesh, deepening to an almost black-purple. It was like the trauma was intensifying beneath his skin. His lip started to lift, a low rumble that was barely sound, and more just felt as a vibration, began slowly from his torso.

When the last thread of Man was snapped at with vicious fangs, the scream that was torn from the throat of the albino was deep and gutteral; it was so violent, it threw his head back, and his back arched. Loud cracks snapped the night, the night animals fleeing as the Man’s rib cage tore itself apart and reformed in the deep way of the Wolf. His face extended with such ferocity, a spray of blood vapourised into the air, as his skin split, and the fur forced its way out. The hand gripping Panyin’s clawed and tightened, as the body fell back, spine arched up, legs flexing as bones elongated with bone-breaking creaks. Hips and knees popped and sucked on themselves, and the scream began to twist into a roar. His size was changing; more muscle mass was spreading across his body, and he was becoming the giant. A tail grew and lashed, and lastly, the white fur spread all over him, skin flaking off in clumps.

The Wolf clawed at the sandy earth, the hand finally releasing Panyin’s to drag his large body away. When the rope tightened, he froze a moment, the eyes snapping open. The roar of pure rage surged up as his feet found purchase, and he rose to his full height. As he did, the rope continued to tighten. He felt it constrict around his throat, and he fell to all fours, snarling, eyes unseeing. Claws tried to loosen the biting rope, but the knot had been designed not to loosen. Failing to loosen his leash, the Wolf started to freak out, back arching and flexing, like a bucking bronco. He continued to lash and fight the rope, but it didn’t give. The earth was thrown up as claws tried to drag himself free. The more he fought, the tighter the rope tightened. Blood pounding through his veins was starting to cut off as he fought, and the rope around his throat stopped the free flow to his brain. The Wolf started to stagger, his huge size heaving as breath wheezed through his throat, being crushed by the rope; his eyes started to dilate as oxygen failed to reach his brain. The Wolf staggered to a stop, and a wheezing growl-whine, a strangled keening, started from his throat, as he lowered his head, saliva from effort and being choked drooling freely and pooling beneath him. Back legs started to give, and his eyes started to lose focus.

Ivak has leapt out of range with haste. He’d left Panyin behind when the scream had startled him awake. Panyin had been pinned to the Wolf’s side by their conjoined hands, and Ivak wasn’t sure what to do. He panicked, and scooted further away, hiding in the undergrowth, watching from a distance, cackling and screeching with concern for the woman.
 
The roar woke her and pulled her eyes further shut. The pops and sounds erupted around her, pulling from underneath her and forcing her up, but she found herself unable to, held strong by the hand transmorphing around hers. So she lay with him, in a narrow vignette of sight. Convulsions wracking his body in a visceral orchestra of pain. A mist fell across her face, and reflexively she tasted it, and gagged, realizing it was blood.

He released her suddenly, and she sat up, needing to not be trampled. A small pain flicked through her arm, and she felt a slight wetness as she touched it. The claws that had forced their way up from his nailbeds, had barely touched her arm and grazed new blood from it. She could feel him thrashing, the ground pounding beneath her, as she felt for her things until she found what it was to erase the marks while she tried to take account of the situation.

The sound was snapped off, the end of the rope reached, and it was when she could hear the ringing in her ears, broken by snarls and lashes and the mutter of dirt flying, she realized how much had stopped.

He whined. He suffered.

She was breathless, exhausted, and found her footing unsteady as she started to come towards him. His knees hit the ground in his suffocated state. Her hand found a way under his head, reaching the warm neck and the rope that dug. His eyes flashed, seeing someone there, his torment disturbed, and a snap of canines came at her. Yet it chopped at nothing, perhaps in that same flash, instinct collided with recognition and his muzzle hit her shoulder instead. She had moved, out of rightful fear, but pressed on, recovering from her shock and working her way closer to his neck. His hot breath came over her, wet and haggard, as she did this with her hands, and stared deep into his familiar eyes. Trying to catch his gaze and hold it.

As she looked into his eyes. There was something different there. An animal she could not fully recognize. But not one that was fully a stranger.

The rope was hot, with blood pumping just beneath his skin and the hot friction gathered from his fight with it. It was hard to move, which was lucky. She would not mean to loosen it so that he would slip a paw under and free him from it. The rope edged quietly open, its roughness fighting the grain that lent to pull tighter rather than slack. He huffed over her, finally able to breathe, but as he held still, and she reached a hand up to stroke his face, he noticed it wasn't loosening more.

She sank into the sand with his heaviness over her. It's cold graininess sinking through her pants. She was trying to ease his head into her lap. Unsure of what he thought of her. Suddenly struck by the idea she knew very little of who it was she was dealing with. Whether he would find her a comfort, or an unrecognized burden. Someone holding him down, that he would need to be rid of. Was it the same Wolf whom Wy'Ziot had spoken of, who'd claimed her as his?

If so… why did he want to run from her?

A sound came from her, in uncharacteristic shushing. Bastion had beat a path quite away, still within sight, the white lash of fur down his nose the only sliver of him as he huffed and ate his fill. Ivak was a ball of anxiety, fur stuck out in all directions, panting his panic. The Wolf snuffled on her, licking her forearm, picking the blood off from there. He would know it was hers, but she hoped he wasn't becoming alarmed.
 
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The fight was leaving him as his vision dimmed; the Wolf was confused, unfocused, and dangerous. But still She came at him. She whom filled his nostrils with her intoxicating scent, She who clung to him throughout the transformation instead of trying to escape. She who was bound to him, and he to her. But that didn’t stop the fear, the aggression, and the confusion. Had She done this to him? Why was he leashed like a Pet? He could feel a screaming voice in the back of his head as the Man tried to make sense of it to him, but the Wolf did not listen. He was startled at her touch, and pain and confusion set his teeth flashing from his lifted lip, yellow tinged and sharp, and they closed, forced towards her with strength and determination; but missed their mark. The side of his great muzzle, thicker than the arm that he’d collided with, glanced off her shoulder, leaving a thick smear of frothed saliva. It was pink tinged, where in his flailing he’d clamped down large fangs on his own tongue, and knicked it.

She continued. Her touch gentle, easing her slight fingers beneath the rope, and loosening it enough he could breath. Air was sucked in in great gulps, and his vision regained its clarity, his muscles their strength. He flailed again, but not as strong, and ceased as soon as the tightening began again. He snarled and frothed, but her hand across his cheek, her golden gaze focused on his own mottled ice blue and dusky pink, slowed him again. She continued to stroke his saliva soaked fur, calming him with noises, settling herself into a seated position and trying to manoeuvre his head into her lap. He sat for a moment like this, before a tongue, thick as her arm, snaked out to lick over the bloodied limb in front of his nose. Her blood sparked something within him again, and this time, he rose to his quadrapedal form over her, his nose burying itself into her chest, armpits, and against her loin. He forced her down onto her back, a snarl raising up again from deep within his chest.

The Man was screaming with all his might, begging, dragging on the Wolf from the inside to move away from her, but her scent... a large clawed forepaw spread it’s thick fingers over her chest, and pinned her down, and the large salivating teeth came closer to her face, hot, musky breath leaving her face misted and damp. Drops of saliva and moisture from his nose dribbled over her features as he scented her, before that thick tongue again lashed out across her neck and side of her face. The growl rumbled within his chest, but it held less of an aggressive tone. The tongue lashed over his long, tusk like fangs, but he slowly eased the crushing pressure being exerted on her chest, and moved back, away from her. He stalked the end of his rope, as tight as he dare without causing it to throttle him. The Wolf’s mottled eyes watched She, and then turned to the scents that drifted to him of Fox and Horse. Both were out of his reach. And he was hungry. As if to accentuate the thought, the stomach of the beast growled as deep as the throat borne growl. Tail lashed as he crouched, watching the horse especially, it’s body huge, like he, and would probably satisfy him for days. His long ears were laid back against his skull, flat against the dreadlocks that framed his features, and dragged across his strange blend of bipedal and quadrapedal forms. The skulls and bones clicked and clacked, the intensity of the stare making both Fox and Horse retreat further from the beast they’d once called friend, saviour, and master.

Whatever this was in front of them, it was not Wy’ziot, and it did not fully recognise anyone in his immediate surrounding.
 
He endured this treatment for a moment; before the blood spurred in him a long-standing instinct. He forced her down, and she yelped, presses of his soft nose to her soft parts making her laugh. She pushed at his muzzle as she was tickled, but it was like moving an iron skeleton.

A snarl snapped through her thoughts, she winced, the sound, the pressure of the air, on her chest, the moment around them. Somewhere in her other mind she searched for the fear she should feel. It was somewhere; she was sure. She couldn't be so complacent, so assured in her safety as he was over her, breathing hotly, death dripping down his fangs as he wet her air, flicked her with saliva and she wiped it with her arm. All while she started to wheeze, breathing through a press. The third mind resolved her conundrum. She was afraid. Somewhere. But she didn't feel it.

But he got from her a strangled yelp as the pink tongue lashed over her. Her head canted back, exposing her. She looked at him from here. Eyes driven into his. But he did not seem to see her. Slowly, however, he eased back. Deciding that 'no', he would not eat her today.

How fortuitous. His stomach growled as the thought pricked into her mind that he hadn't eaten before night fell. He eyed Bastion, spied Ivak in the dark undergrowth. Watching like a hound, waiting to for a chance to be unguarded.

She sat and dusted off her knees. Stood and dusted off her pants. Went to her bag and pulled a few things into her belt.

"Bastion." Her voice was sharp, the Vanner stopping. She was not loud, but the bid held him and he watched her as she prepared, and as she seemed to beckon him closer without a movement of her body. He edged within the light of fire, but came nowhere nearer.

She looked at the Wolf. Stared into his eyes as he would let her.

"I'm not leaving." He was leashed like a dog watching dinner being passed around him. And he was hungry. She was not going to let him starve.

She pointed at him, emphatically as she said it again. Not sure if he understood her. Her words or her body. She pointed at her things, still in a heap on the floor. "I'm coming back." She stared at him. He seemed perplexed at her. She paused.

She touched her chest and her tunic, and made a face before she pulled it off. He probably wouldn't know what to do with it, but she dropped it on his paw, which he seemed perplexed at, and she went to change into another shirt. The green one was also dark. There was nothing else she could really leave with him. And he wouldn't stay near her. Sometimes remembrances of things comforted animals, but he could scoff that she was throwing discarded skins at him.

And she didn't have time. She went to Bastion and hopped up, with what felt like the last of her strength. A shake of his head shook her from her own dip, and she looked at the Wolf before kicking off, a fast pace set in her pathless trail.

The irony had not escaped her that he had bound himself in order to not to leave her, and here she was running off.

Ivak jumped up to chased her retreating form, lasting only a moment alone in the presence of the Wolf.

It was night. Bucks should be wandering their trails. Or resting, nocturnal as they were. The world was a weird white splash, the night vision heightening any forms of light. She unfocused, letting her eyes scan without seeing. Looking for movement rather than color which had been washed away.

A skittering caught up with her and her gaze snapped to it, seeing only a dark and white fox. Rather unchanged in this world. She couldn't blame him for following. It'd have been cruel to ask him to stay or to go.

"Help me find some bucks to steer them towards camp." She had no arrows, and her weapons were ones that left meat inedible.

Ivak chittered in response. Something that sounded skeptical. But he bounded off, his tail a high-arcing point for her to search for when she looked for him.

The night was going on. As it would when searching for large game in an unfamiliar place. She found some trails to ride alongside, and went back and forth along the landscape looking for convergence that'd lead to a den.

A strange bark alarmed her. She found Ivak, pointing out to her some droppings that seemed fresher, and he bounded down the trail where he sensed prey.

She was surprised. Breathless from the nightless fatigue. It was happening. Maybe. She had a feeling she couldn't do this.

The underbrush crashed apart as the buck took off at their approach. He shot off between them, and Panyin gave chase, trying to stay at his side so that he would continue in some direction toward the camp. Ivak stayed at a distance, meant to flush the buck from one side, but the buck took a glance, and he was not afraid of him.

"Ivak--" The buck ran at him. Ivak was an expert with his evasion, but could not cajole the deer into turning back another way. Panyin continued to chase, but was coming back to the feeling that she couldn't do this.

"Flank from the back..." she had meant to say. Bastion's steps slowed. This was a worry she'd had. That foxes were too small to scare big game. And did foxes even hunt in groups...?

The thought was not familiar… to her…

She felt something, like the touch of a gaze on her side. Her head turned cautiously.

There was a silhouette moving on the horizon. It was night, but the sky was gray and white in her eyes. It was a broken silhouette. Moving. The form was stilted, hard angles that jumped as they rode. Bastion had slowed, huffing, eyeing what she was seeing from the side.

"Ivak." His hair was starting to raise on end. "Run. Hide." As he dove into the brushes, she waited a little longer. She could see the stilted shapes of weapons. She flashed fire in her hands, and they could see her face for a moment. Or it was more like. Her hair. They came faster. She kicked into a gallop.

There were arrows soaring, soon, and she listened to one side for the rustles of a following fox. Bastion's hot breath billowed back at her, his grunts of discontent as an arrow plodded the ground in front of him, beside him. Panyin reached into her bag and struggled to find things through the jostling. A liquid and a vial of filing shards. She slipped something between them and closed the flask again, turning to back. Her hand tightened on the saddlehorn, and she threw the jar back with force, looking forward again as it landed. Light burst from the broken flask, robbing them of their sight. The night was black again, and Panyin had closed her eyes, waiting for it to pass. They rode unsteadily, but she veered, until they could still picked out the faint movement of her head over the horizon.

They were in a wide, flat expanse. She was looking back at them, waiting for them to reorient on her. The sweat was building on Bastion's neck, and she muttered some soothing words she didn't know she had

The coals were ahead. Along a dense siding of brush; where one couldn't see what was hidden.

She tipped forward, leaning as close to the Vanner's ears as she could manage. "Bastion..."

Unhooked her foot from the right side of the saddle. Her heart started a second beat at what was going to happen. More than the arrows flying after her. More than the chance of being thrown off the horse and crushed.

Her other foot moved its heel into the stirrup. "Go." She told him. "Just run."

The light of the dying fire came upon them. Bastion galloped through camp, scattering the charcoals. The Wolf, within his rope, could not get to him as Bastion had remained just out of reach. On the other hand, She who had jumped off, slammed into him, stopping suddenly by his inert form. She crumpled off of him, coughed; unable to catch her breath. Her chest, stomach having hit an iron shoulder, after throwing herself from a horse. It hurt much more that than she'd even presumed; only since she forgot about it knocking the wind out of her.

She grabbed ahold of something, his fur, to drag herself up as she gasped for breath. And she could not see if what the Wolf had was smug or bemused expression, and she reached up through the pain in her chest, running a hand over his chest to search for the rope. Her hand found it, and both hands took ahold. She pulled, loosened it, two minds pausing and acting.

A snarl pierced her head, with her vision blinded by white; and narrowed by pain. She had felt the jerking of an arm, and now a dripping over her. She looked up. The man, three of them retinue from before, had taken a swing at him and the Wolf had caught the blade, taking it from him as his own horse took him off.

Yes, her minds agreed, as she held the rope in a fastened grip. A looser leash would be better, but…

She pulled the noose apart, as hooves approached from behind, snarls rising in front of her. She opened it wider, allowing his head to slip through.

She'd prefer if he could fight on a line. But to imagine him alive and choking at the end of a rope as men circled him with their weapons... she would die from the horror.

She placed a hand on his cheek. His eyes flashed at her, meeting a peculiar, sleepy stare.

"Eat."

She seemed to duck low as he leapt over her. She had simply let herself fall into the tiredness, curling up, waiting for the pain to abate. There was screaming. She closed her eyes, ready to sleep.

Something snuffled near her, after however long had passed, and she started at the movement, before laying her hand softly over his narrow muzzle and wide, black ears.

He made small noises. Probably of concern. His body curled up close to hers.

Her eyes were closed. "Can you open this for me?" Her fingers touched upon a bottle at her waist. One had shattered, or a couple did, as she had heard, but hopefully this one was what she needed. In a shallow roll of pops and clicks, he reverted to having hands and mustered its opening, holding up to her lips. A chuckle passed her lips, and she reached up for it, easing it from him. The smell was familiar. She drank a little. And handed it back, letting him close it, and return to a form that could lay close to her.

Time passed, her drifting in and out of pitiful sleep, until she felt the sand move around her, a heavy weight upon it. Ivak couldn't stay between them, not at her side, but she wrapped an arm around him as he went behind her. She felt all the hairs on his body standing, on the verge of flight from the other beast over them. Her hand stroked the back of his neck, where she held weakly so that he could run. Her eyes cracked open.
 
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The Wolf watched the horse and Fox cower away from him, out of reach. He ignored the woman as she moved out of the light of the fire, across to the horse, and spoke. The words fell on deaf ears as he slavered over the idea of horse meat for dinner. She seemed to get exasperated with him, and threw her shirt at him. He growled, and snapped at it, before standing, and sulking back a little, watching her move back to the horse, and mount him, taking off. He trotted the length of his leash, following their direction, before he growled again, and loosed a howl after their retreating backs. Skulking down into a crouch, the large Wolf simply lay, watching the direction they’d left in, and waited.

The moon was passing overhead, slow, as the giant Werewolf waited. Why had they left him tied here if they were going to disappear? Why was he tethered at all? It was all very confusing, and he didn’t like it. As he sat, time passing, his ears picked up the sound of clinking metal; his nose the scent of sweat, horses, and waxed leather. The faint “shhhik” of arrows loosing from drawstrings. He stood, lip lifting in a snarl as he felt the thundering of hooves in the sandy earth beneath his large paws. The white flash of Bastion’s nose stripe and black patched body started to materialise out of the darkness, and the Wolf’s hackles started to rise. The horse was pushed away from the Wolf’s reach, and just as he turned to try and grab at the horse, a small body bounced off his side and shoulder, which he snapped his jaws at, annoyed and confused by the whole situation. The girl grabbed at his fur to heave herself up, and the Wolf shook to try and dislodge her, head trying to reach round and engage the teeth in riding him of this irritation.

That was when the arrows started to land around them. The Wolf twisted towards the direction of the arrows and further thundering hooves. The snarl started to well up, and the girl continued her work; loosening the rope till it was able to slip over his head. As the first fighter came into striking distance, the sword swung high, and was seen instantly; a large clawed hand shot out and grabbed the blade, yanking it from the guy’s hand, slicing his paw, and flinging the blade away, his other clawed hand forged forward, caving the metal breast plate in on itself, claret spurting forward, dousing the Wolf as the man’s horse continued to run past. The men that followed slowed their charges, blades raised. The Wolf lowered to all fours, as the woman touched his face, and told him to eat. The rope fell free, and he charged.

The men screeched as blades bent, flimsy, against such a beast. Arms were snapped as they tried to fight off the onslaught; heads were cleared from shoulders, in their metallic casings. Those that were at the back screeched the retreat, and turned their horses away from the devastation, four lying dead, two trying to scoop innards back into a chest plate that had been separated like a tin can. The three survivors tried to escape, but one by one, they were torn down from their horses. Silence fell as the horses stampeded away. The Wolf started to eat the entrails and flesh he desired, his stomach expanding as he ate his fill. Blood and viscera covered his white fur, and once satisfied, his body started to shift. As the Wolf approached the woman, his body was shrinking, his fur falling away and turning to ash, his body popping and creaking, less violently then before.

Panyin’s golden eyes cracked open, the Fox hidden behind her as the Man, dripping in other men’s claret, smiled down at her, holding out his sliced palm. “Djou did good, dear one.” He smiles, and crouched. “I zhink I need some doctoring, Panyin.” He tilted his head, going to tuck stray strands of hair behind her ear, until he realised that he was covered almost head to toe in blood. He withdrew his hand, and clenched his fist.
 
Panyin eased as he came closer, feeling the intent without him touching her. Then she smoothed her hair back.

"I have to do everything around here." Though she sat up with a renewed energy.

Crawled over the half-laid roll to his things, then her things, remembering she had a set. "Ivak," with her back turned, "could you go find where Bastion went and see if you can bring him back?" She found her bag of salts, and looked to find an intense, unblinking bemusement. "The... horse. Bastion." Understanding, he rushed off. Likely uncertain of Wy'Ziot's state. Scared of a repeating circumstance.

She pulled herself toward the man, let him hold out his hand for her. Place it into hers. There was a little water left that she poured over from the pan to clear out some of the blood. That which was not his. Surely, sealing someone else's blood into his wounds was not ideal. The rest of the viscera was going to be. Impossible. The hand cupping his moved to his fingers, the warmth of him burning her cold hands as she grasped these, and lay a line of salt over his wound. His fingers clenched hers, and she allowed it, as he tried not to harm her with his hissing pain.

She moved her hand so that it held his more closely. It was hard to see him in the state that he was in, but now this hand was clean.

She looked up, as if stupidly, to check if they had gone close to dawn. They had not. She could still see the moon, and it was high. Her other hand joined his. She was quiet a moment.

"...You turned back." Her mouth open as she tried to formulate her questions. "...how?"

She was not as close to him and she'd like. But he was sticky, and dripping wet. She edged closer, toward a cleaner spot on his shoulder, and slowly, carefully, leant her head forward to him. Rest here, her forehead against his warm skin.

"And... I don't think the Wolf likes me." Taken as lore. To serve until a debt has been repaid. Yours to own, or the other way around. She frowned a little at all these little memories. Ideas she couldn't parse. She hadn't thought he would fall into her expectations, and it had about remained the same. Perplexing. And hard to believe. He felt like a different creature. He was a different creature; but different from whom Wy'Ziot had seemed to describe. Apathetic of her. It didn't hurt. "Who's whose liege? He didn't seem intent on listening to me..." She felt like she had failed, had been unable to make the wolf heed her.
 
Wy’ziot bowed his head with a slight chuckle as she made a face and declared his ineptitude. He remained crouched, searching around for a way to clean himself, and coming up short. He tried to rub his arms and torso with the sandy mud, and it did at least remove some of the blood covering his form. The rest, he’d need to walk off and find either grass, or water.

As Panyin returned, he looked up, mottled eyes large as she gently touched him. He watched the Fox skitter off, his back undulating through the course marsh grasses. Panyin cleaned the wound, revealing some small section of his body as clean and clear of another man’s viscera. Wy’ziot pursed his lips and hissed a little at the burning sensation of the salts in his flesh, but noticed how neatly the wound pressed together. She was a master of her skill, but he, as always, was a little disappointed by how neat the scarring was. He inspected it, poking it with his other hand, and hissing at its tenderness, as Panyin found a cleanish spot in his shoulder to nestle into. Wy’ziot looked down at her, a slight frown gathering on his features. Her softly spoken words almost seemed hurt, and he raised his clean hand to stroke along her jawline, smiling as he lifted her face and placed a gentle kiss to her face.

“Djou did zhat.” He commented, listening to the distance drum of hooves as boy and horse canteeed back towards the broken camp. They were a fair distance still, and Panyin seemed to have thoughts on her mind she needed to air. He lifted her chin again to search her golden eyes, tired, drawn, her face almost gaunt, either through hidden concern, or confusion bred from lack of understanding, or a certain amount of fear of what she travelled with; both were smart. “Djou fed ‘im. Brought ‘im ‘is favourite sport. ‘Ee is satisfied, fully fed.” He felt about himself, closing his eyes to feel the Wolf, asleep, within him. “Zhe Volf of New Moon, and Full Moon... ‘ee is not zhe same Volf as vhen I change at vill... vell... ‘ee is... but... it’s ‘ard to explain. See... zhe Moon, New, or Full? It makes ‘im more of zhe Beast. Zhe Animal, see?” He thought a moment, his clean hand idly stroking her jawline, throat, and back of her neck in soothing motions, tangling in her hair and teasing knots from the fight. The smell of the dead bodies was starting to permeate into his mind again, and it was not wholly unpleasant to him; the Animal was still so close to the surface.

Wy’ziot held her face gently, and kissed her, more deeply, trying to make her understand he was himself again. As they broke for air, he desperately wanted to lean his head against her forehead, but refrained, knowing himself to be smothered in other men’s entrails. “Djou... djou do not need to be concerned over ‘is liking you, Panyin.” The Werewolf smiled at her, broad. “Djou vere recognised as being more zhan a meal... and less... zhan somezhing to be rutted.” Wy’ziot swallowed hard, hoping she understood his meaning. “‘Ee is base needs. No care, or love, or attention to zhese zhings. ‘Ee knows ‘imself to be zhe last of ‘is kind, zhe last true Volf. ‘Ee zhus... doesn’t yet see djou as I do... because ‘ee could never be vizh djou, as I am. ‘Ee could probably kill djou!!” He released her, gently, and without wanting to, buy the more he felt her soft skin, the more he felt the Animal returning. “Food. Rutting. Sleeping. Zhat is vhat ‘ee cares for vhen zhe Moon is At it’s extremes. ‘Ee is a different Volf to zhe one djou ‘ave met.”

Wy’ziot stood, and held a hand for Panyin to do the same. He hoped she understood. She had done so well, she’d survived being confronted by not only the men that sought them, but also being eye to eye with the feral beast that resided in his chest. His fingers gently traced the roundness of her lips, before he stopped, unable to fight the desire, and captured them in a deep kiss, his tongue running her length to gain access and taste her. He knew his own mouth would taste disgusting to her; human flesh, and metallic blood. When the thought struck him he pulled back and gasped a little as he realised his face had smeared hers with the mess. “Pan... I’m sorry!” His breath came in pants, and he turned away from her, placing his palms over his temples to control his breathing; he felt a serious urge to get clean, but they needed to move. Looking out, he realised horse and Fox were still a good distance from them, the boy struggling to convince the horse to approach. Bastion wasn’t stupid; he could smell death, and he would stay back until his masters met with him. Wy’ziot let his arms flop to his sides, before running a palm over his face.

He set to work suddenly, his hands scrabbling at a bit of a furrow, moving earth as fast as he could, to get at water, lower than the surface. He dragged the furrow wider, and longer, till he could almost sit in it. He dug deeper, so water pooled enough to reach halfway up to his elbow. He started to scrub at himself with the gritty water, dripping the watery blood of the men who’d tracked them all around him. He needed help to sort out his back, but he didn’t feel he could request this of Pan, so he tried to scoop water over his shoulders. He had to get clean. Keep the Wolf at bay for a while, do humanising tasks.
 
He scrubbed the blood from his body with handfuls of the grainy sand around them. It fell from his hands in clumps collected to the blood. But a residual sheen remained.

She'd noticed his discontentment. She would have to be an irreparably inept alchemist to not see the difference between her and Zha'kirr's salve. She'd have to resolve that. Soon enough.

He lifted her chin so she could look at him. She leaned toward him, carefully, wanting to melt in him, but not touching any other part of her to him. There was a sticking to their lips, the smell of blood rising high in her brain.

You did that. Her eyes looked at him through this hazy intimacy. His words were registering. It was she...?

You fed him. Brought him his favorite sport. He is satisfied. Fully fed.

A smile edged her lips. It was wry. But, it was proud. Or simply happy. She had done something right--more than she had thought. It was a mistake, and she hadn't considered herself in danger, but it had added a favored entertainment for the Beast. How fortuitous.

She listened to him, head against his shoulder, letting her weight fall into him bit by bit. His hand running over her soft, mortal exposure, gently, finding comfort in her aliveness with him. It was as she suspected. The Beast of the New Moon was almost someone completely different. She allowed him to kiss her again, the taste of human at the tip of her tongue. Her mind shot through it, discerning its various useless states and tastes.

You need not be concerned over his liking you. She was relaxed. And he bolstered her complacency.

You were recognized as more than a meal. And less... than something to be rutted. She opened one eye, thinking that were meant to mean she was not torn open for reasons of insignificance. The Wolf was a confident little brat, apparently. It didn't quite suit her, but she didn't mind it enough to ask it to be changed. Her hand grasped his at her collar, squeezing, taking in the warmth of him as he continued. He could not be with you as I am. Her eyes rolled but with a chuckle as he mentioned the obvious desire for the Beast to get rid of her if she was more annoying in his way than not.

He wanted her to stand. To look at her, and regard her, for what had happened. She stayed still, allowing him to regard her. To feel her with his own hands, fresh from a different reality, as if he'd been woken from a dream. He took her mouth, tasted her insides, and flooded her brain with the taste of viscera. Human blood. The smallest hint of Werewolf's blood in the smooth, wet taste of his tongue. He withdrew, realizing what he had done, and in her own abashment, she averted her gaze. She felt the bloodied saliva thick on her tongue. There was blood on her face. She wiped what was dripping, but seemed to be unable to keep a smile off her face as she stared at the ground. She couldn't explain if asked. What kind of smile. Nervous, embarrassed, preoccupied?

She couldn’t spit it out. Whoever’s blood, yet with Wy’Ziot given himself in it. She felt the back of her throat well, impatient, and swallow. She wiped her face again, most of it still smeared and there.

He went to work suddenly, wishing to be free of this moment, this embarrassing lapse of propriety, and began digging himself a bath. She watched for a while, before taking her bed a little closer, so that she could sit. He shoveled the water onto himself, loosening the dry bits that stuck. Patches of stubborn blood appeared over his back, as the water trailed in nearly the same places again. She laughed and reached over, balanced at the edge of the ditch. Dipped her hand in the tincturing water, and slid it over the parts that he missed. She smoothed over these places, until the blood left was thin. The water was reddening, and would only do so much.

Her hand retreated as she yawned. Her body ached. Not injured, not any more, but it yearned for rest. The yawn stretched into all her limbs, rolling through the fatigue in them. She sighed, clenching her eyes shut and falling over into the roll for the moment.

A soft pattern of smaller paws approached the camp with their trampled coals.
 
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Wy’ziot stood, his nose lifted to the air; though he was no longer Wolf, his senses were still heightened, his instinct keener, and his strength unrivalled. His frown gave way to a growl that reverberated through his chest, and he made quick movements to finish his tasks. He grabbed at handfuls of course marsh grass, and wherever he could find it, moss, and used them as makeshift towelling materials. He gathered the items scattered around the destroyed camp, as Panyin snoozed, her body crying out for rest. He was quiet as he darted about, packing things into rucksacks and satchels. Lastly, he gathered the tether and it’s spike, and looped this within easy reach on the rucksack, to be used again, most likely. His last bundle was woman; he tucked her more securely into the roll, tying its side straps, so she was tightly packed inside. Finding her knees, and her shoulders, he crouched, and lifted her, with the bed roll, the soft wolf fur tickling his naked chest, the course marsh grass scratching his bare legs.

She protested, but he ignored her. “Sleep, fool. Djou ‘ave done too much, and djou are tired. Djou veigh nozhing, like a pup! Sleep, I’ll find zhe ozhers.” Wy’ziot’s sharp grin just widened as she struggled, feebly, to get away from him, but he’d tied her too securely, had trapped her too effectively, for her to be of concern to the giant albino. His long legs ate up the distance, and he followed the broken trail of the giant Vanner, his hoof beats thundering through the undergrowth as he had followed his master’s instruction. Wy’ziot watched the lightening horizon; a slight stain of cyan against the black. It would be many more hours before it did more than lightly stain. Light would not come soon. And he had to find their comrades.

A few miles away, horse and Fox were sat together at the edge of a copse. The horse was refusing to move; he’d been told by his master to run, and he would wait for her, where he had decided to stop. The boy, having shifted from Fox, to human, to now his comfortable blend of the two, was sat very forlorn, that the horse did not trust him enough to follow. However, he knew the devastation behind them, knew he stank of the death and chaos he’d left. He hoped the Wolf had behaved, recognised the Lady Witch. He would be sad if the Wolf had mauled her. The horse still carried the burdens that had not been relieved of his back, his saddle and the bridle. He had lowered his head, and was eating the lush grass that grew here. Close by, a brook gurgled happily, as it drifted towards the marshes and it’s puddles, and pools. They would wait here, the Vanner’s body language said. They’ll find us. Master will always find us.

Following the path of the Vanner, Wy’ziot hummed low in his chest, enjoying the warmth of the bundle in the wolf pelt roll. The tune was old, and he was humming it only to distract himself from the fact they were still being followed, and again he’d left death behind him. What must Panyin think of this beast she kept following? They had a disgusting job to accomplish as it was, never mind what they were battling through to even get to their Contract. The giant felt his muscles twitching, bulging beneath his skin. It wasn’t exertion, so much as the Wolf within wondering why he’d been returned to his Man form before the sun had risen, and wanting to run again. Wy’ziot’s response was to push him down, and advise he could run tomorrow, when they were closer to a town, where Panyin would be safe, for one night. There must be a township somewhere along this route.
 
Sound edged in and out in the frays of her conciousness. The smell of dampened fur on the soft breeze. Salt and wet rot passing through her senses until it dulled to her background. Slowly, eventually, her mind slipped under, into a deeper pull of sleep where only noise only poked through her dreams in pinpricks. Sharp, piercing her memories, then fading quickly as her mind went back under.

When the smell started to cut through her mind again, on a long, sharp edge, it held her into awakeness under her eyes. She stretched an arm over her head, and realized she could move again. Blearily she inhaled the stench, a headier salt. A wealthy rot of rich waters and plants. The building creaked all around her, footsteps going by the window over a set of planks that bowed under each step. She squinted through the overcast light, and reached for the water by the bed, drinking deeply from the glass pitcher. There was a bowl behind it, and she looked closely into the pile of encrusted red and brown bits, picking some of it up to find it was grasshoppers. She chewed a handful, grateful for the protein, as she pulled herself up to the window to check the surroundings. Past the peeling aquamarine paint, pulled up from the moisture and the rolling fogs, they were settled a bit high over the mud water on a town of stilts. The water went out further here, and she could see a copse of trees in the distance, where it would stretch into a swamp.

It was afternoon, the sun barely filtering through the strong haze. Further down the road of docks, she saw men pulled themselves out of the water, trailing mud and silt onto the dock with their bare feet. Their netted hauls dripped along the slats of wood, struggling with many legs or claws, some fins, as they were carried up the steps. Small boats passed under the building, with young, lithe children spry with taut muscles. One carried a spear while the other blocked her eyes from the light, checking the water for bubbles. The surface of the mud did move, and stir with something retreating. There was a soft, hollow sound, unmistakable, and Panyin looked up to the chime hanging from the gutter over the window. It was strung with long, white bones. Bleached from the sun, light and caressing into soft sounds from the rare breeze as they trembled against each other. She looked down further to see if the fences, and other wayfaring signs held other such ornaments. Skulls, if they were animal, or human.

An old woman startled her, passing closely by the window from behind. She was hunched, though her wrists were thin to the bone, and so was the neck and nose that Panyin could see. She wore a dark cloak over herself, some thin white hair falling from the front of the hood. She bent, carrying a long bristled tool, and worked the narrow end between the plants, and scraped over them with the rough, flat head, loosening the caking mud and pushing it over the edge of the dock.

This place smelled like it looked, though Panyin was told pluff mud was sweet once you got used to it.

She squinted. The salt she could smell was tidal. They were either off the coast or getting close to it.

The old woman paused at approach behind her. Panyin could feel the wood bend and nearly grown at the weight. The woman held out a hand. Alms for the useful. A familiar hand, pale as moonlight, large with marked scars and nails, dropped in it a few coins. She bowed her head gratefully, muttering a prayer; pressing a sign over her forehead and continuing it to the air at him. The alchemist didn't see if he acknowledged it, as a boy with black hair ran by, going ahead and around the corner to the inn's door.

Panyin sat against the headboard, trying to seem as if she'd been there the whole time, listening as the door opened with a hollow jingle, and as Ivak's steps tramped through the other rooms. She watched the old brass knob struggle before the lock was undone and the door opened.

"Lady Witch!" He was loud. "You're awake!" He ran into her with some considerable force. Holding onto her; though she thought they hadn't had enough time together to warrant this attachment. Hadn't she poisoned him and made his head bleed? Her arms relaxed around him, a hand on his head.

"Ivak." She seemed alerted more than anything, and had reached for his mouth before he collapsed into her.

"Big Man said you was sleepin' but Ivak thought..." His eyes and mouth both pulled from her, and she raised a brow.

"You thought...?" Wy'Ziot strode into the room, with something in his hands, and Ivak shot him a look. Panyin was unimpressed with the two of them. Bad blood had passed between them apparently. On to business. "Ivak." His attention came back to her. "My name is Panyin. Not. 'Lady Witch'. Not in public. People might actually think I'm a witch." Especially out here. "I can barely cast magic, if any... at all." She leant back again and reached for a handful of chapulines. Offered the boy some. Then wiped her hand before offering it, clean, to the Wolf.

"And..." her eyes went to the door until he closed it behind them. "What is your plan now...?" She meant now, but what she also had meant was, "For tonight..." Was it still a new moon? Was it too behind the crux of it and it was over?

Perhaps she shouldn't have been concerned of this at all times, at all locations and wherever they went.
 
Wy’ziot trudged on until the early hours, his naked form glistening with sweat by the time he reached the copse, the sulking Fox, and the exuberant horse. Bastion rushed forward, head butting Wy’ziot in his side, pushing the man and his sleeping bundle until they were in the cover of the trees. Wy’ziot places Panyin down, so her sleeping form was propped against a tree, and so she continued to snooze, slight snores coming from her nose as she slept. The Fox crouched next to her, holding her hand as if she was sick. Wy’ziot gathered together the bags, taking them from Bastion, finding his clothes, sliding his body into the items, and wrapping the cloak around himself, before starting to load the bags back onto Bastion in a comfortable way. The horse seemed quietly relieved, having been a little lopsided for far too long with all the excitement and drama they’d experienced through the night.

Clothed again, the Wolf turned to the boy, his brow narrowing. “Vhat are djou doing? She’s not dead.” The Wolf’s tone was harder than he’d intended, and the boy shrank a little from him, patting Panyin’s limp hand. The Wolf rolled his eyes, large hands on sculpted hips, looking down at the Fox. His ears were Fox like, as was the tail flat against the ground. How had he found such a weird creature? The horse nudged him again, wanting to move on; Wy’ziot shoved the horse’s head away, and strode up to the boy, his bare feet, but for his bandaging, making soft pats against the earth. “Get up. Ve aren’t going to get anyvhere if djou sit zhere sulking, are ve. She is exhausted. She’ll sleep till ve stop.” Better that way, he added to himself, as he scooped to pick up her limp body. She always did complain about long journeys, and how the horse shook off her equilibrium.

Ivak wasn’t so sure, and he remained crouched where Panyin had been, frowning, pouting, as he watched the giant carefully manouever the limp woman so she was sat, leant against the neck of the horse, before he mounted behind her, and gathered her into his chest, her legs across his, his hand holding the reigns supported her back in the crook of his arm. The giant was so gentle with her, it was completely unlike everything he’d seen from the man so far. The Fox remained quiet, shifting with a quick succession of pops and sucks from his shifting limbs and features. Bastion was clucked into movements the reign simply to assist in keeping Panyin upright against the broad expanse of chest, the heels dangling away from the stirrups. It looked like the man in the saddle was as uncomfortable with the man-made contraptions to control the horse as the horse was, to some degree; perhaps uncomfortable wasn’t the right word where Bastion was concerned. The horse was so laid back, nothing seemed to phase him, but he didn’t need these man made items to do as he was bid. He solely aimed to please his masters.

The horse set off at a leisurely pace, clearly having very little intention of going fast again today. The Fox kept up with him no trouble, weaving between the large legs, chasing imagined and real prey of butterflies, seed fluffs, flies, beetles, and whatever else took his fancy. Wy’ziot simply kept an eye to the horizons, for sign if chase, or town. They followed the marshland on, the brooks and streams spreading out and joining up, again, with the river they’d already crossed once. It was wide and shallower now, spreading into giant estuary channels. Far to their south, a dark smear started to appear; a town, perhaps? It was difficult to tell, but Wy’ziot directed the horse towards it with a few clicks, and a tightening of his knees in one direction, and the horse obliged. Ivak pranced around the edges of the marshy pools, dipping paws in, running around the ones the horse went through, acting like a child for a while. Wy’ziot watched him for a bit, before returning to making sure his sleeping passenger was comfortable. Ivak tired after a while, and shifted whilst he ran to a full teenage boy, no ears or tail visible.

“Big man?” Wy’ziot’s eyebrow rose, and he looked down to the boy, whom looked tired and weary. He grunted acknowledgement, as he slowed the horse. “Ca... can sit with you? And Lady Witch?” The Wolf rolled his eyes and halted the horse. He held out a large hand, not looking at the boy. His dark face brightened, as Ivak placed a hand in Wy’ziot’s, and was bodily lifted to the back, with the bags. Bastion huffed, but started walking again, as Ivak curled up impossibly tight for a human, and started to snore loudly behind Wy'ziot. The giant glanced over his shoulder at the boy, and smirked his lopsided smile at him. He was a weird little creature, that was for sure. It seemed he was drawn to the Vixen in Panyin, saw her like himself, even though she had none of the same traits. Seemed they were stuck with him for a bit. The horse continued to plod, until his hooves found traction on a more tended path through the marshes.

The smell of salt started to assault Wy’ziot’s experienced nose, which told him they were close to where there would be ferries. Faintly, as the dark smear took on shapes ahead, the sound of wire and metal, wood and bells started to drift across the expanse of empty ground, and Wy’ziot to also taste the caught fish that had been brought ashore, faintly, dancing on the breeze. His senses were so heightened with the current state of things, he could almost swear to hear the chants of their worship houses, the chatter of their markets, and the banter of their dock. Clucking to Bastion, the Vanner started to kick up his hooves on the harder ground of the road towards the town, eating up the miles in a slow, distance swallowing trot. The horse was a machine when it came to this sort of travel, rivalled only, Wy’ziot thought, by the wolf, renowned for their durability in marathon runs.

The smudge on the horizon was indeed a bustling township. At its entrance bridges, skulls and bones decorated the parapets. Wy’ziot was intrigued, for they weren’t doused in old blood, nor did the place smell of death or decay. The people waved to him merrily as he entered with his two sleeping companions on a giant horse; they all seemed as decorated as he with bones. Ivak slowly awoke at the sounds around him, and gasped at the sight of so many people dressed similarly to the scarred giant. Where on earth were they? The Vanner directed them toward the town center, and stopped as they hit the market that was set up here. Wy’ziot helped Ivak down, before leaning the woman forward again, and then dismounted. He stretched himself, his scarred body popping and cracking, his midriff oh show with the new style armour he wore, the bones in his red dreadlocks clacking, and combining with the clacks of bone and shell wind chimes all around the market.

“Ho, stranger!” Wy’ziot took the reigns of his horse, and looked down upon a round man, lacking in hair upon the crown of his head, but a wild bush of grey around the circumference. “Are ya’here for our Passing Ceremonies? Ya’re a new face, here. We knows most of our lot, though Kiellie’s son did go a’wandering. Ya’ren’t Kiellie’s son are ya?” The little monk fellow seemed to stare hard at Wy’ziot, his piercingly blue eyes searching the scarred face. Wy’ziot simply shook his head, but before he could say anything the little man had taken his hand, and was pumping it furiously in a fierce little handshake. So intense were these people!! “And the boy! Aren’t ya a funny little thing!! So gangly! And she seems to be sleeping heavy there! Why not check in yonder, at the Inn. Then why don’t you come to our Church?” The monk wrung his hands around his rib bone necklace, making them clack and dance merrily. Wy’ziot, again, just nodded, before the small monk just started off, greeting others as he went. His mottled eyes met the amber-gold of the Fox boy, and both simply shrugged, leading the horse and sleeping cargo towards the Inn.

Getting the room was easy, but getting to it, not so much; it seemed word that a giant, as white as the bones they had decorating their town, had got out. Young women were starting to gather and chatter, whispering when they saw him unloading the horse, both of its baggage, and the sleeping woman. Leaving Panyin in the bedroom, asleep upon one of the two beds within, Wy’ziot and Ivak took the freed stallion to the stables if the township. Strangely, it was closer to the docks than Wy’ziot had been expecting, but the stilted buildings all rose a good few feet off the ground, and this meant that the stable had a step up into it, and then down the other side into the paddock, where fabulously green grass grew; the stable hand said it was something to do with the way the marshes sometimes flooded, on spring and autumn tides, and brought silt all through the town, hence the stilts.

With Bastion well cared for, the two Beastmen decided to explore. They were watched on all sides, but not with fear and trepidation, like Wy’ziot was used to, or with loathing and suspicion, as Ivak was. No; the woman and young men of the town all seemed to have gathered to watched the two as they walked. Wy’ziot was good at ignoring stares, due to his size, his scars, his strange attire and choice of adornment; though it was true the latter certainly didn’t seem to matter here!! Ivak, however, was very used to being invisible, and the more worked up he got, the more he wanted to turn into the Fox and hide. A large, slightly clawed hand landed heavily on his shoudler, making him jump and quiver. Wy’ziot’s serious eyes peered at him, and he shrank back. “Relax, Boy.” He growled, but Ivak seemed very worked up. Wy’ziot looked around, and a little stall, with outdoor seating caught his attention, free of too many staring women and young men. The large hand stayed in place, and steered the boy to a table, sitting him down forcibly, and ordering two large pots of tea, and a round of meat sandwich. Paying with ample coin, and advising they’d like to eat without being stared at too much, to the little old lady behind her counter, she nodded enthusiastically, and shooed away any customers that came in just to sit and watch them, refusing to serve any other customers until Ivak and Wy’ziot had eaten and drunk their fill.

Ivak ate greedily, drinking noisily from his cup. Wy’ziot’s eyebrow arched with a little disgust at the boy’s manners. Clearly not from a sophisticated home himself, it shocked Wy’ziot a little how uneducated the boy was. The sandwich confused him, so he proceeded to watch how Wy’ziot ate his, before picking all the parts apart, and eating them individuals, savouring the meats most, and prodding at the pickles and salad garnish with it until Wy’ziot growled, and he quickly stuffed his mouth with the pickled gherkin, then realising he liked the taste, eating the others more carefully.

“So... Ivak.” The Wolf spoke deliberately, watching the boy. “Djou say djou are from Norzh, but djou can’t remember vhere?” Thr boy nodded around his food. “Hmmm.” Wy’ziot hummed, clearly trying to make conversation with the boy, but struggling to know what to do with such a young beastman. The Fox slurped down his tea and breakfast, grinning amiably at the Big Man, and rubbing his belly. The Wolf simply shook his head, and looked around the market. “Come on.” He stated, finishing his sandwich in two bites, and his tea in one glug, leaving a few more coins on the table for the diligent stallkeep to find as thanks for their privacy.

Dragging the boy through the market, Wy’ziot picked up a few items to stockpile their inventory; more dried meats, and preserved fruits. Some fresh vegetables and fruits, as well as prepared rabbits, and a large cockerel that had apparently upset the townsfolk recently by chasing children and crowing super early. They were pleased to be rid of him, it seemed. Wy’ziot loaded the boy up, with a simple “Ve ‘ave to feed djou now too.” as explanation. Wy’ziot bower his head and greeted a few people that had gathered near the inn, and passed a small little old lady whom had been cleaning the decking outside the inn, in its strange little stilts, which creaked with his weight. He deposited a few coins into her begging, arthritis ravaged hands. She gasped, and scuttled backward from him, bowing herself over and over, in thanks. Wy’ziot entered the inn, pushing the heavily laden Fox before him, giving him the key to run in ahead.

“Lady Witch! You’re awake!” The little fox raced into her with considerable speed, knocking her back into the pillows. Wy’ziot closed the door behind him, and sat himself down in the chair by the dresser. “Big Man said you was sleeping, but Ivak thought...” Wy’ziot simply pouted and frowned, looking to the window, and ignoring the boy and his chatter, but listening all the same. Wy’ziot notes her chastising the boy for his name for her, but he couldn’t help but think it was highly unlikely that this township would care if she was a true witch or not. It seemed... a little backward... Her query caught him off guard, and Wy’ziot looked to her, and the hand that had taken his, before he lifted a shoulder.

“I’ll figure somezhing out...” He murmured, but smiled at her, looking out the window again. “Strange place...” He commented quietly, pleased to see no faces pressed against the glass, watching them through the window.
 
"Strange, indeed." She smiled amicably, cracked with amusement, enjoying the disappointment that he hadn't kissed her hand. "Are you comfortable here?"

She leant back, again, away from him, and her hand went over Ivak's hair. His face was hidden in her stomach, mumbling against her abdomen. "Mnyin..."

Wy posed serene by the window but it was suddenly claustrophobic with the three of them. She was warm, stuck with humidity and old sweat and marsh air. She sighed, pushing Ivak to the side and standing. She started to unlace her vest under her tunic, but stopped as Ivak rolled from his position, looking as to why she'd gotten up. He was a child, but, not so much a child. And she seemed to have grown some sense of propriety, which annoyed her greatly. Her mouth pulled to the side. Normally she wouldn't care. Didn't care. But. Young boys were... different. Perhaps she shouldn't expose herself. But it was her room, as far as she was concerned; if Wy'Ziot bought it, she owned it. And the boy would be hurt to be kicked out if he didn't understand why.

Wy'Ziot followed her gaze. As with the Wolf, she removed her tunic, and dropped it over the boy's head. He made a sound, utterly more perplexed, and reached up simply to remove it, looking down at it in his hands, before looking to Panyin's backside as she begun changing. Wy'Ziot, with a glance to the window behind, stood to block it, and with a large hand, pressed Ivak’s chin back to the bed. He made some small yowls, sprawling, his hands scratching incidentally at the big man's as he tried to pry him off his head.

But a laugh stuttered from this noise. Something in this triggering a play instinct in him. He still continued, damned determined to be freed, but something had changed. A playful bout, as he was able to turn and wiggle himself some room, he took the struggle like some wrestling for play. Perhaps familiar to him. Perhaps it'd been long since he'd seen proper play with others, and this was the most familiar of an old routine.

Panyin tried to change more quickly, seeing that she had a limited time here. Feeling bad that she forced down the boy.

Her things were dropped off for now. She stripped down to fully bore. Her eyes met Wy'Ziot's, and her gaze was deep, playing enticement without a smile. The lace things for his eyes only, she removed most of these, changing into old clothes. A shirt, and some things underneath. She stripped off the pants, and gestured to allow Ivak up. Wy'Ziot paused, seeing that she hadn't fully changed yet, but let the boy up, which he yelped as he choked to freedom. He seemed miffed with the Wolf, with his fear was displaced. She emptied one of her bags, and pulled another leather belt to attach it around herself without the vest. She wore a single layer of linen, just as before. Then she retrieved a mixture, immediate in its scent of sharp, sweet lavender and marigold oils. It spread this over her hands, running them up the length of her legs, her shoulders, arms, and neck.

Ivak watched, not quite sure what he was seeing as her hands smoothed from ankle to thigh. Then he gagged at the strong smells, the alcoholic sting of them, backing back into the bed to hide from it. He complained loudly into the pillow, and at that, she figured it'd be best to let him take care of his own mosquitoes. With the last of it evaporating, she placed her arms around Wy'Ziot's neck. Her eyes bore deeply into his. But she said nothing of this.

"Are you going...?" Speaking the words made her realize they were absurd, and she backed towards the door, letting her hands slip from his nape.

Forgoing pants. Wy'Ziot seemed to react to this, but she just raised her brows, stepping back towards the door. Daring him to have her do anything else. He came at her, and she was surprised, but he stopped, with her in the doorway. His hands touched her hair gently, and she let him turn her as he pleased, to braid it back, out of her way.

Though she couldn't tell if he still preferred her to wear something underneath. He stayed longer here than he needed to. Her hand touched his as it stilled, finished in its task, and slipped down again, going out to explore. Ivak leapt up, padding after her.

The people here were pale and gray. Or tan. But still gray. And Panyin, admittedly, had a glow of health about her. At least it could be seen that she had blood running through her veins. She was unsure about them on the other hand.

And it made her weird to them.

She was not wholly unused to it. Sometimes it was that she was the freak, especially in towns where travelers were rare and red hair even rarer. This did not seem to be the case here, not completely, but she had gotten the sense as she walked out the doors that a little discretion for her head would have been a good choice.

They were on the shore, it seemed, and there was a proper road and town, stone bricks even, that lead to a town square. Ivak followed close to her, a hand or two on the back of her shirt. As eyes fell upon them, he thought to hide his head against her, bent as he was to do so. She turned a bit to ask him what he was doing, but the nervousness that emanates off him, she could practically smell, so she left him be. And resumed her tour.

There were all manner of dress here. Those who hung around their porch fronts in mud water shirts, once white, dried by the sun and stained again. Children played in various states of undress, if any clothes at all. Some people wore hanging threads of moss, loose clothing worn from barely processed materials. On the other end, there were high collars and many layers. A woman with a petticoat, and a dark rimmed hat was walking opposite of them, led by a large lizard on a leash. She turned her gaze with its long lashes on Wy’Ziot, catching his eyes with hers for as long as he let as they passed by.

Panyin with her plain white dress stuck out utterly. So simple, looking pristine and clean. It didn’t suit her, same as before; that she looked innocent and unsullied and someone needing to not be touched. She could not think of someone further from that truth.

It was midday and the square turned out to hold a number of stalls in its small circumference. Panyin neared the first one, not seeing well in this light. Lucky her. There were a lot of mosses and jars of odd slime, silts, and rich mud. A couple strange bones she could grind down for meal.

Her voice hummed from her throat, bent over the table, and Ivak peeked our from behind her. Wishing she would move on, not quite in-line with her sense of fascination. But he watched her hand tamp the feel of the moss, going from one to the other, before he followed suit. It looked odd, but he hadn’t the bravery to touch until she did. It was a cold, scratchy, tangled thing. And the next one was soft, and warmed to his touch. He almost let go of her, going on to investigate these things himself as Panyin bartered the prices, taking a little bit of everything into her bag. The clipped moss was stuffed unceremoniously over the top of the little bottles, bits of dirt crumbling off.

She glanced for Wy’Ziot, finding him with her eyes and drawing him nearer to their little group, out from where he had found some shade to avoid the weighing heat, from the sun and thick air. And to deflect some of the stares. It didn’t quite work.

He’d no sooner stopped to rest before a pair of ladies, nearby as he had approached, made it their business to see him. They were soft, their eyes kind without predation. But the faint enamored interest could not hide, as they shyly quizzed him for his visit, his travel. His business with the town, and future plans.

Panyin ambled through the other stands, knowing they had extra food, and that she couldn’t take too many samples. The swamp had wet, rotting ingredients that only lasted so long. She would only get a taste, before it was gone.

The next stall had a lip on its tarp so low that Panyin had to duck under it to come inside. The inner walls sparkled with light, a piercing of the cloth overhead and behind the keeper that freckled through the stones and crystals on show.

“Oh!” This old woman seemed surprised to see her. She held it a hand, which Panyin hesitantly handed hers to. Her skin was dry, and smooth despite its hanging, wrinkles state. She stroked Panyin’s wrist, and turned her palm over to see her lines. “Pretty girl.” She smiled, missing many teeth. Girl, again, was it? “But,” she tsked, touching her own throat demonstratively, letting Panyin’s hand go, “nothing for the pretty neck?”

Panyin started to chuckle, but couldn’t interrupt the grandmotherly way the peddler went about the wares.

“Alligator vertebrae. Strong one when he was alive. Set with rhodonite.” She didn’t know what that was. It was just words to her. At Panyin’s hesitation, “Or… this little one.” A ring of vertebrae linked into itself. Ouroboros. “As the young lady seems healthy, happy.”

Panyin paused. It was not too much to guess, based on her current look, but she felt the connection to her, the alchemy, uncanny. She spoke what she meant to say.

“I’m sorry… I’m not really one for wearing jewelry.” A smile cracked her edges and she looked back, “but perhaps my associate—“

She looked for Wy’Ziot, but didn’t see him. Last she saw he was talking to some ladies. The old woman reacted, and Panyin turned to find him beside her. Her old hands opened for his, and as he allowed, she perused the lines and creases, the scars, reading something before closing his fist with a warm pat and letting him go.

“Now you,” she smiled at his perusal of the table, “do you you think any of these suit the young lady?”

Panyin’s gazed snapped to him, the same question coming off of her in a much different tone, with a different smile. Ivak was quietly at their side, drawn to a blackened bone, another vertebrae, tracing his fingers along it, and it’s triangular setting upon the necklace.
 
Did he like it here? He had to admit, it had a certain charm he couldn’t miss. There was a safety here for him, the fact people did not view him with fear nor trepidation... perhaps it was a place they could return to? It... felt like it could be homely, but perhaps that was a Wolf desperate to settle with its chosen mate thought, and in fact, he was hazed to view this place truthfully. He would wait... gauge it further. He simply smiled in response, lop-sided as always, and finally raised the slender hand Panyin had placed into his to his lips, and placed gentle caresses to each knuckle. It was a quiet way of saying “wherever you are, I’m comfortable”. He released her hand, and leant back in his seat, eyes going to the window again, his chest revealing some slight discomfort at being inside. Something about New Moons, even during the day, made him long to be outside.

He missed Panyin raise initially, until he felt a gaze. The fire of lust in those golden eyes almost burnt him, and he perked in his seat, one brow lifting as he surveyed her movements, her curvy form as she took the garments from her body. His tongue flicked over his lips involuntarily, before she purposefully covered the boy’s head with her linen, and Wy’ziot was suddenly accutely aware of the uncovered windows; no curtain or covering was even offered, so he quickly braced his own form over it, and dunked the boy’s head into the jumbled bed sheets, though, in terms of Beastman years, he was far from old enough to appreciate the female form for more than just a naked body. It was Panyin whom seemed more concerned over this. The Fox yowelled, then giggled, and suddenly the swing and biting became playful, and something tugged at Wy’ziot to reciprocate. He flipped the boy around, pinned him, released when he wrestled with his arms, flipped him again, the boy almost squealing with excitement over the game. Wy’ziot smirked, his attention lost from Panyin for a time. He looked up as Ivak started to pant, and fight back more feebly, worn out from their game. Her hot gaze hit him again, and his mouth worked at her beauty stood there. How she teased him! His own mottled eyes, he knew, would be filled with the same lusting, his muscles and groin twitched with the same yearning, and colour creeped across his chest and neck. She has a certain degree of cruelty he was want to forget sometimes. She always did find a way to remind him.

She searched her things and came up with a bottle. Unstoppering it, the acrid, alcoholic scent made Wy’ziot gag first, then the boy. Both were affected by its initial scent, before that evaporated off and left the scent that would protect her from the marsh life that would probably seek her blood. Wy’ziot certainly had Wolf blood to thank for not being appealing to mosquitoes. He wondered if the boy held the same privileges. It was lucky, considering what his blood could do to humans if they came into contact with it. He stepped around the bed as she finished her self-care, aiming to get to his own things, but she had stood, and reached up to him, standing to the very tips of her toes as she encircled his neck. Her breasts pushed into his torso, he breath sweet to his nose, her eyes heavy. Her lips parted, carefully, the words that tumbled up an unfinished question. He managed to look away a moment, but regretted it instantly as she released him, and moved to the door. He cursed himself, forgetting Ivak was still moaning and whining about the smell into the bedding. She tempted him once again as she leant against the door, inviting him. He took it this time, hands encircling her waist, pressing himself against her, feeling her soft curves and a low roll of growl vibrating through his chest; he stooped to capture her temptation. He stopped. His mottled eyes narrowed at her, realising her testing, and instead, he brought one hand up the length of her body, over the swells over her womanhood, to cup her neck, and turn her head. His hand stayed there a moment, feeling her pulse, fast and alive. Fingers released, but only to entwine within her hair, and braid one side back from her elven face. As his fingers stilled, she cupped his hand, her face soft, before she turned in his grasp, opening the door, and strutting out, Ivak, upon hearing the door open, bouncing out of the bed, and following after her.

Wy’ziot contemplated staying put, but watching her walk out... he shook his head, and scrubbed at his face to clear his thoughts. She was an evil one, to be sure. He rearranged himself, to be more comfortable within his clothes, and shrugged his cape around himself closer. He strode out after the pair, head lowered, and followed like the obedient servant to his master. She took her time meandering the scant crowds, watching them, assessing. She shone so bright amongst them; they were all dusted in salts, and silt clays, and just seemed so sun-bleached, like the bones they wore. Even Wy’ziot, whom lacked pigment, seemed to have more colour than these people. Young women began to follow them again, but this time, more males also seemed to follow. Wy’ziot could feel the Wolf growing anxious; she'd riled him, and now he felt it important to claim her, mark her as his. She wasn’t though. He belonged to her, and if she wished to parade them into the market stalls, so they would follow. Ivak seemed to have developed his nervousness again, but he was controlling himself better, hiding his face into Panyin’s back whenever he was looked upon, taking strength from her. How Wy’ziot envied him.

Wy’ziot was lost in these thoughts when the first apprehension occurred. Panyin had spied an apothecary, and darted forward. Wy’ziot was slowly following when a woman in a many layered dress stepped across his path. Her hand held a leash, which in turn held what appeared to be a salt-water caiman. It’s colour was lurid murk green, with golden striping, it’s eyes a thin slit within further murky gold. His hissed at him with all its might, but its owner wasn’t overly concerned. Her face was daubed in fake colour; high rose hues upon her cheekbones, rouge upon her lips, dusky tones over her eyelids, in sharp contrast to the blue, again, it seemed, of her eyes. Her hair was not grey, like the monk’s had been, but it seemed powdered to appear so; the dirty blond beneath was quite evident.

“Well ho stranger.” Wy’ziot did not particularly like the accent of this place on its women. It was course, and a little crude. “Say, y’re a new face! I would sure like to get to know ya.” She pursed her over painted lips, and tipped the grilled hat back from her paled face, so she could look Wy’ziot up and down more easily from beneath its brim. Wy’ziot swallowed hard, and held up his hands.

“Zhank djou, but I am vizh ‘er. See, she is my master.” He murmured. The woman turned, to watch the woman and boy in the stall.

“My my, what a lucky lady to have such a... large specimen all to herself.” Her hungry eyes fell down the length of Wy’ziot’s body, her brow raising in a less than dainty way. “Ya make sure y’come find me when she can’t finish ya’off.” She clucked to her hissing lizard, and bustled past him, ensuring she got to press up against his chest before she carried on her way. Wy’ziot lifted his lip a little in disgust at her actions, brushing down his chest once she was far enough away. The sun here was harsh, and Wy’ziot could feel his skin heating. He did not like burning; it was painful, and would trouble him for far longer than those with pigmented skin. He ducked under a taup as Panyin came to search for him. He nodded to her, and stepped out, but just as he did, two woman stepped ahead of him. These ladies were nothing like the predator he’d just met, and they giggled shyly, hiding behind tatty fans made of bone and lace, probably made by themselves.

“Ya look like the adventuring type!” One giggled, the accent not as thick on these young ladies, and a little more melodic. Perhaps that one lady was less proper than she first appeared.

“Say, are ya staying long in Diltch?” So that was this township’s name? It was not one Wy’ziot recognised. He peered between the ladies, and saw Panyin and Ivak disappear into a stall that was mostly hidden from view. He was getting a little panicked by the reaction of the females of this town. He smiled, more of a lop-sided grimace, and bowed his head.

“Not very long, ladies. Please, I must return to my master.” They made noises of surprise he was a servant, and watched him as he jogged away from them, escaping to the tarp Panyin had disappeared into. She was just ducking to see where he was when she made a noise of surprise and smiled at him, which he returned with a slightly flustered look. Ivak snorted at him, and shuffled around them, inspecting all the shiny items. The old lady at the stall grinned at him, in her toothless way, and opened her hand to him. Panyin encouraged him, lifting his hand into the old lady’s.

“Ahhh. Yes’m. I see it. Long life for this one... but what’s that? A quick end. Something to protect against that, maybe?” She encouraged he look over her wares. “Do you think any of these suit the young lady?”

Wy’ziot looked about, his gaze spotting a few pieces that held highly charged stones of power. His fingers grazed over a piece, it’s surface the bones of a small animal’s skull; perhaps a small species of marsh cat? Through its eye sockets, the braided leather that kept it looking out toward the world. In its jaws, secured into place with gold and silver wire, a stone with a high vibration was calling to him. He closed his eyes a moment as the old crone seemed to murmur her appreciation for his tastes. It was a carved round stone, but it was rough with its beauty; iridescent purple, blue, gold, green. It was a disk, it seemed, held in the jaws of the marsh cat. His fingers caressed the rough surface, and smiled.

“Zhis one. Zhe Vitch’s Stone, for my alchemist.” The old lady seemed impressed, and took down the expensive trinket, releasing the fastening which was an intricate knot, to place it over Panyin’s head. She then tightened it, by pulling the two threads, which each ended in a smooth, small flint bead.

“Chosen by one whom loves ya very much, missus.” The old lady giggled, and accepted the coins that Wy’ziot held out. ”Something for the sirs?” Wy’ziot shook his head, but Ivak looked up at Wy’ziot as he pointed to the strange blackened bone, a skull fragment it seemed, carved into a Fox motif, and holding little pyrite eyes. Wy’ziot rolled his eyes, looking to Panyin, whom was too enraptured to her own gift. Wy’ziot nodded, and delievered the coin for the Fox talisman. The old lady seemed thrilled at her sales for the day, and was happy to finally shoo these people from her little stall. Back in the heat of the market, Wy’ziot cast his gaze skyward, cursing the cloudless sky, and the heat from the sun.

“I am zhirsty. And zhat monk vanted us to visit zhe Church.” The Wolf searched for a tavern or drink stall of some description, trying to ignore the gathering crowds that were interested in the strangers. “Come. Before djou drain more of my resources.” Wy’ziot chuckled, knowing he had nothing else to purchase with his coin; and he had plenty of it, for what did a Wolf really need with payment? But it seemed, since Panyin had entered his life, it had proven to become very useful.
 
A quick end. Panyin's eyes set on the woman, not saying anything. A long life. A quick end...One that she would see?

You will be the death of me. Her eyes were out of focus, down with the thought. Slowly, devoid of all else, the hairs on her body began to raise. She felt it. She was the only change in his life. She would be the death of him. Or something very close.

Yet here she would remain.

"...for my alchemist." Her eyes blinked back to them. She didn't wear jewelry, but apparently he thought so. She inhaled, and held the breath that did, realizing she was going to sigh, a face of rudeness to all this sincerity. Her heart beat, her body dying for health as she leant forward, and the leather throng closed around her neck.

A collar and a leash. A chain. These were once things she thought of necklaces; something wrapped around your throat. But she smiled, lifted it to look at her.

Chosen by one whom loves you very much.

The alchemist hummed her agreement, and stared in its eyes, it sitting, tented atop her prinprick fingertips. The braids snacked in and out of the sockets. An iridescent, blue and purple stone, whose face was rough as she dragged her fingers down across it. It flecked with gold colors, glinting in the light. She wasn't familiar.

And as she glanced through the top of her eyes at the edge of his jaw, behind his ears and the curve of his neck, she wondered what Wy'Ziot saw in it for her. Of her. She lowered it. It was on a long string, and hung just at her chest. She faltered, wondering how it would bounce against her. If she would notice it in its weight, it's touching her. It's presence. It was something that would tend to hang as a burden to her.

Yet these things from before, she allowed them to be let go now. That he was the presence in her, of these things that touched and were heavy upon her chest. Things that would normally annoy her, betraying her space, her need to be an immaculate, disconnected figure in the world. Interacting toward it, with none of it coming back to her. Nothing to haunt her, or hurt her. But it was different now, as terrifying as that thought was when manifested.

Yet it sat against her chest, a reminder of him. Its weight pressing in her, as she liked for him to press against her. As he did once, against a tavern wall. As he did just a moment ago, in a filtered light, over a creaking, achey wood. There wasn't even sexuality in these thoughts; the closeness of him was so desired. It was so close under her surface, at all nappropriate times. And she withheld. Ignored it till she could have peace. It would embarrass him, she thought. It would weaken him and get him killed. And that thought was also under her surface. Waiting there with with the other one.

They tasted sunlight again, the air thick with the salt and its sweet silt. Ivak had seemed to take a haul out from the shop as well, and, though knowing what to do with it as a glance around would have told him, thought first to taste it, where he didn't like the taste of what blackened it. Panyin stared at him, letting him figure it out, but unimpressed at his mode of discovery.

I am thirsty. She looked up. And that monk wanted us to visit the Church.

"A church...?" She surveyed the landscape, finding what building struck out from the lay of the land, and started them towards in a stride. She felt no pinpricks. No evil yet lied in wait, not that she could feel. It was lucky, and that in itself was suspect. But she needed to trust her gut. She knew evil. There could be innocence. Cannibalizing innocence.

"Resources?" She pat his arm hard, indicating the only resource he had that was perhaps worth mentioning. Her smirk was mean, and bright with with the sunlight.

She felt the curiosity heaped upon them as they walked, but didn't feel the snake lying in the grass. Nothing to set her off yet. So she was unperturbed. No one even drew close.

The ground was unsteady here as the bricks curved and set into a step path. A large glop of trodden mud build up by a curve in the bricks. She stepped over it, but it was a ruse, there was a slimier piece of mud right past it, which caught her heel. Her arm latched Wy'Ziot's, having been aware of his distance, and he caught her, or allowed her to catch herself as it were, his arm coming out just enough from his cloak. Ugh. She righted herself and scraped the mud off her heel where there was dry ground, and made to extricate herself from him. She would rather continue hanging on him, but. Then she paused. Why was it she kept herself from him? Besides that level of impropriety, she didn't even have him seen with her until it was dark. She liked to play around, and there was that she didn't want to disturb whatever was happening to him here. But some sense of absurdity of her level of refrain occurred.

Her hand settled more comfortably over his bicep, where his warmth was new to her hand, broadly laid over it. She had laid on him, was carried rather often, and had barely held hands in a cold night by a dock. But even this was new, wrapping herself around his arm like a snake. And a normal woman. Her thoughts had happened in a moment, and she continued forward, to what seemed to be their location, with him catching into her speed quickly.

It was a building with a single, broken bell-tower. The windows were not shuttered, nor windowed, broken through long ago by the growth of branches puncturing the lead frames. They hung heavily with white moss and foliage in the low windows, snaked out in inviting branches, parts dirty with clambering marks from children other young people. Branches not yet overgrown peeked out from the upper windows, leaves thick and clotting the light for inside. Scattered assemblages of people eased in and out of the open doors. She could not see what was inside; for the ground below them, despite its mud, was white and blinding, and the inner church was unlit inside. There was a haze of dots, candles along the back wall, and their fractured reflections in water below them. A fountain? She squinted, coming up through the door, and her eyes began their slow adjustment.

It was wet in here. The must and humidity had a cool centre, the edges of the building and windows still easing in the heat. The mud on the floor here still wet from the shade, and they tread carefully, their shoes and feet sticking to the slim layer. It was hard to see, the heavy darkness fragmented into blinding spots as sharp, dappled light pierced the room from odd places, and a hazy glow from the altar in the back drank in the eye's attention with its warmer softness. Ivak ran his hand over the pews, all lightly arranged to face the front. Worshippers milled, quietly, some sat in these seats, some leaving, with a whole quiet piety softening the sound in the building.

A portly man caught onto them, bustling up, looking to be a monk as Wy'Ziot had said. He bowed his head to Wy'Ziot, greeting the boy and taking Panyin's free hand in both of his.

"Ah, you've come. Thanks for visiting. Hope you slept well, miss." His handshake was hardy.

"Fine, thank you."

"If ya like, you can grab a candle from the front, here, but they're rather small. If ya prefer a larger offering, I'm sure yoa saw the many sellers for candles on the way in. It's a little late in the day to make ya' own." He laughed.

Wy'Ziot seemed oddly stiff to her, as if he didn't know what to think. Of these people in general. Panyin peeled off to go see the candles, not overly curious, but just to stretch her legs around this church. Ivak followed, and perused the strange arrangements of awkward candles, drawing close to discern what she could also figure from her distance. Simply a bunch of crude fat for burning. Some nut fat, most mixed with animals she would have never figured to make into candles.

"Apologies," the man started, but noticed Panyin could not pay attention to answer him. He turned to Wy'Ziot, "This is..?" An extra word had almost slipped in there. Panyin returned, pulling Ivak lightly who had taken a candle without her knowing. Her arm snaked back around Wy'Ziot's just as he spoke.

..my master. Her head tilted completely to the side, resting on her shoulder as she looked at Wy'Ziot, quite unimpressed.

"Ah." The priest said.

Her voice was even, just as her stare. "You've been telling people what?"

There was a smile. His hand to caress, carefully, her cheek with the back of a claw. The truth. He said.

She stared. She did not seem moved by this. But after a moment, her head righted and looked to the monk. "Yes, that's me. The Master."

"Ah," He said with a completely different tone, accepting in his eyes as he nodded, and moved aside to allow them to explore the church proper. What there was of it.

She focused on the altar at the front, her eyes adjusted to the low light, and drew nearer to it. Seated over all these things, water, fire, light, was an immense skull of what looked to be a boar. It was larger than she could imagine, the body would have perhaps been the length of the building itself. A trickle ran down her spine as she saw the carvings all over it, reminded her of a scary wolf who had lashed at her in a tavern by a river, but the carvings were different here. Lovingly crafted, skillfully honed with. Not a dark carving, piercing into the flesh of what once was an enemy, felt for every bite of blade as if alive. But sculpting with due respect, apologies for the taken pieces, worship and certainty in the action. The upper tusks were overgrown, curled fully back till nearly touching the flat of the skull itself. There was no paint here, but it was decorated wholly, through the hewn areas and over them, with corkscrew furls of peeled bark; something with a sharp and sweet smell like eucylyptus and sage. The look of it was... something not sinister, but disturbing to look directly at. A full coat of wicked curls growing from a bare skull with holes in it. The bone itself looked clean, cared for daily, and there was a woman who stood, barefoot, on the edge of the fountain, to brush a stray leaf from this mess.

The fountain flowed in out from the back of the church which seemed to be submerged under water. She couldn't quite tell from the overgrowth if the display at the front was built of convenience, or it it had existed before the back half of the building sank into the silt. The water glittered with the multitude of candles, devotees coming and going quietly, most of them placing candle. Some burned and sat at the foot of it, some melted onto the rim of the raised lip of the fountain. And some, to which Ivak ran up to the edge of it to peer at the oddity of it all, placed lanterns atop the water, floating on the calm surface.

"Ivak." Panyin alerted, as he reached in to grab perplexing offerings from the surface. The woman who had plucked the leaves off the skull stood by, and gave a gentle laugh, not seeming offended. They greeted her properly, and she bowed her head with a slightly movement. She seemed to look into their faces as they looked at her, and her eyes did not stray to his body as the women Wy'Ziot had met before. Her eyes were encircled with darkness, so purple it was almost red around her eyes. Her eyes were soft and half-lidded, but Panyin noticed no tiredness about them, nor a fatigue about her body despite the skin being so thin round her eyelids and the blood so close to the surface, leaked until it was purple, that it could look as though she never slept.

"He does not seem to have intent and disrespect to destroy. It should be fine." She was skeletal, despite a softness in her movements. "Welcome to you." This woman did not seem fully borne this place, but Panyin noted she did not attempt to blend as a chameleon either. The town, it seemed, allowed one to wear different skins as they liked. Perhaps this priestess was one who was a stranger and come to worship. "Are you here for the Passing Ceremonies...?"

Ivak played a paw in the water, moving the candles about like they were small boats. Panyin began to shake her head at his behavior, but saw something, rolling under the surface. Devil pods, water chestnuts, that she hadn't had in a potion for such a long time. She had to stop herself, even, and play at rearranging a candle from Ivak's disturbances, to hide that she lost herself and almost grabbed fruits out of the holy fountain.

"We're not familiar," she shook her hand from the water, "no. Are we?" She looked to Wy'Ziot, not actually knowing if this was a procession he'd come across before.

"Oh," she smiled nonetheless, and bowed a little. Her limbs were long, her cheeks cutting paper with how much her bones showed. She seemed happy to introduce them to the idea. "It's been going on for a few nights... candles are lit around town to invite spirits. Usually lost spirits... unlike the new year, where familiar spirits are invited back home. Food can be offered, hunts... money. And for the last night, today... So many candles are lit that it's almost a day glow... The last candle is lit an hour before midnight. They are then let to burn until they snuff on their own. And... in the darkest hour, we send candles down the river to guide spirits that have been invited... If they were restless... to send them home."

She bent, from the knees, her long skirts fully covering her legs. It was noticed that she crouched as she couldn't bend from the waist, a corset dashed so tightly up her waist and over her chest. She picked up some candles that had burned out, plucking strings of melted wax from the floor. "It's a procession to say goodbye... a feeling of ambivalence... of letting some things go that wish to be kept, and allowing space for new things to come."

She stood again, and dropped the pieces into a cloth bag hung off her elbow.

"It's a time that can be used to... guide away anything following you... if that is wished." She looked at Panyin. "But I see nothing following you." Her gaze was turned away, shy, as if she had peeked without permission.

"That's good." Panyin would not have found it wholly unexpected that a dark spirit was following her. But in the moments she was alone, she would have thought to have noticed.

However, as the woman's eyes crossed Wy'Ziot, they passed over him, seeing something over his shoulder. She did not seem scared, nor overly brave for it. And her mouth had moved as if to say something, but she looked at him, his face, and smiled instead. Bowed her head to them before she seemed to be excusing herself to dispose of the wax.

"And please... if you have any questions... well. Everyone is friendly and willing to lend an ear... Myself, I... offer my services as well."

"And you are?" Panyin hardly ever asked for names. Never, even. But at least this one seemed rather calm and not likely to obligated them into anything else.

"Oh," she had forgotten. "Fendali. Fen or... Fendi is fine as well." She nodded her head off to the two, and headed toward the door.

Panyin had not paid attention, but now with the rim of the fountain clearer, she sat on its edge, and scoped the room, watching for anyone seeing her. There were elderly with their heads bowed, hands clasped by their foreheads. Even young folk typically had their eyes closed, sat quietly in the damp, wooden pews.

Her hand grazed the edge of the water, thinking how to get this without dripping on her bag and signalling to outside that she had something purloined from the water.

"Big man."

Her hand retreated from the surface, hearnig a voice that was not Ivak's.

A young man had hopped over the front pew, and sat for a moment before standing to approach Wy'Ziot. He had tawny hair and skin, young, like Ivak. In fact, she thought they could be brothers from a similar town. But he was human, purely and assuredly from his unremarkable eyes and ears. Broken, dull nails on his hands.

"What are ya?"

A stiffness shot went through the wolf and the alchemist.

"A mountain?" Their caution eased by inches. "A mountain ox. Like those white bears up there?"

The boy held up his necklace. Half of a jawbone. "I'm a fox." He paused. "Well. Kind of. I think. Idunno." Not quite yet.

Panyin pocketed two or three nuts and stood up, shaking her hands from the water. Wiping them on Wy'Ziot's cloak. Before she said anything, Ivak had bound up to the boy, hearing his words. The boy was just a bit taller than him.

Ivak stared hard at the tawny boy's face. The boy smiled back, nervous but growing confidence.

"What's 'at? Ya a fox too?" He pointed to the necklace Ivak had on as well. And his gaze, apparently jumping attentions, caught on Panyin's hair. Over Ivak's shoulder, he squinted with a smirk. A foxlike one Panyin would agree. "And you're... a fox too? No... one of them red birds?"

Panyin looked taken aback by the strange situation, and answered not, walking away to peruse the rest of the church.
 
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