Rarest of the Wild
He ran through the dark forest, hindpaws pumping against the ground. Branches caught at his clothes, and he tore free with a snarl, muscles screaming. His ears flicked back, and he prayed for some clue that the pursuit was dropping off. Instead, the shouts rose, closer than ever. He cursed. He'd hoped the stories about this part of the woods would turn at least a few. Those hunting him yelped again, and he tried to sort through the noise of his own heartbeat and ragged breathing to get an idea of who was following.
Wolves, at least two, a Coyote, Dogs... Blast! That's a Hound for sure. No wonder they tracked me down so fast.
An eerie moaning joined the other howls, and a rapid fire yapping crescendoed.
A Hyena! And Foxes as well. He bared white fangs. My own kind, running with a hunt pack. Hatred of me must run deep, to band such a group together.
A branch slashed across his muzzle, drawing a pained yelp. Behind him, the tonguing of the pack faltered, and hope sparked. When the howls rose again, there were fewer voices, but still, too many. Ears flattened, he lowered his head and ran on, crashing through underbrush too thick to go to all fours. His only comfort was that it would slow down the others as well.
The dense trees thinned, and panting, he stumbled into a clearing. Strength almost gone, he looked about for some kind of shelter. The half moon threw pale light over the land, and the sight of a large outcropping of rock brought a grim smile to the face of the russet half-Fox. He plowed to a halt and whirled, setting his back to the rough stone. He rested and waited, breath fogging in the chill night air.
They burst from the treeline, barking triumphantly when they saw him. Hands pointed and fists were shaken.
"Rrraskter!"
"We have you now, freak!"
"There's the mongrel!"
"Monster!"
Rrraskter winced at the last. It seemed that word had dogged his life, the echo following on every step. The pack skidded to a stop and spread out in a half circle. The only Fox, Terrk, bared his teeth.
"What's the matter, were-spawn, don't like that?"
Rrraskter surveyed the group with grim amusement. All these, just to beat him down? He must have really managed to offend egos the other night in the tavern.
"What's this? A Fox, three Dogs, and a Hyena? Unless my ears have failed me, there should be more of you. Where are the Coyote and Wolves? The rest of the Foxes? Your pet Hound?"
A German Shepherd growled. "Watch your mouth, half-breed. We didn't need the Hound to catch your sort."
Rrraskter lifted a brow. "Meaning she and the rest were smart enough to go home."
A new voice sounded, calm and steady, in stark contrast to the others.
"Easy Ras. You're not helping your case."
The big half-Fox stiffened, ears swiveling to the side as the tall black Wolf stepped into the ring of animal Folk.
"Mic. What are you doing here? How..."
A tired hopelessness infused Rrraskter's voice. Mic had been the closest he'd ever had to a friend. The rangy Wolf was the only one who hadn't harassed and picked on him in his youth, or ignored his existence, even treating him with kindness. He was also, despite the Hyena's bulk, the most dangerous of those before him. Gurgen was strong, but slow and stupid.
The Wolf's blue eyes held understanding, and his reply was not without sympathy. "I ran silent, parallel to your trail. I was going to cut you off if you ran my way."
Rrraskter felt as if he'd been gut-punched. Mic shrugged, and Terrk moved to his side, sharply bringing into focus just how startling the half-Fox was. The size difference among the larger canines was nearly nonexistent, even Gurgen not much taller than the Wolf. But Terrk, like most Foxes, was small, the top of his head on a level with Mic's ribcage.
Thanks to his mixed heritage, however, Rrraskter was even taller than the Hyena, and his fur was more a burnished copper than red. His was the heavier and broader muzzle of a Wolf, the hidden strength of human-tainted lupine blood. In all other respects, he seemed a normal, if huge, red Fox. His white-tipped brush alone was large enough to completely hide Terrk, his black-nailed pawhand dwarfing the one the other Fox shook angrily at him.
"He comes to see justice done!"
Rrraskter sneered. "Justice? Ha! Your jealousy has brought you here, no more!"
The others started muttering.
"...stealer of females..."
"Despoiler."
"Thief."
"Big shot, thinks he can have any woman he wants..."
"Freak."
Rrraskter snorted. In his prime now, and too strong to tackle alone, he was unwillingly left alone by the males of his hometown. His abnormal size and fur color, thanks to his werewolf father, had made him exotic, and the same was not true of the town's female population. He wagered none of these sentiments had been voiced when females were running with the pack.
"We want vengeance! He took Sarn without her permission!"
"She lies!!" It was a wounded cry. Rrraskter's heart jolted. He'd only been running with the lovely Vixen for a little while, but he already cared for her more than he had for any other tryst. He had more often found himself hoping that she would stay with him, even though she'd never shown more than carnal interest. He couldn't imagine why she would say something so terrible… golden eyes narrowed as a thought struck him. "Or does she? Maybe it's just you spinning the tale. You wanted to win her favors as well, didn't you Terrk? Is that it? You just can't stand that she chose me over you!"
Terrk shook with fury and launched himself at Rrraskter. An almost nonchalant backhand sent the smaller Fox flying backwards. Snarling, Terrk picked himself up and drew his knife.
"Get him! Kill the were-spawn!"
"I thought as much," said Mic blandly, sliding into place at Rrraskter's side. He had time enough to flash Mic a grateful smile, and then they focused on those closing in around them. Fur bristled as weapons were thrown aside, disdained and outlawed in this type of combat. Jaws gaped as the pack split, two Dogs advancing on Rrraskter, the Hyena and other Dog closing in on Mic. Terrk shrieked encouragements. Growls and snarls reverberated as teeth clashed. Claws ripped, tearing through cloth, fur, and skin. Barks and howls clogged the air. In the frenzy, Mic and Rrraskter were separated.
Rrraskter punched the Shepherd roughly. Nails scored his pelt from behind, tearing his shirt as the other Dog jumped on his back. He jerked an elbow into the Dog's stomach, hearing a satisfying yelp as the claws loosened and fell away. The Shepherd went down and Rrraskter whirled, giving the other reeling Dog a hard slap. He yelped and jerked backwards, face a jagged tear of scratches. The half-Fox glanced behind him and gave the recovering Shepherd a kick that sent the tan canine to the ground again. Rrraskter chuckled. Only two against him? This wasn't a fight, this was an enjoyable distraction! He glanced over to where Mic was handling his opponents in much the same manner. Suddenly the Wolf straightened, expression twisting into an agonized grimace. He slowly toppled, and Terrk pulled his knife from Mic's back.
"Mic! No!"
But the Wolf was already dead. Terrk, eyes blazing with madness, grinned and advanced. The Hyena and other Dog joined him. Rrraskter, frozen, stared at his friend. No one was supposed to die in these things, only get beaten, defeated, so they knew their place!
"Murderer!"
Rrraskter leaped for Terrk, forgetting the others. They leaped on the half-Fox, who ignored their blows as he tried to strangle Terrk. Their punches and kicks went unregistered as Rrraskter used all his strength to throttle the squirming Fox. Terrk, eyes bulging, desperately used his knife to slash at Rrraskter's arm. Snarling, he was forced to let the smaller Fox go. As the pack rained punishment on him, Rrraskter was overwhelmed. His world faded to a haze of pain and blood.
* * * * * *
He lay on the ground, one eye already swelling shut. Kicks still thudded into his sides, and Rrraskter could only grunt in anguish as each blow landed. When the beating stopped, he almost sobbed in relief. Terrk pulled his rival's head around and fingered his knife.
"Ooh, we're not done yet," he purred, "Gurgen wants a pouch made of your fur, and what better place to cut then where a pouch is practically ready made?"
Terrk smashed the pommel of his knife into Rrraskter's crotch. The semi-conscious half-Fox howled at the excruciating pain, and did his best to curl up in spite of broken ribs. Ugly laughter sounded from his attackers as he tried to hitch away.
A savage bellow like nothing he'd ever heard made Rrraskter crack open his good eye. All he could make out through the blur was a large, dark shape thundering among the canines. Screams of terror became gurgles of death as whatever-it-was plowed through the vigilante pack. Too weary to care whether or not it would come for him, Rrraskter let his eye fall shut.
Silence, the soft thump of steps approaching, then a quiet snorting and the touch of a wide muzzle as the creature scented him. Hands of infinite gentleness turned his head, and his eye fluttered open. Moonlight silvered the outline of a horned figure made of shadow, too indistinct to focus on. Rrraskter's eye closed. Arms slid under and lifted his body, cradling it against a tunic-covered chest. His head flopped against a shoulder and furred neck, and he whimpered as his ribs shifted. A soothing hum by his ears quieted him. Unconsciousness hovered, and he let himself be swallowed by the dark, the faint scent of apples clinging to the soft fur his nose was pillowed against.
* * * * * *
The memory of Mic and the beating woke him, the fear and grief of the nightmare blending into the now. Rrraskter cried out and began struggling when he opened his eyes and could not see. Ignoring the pain that moving brought, his pawhands darted up and began yanking at whatever covered them. He had to see! How could he fight if he couldn't see?! Had they blinded him?
Strong arms eased around his shoulders, firmly pinning them down while a low crooning soothed him. Realizing he was no longer in danger, Rrraskter allowed himself to be lulled to sleep, assured of safety and the knowledge that someone was caring for him.
* * * * * *
Rrraskter wasn't aware of the passage of time, only the burning heat of his body. His sleep was repeatedly interrupted by someone forcing food and water into him, and the blessed relief of being patted down with a wet cloth when the illness made having even the lightest of blankets too much to bear. The infection raged, and he muttered and cried out in dreams populated by Foxes and Wolves made of fire.
* * * * * *
Light brightened against his eyelids, and Rrraskter stirred. He blinked and reached up to prod his injured eye. It was fully healed and no longer bandaged. How long have I been asleep? Where am I? The half-Fox sat up, groaning as his ribs let him know they were still mending. He ran a hand over the clean wrappings that bound his torso and glanced around.
He was propped up on a makeshift bed of hides, naked under a thin blanket. The walls, ceiling and floor were of stone, and he realized he was in a large cave's chamber. To his left and right, immense hide drops hung from the roof to the floor, screening what lay beyond from view. His bed was snugged up to a rock wall, and past the foot, at the far end, was a clay fireplace built over a cooking pit. Tallow lamps were arranged throughout the room, in addition to the fire. It was the flame's dancing light that had woken him. A woodpile rested in one corner, and shelves of pottery and cooking utensils in another. There were also a couple of wooden chairs and stools, and a large table. Sitting quietly at it, dark fur blending into the shadows, was his host.
Rrraskter's fur lifted as his golden eyes widened. Suddenly the half-Fox was pressing back against the pillow as far as he could, ignoring the pain in his ribs, jaw slack in astonishment and fear.
"It can't be, you're impossible! You're not here, you're not real! Oh gods, this isn't happening..."
The minotaur stood up slowly, making no threatening movement. Fear yammered at Rrraskter as he stared. The beast had to be at least eight feet tall, long pale horns thrusting skyward. Short, dark brown fur covered its entire body as far as he could see, and it wore a plain tunic and loincloth. Black hair cascaded about the broad shoulders, a generous forelock spilling around the horns and brow. Large, leaf-shaped ears moved forward as it took a few steps towards the gaping half-Fox. His eyes focused on the massive, bovid hind legs and mammoth black cloven hooves, which looked as if they could deliver a kick powerful enough to shatter bone. A long tail flicked about the bushy fetlocks, hair the same black as that on its head making up the lengthy tassle.
He tore his gaze back to the face, heart thudding in his chest as he recalled all the horror stories he'd ever heard about the unnatural being that stood before him. Was he a prisoner? A slave? A future meal? The weakened canine finally collapsed, his body shutting down as the fear became too great to sustain.
The minotaur grunted and turned away, a disappointed expression on its bovine face.
* * * * * *
Rrraskter sat up, gasping as he jarred his ribs, eyes darting everywhere. He was alone. After a moment, he sighed in relief. A minotaur! Surely just another dream, a nightmare, a hallucination. But the cave was real. So his surroundings had found their way into a dream, what did that matter? Still, he should probably leave, and not impose on whoever's home this was.
The half-Fox threw back the blanket and inspected his wounds. Like his eye, the smaller scratches and bites were fully healed. Only his ribs and the nasty gash on his arm were still bandaged. Satisfied, Rrraskter pulled the blanket up around his waist. A faint odor, getting stronger, made him pause and sniff. Sure enough, a kettle was set over the fire, steam wafting. His stomach growled, and he stood, legs wavering. He was so weak! How long had he lain here, that his legs refused to bear him? Even now, the effort of standing had tired him. His legs folded, dropping him back onto the bed with a yelp. It seemed he would be staying after all. He breathed in again, and caught the smell of carrots and tubers. Vegetable soup? Had he been rescued by a Deer or Horse then?
The hide drop on his right was pushed aside, and Rrraskter stilled as the minotaur came in carrying a load of wood. The beast spared him a reluctant glance and dumped the armful next to the fire. It straightened, and gave its pelt and long mane a shake, the loincloth and light, sleeveless tunic it wore moving with the motion. Rrraskter's jaw gaped as it turned towards him, struck again by just how imposing it was. Taller then the half-Fox, muscular almost beyond belief, well defined sinew and tendons rippled under the dark-pelted hide. The minotaur was built for strength, heavy boned and sturdy.
Waiting until Rrraskter had calmed, watching his as breathing eased and stiff posture relaxed, the half-Fox's… host? captor? slowly moved closer. He watched every step with renewed apprehension, shrinking back as far as he could go. The minotaur halted at the bedside and uttered a low, wordless croon. The half-Fox's pointed ears came forward. He knew that sound! The one who'd saved him had done that.
"You?"
Apparently taking that as permission, the minotaur leaned closer, hands checked the bandages around his ribcage and on his arm, touch light. This close, the nervous half-Fox couldn't help but catch the beast's scent. There was nothing he could recognize to it – if he'd come across it out in the woods he would have been unable to tell what sort of person or animal made it. Deep and warm, bearing a feral taste of the darker wilds, yet touched with a hint of apples, of all things, there was one more element which stunned Rrraskter completely. The minotaur was female! His mind raced, in that way that happens when one is close to panic, and thoughts seize on one thing to try stave off total hysteria. Why hadn't he noticed before? Build? In a way. As powerful as the minotaur was physically, there were other Folk whose women were strongly made and brawny. Yet… a blink. Realization. No breasts. Almost all the female Folk he knew had them, but the minotaur patently did not. Her chest beneath the tunic was flat and muscled, like any male. She still possessed proportionately flared hips, but that was a detail lost to all but a close inspection. As the minotaur bent over him, her long, thick neck swinging down until her muzzle hovered above his sternum, he tensed, unsure of her intentions.
Large, velvet-skinned nostrils flared as she took in his scent, leathery ears flicking with satisfaction as her nose told her the strange Fox was no longer seriously ill. No more did the stench of fever and blood cling to him. Surprise had flooded his scent for a moment, though, and the minotaur was trying to puzzle out what had caused that, in the middle of the cloud of fear he'd been engulfed in. Pondering, she turned and went towards the fire, where the stew that had been prepared simmered.
Rrraskter relaxed a bit as the minotaur moved off, and watched as she ladled some of the soup into a bowl and brought it to him, cloven hooves thumping softly. She held it out just inside his reach, not coming any closer then necessary. He shook his head. The brown eyes blinked, and she took another step, then proffered the bowl once again.
"No thanks."
The confused look on her face was almost comical. She inched closer, and even went so far as to bob her head at the dish and make slurping noises. Her insistence bemused Rrraskter. He was famished, but wary of eating anything his bizarre host would offer. A completely vegetarian diet didn't normally sit well with his stomach. Her behavior was curious. He shook his head again and pushed away the plate. The minotaur squared her jaw and set the bowl down. She repeated the odd motion of sniffing at him, then gave a snort and thrust out the retrieved soup.
"I'm not hungry."
She just stood there, unmoving and mute. Rrraskter's belly took the opportunity to grumble loudly. The triumphant, knowing expression that spread across her heavy features amused him amused him in a nervous way, and he smiled hesitantly, taking the bowl and trying ignore the way his tail wanted to creep between his legs.
"Okay, you were right. How did you know?"
One brown skinned finger tapped her nose.
"You smelled that I was hungry?"
The great head nodded.
Rrraskter raised a brow skeptically. But there was time for that later. He was so ravenous, even the scent of the broth made his mouth water, and he set to work on it. After a few bites, he knew this wasn't soup, but stew! Thick chunks of meat swam among the vegetables, which, seasoned and cooked to softness, went beyond palatable. They were delicious! Rrraskter suddenly couldn't seem to stuff himself fast enough. He looked up at the minotaur.
"This's ver good," he managed to say between mouthfuls. She dipped her horned head and smiled hesitantly. Rrraskter gulped as the grin revealed the reason there was plenty of meat in the stew – fangs more than equal to the task hid behind those bovine lips.
Seeing his discomfort, the minotaur's smile faded, and she turned away. She ladled out another plate of stew, then gathered an odd assortment of glass containers filled with different powders onto a wooden tray. Snatching a gourd of water, she retreated past the hide curtain.
After regaining his composure in the welcome solitude, Rrraskter's ears dipped in an unseen apology as he finished his food at a slower pace. Putting aside the empty bowl, he lay back on the bed which had been provided for him, and thought about all that had occurred. Rational. Think it through, Ras. You've been fed, healed, and given a comfortable place to recover. There has been… some sort of communication, at least. None of this points to being eaten in the future, or chained up as a slave. Benefit of the doubt, Ras. Everyone deserves it. You above all should know that. A deep breath out, and the half-Fox rubbed his nape with a black pawhand, muscles gradually having lost their shiver and simply sore now from the tension. Although he tried to wait, the minotaur still hadn't returned by the time he surrendered to sleep.
* * * * * *
He woke to find food and water resting beside his bed, as well as his clothes, neatly folded and clean. He fingered the blue material, now patched and mended, and slipped the trousers on gratefully, pulling the belt tight. Ribs still too sore, he left the gray shirt for later. He ate and drank, then tried his legs again. They bore his weight unsteadily, so he tried a short walk around the room on all fours. He was nosing around the pottery – all looked to be handmade – when the minotaur came in. She snorted in surprise to see him up and about, and he grinned, pleased to note that he hadn't felt the normal stab of alarm, only a vague uneasiness. See? Thinking circumstances through works wonders.
"I heal fast. Get it from my father."
The fur on one of the minotaur's shoulders rippled in a shrug. Most of his wounds had closed and mended without so much as a scar, and at a speed she hadn't believed possible. She busied herself with the morning's catch, two large fish already gutted and cleaned, spearing the flesh on thin sticks and setting them above the coals to dry. Ears flicking, the minotaur then swabbed everything down with soaproot and water to get rid of the smell, working a stiff bristled brush over the cutting board she'd laid on the table.
"Um, pardon me?"
She scrubbed harder. Waiting a few moments, the half-Fox's pointed ears flickered back and forth uneasily as the silence lengthened. Rrraskter began to approach slowly, noting that as he did, his uneasiness grew. Well… so I'll be in arm's reach. There's nothing at all which has said she'll attack or try and harm me.
There's still some comfort in being out of the range of those clawed fingers and large fangs.
…true.
"Please, won't you at least tell me what's going on? Who are you? Where are we? How long have I been here? What happened to Mic and the others?"
The minotaur sighed and paused in her cleaning. Heavy, bovine features looked down at Rrraskter, his furred brow pinched in worry and a bit of fear, regardless of the boldness of his voice. The half-Fox took a deep breath.
"Okay, let's start with names. I'm Rrraskter. Rrraskter." He pointed to his chest with a black pawhand, repeating his name. The minotaur nodded her understanding.
"Good. Now who are you? I know you're not a mute, you can make noises. Come on, say something." He moved his hand to point at her chest. Warm brown eyes regarded him for a moment, debating. She grunted her name out, voice rough.
"Aniakac."
* * * * * *
Rrraskter growled. He'd been able to get no more from the minotaur, and when he'd persisted in his questions she'd set him to work washing, peeling, and cutting roots. It had taken him all day, and worn his pale strength out. He fell into his bed after dinner, and endured her poking and prodding as she changed the bandage on his arm and tightened the rib-bindings. Aniakac had left him alone after that, apparently for the rest of the night, taking her little glass jars with her. But, weary as he was, his mind wouldn't let him rest, questions needling him. He stared at the dancing shadows the fire threw on the wall.
Sometime later, he became aware of the singing. Wordless, yet clear, the notes flowed through the air, neither loud or coarse. The tones rose and fell in a sweet, lonesome tune, and before he knew it, Rrraskter was nosing past the left drape and following the sound. He passed from the main chamber deeper into a network of tunnels. They were lit by evenly spaced glowing spheres the size of his hand, set into the stone walls. They radiated a pleasant white light, illuminating the corridors. Magic...
He followed the voice to a branching of tunnels, down a corridor then through another. He found the minotaur seated on a bench in the center of a very long, surprisingly straight cavern. She was singing as she worked, mixing the powder of various pollens, minerals, and ground plant matter with water. Using her fingers as well as a variety of brushes, she painted the smooth rock wall of the cavern. From the entrance where he stood, unnoticed, up to the place where she sat, working, the wall was covered in paintings. The entrance was bordered with designs and markings that he assumed were writing, and after that, were a series of paintings near-realistic in quality, but containing some heavily stylized elements. It depicted two minotaurs, one with silver hair and a crooked horn, facing and holding the hands of another minotaur, this one dark-hued and with horns just as long as the other. To his eye, neither seemed female. Yet, here was an answer to one of his questions, for the next scene showed the one with the crooked horn bearing a heavily rounded belly, and breasts, obviously pregnant, the dark minotaur, whom Rrraskter assumed was male, looking lovingly down on the first, his hands resting on her shoulders. The next few pictures coating the rock wall went in stages, with a detailed picture of a baby minotaur he assumed to be Aniakac from the coloring, then various scenes from early childhood, the initial few showing the pale-coated female, but with a feminine chest that grew less pronounced in each rendering. Only when nursing a child then, or about to have one? No wonder in all the stories and horrific tales about minotaurs, only males were talked about. No one would have known differently.
More of the strange lettering was present here and there, as much an added aesthetic as the paintings themselves, a visually beautiful language. The last portrait done in the style they'd begun with showed the female placing a brush in the leggy child's hand, and guiding the beginning of a painted line. The passing of the torch, as it were? It must have been, for the style and skill level altered radically after that. They started out crude and depicted things of juvenile importance, then seemed to slowly gain detail and definition the further in they went, neatly showing the development of Aniakac's skill even as the pictures depicted showed her maturation on a mental level, the events and things that had befallen and affected her no longer so trivial or vague. It was a record of Aniakac's life. A visual diary of sorts.
Rrraskter had to clamp his jaw shut on a whine. He shouldn't be here uninvited, and he had already seen too much. Though so far, the minotaur had been nothing but benevolent-seeming, who knew what she would do if she found him in what was obviously a very personal, private place. A shiver ran along his tail at the thought of those sharp fangs, the heavy jaw. As the minotaur wiped her fingers on a piece of old skin, completely engrossed in her task, the half-Fox crept unseen back to his bed.
* * * * * *
Rrraskter fidgeted. He'd never been good at staying put, and despite his weakened state and injuries, he was near insane with boredom. He stared at the minotaur, who was using a pestle to grind soft stones and roots for her paints.
"Look, I know you don't really understand me, but I'm going to talk anyway. I hope you don't mind."
Aniakac looked up, ears pricked. Rrraskter blinked, and fretted some more. "Well, I guess I'll tell you about where I live. You've seen the lights from town right? It's called Liir-Fen. It's big now, used to be a little village. My mother was from there. My place is outside the boundaries. Nice, quiet. Gets a bit lonely sometimes though."
Aniakac started crushing the minerals again, but her ears stayed forward to catch every word. She'd glance up and watch his face as he spoke. His eyes glazed and his tone changed, softened, grew wistful. "I don't think Sarn had anything to do with it. I mean, sure, she likes to play coy. She's a Vixen. She has to look out for herself. She's so pretty, red fur like you wouldn't believe."
He brushed a hand over his own copper pelt self-consciously. Aniakac cocked her head to the side and put down her tools.
"I'd seen her around all the time, since I was a kit, but we'd never really talked. I was actually surprised when she approached me. She's going to travel, see the world. It was just a bit of fun for both of us. She doesn't need the trouble companioning with a half-breed will bring on the road. A lot of the males didn't like that I was running with her. But they never do, no matter who it is I run trail with. I haven't had a pack come after me like that before though. I wonder what the story is back home. Probably think I'm dead. Soon as I'm better, I'll go surprise Sarn. She'll be glad to see me, at least."
Rrraskter rambled on, and wordless, Aniakac sat, just listening to his voice. The dark-furred minotaur sighed, barrel chest rising and falling with a gentle motion. It had been long and long since speech of any kind had sounded in her home. The minotaur's heavy head rested on a fist, leathery ears perked to absorb it all. After a while, Rrraskter noticed her attention. He chuckled softly. "Well, I'll give you this Aniakac. You'd make a good friend. You're a great listener, and you never interrupt. Guess I don't have to worry about what you'll think of me either. We're both monsters."
His jaw dropped when the minotaur flinched. "You understood that!"
Her brown eyes reproached him. The half-Fox's ears waved gently. "I suppose you would know that one. But it's just pelt deep."
* * * * * *
She'd finally allowed him to move about, even letting him help with meal preparation and try his paw at sculpting pottery. He'd made a hopeless mess and drawn a smile from the silent minotaur. Rrraskter really felt much stronger, and planned on going outside soon. He got a drink from the supply of gourds in which the minotaur kept water.
"Rrraskter."
His ears flicked in surprise. Aniakac repeated his name and motioned for him to follow her. She handed him a hunk of bread, which he tore into as he walked. Cloven hooves rasping softly against the stone, she led him to the cavern he'd seen her in over a week ago. Instinctively, he paused at the entrance, not going inside. The minotaur turned to look back at the half-Fox curiously, lifted a hand to beckon him further into the tunnel, and pointed at a section of wall.
"Rrraskter."
Her tone told him that there was something for him here. He went closer, able to see her work clearly. The story was there in pictures, scrolling down the wall until it reached a point just above his knee, then jumping up to Aniakac's eye level. There was the clearing, with him and the others. Two tiny, winged shapes hovered above, below the white half moon. Over each subsequent scene hovered a single winged form. Directly beneath it, the clearing was again rendered, the figures rearranged to show Mic beside the painted Rrraskter. Beneath that was a depiction of Terrk's killing of Mic, and of the beating. The next panel, up high, showed what was undoubtedly Aniakac's outline, eyes colored a fierce red, attacking the pack. Then one of her carrying him away, the shapes of the others done all in black.
"They're dead?" he husked, looking at her. She canted her head to the side uncomprehendingly. He pointed to the darkened figures. "Dead. Killed. Does this mean death?"
She tapped the black form and drew her hand down over her muzzle, briefly closing her eyes and shaking her head slowly.
He understood. They were gone, and it was likely she had killed them. He turned back to the wall with a shudder, pushing the thought away. It didn't fit with the gentle person he was getting to know.
The next one showed him in a bed, flames rising from his body, a dark grey shadow-fox shape hovering to the side. The Aniakac figure stood between the two. Seven yellow suns and six black lines hovered over the flame wracked half-Fox. Rrraskter muttered quietly, "Yes, I remember now. I was sick, with a fever. For a whole week?"
The next was a picture of his awakening, eyes wide. A halo of white shaded into pale blue surrounded him. He pointed again. "What's this?"
Aniakac pantomimed sudden fright, eyes widening as leathery ears and fanged jaw dropped together, hands lifted to show their furred palms.
"I see. A color code to show emotions. Clever."
A rendering of when they had exchanged names was the last and newest scene. His portrait faced hers, strange symbols floating in the air before their mouths. The Rrraskter figure was outlined in goldenrod yellow flecked with orange, fading into a swirling of grey and white. The painted minotaur was limned by a soft ivory, which shaded into deep blue curled by black.
Rrraskter knew what he'd felt – curiosity and a burning desire to know, then frustration when she had proven to be uncooperative. To his eyes, Aniakac had appeared impassive, as she mostly did, her heavy features not particularly mobile or expressive to his eyes, though he was learning to decipher her stances and body language, as well as pick up some of the more subtle cues her face did convey. He indicated the colors ringing the minotaur shape, looking askance. Aniakac flicked her ears, gazing at him apologetically. She shrugged and touched a finger to her lips, head shaking.
"You don't have the words, and you can't show me. Too complex I suppose. I know. Some feelings are like that. How about these? I'll wager they're our names."
Rrraskter motioned to the odd script. His guess was confirmed when the minotaur pointed to the one by his figure, then the other.
"Rrraskter. Aniakac."
The half-Fox nodded absently, taking a few moments to admire the skill the paintings displayed. Even though done on a small scale, the pictures had amazing detail, showing gradations in fur color, light, and distance, as well as faithfully rendering the objects and people depicted.
"Rrraskter."
The tone clearly indicated it was time to leave. He chuckled. Strange how one word can hold so many meanings. He turned and trailed out after Aniakac.
* * * * * *
The minotaur gathered woven cloth towels, tassled tail flicking up in a "follow me" gesture as she trotted down the widest corridor. Bemused, Rrraskter obeyed, hurrying to catch up. The long tail swayed from side to side as her hooves made a steady tok, tok, against the stone floor. After a minute or so at that pace, Rrraskter looked up, startled, as sunlight fell all around, and he set paw to level ground blanketed by grass. Blue sky and clouds stretched away overhead, as the sides of the crater sloped sharply upward. The half-Fox stumbled after Aniakac, absorbed in the rare haven he found himself in. An ancient volcano, long extinct and sunk into the earth, weathered away until only this small rim survived, the place was nearly isolated. The only other entrance was a break in the west wall. The crater hosted a small lake, which with the help of wind-born soil piled deep over the years, allowed vegetation to thrive. Old oak trees ringed the lake, and beyond them a small orchard of fruit trees, obviously well tended. A snort from Aniakac started Rrraskter moving again, and she led him down to the clear blue water of the lake. She made him sit on a smooth, flat rock slab at the water's edge while she undid his bandages and surveyed his wounds. The cut on his arm had closed, new fur stubble sprouting already. She watched while he stretched and kneaded his midsection, finally able to give the area a good massage. Only a little tenderness remained, and he could move freely. Rrraskter indulged in a nice long scratch, sighing in delight. Gods, but that felt good!
Aniakac swung her head over and gave an exaggerated sniff. Eyes alight, she wrinkled her muzzle in an expression of disgust, as if she had scented something foul.
"What are you – no, don't! Aghhh!"
Grinning broadly, the minotaur pushed Rrraskter into the water. He sputtered as he came up, coughing, and glared at Aniakac. One look at the half-Fox, his fur plastered to his body, ears sideways and dripping, and she was down, shaking with laughter, sounding like a cross between a snorting bull and a thunderstorm. The noise was so improbable, so odd, that Rrraskter started chuckling too. This sent the minotaur into another gale of mirth. Keeping his smile wide, Rrraskter kicked towards her.
"Ha ha ha, that's right, keep laughing. Roll around some more. Look at the funny foxy."
Rrraskter inched closer while Aniakac, still chortling, turned away to get up. Her long, graceful tail swung out behind her, and Rrraskter moved fast, bracing himself against the rock and grabbing for the thick of it, hauling for all he was worth. The minotaur's laughter turned to an exclamation of surprise, and Rrraskter had to move quickly to avoid being fallen on as she tumbled in with a monumental splash. The minotaur thrashed upright, snorting profusely. Rrraskter hooted with laughter. Her hair was flattened down over her eyes, raining sheets of water. Muzzle protruding, she turned around blindly, then started pawing at her hair, muttering in wordless tones. When Aniakac finally parted the drenched black tresses to look at Rrraskter, she simply grinned again, all her fangs showcased. He almost went underwater from laughing.
Slicking her hair back, Aniakac shrugged. She hadn't been planning on a bath until later, but she might as well go swimming now. Diving underwater, powerful strokes brought the minotaur to mid-lake before she felt the need to return to the surface for a breath. Underwater was her favorite method of swimming, and she chased her tail around submerged rocks and water plants. The horned head angled down and nostrils opened from their tight clamp to snort bubbles, letting them tickle her sides and string like pearls along the long, trailing strands of black mane before escaping.
Rrraskter paddled around, occasionally poking his head under the surface to watch the minotaur's antics. When Aniakac began repeatedly diving in one spot, staying down for what seemed to him very long periods of time, he began to wonder. He hopped out of the water and ran along the shore until he came to a rock shelf, just above where she was hovering in the deep water, her outline rippling with the water's distorting effect. The faint glint of something shiny caught his eye, but he couldn't make it out. He watched a few more times, then on the minotaur's next pass for air, called to her.
"Aniakac! What's down there?"
She perked her ears. He was curious again. Aniakac's liquid brown eyes regarded the copper-pelted canid measuringly, water dribbling from her furred jaw as water was treaded. The minotaur could show him the figurine – it was safe enough from any attempt to retrieve it by him that might be made. Nor would he be aware of the significance or history. And… this was a chance to take. Something demanded it, though. Rrraskter, he wasn't like the Others in the stories. Was he? She didn't think so, and this would prove it. Decision made, Aniakac turned, offering her wide back. With signs, she told him to hang on, and tap a shoulder when he needed to come up for air. Rrraskter slid into the water, gingerly anchoring his hands in the fabric of her sodden tunic. He took a deep breath, and she dove, pulling him under. They moved faster then he could believe, and deeper than he'd thought. The clarity of the water had fooled him, and he knew he'd never have gotten to this depth without the minotaur's help. He could feel the muscles of her arms and legs heaving, flowing beneath his hands as she pulled them deeper. The glitter became a shine and Rrraskter's eyes widened as he saw what had held Aniakac to this spot. Resting in a stone niche was a silver dragon statue as big as his arm. Exquisitely detailed, down to the last scale and tooth, it was highlighted by emerald eyes and gem-studded wings. Aniakac anchored her fingers and hooves under a slab boulder, content to watch the way the diffused light from above made the statue seem to move, and wait for her passenger to say when to return. Rrraskter loosed his hold and pulled himself along the rock ledge to get a view from another angle. His shoulder bumped something and he tore his eyes away to see what.
A giant maw gaped wide, teeth bared and ready to suck him in. Rrraskter screamed, the oxygen rushing out of his lungs. Too late, he realized the mouth gaping before him was a stone image, one of many carved into the rocks about the statue. The canid snapped his jaw down on the last bit of air, struggling for the surface even as the faint sound of his garbled voice carried through the water to Aniakac.
The minotaur took in the cloud of rising bubbles and surged off her perch, swimming hard. Rrraskter flailed, arms and sodden brush rudding the half-Fox upwards. His werewolf-inherited healing and strength wouldn't help him if he drowned. Desperate, lungs bursting, the surface was still too far away! His sight began to grey out at the edges, his strokes become erratic, mind sluggish. Hands seized him, groping for his head. He fought, heart pounding fiercely. He had to reach the surface! He had to breathe! Rrraskter's claws found a mark, dragging through fur and flesh. Then the powerful fingers gripped his face and lips met his under the water.
Aniakac winced as the half-Fox's claws gashed her cheek, and pressed her broad muzzle to Rrraskter's, passing him some of her own air. He stopped struggling and instead latched on, holding tight. She didn't stop swimming, although hampered as she was, it was slow going. He was still panicking, refusing to release her and swim on his own. She dragged both the half-Fox and herself upwards while she kept her mouth against his, answering his demands for air as they came. Finally, they broke the surface, and two muzzles lifted beseechingly towards the sky, gasping.
The minotaur hauled Rrraskter out and set him on the grass, fetching the towels and wrapping him firmly, rubbing briskly at his fur. She wrapped him in her dry one when his own was wet through, and set him down in the warm sun. Fangs chewed at a lower lip as the warrior stepped back, looking at him. Her fault. He'd been healing well, and then this. She should have warned him somehow. It was foolish to test him so, when he didn't even know about what he might be seeing.
Rrraskter made no move or comment, just stared at the lake. Aniakac moved away to give him some peace and wrung as much water from the towel as she could, then began to roughly scour her own fur. The minotaur grimaced as her cut cheek was abraded, but ignored the discomfort and slung the towel over her shoulder. The hot sun also helped, and after three hands of minutes, she was mostly dry, only her hair still damp, stringy as reed moss. Ears lowered guiltily, the minotaur carried the preoccupied half-Fox back inside.
Rrraskter watched the heavily boned head as it bobbed slightly with each step above him. As the sunlight gave way to illuminated tunnels, the half-Fox stitched his wits gradually back together, and tried to shake off the scare. It had been an accident, nothing more. He was still alive, and just fine, if a little cold from the shock. His gaze focused on the minotaur's snout. The fur grew finer and shorter around her muzzle, until it finally disappeared, leaving only the dry, velvet skin of her nose. It was a lighter, rosier brown then her pelt, incredibly mobile and soft. What an ingenious idea, sharing breath! It made perfect sense. Her actions had saved him from drowning, and Rrraskter knew he never would have conceived of it.
While his mind sorted itself out, Aniakac wrapped Rrraskter in skins and blankets, then laid him on his bed, close to the fire. She piled the wood high to get a warming blaze in the hearth, and sat at the table in a silence that was now worried, to await Rrraskter's awakening from his thoughts.
* * * * * *
Aniakac roused with a start, rubbing the bleariness from her eyes with calloused, claw-tipped fingers. The half-Fox stood before the fireplace, feeding wood to the burned down embers. Groaning, the minotaur stood and stretched, muscles stiff from sleeping at the table. Rolling a shoulder, she glanced at Rrraskter, fully clad in his trousers and shirt. He was healthy, fit once more. Aniakac shook her head, still amazed by how quickly he'd recovered. Wounds that should have taken a moon and a half to close had mended in less than three hands of days.
The minotaur pushed aside the drop leading to the wooden portion of her home and the outside, grabbing a hairbrush from the room that served as her lair. Taking a deep breath of the crisp air, she walked down to the treeline and surveyed her home. The cave was an old lava tube that opened at the top of a small knoll. To keep out wind and rain, she'd cut trees into logs and built a wooden cabin-like front over the cave mouth. The wide doorway was covered by another thick hide curtain, which hung open most of the day. The roof was topped with a layer of sod, thick with grass, that flowed directly into the layer of earth sheltering the portion of cave that extended out from the rising crater wall. The hill was obviously kept meticulously clear of the encroaching forest, a nearly perfect half circle marking the edge between grass and wood. With an almost ritual deliberation, the minotaur inspected the borders, noting it would soon be time to trim the branches and pull out small bushes that had started growing. One hand drummed the brush restlessly against a furred thigh. She felt like running, like lowering her head and charging, like kicking. She wanted to... what? Aniakac's shoulders fell. She wanted him to stay. In all the time she'd been alive, she'd never had a friend. It was something she had missed, not even knowing what it was. Someone to pass a day with, to share a meal. To talk to her. The silent minotaur loved the sound of his voice, taking up the empty spaces left by the absence of others of her kind. Rrraskter was good company, once he'd gotten past his fear, but he would going back to his own place soon, with the rest of the Others, as tradition and history demanded. The minotaur shook her head vigorously. Too much, too many new feelings. It would be better when he left. She would survive. She always had.
Aniakac moved past the trees to one that had fallen years ago, when she was a youngling. Sitting down on the thick log, tail-tip in hand, the minotaur attacked the tangled mass of rough hair with the brush, pulling out tangles and knots. Under the determined assault, the long tuft was smooth and straight in relatively short order. Flicking her tail away and starting in on the lengthy mane which when loose, fell down between powerful shoulderblades all the way to her lower back. A deep-toned, wordless murmuring in dismay was voiced beneath breath as it proved even more chaotic than the tassle. Her tail was much easier to comb, the coarser hair being tougher and less sensitive. A yelp sounded as one particularly nasty snarl finally pulled loose, then a low growl at her own foolishness. It was what happened when she didn't brush it out right after swimming, and long known. Leathery ears flicked back as she heard Rrraskter on the trail. His first time out of the cave. He was probably just taking a look around. She ignored it when he stopped behind her.
Then he laid his hand on her shoulder.
Rrraskter was shocked when his simple touch caused Aniakac to start violently, jerking around to face him with wide eyes, nostrils flaring. He backed off a pace, uncertain. "What? What is it?"
He scrutinized her closely. It wasn't that she was afraid, he'd seen her ears turn to pick up his approach – yet, she was radiating bone-deep amazement. Why? He had only tapped her. He watched curiously as Aniakac reached out and gingerly placed a clawed finger lightly against the same place on his shoulder. She was shaking! He caught the hand with his own, squeezing reassuringly. "Aniakac, it's all right. What's wrong?"
The minotaur's gaze was riveted on his hand. He reached up with the other and turned her face to look at him. She flinched away at first, then let him turn her head. Her brown eyes swirled with emotion.
Nobody had ever touched her. That was it, Rrraskter realized. She'd been living here alone for the gods knew how long, with no one around. She had been denied the most basic physical contact, and anyone she'd run across would undoubtedly have run away, fought her if she came near. In fact, with him, she'd only initiated contact to check his wounds, or when absolutely necessary. And even I never reached out before this. How long had it been since there was someone to hug her, to touch her in friendship or affection, to comfort, ease pain, or share joy?
A sound of pure hurt wrung from Aniakac, and she tried to pull away, eyes closing, shuttering out the world. Rrraskter trapped her heavy-boned face in both paws.
"Shhh. It's fine, Aniakac. It's all right."
The minotaur had survived many hard seasons, many battles, buried her kin and built a home. She had once overcome a large dragon to win peace for her territory, guarding her lands with a fierce strength that sometimes frightened even her, and yet she could not escape the warm prison of Rrraskter's hands. His fingers held her there as surely as if she'd been stone.
Rrraskter ran his pawhands over Aniakac's face, along the wide lines of her muzzle and jaw, rubbing her broad forehead and stroking her cheek. He let his pads glide along the slick length of horns as her heavy head lowered, tears leaking reluctantly from burnished eyes. He wrapped his arms around the minotaur's shoulders in a hug, whispering comforting words, and let her sag against his side. Aniakac pressed her large muzzle against his chest, sobs wracking her frame. He held her tight.
How long she poured her soul out, she didn't know, but when the tears slowed, she pushed upright. Rrraskter let her go, and the minotaur turned away, curling up into a ball of shame on the ground, her back to him. The half-Fox spotted the brush, lying forgotten, and picked it up. He knelt beside Aniakac and began finishing the job she'd started – slowly, rhythmically brushing her hair.
* * * * * *
She lay on her side, feeling the gentle pressure of the brush. Anger and misery gnawed at her. It was dishonorable. Weeping like a hornless calf. Yet, it was done, and it had been a relief to have someone, a friend, to say they understood. Even if he hadn't. The brushstrokes continued. Not since she was young had anyone done that. Flashes of memory – golden sun on pristine fur, eyes bluer than the sky, and silver hair. Her mother had been beautiful. She'd sung when combing the growing black crest of her daughter's hair.
Rrraskter was silent, knowing his presence was enough. Aniakac was motionless, eyes staring into the shadows. What she was seeing, he couldn't guess. His own experience with loneliness paled beside what the minotaur must have lived with. He continued his self-appointed task, even though her long black hair was already velvety and gleaming. A tone, a deep, fragile thrum, began in Aniakac's chest. Like a rusty lantern long unused, the rolling vibration sputtered a few times before settling into a contented reverberating sound.
A… a purr? There was no doubt that what the minotaur was doing was similar, but it was harsher, more growling then any Cat's. Still, her… rumblepurr? …wasn't unpleasant. Rrraskter leaned over her, fingertips patting lightly at mahogany fur.
"Aniakac, come on. You should get up now. Get something to eat? Maybe some water? That usually helps."
The rumblepurr stuttered and ceased, and Aniakac blinked. He was right. She couldn't lay here on the forest floor all day. She rolled to her hooves, shaking loam from her pelt. The half-Fox turned and started up the trail, beckoning for her to follow. She took a step after him and stopped, confused. All her instincts were suddenly telling her to run, run the other way. Here was pain, a threat to her survival. She had to go, now. And another part of her urged to proceed, saying that here was life, and mere survival was no longer enough.
Rrraskter turned back to where the minotaur was stalled on the path. "Aren't you coming?"
Her brow furrowed, and she started to turn away. That's when he got a good look at her left cheek and the four parallel scratches, still raw and untreated. He grabbed her arm.
"Wait. What's this?" Rrraskter reached up and gripped her chin with a black nailed pawhand. He took in the dried blood and raised welts and frowned. There was some dirt in the wound now from when she'd been on the ground. Aniakac stood, helpless. "We've got to clean that up. Let's go."
He took her hand and towed her along the trail back to the cave. Powerless against his touch, she followed.
* * * * * *
Rrraskter set the bowl of water on the rough hewn table and wrung out the washcloth. Aniakac was seated on the bench, watching. She winced as he bathed the scrapes, but held still as he swabbed away dried blood and soil. He carefully patted the injury dry. Fingers ghosted over the scratches, touching her skin lightly.
"I remember giving you these. I'm sorry, Aniakac."
Standing, he was taller, and he tipped her face up to get a better look. His muzzle dipped closer of its own volition as his gaze fastened on hers. The liquid brown regard was clear and slightly confused, and Rrraskter found himself drawn close, until he gently kissed her.
Her eyes drifted shut as instincts unknown and long dormant surged to the fore. Not until they broke apart did her control return like a rush of cold streamwater. Aniakac's eyes snapped open. Rrraskter stumbled backwards, equally astonished by his actions. He opened his mouth to stutter an apology, only to gawk when Aniakac lunged away, moving shockingly fast. She hit the floor and rolled, body coiling, hooves gaining purchase and propelling her out of the room in one smooth motion, surprising for a creature confined to two-legged travel. The sight of the powerfully built minotaur running from him would have made Rrraskter laugh under other circumstances. The absurdity of it!
The clatter of hoof against stone had faded, even the thump of her stride on earth no longer audible before his muscles unfroze. Rrraskter collapsed against the wooden bench and shook his head, trying to put some order to his feelings. When they proved too elusive and prickly, he growled at himself and leaped up, rubbing the back of his neck.
"I need to take a walk."
The copper furred half-Fox loped out of the cave and set off into the woods. Thoughts twisted round each other like a winter-nest of snakes – too tangled to unravel, a wall of different emotions. Rrraskter kicked at pebbles, followed some promising game trails without hunting, and laid in the sun, staring at the blue sky. He wandered for the better part of the day, and only when his forepaws hit smooth, open trail did he stop worrying the puzzle of his motivations and really look at his surroundings.
He blinked, surprised. This was Trail's End, which the inhabitants of Liir-Fen rarely set foot near, for according to the histories, to go on was to risk being lost. It was the marker, the beginning of no-creature's-land. The open lane halted at his feet, thick blackberry bushes rolling away to his left making one formidable barrier, the sudden closing in of dark trees and brush the other sign of the boundary. A few more steps and he'd be well on his way home.
A black pawhand lifted, then froze as images warred in his head. What did he really have to go back for? A den on the fringes of town, silent and empty? Aniakac's home was quiet too, but that silence was alive, warm. The people? Other Folk, like him? He was tolerated, little more, good enough to satisfy passing curiosity and make other males jealous. When he spoke, no one listened, unless it was a jibe in the tavern. Oh yes, he was a great entertainer there, answering the swaggering of other Folk and livening the evening with a good scuffle, beating the sense back into the aggressive drunks and the superiority out of the bigots. They were often the same. Rrraskter sighed. But try and speak a word of seriousness, a hint of deep thought, and he might as well be howling to the wind. Aniakac didn't ignore him. He could rattle on for hours about nothing at all, or his gravest musings, and the minotaur listened intently. It was easy to talk to her. Who knew how much she actually understood, but she tried. He didn't have to prove anything to her. But out here… out here was his home. He'd been born in Liir-Fen, his mother had lived there since she was a kit herself. He had his claws sunk deep in the earth-heart of the town. His existence hadn't been a bad one, really. He got by, and had some good times in between. Trail's End was the minotaur's land, her being and past connected to every tree and stone. Yet... those from Liir-Fen had nearly taken his life. Aniakac had given it back to him.
Rrraskter quietly turned his back on the path and loped for the caves.
* * * * * *
Aniakac ran wild through her territory, hind legs pumping as her breath gusted from flared nostrils. Overhanging tree branches cracked against pale horns, and she tossed her head, black mane flying, breaking the thin limbs with the force of her passing. Finally she reached the open plain, a slightly rolling grassland where the forest didn't encroach, leading gradually to tall rock cliffs. Aniakac stretched her legs, galloping all out until she reached her border, the edge of a large, still pool of water beneath a stone outcrop. Her hooves sent rock scree flying as she plunged to a halt, snorting continuously as she paced, tail lashing with nervous energy. Finally, the minotaur dropped to her hands and knees and drank. She raised her head, tongue flicking out to catch the water that trickled from her muzzle. Her heart beat in her chest, faster than it should for such a smooth run. Aniakac shook herself and sat up, looking intently at her reflection. The image gained definition as the water's shivering ceased, and the minotaur leaned closer, frowning.
She inspected the creature she saw there, turning this way and that. It was the same face she'd always seen – the same straight, wide nose, the same heavy jaw. The same thick neck, smooth black mane, same long, reaching horns. The mahogany fur, sharp white teeth, large curved ears, nothing was different. The same light brown eyes still gazed back at her. She hadn't changed at all. She was still a monster.
Her brow creased. Aniakac knew what she was to Them, to the Others. Enough had told her so, over the years. Her lips moved, making their shapes. Monster. Beast. Animal. Brute. Freak. Demonspawn. Abom-i-na-tion. She knew what they meant when they said those words. She knew what they saw when they looked on her.
She shook her head, leathery ears flapping. She must have misunderstood. Aniakac knew little of Other customs beyond what had been passed to her by her father. What was to her kind a sign of … affection… was surely not the same among them. Like before, Rrraskter must have been trying to make her feel better. Comforting a friend.
Aniakac snorted. Which meant she had made a fool of herself by overreacting. Her tail whipped against ground and air. What could she do to smooth things over? Her ears perked. Rrraskter had said he liked the stew. She would go hunting, bring back some fresh meat.
Satisfied that she'd worked the problem through, Aniakac trotted back the way she'd come.
* * * * * *
Rrraskter padded in, sniffing appreciatively. Aniakac looked up and nodded in greeting, tail-tip curling up with anxiousness. She moved away, relaxing a bit as the half-Fox smiled. It seemed he was willing to overlook her blunder.
"Smells good." He sniffed again, ears swiveling forward. "Turkey! Where did you get a turkey? They're hunted out for miles!"
He laughed as the minotaur's expression altered to one of pleased smugness, lids dropping a fraction over brown eyes and ears angling sideways just a hint. Smiling without a hint of fangs showing, the minotaur made a gesture encompassing a large area, then tapped her chest and held up a finger.
"I get it. Only one of you and lots of land to stalk in. Yes, that would make hunting easier. Gods know, Liir-Fen is getting so large that you have to raise chickens now, and the human traders charge plenty for them." He crouched before the fireplace, eyeing the butchered fowl as it cooked. "What did you do with the feathers?"
Aniakac tilted her head uncomprehendingly.
"The feathers? What birds have instead of fur?"
Her eyes lit, and he watched in surprise as she silently mouthed the word 'feathers' as if memorizing the feel. She disappeared for a moment, then returned with a woven basket filled with brown turkey plumes. The minotaur watched as he picked through them, setting aside those that would make good fletching. A quizzical noise brought his attention back to Aniakac. She touched one feather and repeated the questioning sound.
"I want to use them for the arrows I make," He mimed drawing a bow. "I'm an archer. It was my family's trade for a long time, but the weaponsmith started selling archery supplies from Mogontuf more cheaply than I could make them. I still craft my own though."
Rrraskter talked at length about how to make a good arrow, what kinds of fletching were best, how to cut and set the feathers, and everything else he could think of. The half-Fox was unusually animated, his lupine-cast features brightening as he expounded upon the one skill he felt proud of.
At last the meal was done cooking. They ate, Rrraskter savoring the rare treat. Belly full, he gnawed a drumstick knob, ears shifting meditatively as he gazed at the minotaur. She had stripped the meat from her portion, heavy jaws even grinding some of the softer bone into swallowable pieces. She appeared to be pretending the kiss had never happened. Maybe, if she wasn't angry…
"Aniakac, there's something I have to ask you."
She paused, ears flipping forward.
"Would you mind if I remained in your territory? I could live in one of those other caves, or even out in the crater. It's just… the Folk in Liir-Fen, and Mic and all, and they did try to… Arrr! They wouldn't exactly welcome me back. So is it all right with you if I pad around for a while, even if I'm healthy now?"
Brown eyes blinked. Stay? He wanted to be here, around her? Aniakac couldn't help smiling, white fangs gleaming broadly, and nodded. She would still have his company, for a little longer at least!
"Where should I go?"
She shrugged, throwing an arm out carelessly. Wherever! Anyplace was fine. He was staying!
* * * * * *
The gray rain poured steadily down, much as it had for the past three days, and Rrraskter stared at the fire with growing frustration. The half-Fox sat brooding on his bed of grass and pelts, arms crossed and slouching against the wall. His lips were pulled tight, showing the tips of his fangs as his ears flicked.
The rasp of hooves made the fur on his nape lift. When Aniakac pulled back the hide curtain and clopped in, Rrraskter growled irritably. The minotaur was sopping wet, streaming water and spattered liberally with mud. Every morning since his full recovery, she'd gone out before he was awake and not returned until close to midday. Then, at twilight, she went out again and didn't come back until well after dark. She was late this time, more than half the day over and she'd been out since before dawn. She seemed to have no idea that the sane thing to do was stay inside, out of the inclement weather. Even now, despite the suggestions he'd made, all the minotaur did before coming into the living area was scrape the clinging muck from her cloven hooves. She came over, prepared to bid the half-Fox a good day, when he scrambled up, black nose twitching.
"Gods! What do you do out there, roll in the mud? Never mind the hello, getting close only makes the stink worse. Where do you go? And you with your fine sense of smell, how can you stand that? Sarn always makes sure she's presentable."
Immediately, the minotaur stiffened and halted, leathery ears flattening. She turned on a heel and went on past the second hide drop and towards her Life Cave. Aniakac's own teeth were bared as she made her way down a different set of connecting tunnels to the hotspring.
A rumbling growl echoed from the minotaur's throat. As if she ever went anywhere other than straight to the spring to clean up after patrols! If honor didn't demand acknowledging the presence of one considered shoulder-friend, even before she saw to her own comfort, she'd skip the greeting as well. Sarn indeed! Aniakac was by now heartily sick of that name. For three days, Rrraskter had been comparing her with this Sarn. Evidently the female Fox never got wet, dirty, or worked up an honest sweat.
The minotaur grunted derisively as she reached the vaulted chamber which housed the bubbling hotspring. The temperature was a great deal higher despite the long vents carved into the ceiling, and the slowly circulating air had a definite mineral scent. Favoring one arm, the minotaur stripped off her drenched clothing and eased into the heated water. Settling on a rock shelf, she leaned back and let the gentle current caress her sore muscles. Idly, she wondered if the spring had always been here, or if the ancient shaman of her tribe had fashioned it as well. Submerging her head and neck, Aniakac decided she didn't care, she was just glad it existed.
Sighing, the minotaur surfaced, reaching for a bar of the cleanfoam she rendered from soaproot and a portion of the apple crop. As the cycling flow carried mud and shed fur away, replacing dirty water with clean, the minotaur decided she wasn't going on her evening rounds. Normally, she rather enjoyed her patrol, even in the rain. The wet didn't bother her at all, and enough of the youngling yet remained in her spirit that she sought out large puddles to run through. But it also meant she had to double check the pitfalls and snares out by the Dragon Cliffs on her far perimeter, and make sure none had sprung or failed in the storms. One such had indeed been damaged, a cunning trap of boulders waiting to roll down on any intruder coming from the Fire Wastes. She'd repaired the trap, but not before one large rock had broken free. Wrestling the massive stone back up the steep hill had been difficult, even for her. The minotaur was bone weary, tired enough to fall asleep right there in the spring. She considered it, but Rrraskter would undoubtedly come looking for her, and he was already upset about something. Aniakac didn't really understand what. She couldn't change what she was. She was herself, and could never be the Sarn he wanted. The minotaur hauled herself out of the water and began toweling off. As she dressed in the clean tunic and leggings kept nearby, Aniakac shook her head and snorted. She was just starting to remember that being around another intelligent creature had problems as well as rewards.
* * * * * *
Rrraskter watched the minotaur put away the cleaning rags with a pang of guilt. She had thoroughly obliterated any trace of her earlier, muddied passage, as she did every time. But her movements were slow, heavy. Whatever she'd been doing, it had taken a lot out of her.
Aniakac sat down at the wooden table and rested her head on crossed arms, blowing wearily. Her ears came forward in surprise when a plate of berries and dried meat slid into view. She nodded to Rrraskter and reached out for the jerky.
The copper half-Fox had turned away when he heard the soft intake of breath. He looked back to find Aniakac sitting stiffly, face set and expressionless. Her right arm was drawn up, the hand clenched into a fist. The lines of flexed muscles stood out sharply. Rrraskter recognized the signs of a cramp.
"Come over by the fire. Heat helps. Sit down. There, turn sideways, with that arm towards the hearth."
The minotaur obeyed, and he kneeled before her. His black furred pawhands massaged the arm, fingers pressing down to find the offending tendon, which had tightened to a granite-like consistency. His breath hissed out between his teeth as he worked. A muscle spasm this bad would've had even him yelping on the floor, yet aside from the initial gasp of surprise, Aniakac had made no sound. His hands moved up and down her arm, rubbing until the tissue began to relax. The minotaur released a deep-toned sigh of relief as the pain lessened.
He continued for a time even after the cramp had been routed, idly enjoying the feel of her shorter fur against his fingers and pads. Her scent, made stronger by his close proximity, was warm and pleasing. His jaw cracked open, unconsciously drawing it up against the roof of his mouth until he could taste it. Rrraskter glanced up, and found her watching him. He blushed, ears burning as he remembered his earlier brusqueness. He lowered his gaze.
"Aniakac, I just, I want to apologize. I'm afraid being cooped up inside for these past few days has made me a bit irritable. I've said some things I don't really mean, and I'm sorry."
With her other hand, the minotaur reached over and tipped his head up until he met her eyes. "Th-hank."
The warmth in her eyes was echoed in the quiet, rumbling voice, and extended to more than the help he'd given. The obvious effort it took to speak made the word even more of a gift.
Aniakac smiled and rose, heading for her own bed. The concentration and fine control it took to wrest a word from a throat more suited for snarls and roars had taken up even more of her strength, and she was very tired.
* * * * * *
Rrraskter aimed carefully and dropped another acorn. It plinked off Aniakac's head and made the minotaur snort as she whirled. This time the half-Fox couldn't hold in his laughter, and his unwilling victim looked up into the dark green foliage of the oak tree. Aniakac smiled and backed up, out of sight. Rrraskter swallowed his mirth and leaned out from his tree branch to try and get a glimpse of her through the leaves. His eyes widened as she hurtled back into view at top speed, head lowered. She was charging!
The minotaur's head impacted on the trunk, and the entire tree swayed violently. Rrraskter was jolted from his perch and tumbled to the ground. The blow stunned him, and the half-Fox stared blankly at the retreating form of Aniakac, tail swinging high in amusement and shoulders jiggling as she chortled.
When he entered the cave, Aniakac was humming under her breath and making a show of checking the level of all the tallow lamps in the room.
"Haven't you ever heard of subtlety? Admittedly, that's a good way to turn around a joke, but wasn't it a bit like using an axe to kill a sparrow?"
Aniakac blinked and shrugged.
"Well at least let me check your hard head. I've never seen you do that before. Doesn't it hurt?"
She snorted disdainfully, but obediently sat on a bench, neck arching and head bowed. Rrraskter lifted away the unruly black forelock and examined the skin between the minotaur's horns. He prodded the area, finding the skin and fur to be unusually thick and tough, the massive bone of her skull well padded. There wasn't the slightest sign of abrasion. He shook his head and let her hair fall back.
"I know you're intelligent, and you understand most everything I say now, but sometimes I kind of wonder just how smart you are."
He smiled to show it was a joke, and saw her nostrils flutter as she chuckled.
"Actually, I remember. You saved my life by thinking to share your breath with me when I was drowning."
Aniakac's ears swiveled forward. His voice had grown softer, and had a new note to it. He wasn't playing anymore. But he wasn't angry either. He had his pawhands on either side of her face, tilting it up. She grew edgy as her instincts started screaming for her to run. Something familiar about this situation…
"I remember something else too."
His golden eyes seemed to glow as he lowered his head and tenderly kissed her, fully cognizant of his feeling and actions. The tangle had worked itself out over the time he'd spent in her company.
After releasing her, Rrraskter sat down beside the minotaur, letting her absorb his closeness and decide on her own.
She was all too aware of him, his fur brushing against her arm and side. His scent had changed, and she'd never smelled such a shift before. It had gotten stronger, more musky, more obviously male. He was silent, waiting.
The minotaur had never dared hope for a mate. She was the last of her clan. There was no one left for her to love. She gazed at Rrraskter. He was patient and kind, and her heart had evidently made the decision on its own sometime. Aniakac looked down and slipped her large hand into his.
He tried not to show his relief. She was so hard to read, and lack of speech had meant he was guessing about anything that she felt or thought. For a moment, he'd thought she might reject him, that he'd lose her even as a friend. He nuzzled her neck and breathed in her scent, loving the faint hint of apples that was so much a part of her rich, wild tang. Rrraskter once more ran his hands over her face, as if trying to map the clean lines of her features.
He tugged at her hands and started to lead her towards his bedding of grass and skins. Aniakac halted, and instead drew him past the curtain into a chamber he'd never seen; her room, where a larger bed of woven blankets and cloth cushions rested in a corner. Rrraskter smiled and kissed her again, caressing her cheek. He shrugged off his shirt and let it fall, deft paws going to the lacing that held Aniakac's tunic closed.
She let her fingers trace the ridge of his collarbone, drawing through the blazing white fur of his chest and stomach. He pushed the tunic off her shoulders, covering her neck in tender lovebites. Trousers and loincloth joined their other clothes on the floor, shed as naturally and carelessly as last winter's coat. Rrraskter's hand crept up to rest against the minotaur's chest. There was none of the soft give or roundness of flesh he was used to, only defined muscle in a near mirror of his own build beneath the pelt. Rrraskter stepped back a pace and looked at her. She was so unlike the females he was used to! Taller than he, and massing more. His limbs were slim compared with hers. Her thick, soft fur showed clearly the definition of sculpted muscles beneath.
As she recovered from the new flush of emotions his touch brought and became aware of his gaze, she seemed to shrink, arms crossing over her chest. Ears and head lowered, Aniakac turned away.
"What is it?"
The minotaur reluctanctly half turned, then put a hand up over his eyes, making a small, sad noise of contrition. His mouth dropped open. She was apologizing – for being ugly! Rrraskter reached out to catch at her long jaw, and pulled her about to completely face him, his pointed ears lowering gently as he caught those clear brown eyes with his own gaze. "Listen to me. What others have said doesn't matter. They didn't know you. They never saw you truly. You are magnificent, and... I love you."
Rrrasker drew her head down and kissed her again, and knew it was true. Aniakac buried her muzzle in his thick ruff, almost wondering if this was a fever dream of her own, she felt so strange and warm and… he was willing to love her. That was most amazing of all, to the last surviving member of an outcast race.
Then they were together, heart, soul, body, and mind, the sensations each was feeling crossing over to the other.
* * * * * *
Rrraskter moved sleepily, aware that a large tongue was washing his ruff and neck. It
felt nice, and he snuggled closer to the warm body beside him, hindpaws glancing over a
cleft hoof. He drew a foot up softly to touch against her hock. Her tail gently twined
around his leg, the tassle brushing past his thigh.
Still not fully awakened, he turned his head and looked at Aniakac, who merely used this opportunity to swath her rough tongue over his cheek and pointed nose. From this point of view, he had to conclude that her kind had never been built for speech. Her
tongue was too thick and unwieldy to form many words, the fiber of her throat too coarse,
no matter how lovely she could sing.
He reached up and let the back of his pawhand brush the side of her muzzle. She began to rumblepurr, and he pillowed his head against her broad shoulder.
You are beautiful, my mate. Such a handsome coat. I have never seen its like.
The voice was strong and low, yet feminine. He didn't hear it with his ears, but directly in his mind. It sent cold needles through him as fear wakened. Rrraskter pushed away from Aniakac and looked around wildly, pupils dialating as he tensed.
"Who's here?"
Instantly alert, the minotaur scented the air, ears pricked for any noise, eyes sweeping the room.
There is no one. Who are you talking about, my mate?
"You! Where are you? I'm talking about you!"
Whoever it was had to be tricky to get past Aniakac. He'd never known anyone with
keener senses. Yet he could feel the minotaur behind him sitting up, alert, but relaxed, not
seeing anything wrong.
You... you can hear me?
He was pulled around to face Aniakac, her eyes boring into his.
Rrraskter, it is I. Can you hear my sending?
"Aniakac? But… how?"
A joyful smile lit her features. In his mind, he heard a musical trill. Excitement not his own flared inside.
We have bonded.
"What? What does that mean?"