Vixenscratch

 The pair of furriers walked along the road, tails swaying lightly, ears perked. Their hunt had gone well; three rolls were strapped to the back of the smaller feline man, two magpie-black pelts and one furless, irisdescent hide. His much larger partner, a near-black wolverine, carried a heavy war hammer almost as long as the shorter one was tall, as well as a generous supply of dried meat, bones, claws and fangs, all excellent trade goods.

Neither of them was very very familiar with the area, but they’d seen the smoke from the settlement’s fireplaces and headed for it. If there was nobody there wealthy enough to purchase their hides at least they could lighten the load of the other excess. If there was such a man there, on the other hand, they’d have made a pretty profit from their latest tour.

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“You kids take care now!”

“Mum, we’re going next door.” Naiomi rolled her eyes and pushed her boyfriend out the sliding door ahead of her, onto the porch. “Good night now.”

The door shut, and the dark-skinned human girl shifted her bag higher on her shoulder. The faerie boy who had been with her already was heading across the backyard, leaping onto the four-foot fence and crouching there.

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Dinner had been slightly uncomfortable; even if she knew about his difficulties with food Naiomi still remembered him the way he’d been when he still lived in Sihainne. And that Roxeen had been able to wolf down Islandic cuisine with the best of them. He had felt guilty when he’d picked at her cooking, which admittedly was far from the domestic disasters she’d mostly been capable of as a young teen. She had assured him that it was okay, that it had mostly been her own fault for not keeping the things he’d told her firmly enough in mind.

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The sound of running feet woke Myen; the sting of smoke in her nose forced her wide awake. Exhausted, she’d gone to bed still mostly dressed, so pulling on her vest, cloak and boots wasn’t a huge waste of time before she left her rented room and followed the trickle of people making their way down the stairs of the old inn building and filing outside to the courtyard with its cobble stones. Flames reached greedily towards the night sky from the thatched roof of the stable building, and she spotted her Steed outside, the mare’s tack miraculously in place and not in any way marred by the fire, herding other horses away from the burning building.

She could not, however, see her travelling companion anywhere.

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 “You, come over here and open your mouth.”

Socks looked up from the kill-time task he’d spent most of the morning on, then obediently trotted over to the human who’d spoken. The paid farmhand was sitting on a fence, bringing him up to eye level with the half-centaur, half-horse hybrid. Born and bred a slave, the son of an unwilling debt-worker, Socks was used to obeying orders from humans, thinking nothing of the unusual instructions. Sure, the farmhand might be planning to play a cruel joke on him, some of them did, but that was their right.

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<<< Go back to Hound in Wait

Jake clawed at his face, trying to get rid of whatever was causing that searing sensation in his skin, as though every hair was sending fire into his head. When it finally faded, doubtlessly no thanks to his reaction, as it lingered longer where his claws had scratched his skin, he shook his head, dazed and no little annoyed. Whatever it was Marina had shoved in his face, it had stung, even more than that time when Konah had spit garlic at him. That time, the pain had snapped him out of his rage, but this time, it only served to fuel it. The vixen was his. She had no right to attack him; he’d have to show her her place again. Then, once he’d dealt with her, he’d go deal with the cat as well, teach him a lesson about touching Jake’s things.

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Marina panted her way up the stairs to her floor, burdened both by the kits in their harness and the heavy bag of school books and class notes. She’d not been in particularly good shape to start out, and the extra weight didn’t make getting up the stairs any easier. Especially not since she had avoided the stairs during the later stages of her pregnancy.

If reaching her landing was a relief, turning her key in the lock to her room was nothing short of undiluted nirvana. Finally, she’d have some time to — relatively speaking — relax. Sure, the kits were fussy and would need to be fed, but that at least could be accomplished half-lying on her bed.

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 The blonde boy’s path to school took him through the park, which was surrounded by a fairly decorative fence with sturdy wooden gates. During parts of the year, someone or other let their flock of sheep graze there, and the fence and gates were there to make sure the sheep stayed. He’d walked that way seven days a week since he and his mothers had first moved to the medium-sized town, and returned the same path just as often, once the school day was done.

Never before had he ran into someone else from his school, however, and especially not the wyvern girl he’d been shyly studying from behind his long bangs for the last few months. She dangled her tail leisurely, sitting securely on the top of the gate and leaning just a little bit on one hand.

“Hi. You’ve been looking at me.” She smiled at him; she was stating fact, not attempting to confront him.

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They were all gathered in the small steakhouse booth, squeezed in to make sure they’d all fit. There were half-wyvern and wyverns Linnéa and Tai!en, both there for their regenerative capabilities, faerie-draconian werefox and minor mage Liiz’vocal Quall, the surprisingly friendly nightmare nicknamed “Rust” by her colleagues, beastkin Taver with a sleepy barn owl soulbrother perched on his shoulder, stardust fox mind-mage Jeevi Sodalite, and the senior team member, human mage Pailine Tanner, a silver circle on the skin of her neck glinting in the dim lighting when she turned her head just so.

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 It was not a good night. It was by no stretch of imagination a good night. The rains had apparently decided to start weeks earlier than what had been expected, he hadn’t bothered to bring a coat, his cell phone battery had unexpectedly gone flat, and now this. Roxeen glared, at once disbelieving and angry, at the mess of wires hanging out of the wall at the entrance to his upscale apartment complex where a key pad should have been. Just a fine night for vandals to strike.

His hair lay plastered against his body, already soaked by the lukewarm rain. Not that the temperature made it any more pleasant — it was still cold enough that he was shivering. All he could hope for was that someone with later habits than his own would be leaving the complex soon, not that it was likely.

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