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Fantasy Gifts From A Moon God

She watched him.

The light scattered unevenly across his face, catching in the marks before it could cross softly across his features. It reflected hard over the dense flesh of scars. Cast darker shadows in the depresses left in his skin.

She saw those things momentarily. She heard him, over everything.

None of her senses pressed her, pulled her, watched her lack of sentry. She was finally given a moment without wondering what was going on behind her back. Who could be watching and listening. She was in a space where she could allow herself to truly see him, whatever he chose to show her.

Her eyes trained steadily on him. Relaxed and careful.

He spoke of himself, something just bereft of pain when she asked of him. And never looked at her when he did. When he did turn to her, it was when he was proud to speak of other things. Say any words that did not truly focus on himself. She was quiet, digesting, letting his answers sit for a time.

"May'ap djou shall meet 'im again soon."

Her gaze was allowed down, her mouth moving in somewhat of a smile. One that did slightly strike her eyes. She couldn't imagine soon. Unless her luck was such it would attract a benevolent violence she couldn't comprehend to strike them anon.

The fire crackled, eating its wood. The curtains were thick and drawn, triple layered and having posts to the wall where they could be pinned to block most light from showing to the outside.

They drank.

It was odd. She felt as if they were more distant when they spoke apart. No matter how much attention she was focusing on him.

She knew it should not have been odd. That human history, psychology, told them all that touch was essential to most intimacy. Yet she had touched many people and felt nothing. Had only utility and intermittent disgust. Bonded with none, and nobody.

No one that she wished to be bonded to.

So perhaps it was for that she fought the notion of touch as intimacy. Touch was a procedure of one thing to the next.

Yet it was not, here.

They drained the pot in draughts at a time, even as it was cold.

She stood, slowly after a point.

"How's your wound?"

Her chair moved out behind her, and she slowly came near, aware of what she was doing, but feeling apart from what was happening. She left her shoes in the other room and walked across the hut in bare feet. She preferred it this way but hardly ever found the leisure to do as so. Her skin padded across the floorboards, sticking with the sweat and mild humidity. Dry, and dirty now, they padded more easily.

She knelt, then sat ungracefully by his side and lifted his tunic without modesty. It'd been a night since. The days had somewhat blurred together. The scab looked freshly cleaned, she could smell the animal soap over all the things he had accumulated for the last few days, and the smell of his skin. He was a lot of things, and if she didn't shut herself down, her brain would want to taste and dissect and see what he could do for her.

No.

So she breathed his scent as a musk and blurred it. Took candlelights from that time, reflecting off his teeth and into her hair, and breathing her. Tethered her thoughts to these moments made his scent an emotional corporeal.

Something she could not deconstruct. She would not allow him to become ingredients to her.

And she clung onto the comfort there that was barely tangible. Something she felt that the more she squeezed upon it, the more it slipped out through her fingers like water.

So she held it carefully.

"Hm." Panyin pressed the stab lines revealed to her. The wound was pink and white with healing. Red where it went more deeply and suckered as it tried to close into itself. Her fingers pressed it hard, feeling hard for its woundage below the surface. Its density of healing. He made a sound of discontent. The only part of exposed flesh was the center of the damage, but she had seen the belt on the counter, and reached over with an odd practiced quickness as if she had always done this. She worked her fingers into the powder and spread it over the center of the cuts.

The table jarred once, scraping the floor as he controlled himself. She stood again to wash her hands.

She stayed on this side of him as she came back, and slowly, and set herself against the edge of the table, tip toeing to sit more comfortably.

Her head tilted, curious at him. Observing him. It was not often she would get to see him from somewhat above.

She had so many questions. Her mind raced for them. But she saw none of them, and nothing but the man in front of her right. Her hand lifted. She caught the movement, her fingers going to rest on her collarbones, pressing lightly into her neck. Had she not, her fingers would have touched his face again.

"...Wy'Ziot..." As if she were trying the name again. Her cheek leaned on her hand. "...How old are you...?" She tried to frame it in the minor curiosity of no import. Which it was, truly, but she was aware of the juvenility of the question.
 
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This quiet, comfortable companionship appealed to the werewolf. He had answered her questions, and she had seemed content with them, her face thoughtful. He returned to staring into the flames, so reminiscent of her hair. Her sudden call for checking his wounds, like a doctor ministering to a patient, upset his internalised solitude, and he sat up, like the patient she was treating him to be, and allowed her to lift his tunic. Her fingers were cold as she prodded and poked, and it was only when she was being particularly rough with the centralised, tender section and opened up the scanning again that air sucked between his teeth with a low grumble. He's half expected her to pick at the scab and remove it. It was what he would have done, but he was a bit of a sadist, if he was honest with himself really.

Wy'Ziot had not expected her to go in full bore with the powders he had however, and his hands grappled with the edge of the table as she shocked him with their use. His mouth released a snarl he hadn't expected, and he released the table to clamp one large hand across his mouth. His mottled ice and dusk eyes looked across at her, but she didn't react to the noise, or just didn't acknowledge it; he wasn't sure which it was. Was she really so comfortable to be prodding at a wild beast in this manner? He felt his breath rolling in the depths of his chest as a growl, something that he couldn't control as the sizzle in his side abated, and she'd stood to wash her hands. He has to admit, she was a bit of a crazy bitch!!

He slowly released his own jaw, realising his teeth were clenched, and lowered his tunic back down, the other hand slowly clawing away from the sturdy table. She returned, and tip-toed to a sitting position upon said table, her cute, thoughtful expression, like a pup learning something new, made him chuckle stiffly, as he settled back into the half-doze he'd been in thanks to her tea. He drained what was left of his cup, and tried to regain the sense of floating he'd achieved with it, and his meditation over the flames. She now blocked his view, and he had little choice but to look up at her. It was an odd feeling, and he got the sense she was enjoying this feeling of being taller immensely.

It was her question that threw him, however. He coughed, stretching out his jaw and rubbing at his stubbled chin, the soft sound as his calloused hand rubbed the short hairs resounding loudly around the hut. "'Ow old? My, zhat is a difficult question. Huh..." Wy'Ziot leant back a moment, thinking. He started counting up on his fingers, thinking through his experiences, thinking about the number of years he'd spent in the Tribal pack of his ancestors, then at the hand of Man. Then as a free creature, until he'd indentured himself with the Contractors. He looked up at her, unsure if he should tell the truth. He took a breath, and lowered his hands from counting.

"All in all? I zhink I 'ave seen around 500 Vinters." He nodded, thinking again. "Zhough... zhat could be inaccurate. I remember zhere vas a long time I did not see zhe outside vorld. Vhen I vas zhe fighting pet of Man." He eyed the girl, knowing she perhaps hadn't expected such an age to be his. He looked no older than 35-40 winters. This he knew. His kind aged, of course they did. Not as slowly as some races, not as fast as Man, but they aged. And most never reached an age like his; they were often killed before they reached his age. "Vhy do djou ask?"
 
"Five hundred?!" She interrupted him. It was perhaps the first time he'd heard her raise her voice.

Her hand covered her face as he talked, elaborated a little. It did not escape her, these little details, but she didn't move for a time.

He asked her why.

A preceding groan rolled into her voice. "…I was so prepared to be older than you…" her hand slid down, with a half-lidded gaze on him. "I can't win… I can't be taller than you, older than you…" she chuckled, actually, this time. "I will always be little to you…" her hand pressed to her brow before she moved it to rest her cheek. The chuckle still stood with a smile on her lips. Somewhat wry, almost mistakenly sad but not even close. "I think I'm over fifty…"

Her eyes slid away, thought taking them suddenly. "That is, I think…" a thoughtful pause that he couldn't intrude came upon her.

She almost stopped herself. Her history was not worth recollecting upon someone else. It simply bored her half to death and was a web of razor trappings. But he had shared so much of himself, though painful. She hated to admit he was probably curious about her to at least some degree.

So she continued, unsolicited, and fought the notion she was speaking too much.

Perhaps she would get burned and it was better that she shut her trap.

Her pause had only been instantaneous. "There is a period of time I don't remember of my childhood. I woke up seeming as though I were already in my twenties, with no memory of family, whatever I may have had from the past. So I'm guessing quite a bit as to my age. But I mostly know the amount of years that have passed."

Her feet, one kicked over the other as sat and stood here. "I'm not exactly sure why I seem to age slowly at times. I've been told I have the look of elf blood, that these edges of my ears mark a mix." She moved her hair, for him to see. Her ears did have some sort of illusion of squaring out, as if malformed to this. She removed her hand.

It was strange talking about herself. She now felt clearly why he always averted his eyes, even if these things were not painful to her.

Paused, thinking this one the more interesting anecdote. "I've also been told by quite a few fortune tellers and some blood readers that my blood went through a curse at one time... one that may or may not be following me." Her poise was casual. None of the words she spoke seemed to have any effect on her. Her fingers tented at her thighs, and moved back to rest on the edge of the table. Her eyes were on him this time. "They say there was a forbidden tryst my relatives had a long time ago." Her head lilted just slightly. "That someone had a union with animal's blood."

She stretched. It as a dumb notion, for sure. But one she had heard more than once, so she couldn't ignore.

Her blood was a taboo of anything, it seemed. "But what? Who knows? The region I lived in at the time had many cats… but I had a feeling I wasn't born in that part of the world I woke up in as well. And… I'm not saying it's werewolf blood. I actually highly doubt that. I feel as though there would have been some kind of initial kinship then. But I am blind to most animal affairs."

"So… man, elf, animal? My blood is said to be tainted with too many things." And then here she was. She stretched a little more, and her spine relaxed. She was looking down. She'd talked so much farther than she had planned to go. And now realized with the closeness of the subject, it were possible Wy'Ziot could become disgusted with her now.

She thought herself unaffected. She couldn't bring her eyes up to him now.
 
Wy'Ziot watched her intently, like he had the flames; like he would a prey animal out in the forest. As she showed her ears, he realised he'd not seen them until this point, and he was beginning to notice how little he actually knew of this stray. She started to drift in her story, and his brow furrowed. Animal blood? Could it be she held some taint of his curse? He couldn't feel it, though it may explain to some degree why his Wolf liked her so. As she drifted, looking away, the werewolf shifted in his seat, initially leaning forward to try and capture her gaze, and when it was avoided, he stood, towering over her, his hands taking her shoulders in a firm, but gentle grip.

One hand traced her jawline, before taking her chin carefully, and forcing her head up and over, baring her neck. His head dipped, and this time, he took the time to truly categorise her scent, his nose nestling in below her jaw, brushing her ear, his other hand releasing her shoulder to push the hair back from her strangely shaped ear so he could do what he'd wished that first night and move his face, his nose, his lips and tongue, as close as possible to this area of skin, and breathe deeply of it. His upper thighs pressed against her knees, where she was sat back against the table, and his free hand carefully teased at her wild fiery hair. The scents that surrounded him were an unusual cacophony, as first noticed on that initial night, pressed against her on the wall.

Chemicals, and strange fumes, were her primary scent, and it wasn't just from what she used and played with. Some of this physically came from her skin, this acrid, sterile scent; her tasting of all things weird and wonderful to see how it would affect her. It concerned him a little, that such a scent physically came from her skin, but at the same time, it made her unique, and he would always be able to find her. The next scent that wrapped around his brain as he continued to hold her lower jaw in his rough, large hand and support her back with his other, was something earthy. Initially, he'd attributed it to her travels, but as he got to grips with it now, he realised it was more than that; it was her very soul that released this scent to him, as he felt her heart pound in the beat of her pulse against his palm at her throat. It's increased beating released this scent, as though to try and disguise her from what scared her. Was she scared of him, this close? Perhaps. The last scent he picked up though, was what excited his Wolf, and he breathed deep, his whole chest filling with her as he did so, and he let his eyes close as he identified it. She was right. It was faint, but it was there; something wild. Something similar to him, but not something that would control her. It was something that would be tricky, something alluring; a woman, in her ancestry, whose eyes would have enticed Man, and fed on their lust, as they feasted on her sensuality. Something with the ability to mimic that which she craved, and then would slink into the night, with a swish of a white tipped tail, and a flash of red.

His breathing became ragged as he withdrew from her neck, though he continued to hold her throat, feeling her pulse against his palm. His mottled eyes looked into her face, trying to identify her feelings at this point. They flickered, uncontrolled, as he watched her expressions for a moment. He leaned forward, close to her full lips. He breathed her in as she exhaled, and felt the trepidation. He took it no further, releasing her as suddenly as he'd taken her, and stepped back with speed, nearly toppling his chair, and he turned, walking to the mantle and gripping its edge, staring into the fire. His Wolf raged against his chest, demanding he turn back around and finish what he'd started. That scent. That last one, picked out of the myriad scents that made Panyin, had awoken his Wolf and driven him wild, as had been their token as a race back in days of old. Wy'Ziot had met one, only once. What a creature she had been; truly a sight to behold. Her sleek fur, her golden eyes, her red fur, turning to golden skin and a fiery red head of hair, and a curvaceous figure, as a younger man, he'd stood transfixed. She'd known his true nature, and visited with him anyway. Followed him, as this descendent did now. What a weird circumstance.

"Djou 'ad best get some rest, Panyin." His throat released the words in a low growl, his chest tearing itself apart from the inside, the beast inside roaring at him not to let her escape. Not this time. He did not turn, kept his eyes trained on the flickering flames, controlling his body. He'd promised the stallion outside he would return before he retired for the night, to ensure he was safe, warm, fed, and watered. If he allowed his body to do it's wish right now, that stallion would not be visited. "Please. Leave zhis room, Panyin." The werewolf lowered his head, closing his eyes as his Wolf howled and snarled in his ears.
 
She closed her eyes as he laid his hands on her shoulders. Something was happening. She was not afraid, let him control her.

His thumb stroked her jaw, she winced, almost gaining something like suspicion. Her head pulled up without the thought of resistance, and he was on her. Like a vampire to its prey. She felt herself expecting the wet enamel of teeth, with their inhuman feel sliding smoothly across skin, but all she felt was hot, wet breath against her. It curled down her neck, grasping into the hem of her shirt, growing hot. He held her tightly. She couldn't move.

Her mind was always of at least two things. It was perplexed now, more than anything. Multiple paths, voices of things crossing each other, voiceless concepts which stood without words, interlaced, argued within themselves, cancelled, created. Thinking If she had a made a mistake. No. What he was doing to her.

His mouth touched her ear and all her thoughts ruptured into sparks. He felt her press him involuntarily. She was pinned, and something else in her fought again. He heard her breathing hot, quiet, hastened suddenly. But she clung onto these things in herself, moving her head still aside, letting him do this. Clamping away on what happened.

She tightened, shivering. Her head ached. It made something else in her curl. A fist tightened. His breath dripped down on her, hot, breathed as if through the teeth of a beast. She noticed her teeth were clenched, her shaky breaths forced out between them. She pressed against him. Trying to gain herself. Using him to try and get herself back.

But she was not afraid. Even if there were teeth against her, she wouldn't have felt afraid.

The tension in her body ticked away, and she felt herself be in his hands. Her body twitched in a hushed convulsion as his nose caressed the edge of her ear. Everything tightened. She ticked it away, forcing herself to be there. Relax.

Felt his hand against her back. Felt the one that held her when she struggled without asking to. Not willing it, but succumbing to something each time she felt him in a place that felt behind her head. A place that was there that she couldn't touch. Didn't know was there.

She choked an exhale, her voice coming with it.

He breathed her, quietly. She felt the firelight flickering in her eyes.

She smelled him, and it quieted her brain. She let it hush all her thoughts, else the pit in her stomach would devour her.

He pulled her ever closer, breathing something in her. His breath was long, and she closed her eyes, seeing the Wy'Ziot she had met against the wall.

She heard his breathing change. Becoming ragged. And she opened her eyes as he pulled back from her.

He looked like a man again who had seen a vision. And she stared at him, trying to find what he had seen.

She couldn't see anything.

Her neck edged back against his hand as he came nearer, as it made it harder for her to see him. But he held her there. Stopped right in front of her and she tightened, realizing what was happening. Her flesh prickled, raised all over. His hotness was on her mouth now, where she could taste it. Her breath was held, her stomach high, tight. He felt her exhale.

And he backed away. Suddenly. As if horrified. As if balking at her being.

She looked down, letting her stomach sink, some feeling of ease pulling everything back down again.

She stared at his back.

His form... she didn't know what she was seeing in him there.

It was something different. Something that slunk at the edges, tight enough to snap inside.

As he spoke, she felt that tightness, the moment becoming real for what it was.

"Djou 'ad best get some rest, Panyin."

His words released her, and she found herself back in this hut in the woods with him.

He pleaded with her.

She was still, until her feet eased toward the floor. It felt rough, held her too sturdily. He felt her foot move towards him as she gained her footing. She heard his hand grip the mantle and she saw the stones crack under that hand. She stopped, letting her weight settle into the earth under these boards under her feet. Heard her breathing through her nose. She stared. Her mind was of two things. She wasn't sure if she said anything.

Perhaps she had.

She headed to the room, and closed the door softly. The next room felt a release.

Panyin lit the candles for the night and prepared the bed. It felt as though she may be trapped in this little room for the night. To venture back out would be a torment. She found another blanket, and even a canvas pillow as well, to be covered and used. She crawled slowly into bed, and lay there, undressed, knowing her exhaustion in full. Knowing each parts of it to the edges of it's existence. Yet she lay here, more awake than ever, unsure when she would sleep.

Movement in the other room was swift. His weight could not be hidden as he headed out, suddenly, through the door, leaving her all alone with the fire to keep her company.

Her eyes stared at the marks along the wall made by the moonlight, still a waning gibbous setting into the sky. She closed her eyes and slept.
 
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Her footsteps were soft pads as she went to approach as he remained facing away, but she stopped when the stone surround of the hearth creaked, and cracked, beneath the large hands that moments before had been tender, holding her like a flower, damaging no petals. Wy'ziot's breath came in a low growl, rolling over and over, as he listened to her walk away, and quietly close to the door that separated the two rooms. It was a rough build; the door could not latch and required the occupier to hook over a leather throng to keep it closed. He could hear she had failed to do this. If it was on purpose, he didn't wanted to know. Removing his tunic, his lace up legs, and slowly unwinding his bandages, Wy'Ziot stepped out of the hut, into the moonlight.

The stallion looked up, his dark eyes watching the glowing man. He seemed happy enough, so Wy'Ziot gave him a sharp grin, and darted into the woods. As he ran, fur started to prickle through his skin. His face elongated, teeth extended, hands and feet changed shape, his limbs elongaged, his spine stretched, his ears changed shape and position. Before he'd run more than a few yards, he dove forwards, and was loping through the trees as a giant white wolf. The stallion could smell the change, and behind the werewolf, beside the hut, he stomped a hoof, and mumbled a little. The giant horse slowly returned to his night time meal, turning his head to look at the flickering light of the small bedroom, where the girl was lying.

In the forest, Wy'Ziot ran. His blood pumped, his paws beat the loamy earth. He weaved between trees, leapt over fallen trunks, and bushes, scaling boulders of the black rocks that littered this area, and leaping as far as he could. He ran for as long as he could stand, before trotting towards a rocky stream, as black as the rocks of the region, sluggishly making its way through the deciduous forests that lead towards the cliff tops. The werewolf flopped himself into the black water, drinking deeply, before rolling himself around in the freezing water; his long canine legs flailing in the air as he cooled himself down in the freezing water almost comical. Laying there panting, Wy'Ziot was almost tempted to just go. Live wild for a while and wait for the girl to leave. He had been pretending to be human for so long, he'd almost forgotten the joy of a run like this. The cold air, clearing his head, the freezing water soaking his fur. Standing, finally, he wrung himself out with a long shake. Trotting back would take no time at all, and still he'd not managed, as he'd wanted, to clear her scent out of his brain.

Stalking back, he didn't change as he wandered through, the stallion quiet now, missing the return of the tall, pale as the moonlight Wolf. His dreadlocks were now devoid of colour after his roll in the freezing stream, the clay worked out of the fibres of the dreadlocks. It would need reapplying soon. He didn't like being completely white from head to toe. Water slowly dropped from his lean body as he entered. The door to the bedroom was ajar, from the shifting of the hut in the night breezes, the heat waning as the fire had gone out during his time on the run, causing wood to constrict. Throwing a couple more dried out blocks onto the charcoals, and watching them ignite with the intensity of the heat stored in the lumps. The werewolf sat himself upon the animal pelt on the ground, stretching out the long canine legs, splaying his Wolf toes to dry the fur between them.

Her soft breathing reaching his twitching ears, and they flicked back to listen. Though at this moment he was sat in a more humanoid position, as he rolled, his limbs tucked beneath him, and he stalked through the hut in his quadrupedal form. His shoulders and back were above the table level, and as he stalked to her door, he peered through the gap, watching her, surrounded by the slow burn candles she'd put around herself. She glowed, and more and more, the scent of that foxiness that had enticed him initially made itself known. How had she not know what was in her? He stepped into the room, padded feet quiet on the wood. He settled himself in a curled up position, next to her bed.
 
She stirred, not fully asleep. With him gone, her body knew not to lose its guard, so it stayed marginally… awake. Alert to the sounds and movements around her, but not enough to do anything.

The hut inhaled life. The floor moved. Things went quiet. Someone was here. Half her mind drifted further, relaxing while the other heightened, fighting her.

The door opened by itself and she hadn't woke enough to wrench herself out of this slight warm to go close it again. It ached, and something slunk through.

Rested beside her.

Her other mind buzzed, louder than the sleeping one, and she rolled, stirred, and realized, as her eyes slipped slowly open, that she was awake.

Her breath went over the pillow, serene, warm and wet, going cold.

She turned, rolled the other way to see.

She starts. A big, white thing she can't identify for a moment, breathing, lying there as a lump. She exhales… stares. Still calm in the night.

Watches the side of his chest rise, fall. Pulsate with his breath.

She's growing more awake by the second. Not alarmed.

Minutes passed. Her sleep comes, and goes. She found herself awake, again. Mind in three.

Panyin helps herself up, slowly. His ears perked, watching her; the rest of him not yet moving. She slid out of bed, padded over, around to his front. He's starting to raise his head now.

He's all black and white in the light. Stripped more of color than ever, by moonlight. She crouched down in front of him.

Observed him. He observed her. Her head tilted, and she tiredly lifted her hand where he could see it. Eased it down. It touched gently behind his head. Moved and stroked his neck, careful. The fur here was hard, warm, and ... damp?

She ventured one pet over his ear.

Let her hand trace down behind his jaw, where it was warmer. A yawn hit her here, and she sat more comfortably, then laid down here. He lowered his head as well, heavily laid on the ground. Her hand traced, barely touching, running up his snout… hand resting down the side of his face again.

It was not comfortable here, on the floor. But her hand drifted down, as she started to close her eyes. Her eyes were heavy, and he saw them flicker, drift, close.
 
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Wy'Ziot hadn't intended for her to awaken, so as he started to snooze, and felt the floorboards shift as she rose, and then again as she stood and headed towards him, he lazily flicked an ear to her direction, before opening an eye, and raising his head slowly, even lying down, finding himself eye to eye with the girl as she leaned forward to look at him. She tentatively reached forward, and his ears tilted back a little, eyes narrowing slightly as his tongue flicked out to lick his nose, hesitantly. That hand touched into his thick nape fur, and stroked.

And it wasn't unpleasant, he had to admit. It was an odd feeling, but it was unlike anything he'd really experienced before. Never before had he stayed so close to another in this form; his Tribal pack were the only ones, and with them, touch had been second nature to them. They'd always have a foot, or a hand, or a leg, or a head, pressed against that of another, in a silent sort of acknowledgement of companionship. This was the first time he'd been touched in such a way by someone that wasn't Wolf. However, he knew, by her scents, he could no longer look at her as Man. She was more like him than she was different. Again, his tongue flicked out, and apprehensively licked over his muzzle, a nervous tick.

Her hand removed, and she settled herself a little more comfortably close to him. He could see she was still practically asleep, and her eyes were heavy. Her hand stroked round his ear, and then to behind his jaw. His tail slowly thumped behind him as he continued to stare at Panyin, unblinking, as she explored the feel of his fur. She'd not had this opportunity before; very few had, and she seemed to want to take advantage of it now. Wy'Ziot began to lower his head again, licking his jaws now in contentment as she, too, settled. He was confused as to why she was falling asleep beside him, when she had a comfortable bed in which to sleep. He allowed her to start to sleep, and slowly, he manoeuvred, resting his body close to her's, gently pulling her into a position where she could use his chest as a pillow and support for her back, and his hind legs wrapped around her so she didn't roll back onto the cold wood floor.

He settled his head so it was tucked into her chest, realising how petite she was, when her ribcage seemed to lie in parallel to his skull. He knew he was large, but this felt so odd. He gently allowed his tongue to flick out and lick at the inside of her wrist, as her arms snaked out and hugged around his neck and head, fingers burying deep into the fur. His tongue was rough to feel, but carried out the ministrations to her forearm delicately. Once he'd satisfied whatever animal urge had taken over to incline him to lick at her wrist, he settled himself back down,head nuzzled into her ribcage, tail curling around them. A huge sigh rocked their forms as he allowed himself to relax, knowing his Wolf would keep and ear out, and alert them if requiring any attention. Luckily, he knew, with the lanterns lit, no Contractor would approach the cabin, but it was other adventurers whom spied it that was more his concern, especially considering his size, and current state of appearance.

Wy'Ziot slept peacefully though, and it was only as light started to grace the edge of the skyline outside the window to Panyin's room that is mottled eyes opened to look out, and note very little had changed in their situation.
 
He rolled her toward him with no resistance.

She couldn't see where she was, and her mind pried to figure out what was happening. Her other mind was content to let it all go to dreams. Inhaled the smell of damp fur, and earth, and the smell of night that clung in a dewy mass spread faintly over him.

It was his chest. The fur was softer here... not shielded, armored so much as the outer fur. Yet his skin, she didn't doubt was an armored hide beneath. The skin of a werewolf could not be so easily pierced as a man. So she had been led to believe.

His tongue, poked out in trepidation, teased to her as she saw it. A flash of teeth, the only reminder to know she could be eaten. Licked across her arm. He heard her chuckle. Some sound of actual mirth spurting out before she slipped away, back into the drowsing state. He felt it. An unbridled second of mirth.

Her hand stroked back and forth, on the soft, smooth fur in his nape... drowsiness akin to inebrity. Affection without carefulness or pause. It lasted the moment before she truly, finally, slipped under.

Her dreams gave her mind little rest, but there was a comfort there. A return to normalcy she could always find, while she had one hand in this new normal, the other still gave her a place to regard that she was grounded.

The light disturbed her easily, and just as before, once she realized that she'd woke, she did not sleep again. Though her eyes remained shut, trying to eke out more moments for sleep. The light grew, and she could hear birds with their inane twitter, and she inhaled, taking the morning air, readying herself to wake.

Panyin parted from him, slowly, looking at him, and his gaze flicked quickly to her. She hadn't known he was awake. Stared, and leant her head in, again, to place it against his. She stroked over his ear, to his nape... with both hands this time. She didn't let herself stay long, and righted herself, standing to get something from the bed. The sheet had moved greatly, not fitted, and draped off the bed as if about to fall.

Her kit was gone through, flicked open and picked apart in easy movements.

She yawned, and tossed the sheet over his head. There was a pause, before he struggled, perhaps not amused, paused, and struggled more gently again. She undressed, watching this, amused more than she should have been, until she had been stripped bare. He stopped his protests, and remained under when she looked, and she assumed he had seen her.

She wondered what he was going to do when she was out. He heard the breath of her chuckle as she looked at him one more time, under the cover, and left, following minor signs outside the hut. A lavatory first, then what she thought she heard as a creek further out.

She looked back, expecting a wolf to follow her. If it had been Wy'Ziot, the body, she expected not. But the wolf... she couldn't quite know yet.

There was a small, rocky stream in the woods, and she set her clothes down. She looked around, feeling the wind that barely caressed the area. She was not feeling cautious. There was a thought that she shouldn't have really come here alone. It was a longer way out than presumed. One scream and he'd come running, but sometimes that wouldn't have been enough. She crouched by the water. It was icy, a long way through morning mist.

She knew they were approaching the city. It helped to maintain some sense of cleanliness beforehand, as the skin never truly scraped off all in one night, and she didn't really imagine them staying for more than one. But he could yet surprise her.

She bathed in the cold water, taking her time. The water allowed her mostly large scoops and trickles, and it was long before she became fully soaked, and felt as if most of the dust and dirt, skin was ready to come off. When it was such, she scraped with a hard loofah, taken from the southern coasts, and cleaned herself, liberally using soal. She had two small hand towels, which served well enough to dry her afterwards, and then threw on her fur and shirts. Her pants and belt were left at the house, too much to take.

She scampered back, colder now, and stopped as she rounded the hut, seeing him outside, in human body, tending to the beast of a horse.

Paused. "...good morning." She found herself unsure as to what to say. Seeing him felt strange again, but not because of the night. It was just that she hadn't said good morning to him before. She hardly said it at all.

Panyin saw herself inside, where the hearth stuffed warmth bit her skin, as if punishing her for the cold. She cleaned up her things, came back outside with some strips of dried meats. These were her own. They hadn't any more food, as far as she could wager, now. Tea would make them hungry. She would boil some water for the road.

"Should we go?"
 
The werewolf rumbled in contentment as hands and fingers smoothed and ruffled his fur in equal measure. He pressed against the hands, and as she extricated herself from his warm sides, his long legs unfurled, and he stretched upon the ground, rolling onto his back, his face falling into a goofy, toothy grin as his large paws flailed at her hands, trying the draw attention back to himself, rather than her stuff. What had not been expected was the sheet from the bed to be flung out to its full expanse and laid over him.

He flailed, slightly more of a struggle now. He tried to remove himself from the blanket, but only proceeded to tie himself in greater knots. His chest grumbled with annoyance, and soon his teeth were attacking at the edge of the cloth, not tearing, just mouthing at it, dampening it, as a silly hint of play entered the animal brain. He managed to spin himself with the cover, but he was still stuck under it. He stood, falling into a playbow, before throwing himself over onto his side again, his tail thumping the ground. As an edge of his faced was freed in his messing about, he stilled, when he realised the girl had hidden the giant wolf in her room for modesty's sake. This was interesting to the werewolf. It was clear, even though he was in the form of the Wolf he spoke of, that he was still Wy'Ziot, or at least, he thought it was. He'd seen her bare form before, and it barely bothered him to see it again. Not to say he could not appreciate her fine form.

She turned with her items, and left, and he raised his head from the cloth she'd thrown over him to admire her back as she walked away from him, probably out to find some sort of stream; the same one he'd frolicked in just a few short hours ago. Wy'Ziot slipped out from under the covered, and as he reared up into his hind legs, changes took place in loud cracks, pops, stretches, and the equivalent grunts and groans from himself as he returned to his human form. He followed her quietly padding form, leaning against the doorframe to watch her body disappear into the woods. He stood there, a moment longer, enjoying the dewy warmth of the morning. The stallion snorted at him, and the werewolf looked across.

"Djou can't tell me djou didn't enjoy looking at zhat too." The werewolf mused aloud, and chuckled at the idea of speaking to a horse. The beast simply returned to the last of the hay Wy'Ziot had laid out for him, as the werewolf disappeared inside. Checking himself over, he realised that all his wounds were now devoid of scabbing, or open wounds. Even the large section of his left side was now fully healed, if delicately; the new pink tinged skin was still frail, and would split and tear with too much exertion put on it. As the girl bathed somewhere in the woods, Wy'Ziot pulled on his lace up trouser legs, and settled himself taking from beneath the sink, under the boards that made the cupboard bottom, a large ceramic pot.

Setting it down, the werewolf meditated over it for a moment, before he entered an almost trance like state, and began to open the vat, which revealed inside a huge supply of the clay used on his dreadlocks. Taking an amount between his fingers, he rubbed this over both palms and their fingers, and slowly started his work. It was a tedious job, but to have a deep red head of dreads drew less attention than when they were pure white like the rest of him. To look completely devoid of colour made people uncomfortable in the big city, so it was part of the reason Wy'Ziot continued the tradition, one of the few he remembered from his childhood.

The actions were methodical, but due to the degree of automatic movement involved, the task was soon complete, and Wy'Ziot felt himself again, his heavy dreadlocks drying quickly into a flexible but stiff appearance. Replacing the lid to the ceramic, he carefully repositioned it where it was required, hidden from view, and closed the cupboard. He washed his hands, working the clay from his cracked fingers, and torn nails, as it would stain terribly if left. He left his tunic where it was, and put together a simple breakfast from a few of the items that had been left in the hut from previous occupants; hidden within one of the cupboards above the sink, there were some dehydrated mushrooms. These were situated beside some dried fish fillets. The last few potatoes had been stored out of sight, to keep them good, and he pulled all these things out, slicing everything delicately and laying them in layers in the pot from the night before. This was topped up with water, just enough to cover, and he set the whole thing over the hard, lot lumps of coal, once again adding fresh wood. The new wood didn't catch this time, so Wy'Ziot laid more tinder, which popped and crackled for a moment. He picked up a fan from beside the fire hearth, and coaxed it back to life. It would take a while to get hot enough to rehydrate the fish and mushroom, and cook through the potato, till it was all a lumpy sort of soup. But they had a bit of time, and Wy'Ziot had to admit he was in no rush. He enjoyed this time with Panyin; she felt so safe to him. She didn't baulk when it was the Wolf beside her, or the scarred man. She simply accepted both were him, to some degree, and treated them as companion.

Stepping out as the hut began to smell like food, what little there was left, he approached the stallion, and fussed the muzzle of the great beast. Where he had stashed the potatoes had held one final treat he figured he could spare for this great beast; a carrot, large enough to add a little sweetness and sustenance to the soup he was making, but this giant deserved a treat after the distance they had travelled. The giant Vanner nuzzled into Wy'ziot's hands, taking the offering and happily chomping away on it, as Wy'Ziot used his calloused hands to brush down the animal, grabbing up handfuls of hay to help on particularly muddied areas, to ensure the beast was well cared for and clean for when they approached the Capital.

He was busy still when her voice drifted from behind him, and he looked over the broad back of the animal to see her, long legs poking from beneath the hem of her shirt, her face coy. Was it because he, too, was in partial dress, having not returned to his tunic yet? He wasn't sure. She entered, and must have deposited her stuff, as when she returned, she held out dehydrated meat for him. He smiled, and walked towards her, towering as he gently took her offering, and put it into his mouth, the long strip sticking out like a cigar as he sucked on it initially to soften before he began to chew. It was delicious.

"Djou, young lady, 'ave been 'olding out on me!!" He had meant on the jerky, but as he finished his words, he realised it could be taken another way, and he dipped his head with an amused grin, and turned back to the horse, running his hands down the other side of the animal, cleaning him up, loosening any dead hair and rubbing it free. "I 'ave a soup stewing right now; zhe last of zhe supplies. Ve'll leave once it is ready. Take it vizh us for zhe journey. It may be the last decent meal zhat ve know is not poisoned..." The words were said jovially, but there was a hard edge to them, as a warning to be aware of as she now travelled with him.
 
Young.

She couldn't argue. She was one-fifths of his age, at this point in time. Who would have known a fifty-year-old woman would be called young as such.

His hair was nearly red as hers, today, and she tilted her head to comment, but thought after another interrupted her brain. His and her own.

That they were near the coast. She would stock up on dried fish for their travels. Dried meats were a little harder to come across in this part of the country, but fish was just as good. It was very cheap usually as well in any ports. Not being swindled out of a starving rack was the issue.

"I made these ones..." She averted her eyes for the story, taking her smaller strip into her own mouth. Paused for a bite. "I thought it may not be as good." She simply salted, or sugared, or honeyed or smoked as little as was necessary to ensure a long lasting store of meats that would ensure of energy. She was not artful in the ways that she made food. But he seemed oddly happy, all the the same.

So that's what that smell was. It was good he found something left behind, edible, it seems. His talk interrupted her rude thoughts--which tended to start before someone was finished with her.

He indicated to her. The city is where the danger lay.

Ah.

Her mouth pulled to one side. It was not happiness, but certainly some amusement gleaned. Amber eyes glinted with saccarine honey, heated from beneath from where it was buried. Alive. Just for a moment. She smiled, or something like it.

"Oh?" That they were falling into a place beyond where they should be. Always, she ended up back here again. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

She ducked her head before she returned inside, a smirk crawling up her, not one perhaps she knew was there.

She headed back inside and the prickles on her legs made her know they were unhappy with her. Her pants were like a second skin to her, and she left them unskinned, exposed to the air after scraping them clean. She fitted on her clothing, again, hoping to capture some of this warmth. The hearth that they would certainly not take with them.

She lifted the lid on the pot, to see a bubbling niceness which awaited inside. It was just about cooked through. Reminded her just of a dish in the southern islands, except for they had no tomatoes, and had to boil instead of bake. Curious, she left the lid off and took the oil from the shelf, the pepper and salt. The oil was fragrant, some kind of sweet hemp or olives. She drizzled these over and let them bubble for a moment longer, the smell becoming similar to what she remembered, but not entirely the same.

Panyin pulled the pot off the coals and set it aside as she found her large jars and the leather nets which fitted them. It'd be useful to suspend them if they needed for the food to cool, but it wouldn't do to burn the horse's side, so they would serve as partitions to the rest of the things in her bag. The pot scraped with its hollow, hearty sound that felt like getting the last dregs of food, and she smiled at the odd feeling. She tasted the rest off the spoon, and ate the final liquid drops left over. Then corked the jars and tucked them safely away in her square bag. The pot was washed, the cold water making short work of the hot iron's scalding touch.

She left the door open, and adjusted her shoes as she looked behind her.

This was the house. The home Wy'Ziot felt he would come to. They were leaving it now.

It felt empty... and yet that it would not be that way for long after.

They were going from this quiet and peaceful place. Her eyes went to the cracks that marred the wall over the mantle. How things had changed in that room so quickly.

...Her eyes averted, accidentally, to the other open door. The bedroom. There she woke in the comforts of a beast and shared a moment with her head against him as the sun rose. Watched him, played with him.

...What a strange place this was.

Yet a pang crossed her as she began to close the door. It was to wonder if he came back... if she would be here with him. The pang was the subtle, cautious doubt.

The door closed.

The werewolf man seemed ready. The horse seemed in perhaps, a good mood. Possibly that its coat was much more sleek now. He'd been cleaned up. Wy'Ziot took her things out of her hands, a move she still took time getting used to. As he fitted the horse, she came around to the front to look at the animal in the face. He eyed her, unimpressed, as usual. She exhaled... She was already proud that she'd approached the thing without having to stop, and was just able to put herself out of her mind enough to know she would ride him again soon.

She ventured something, but as she came closer to him, he balked a bit from her. Panyin raised a hand... fear and caution shot through her along with an odd dissociation. It was enough for today.

But the stallion saw this hand and pressed his nose against it, finding nothing, and went back to his business.

She looked it.

Come.

She walked back around to hoist herself, still having describable difficulty, but having some ability to do it.

Candles were extinguished. He kicked them off into a hard gallop, and they found the road again soon.

It was hard to talk on the horse; for her. So she kept mostly quiet, and was jarred from her thoughts by the movements that rattled powerfully through her with each step. She kept her sense of balance. She would have to develop it much better, if they were to keep this mount for a while. It felt that they would. It was the same... a terrifying beast lead her somewhere, and all she merely had to do was hang on and live by his speed.

She could do that.

Hours passed. Panyin saw the polygonal stones that build up into the cliff, the outer ruins of the walls still standing from what was left over from the coastal barrages. A war that went on for three years. The trees had been razed and cleared from lumbering, and it left space that could be seen outside of the city. They passed other travelers, even. Large caravans with product to be sold in the city, moving families, lone riders. She looked offended to even meet them at all.

The short time in the peaceful aloneness was gone. It was back to the civilization she knew rather well. That of humans. And many.
 
Wy'Ziot watched her over the stallion's back, and smiled as she blushed a little at his compliment. She headed back inside, and he wondered what her expression in relation to the poisonings in the city meant. He knew the Captial well, and knew that, soon as they entered the thick walls which cascaded down to the docks, they would lose all their weapons... well... as many as could be removed by force. Some weapons would always remain hidden. He smirked as she turned from him, not realising, it seemed, how sassy she was. Finishing making the horse presentable, he gathered the saddle, and laid it over the fence.

Saddles. There was something about them Wy'Ziot wasn't keen on. They inhibited a creature, made him a slave to those that sat upon him. Wy'Ziot didn't want to put it on the giant animal, but the little lass inside was simply not big enough to ride the gaint Vanner without it. He settled it upon the horse's back, and cinched it in. The horse was calm and happy with it, and as the girl in question came out, finally dressed and packed, Wy'Ziot rushed forward to take the heavy pack, a small grin spreading across his face. He settled it upon the side of the saddle, off balancing it with the same ballast bag as before. He didn't rush forward to help Panyin this time; she seemed determined to get into the saddle herself, but first, she finally introduced herself to the horse properly. He watched with kind eyes for a moment, because ducking his head with a grin.

"Djou still need to name 'im." He chuckled, as he entered the hut, and gathered his items. The tunic went over his head, and hid his lithe, athletic, broad body, the belt, as he had with the horse, cinching in over his waist. The black cape was then folded around his shoulders, and he slowly wound his forearms and ankles in the bandages he used. Raising the hood over his head, Wy'Ziot stepped back out to see her finally on the animal. He pointed at her, an impressed face being pulled. Hauling himself up behind her, they started the journey to the Captial.

Wy'Ziot had to admit he wasn't even sure of the name of the city officially. He'd only ever heard it called 'The City' or 'The Capital'. As they passed through the gates, huge and guarded, they were stopped only once to have their weapons removed; Wy'ziot's bone machete was taken, and a curt mention of not using his strength against anyone. Wy'Ziot simply nodded, used to this warning, having been here for many many years; these guards changed so regularly, it was likely he'd barely ever been seen more than three times by the same guard. They continued into the body of the Capital, finding one of the outskirts inns that held a stable. The giant stallion was deposited, and their things retrieved. They would come back to this inn for the night, but for now, it was just for the horse.

"Come. Ve 'ave to go." His words were slightly harder, going into business mode. He indicated slightly further down, following the pathways down towards the docks. "There is a place ve must go." He turned to look at her, and his grin came briefly, the one she'd come to know so well.
 
They took all her working knifes, but after a pause, most of the blades being not longer than a finger. Her dagger was lost to them as well, but truly no issue.

City Cha'laine. Or it was before the war. The name had been hotly debated in the later years, and for the most part only the highest ups cared as to what the city's name was.

The names for the horse were which she'd forgotten along on the way. She worked to remember them as the guards questioned here.

After they passed through the gates she had to work to keep track of him.

They were in it now. Perhaps it was because Wy'Ziot towered a head above the rest that he seemed unperturbed by it, but the sudden tide and flow of ongoing people was without pause. The throngs were acutely dense, and it was only by following him she knew where to walk. It was the middle of the day. Everyone was everywhere.

He stepped ahead for a moment and someone passed between them, and she nearly lost him. When she caught up, she grabbed onto his wrist. There were no sleeves to his tunic, so it was all she had. She felt like a child. And was sure she looked like one, too, next to him. But she realized with a jolt as he had pulled away from her that it would take very little for them to be separated. Simple seconds.

And there were things that could happen to separate them permanently.

The hand on his wrist was cutting.

They passed one of the market streets and she paused for only a moment, the smell of foods drifting over them and sending her brain aflicker. Drinks. Foods. Oils and herbs. Everything. They continued, with her not letting this stop them, though she looked back, wondering how many streets there were.

Crowds thinned as they made their way to the far sides of the city. The inn close to the docks was rather large, and it hit a more expensive demographic than expected. Perhaps it was known that those who wished to stay at the furthest edge of town had other business. And at this, the owner polished the inn to be quite a bit more providing than more quaint designs. The money followed, accordingly. They room they purchased hadn't even been a suite, but it fit them like one. And cost three times as much.

She brought half her things. Left her long kit behind.

Just as quickly as they had entered the city, they seemed to leave through the portside gates, heading to the massive port.

The docks were a long strip of the coast, and had been there so long they seemed as though they were part of the world from the beginning. The shops and services that lined the outer wall were so numerous that it became a town onto itself. It was much more dangerous out here, as anyone could be about without having to pass through the gates. There were almost all the comforts of a city out here along the water, and some people lived here along the outskirts, treating the inner city like another place entirely.

She still held onto him, knowing the feel. Having never knew this city, she didn't know the way it breathed. The way it buzzed. But there was always the underlying suspicion of what lay beneath.

Here, it seemed like the veins of the city started to surface.

The docks still had more people loitering about than had the whole city of Stonhelm.

The glances they received were passing, but not unnoticed. It was not the glances that people gave when they looked and then forgot, uncaring. They were an odd couple. It could prove to be a problem.

The dry, earthy smell of herbs shut out from a door that closed with a rattle and she stopped, this time, pulling him. Someone's portside herbalist and apothecary retained sturdy business out here.

It smelled of citrus. They most likely sold to sailors, touting cures of all kinds of wayfaring diseases, and, she could smell, other diseases that came with the life.

It was perfumed, that much was for sure, and she couldn't tell if the services were provided or if the insinuation was just so as to collect customers. But surely she could smell the real, raw things they kept there. It was not the best, not by a long shot, but the smells had made her hunger. Know that the city and she would use each other until one bled dry.

She looked back at Wy'Ziot, who waited for her. Stared with some expression on his face as he allowed her to stand there in silence, observing all the things she did without a word to the outside. And then she pushed him to continue their journey. Her other hand went to her head.

This city was too big. It provided too much. She wanted all of what it could give her, what it didn't know it could give her.

It had always been a question of what bigger bag she could get to keep. How she would carry it was a minor matter. But now she realized a mount was possible. A pack mule. Her eyes glanced at the werewolf, who proceeded in such a held stoic serenity she was aware she should be concerned, but the mind of her that buzzed was louder than her suspicions. She was loathe to think of him to immediately carry her stuff. Without restraint, she would not stop. Even he could not be asked to tout her things like a human caravan. Yet he provided options never seriously considered for her. He could handle animals. She could open herself to more assistance, growing her stores of things.

Then she could work forever? Her brain heated at the possibilities.

She didn't notice he was taking her along the taverns. They brimmed with sailors and residents even at midday, the overcast weather a cause of celebration at hiding the time they were drinking. They passed into an alley between two of the buildings that seemed to lead back into the city. A place where people passed through all the time, in minor bursts. There was even a minor guard post, up ahead. Small enough that it made it harder to pass through than the normal gates. There was a door nestled in right behind the tavern, wood and seemingly a part of the building instead of the city foundation. It felt as though it would lead to the back rooms of stout and gin. It did not.

She didn't know there were dozens to ways into the Contractor's, all separated and isolated throughout the city. In case one was discovered or had failed as an entrance.

There were two people in the dank and narrow hallway here that had been down three steps from the door. A third man stood by a door, one of many. Most of these doors went to maintenance and storage. A wine cellar was in one of them. The one by this man did not go to any of these. Wy'Ziot stopped them in front of him.
 
The walk was tedious, not because of the girl, but because of her lack of experience, one could almost say and ineptitude, at surviving the hustle and bustle of the streets of such a major city. As she had noted, it truly was a City of two halves; the top, where the large palace sat, along with the higher society members, and those that travelled and traded. The lower part held more of the general inhabitants, the shops, stalls and markets of the City dweller. Down past the wall that separated the areas, the lights and displays of high society dwindled, and the further towards the docks they went, the more the loss was felt; the guards became more scarce as well, and those that did hold position were shifty looking, not to be trusted.

Wy'Ziot had set his face, his jaw, his eyes, all to be hard and disinterested, and he had to admit he had forgotten himself for a moment. It was her nails biting into his wrist that made him stop, and look down. She was overwhelmed, and he didn't blame her. She clung to him like moss to a boulder, and it slowed them, as she mimicked his strides but had to jog to keep up. Instead, he slowed, and she seemed to come to a little from her initial overload, especially as they entered the lowest of the rungs of the Ladder, as the locals called it. Standing on the Long Dock, and great, central pier that jutted out into the port, and looking up to the Palace, the Capital did indeed look like rungs of a ladder, stepping up in stages, each more extravagant than the last. To find the lowest level of criminal, you had to find the bottom. And even the lowest rung didn't quite hold it.

Wy'Ziot waited for Panyin, as she gained a little bravery and explored some of the apothecary shops and stalls, encouraging her, pushing her forward, but each time she held back, quickly returning to claw into his arm. He didn't mind, and he'd rather she stay safe with him. Because of his size, and perhaps his appearance, the crowds that fizzled through the streets gave them a wide berth, like a stream redirecting around an island in the centre of it. And at its centre, the unusual duo. His strides carried them on to an alley between two buildings. The guard at the end nodded; Wy'Ziot bowed his head back. This area held more guards in the coin purse than even the elite rungs of the Ladder; the Contractors valued their privacy, and knew how to pay for it. Thr elite always assumed they deserved it, and paid poorly. It was a wonder they hadn't all received Contracts.

Wy'Ziot pressed the girl to his back, indicating she hold onto his cloak at this juncture. He stepped inside the side door, felt her body pressed against the small of his back, her curiosity peering around his frame. The man before him wasn't all man, and that Wy'Ziot knew by scent alone. To another, he looked human, until he turned his head, and his sharp ears showed beneath his lank, dark, greasy hair. His eyes blinked up at the giant, and his pocked and pimpled face split into a wide grin as he opened his arms and laughed.

"Well looky here!! If it ain't the Big Man, alive and very much kicking!!" The words, though jovial were edged with poison, and disappointment. Wy'Ziot bowed his head, and held out a hand for the sign in book. He wrote the only thing he'd ever learnt, and then added a plus sign, and a line. The greasy goblin half breed took the book in long, alien looking hands, his sweaty, shiny face dropping. "A plus one? Where?" Wy'Ziot drew back his cloak and stepped to the side a moment, before stepping back in front of the slathering monster. "You always did bring the most interesting gifts back, Wolfman." The goblin beast raised his strangely bent hands, missing numerous digits, alien and gross with long, dirty nails.

"Zhis vone is not for sale. Nor should anyone get any ideas to touch 'er." The words were a growl, and inside his chest, his Wolf pushed forward, wanting to add to the sentiment. 'She's mine'. The words weren't verbalised, but the weird creature seemed to have a pretty good idea that when the 'Wolfman' very rarely made idle threats, and backed up, settling onto a stall in the small alcove, watching Wy'Ziot stalk past, the girl still clinging to his back. The greasy creature licked a grey tongue over his dark lips, his slime green eyes watching her back. Inside the inner door, a spiralling staircase took them further down. It was soon interupted by a long, winding and undulating tunnel, where water dropped, rats squealed and ran from the predator in their midst, and a strong musty smell radiated.

Wy'ziot took her hand now, holding it tight to him, and he pulled them to a stop, before a corner in the tunnel opened up into golden light. His mottled eyes were hard as he stared at her. "Remain quiet. Speak only vhen spoken to, and I nod. If djou say zhe wrong zhings 'ere, djou could become an indentured play zhing. Zhere are few vomen 'ere 'om are not 'ere... making money." The last words laid heavy, and he hoped she grasped his meaning. He grinned at her, though for the first time, it didn't quite meet his eyes. He turned, releasing her hand, but if she wanted, allowing her nails to grip his wrist once again, and stepped through the last of the tunnel, relieved, as it meant he no longer had to stoop, and stretched to his full height into the Contractors' Hall.

A great waterfall fell from one side, and fell into a deep pool. All around, there were stalls, fencers taking stuff to sell, others selling other interesting wares, a weoponry master, with a giant forge, all manner of food and drink stands, and then there were the long tables. Wy'Ziot allowed Panyin to take in what looked like an underground market hall, before leading her forward. As they stepped through, murmurs of 'Wolfman' were whispered. Theories and rumours of what he'd done. There were also eyes on this newcomer. None approached at this time; most recognised the march of a man going to get his dues for a job completed. He was no use to them until coin jangled at his belt. But there was far more interest in the girl that followed him. Teeth licked, hands raising to lips in lewd gestures, a few catcalls to ask how she handled the 'Wolfman' or the 'Beast', being so small. The sneer on Wy'ziot's face deepened a little, his frown aggressive to any that spoke or shouted at the girl with him. As he passed through the tables and stood before three guards to an inner sanctum, just to the left of the sparkling blue waterfall, where, on closer inspections, a myriad crystals and gemstones grew around the mineral rich water.

The three guards stopped them, and pointed towards the table closest. It meant the Contractors were already in discussion with another. Wy'ziot lead Panyin to the table, and flagged down a working girl. She wore barely anything; her breasts were revealed, but a low slung loincloth hid what was hers to trade as she pleases. He ordered two drinks, fruit and herb infused teas, and paid the girl to make them clean; no alcohol. She grinned at him, and skipped off, to fulfil his order. Wy'Ziot looked to the girl, and bowed his head a little. "Zhis is no place for djou. I am sorry, I could not leave djou at zhat Inn. If ve are to travel, 'owever, djou need to meet vizh zhe Contractors." Seen speaking with her, a few of the younger members wolf howled at Wy'Ziot, leading to a deep rumble of a growl, and he stared as they walked on, cut off by the bar maids.
 
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She was hid in the shadow of his cloak, barely able to see what was doing on. She hadn't an idea even who he was talking to. Some kind of breed. She couldn't recognize him in the light. The rituals that were being passed around were details she could barely catch. As the half-breed saw her, he raised his hands in a way she didn't recognize until it felt he were to reach up as if to pull her from her hiding place. Wy'Ziot felt her start, her hand going instinctly to the knives at her back. They weren't there, of course.

She kept her eyes on him as they passed, in a glare that was her own.

They walked a long way through what felt like catacomb sewers. And stopped.

He took her hand. He was trying to establish things here. That she was not to speak unless spoken to. That there were things that could happen here that were beyond his control.

His smile was not himself, and the first dip of her heart started beating.

He couldn't protect her here.

The unease that had latched onto her began to chew. The feelings that had sat with him since they left the inn were, she realized, too late, were not those of confidence. It was not the threats that made her afraid. Though her mouth played into it; knowing it was what she would have to watch. "I… understand." She'd bite her tongue, bite her cheek.

He turned to go, and she lagged behind a step as she uncorked one of the bottles at her side and took a sip. Two and three.

She felt sick. She knew him as more powerful than he should be, still immortal in her mind. Yet he insisted he were so mortal, and this place was shaping up to make her truly understand.

They went inside. It was a larger group of people than she had expected, from the noise. She'd expected a dark, quiet sanctuary where you would talk and leave. It was a marketplace under the city, whose wares were that not to be spoken of.

Her eyes scanned the room, without turning her head too much. Was it possible for all these other players of this game to be as powerful as him?

Panyin had released her hold in the hallway, and walked on her own, behind him.

It was well lit, and in a sense organized. Surprised to find it populated and civilized, in a word. In the sense that there were more dealings than a hushed coin across the table, snatched into the darkness. Civilized was an arguable word. Some called the high courts of Abseinne civilized--and those were the most barbaric games she'd ever seen.

Under the city here, they attracted more open attention than the streets lined with daily-goers of more mundane city life. There was no politeness of fear to keep mouths shut. And it seemed her presence was striking the group more than his return.

It was noisy.

He said to say nothing. She said nothing. So those whose eyes she'd accidentally met, she raised her hand in the two-fingered gesture to vulgarly fuck off.

The proceedings he wished to be a part of were delayed, and they stopped short of their destination. They were asked to wait. To ease his nerves, or perhaps in an attempt to to allay hers, he ordered something to drink. The way he pried for these to be sober caught her a little sadly worried. She sat to the inside of the table. Here it'd be slower for someone to come sit next to her, or stand at the end of the table to engage her.

He then did something she did not entirely expect. He began apologizing.

Panyin tried not to show her frown. Who, truly, did he think she was? Someone sacred? Someone who belonged above here, in a warm little inn with a hearth toddering away at her things? The realization was strange, seeming ill-timed, and she leaned close to him, not willing to talk where her voice could be heard. Her head touched his shoulder, and she talked against him where only he could hear. There was a shift in the room at seeing them; in a form of what could have been perceived as affection.

"…You think I don't belong here...?" The whisper shuddered breath against his skin. There was something in her voice. The neutral surprise. And … amusement. Very tempered. She did not find play in this situation. She was not playing with fire this time. But that there was something she had not told him.

In truth, there were many.

She backed off just enough to resume taking a swig of one of their cups as the woman brought them. Tasted it before she swallowed. She drew Wy'Ziot's cup over as well, taking a sip as if wondering what it was. It was fine. They were about the same. The look on her face said she was curious, clueless like on a new adventure. It made her look even more diminutive, as she already had to raise up with her elbows on the table as it was taller than for her. The look one inside her said it was ideal time to be caught off guard.

She took her bottle and poured some into her cup, taking a bigger drink of it.

It was certainly not the same. But not too dissimilar. Time would tell if this place was worse than she could imagine.

She sat back down, content to drink, and tried to keep her eyes off everything in the room, where everyone else lurked. She didn't quite see an apothecary on her way in, but could pick out the sliver of sliced herbs across the musk. Blood. Rust. Ale. Water. Sweat. Smoking metal. Coal. She opened her eyes.

And the eyes found it, her head unmoving. One of the stalls where the vendor, a sleek, tanned elf, was scraping something off a board into a mixture. She glared, trying to see what the rest of the table entailed. She was not impressed from this distance. And it smelled of simply being three things, now that she could hone in on it. Poison. Sedation. And aphrodisiacs.

The latter of which was a myth to her.

Her fingers reacted on the table. Rubbed something between her fingers that had floated, gently down from the ceiling. An odd pollen. Her eyes glanced, only needing to look across the room. There were long swathes of moss lining the ceiling here, going over grates and gutters which probably led, eventually, to the surface. That, and the moss itself would be where the fresh air was coming from. And they would block most sound from coming to the surface.

Her eyes glanced back down, feeling an approach on her, coming nearer. It ignored the warning sitting beside her. It was close now. Something not quite a death knell, making its way up her shoulders. Someone whose eyes had taken too much interest.

The stranger's hand slammed the table next to her hands. Her shoulder gave a start, but the rest of her remained. She allowed her head to turn to the smiling face. This man was strong, but it was hard to have anyone comparable even to just Wy'Ziot's size. He'd a dark stripe of paint across his eyes, half hid by the hair that curtained him. His smile and teeth seemed pointed. She saw a pattern on his neck, but did not care to look long for if it were the remnants of armored scales or a fading tattoo.

He felt like the kind that could slit her throat and talk to her for two minutes before she knew it'd happen. A fast one. He was lithe, with sharp muscles fit for bursting speeds. Perhaps he was cold-blooded as well. She drank her tea, and put her hand on the bench to drag herself closer to Wy'Ziot. The only means of self-defense she could righteously use at the moment.

He was withheld, just enough not to cause a scene yet. But hair had fallen into her face, and he reached up to move it out of her face. Steadily, she turned her head towards Wy'Ziot, and he missed the ability to. He chuckled.

"Funny one you've brought to us, Wolf." He leaned in a way that meant he was going to sit down.
 
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The werewolf lifted his lip in a small snarl as the man approached. His skin was a myriad scales and leathery skin patches, his face flat, teeth points, mouth wide across his face. Like someone had given him a Chelsea smile, but he'd just adapted to it. His hair had been replaced with a crown of horns that pointed back towards the back of his skull. Wy'Ziot kept his gaze level as he watched the Lizaar approach. They were a rare breed, reptilian, and sly. Wy'Ziot did not like this particular one at all. His mottled eyes flickered towards the creature who was reaching out to touch Panyin. The large hand shot out with surprising speed for his size, and twisted. The Lizaar squeaked, and dropped to his knees as the werewolf stood, the wrist twisted in a vicious way, standing over the other Contract member.

"I bring vhat, Graak? I zhink djou vill find zhat zhis girl is my boss. Djour claws, zhey stay away, do djou 'ear me?" The werewolf crouched before the man, his snarl sharpening to a toothy grin. The reptilian man snarled back, his wide mouth opening in a hiss as he was released and thrown back. Wy'Ziot stood, taking his ceramic cup and draining the remenants of the drink. The cup was flicked artfully at the reptilian man, bouncing off his flat face. "Get avay from me, slimeball." He growled, seating himself back down. The Lizaar Contractor scuttled back, before standing and brushing himself down. The hard stare of the werewolf never leaving him as he returned to the three he'd been stood with.

Wy'Ziot indicated them as they glared back and walked off. "Graak and 'is cronies; Mysandra, Drill, and Slai." He watched them leave. "Slai is like Graak, Lizaar. Mysandra and Drill are lovers. 'Uman. Good killers, lousy taste in companion." He watched their backs as they headed out and sucked through his teeth, a low growl rumbling through his chest. The bar girl returned, lowering herself to pick up the cup he'd flicked at the Lizaar, to which Wy'Ziot gasped, and went to assist.

"Apologies, I should 'ave picked zhat up. In fact, shouldn't 'ave used it at all to ping 'is gross face." The girl chuckled, using the werewolf's strong arm to raise back to her height, a lot taller than Panyin, he head able to lean into his shoulder as she pressed against him with a further chuckle

"No trouble, Wolfman. Who is your friend? She's pretty. You always did like to cause trouble." She wandered over, setting down her tray of empty glasses on their table, her hands gently stroking through Panyin's hair. "But you always did have good taste!" The bar maid set herself down next to Panyin, taking her arm and leaning against her, smiling affectionately. "My name is Mina. Wolfy here always looks after me. He's a good man. How did he come to find you, sweetie?"

Wy'ziot coloured a little, but his jaw set, and he sat again, trying not to look at the two. The girl whom had identified herself as Mina giggled, and stroked her dark hair, before twirling a finger into Panyin's fiery head of hair and resting her head against the woman's shoulder. "Aww, Wolfie. Come on, why so quiet, honey. Don't you wanna share your new friend with me?" Mina's
voice was quiet, but sensual, and somewhat simple. Her wide blue eyes contrasted with her black hair and vibrant pale skin. Wy'Ziot chuckled at her, and indicated she peel off of Panyin, though the girl pouted, her full blush lips pursing.

"Come on, Mina. Djou know djou'll get in trouble. I'll take another tea, if djou 'ave it available. Panyin?" The werewolf's eyes pleaded with the working girl to let them be.
 
Panyin didn't look until it seemed to be over, so she missed most of it in her attempt to stay stoic. Eventually he drove the Lizaar off, and as she turned, introduced her to the rest of his leaving posse.

Um. She was not quite interested in them. But it always paid to know your enemies.

Then he becomes aware that his actions have consequences and is embarrassed to the bartender. Panyin rubs her nose bridge, thinking briefly if he loses his judgment to temper in more dire situations. She could picture it. She hoped it was not true.

The barmaid is tall. Panyin admires her height, wondering what it is like for her to be taller than most of the women and stand at the height of most men at that. It may be nicer.

She's pretty. Panyin looked at her skeptically, not really hearing that from the wild beauty in front of her, but at the mention of Wy'Ziot, a troublemaker, words bubbled at her lips, alert.

She drank them down.

Became a doll to her touching. She'd just avoided being touched and here she was, oh well. There was a snuff of a chuckle, hearing that Wy'Ziot is as good as any man you would find here. It was not surprising.

Mina was prying her for answers.

He said to say nothing.

So she smiled at Mina, before meaning to turn her head away. Ignore her. That seemed a little harsh. She hesitated.

Mina looked at her, expecting anything, and Panyin leaned in, planting a small kiss on her cheek.

Mina paused. Then squealed with laughter and wrapped her arms around her neck. Panyin attempted to lean away, a wry smile dry on her mouth.

"What is that?? She's adorable! Can I keep her, please?"

They both looked at Wy'Ziot, to which Panyin realized he was asking her to say something at this point.

"Tea please." She looked at her.

Mina pouted, upset with her answer but bopped her nose, kissing her on the cheek as well before she got up and collected their things to return the bar.

"She likes me. You should share." Mina patted him hard on the arm to propose he seriously consider it before walking off.

Panyin inhaled, getting her elbows comfortable on the table again. She kept her eyes on the werewolf, some smile still present. Let her gaze remove itself as he sat back down.

Panyin didn't seem to like much of anyone, he could have begun to realize. Boys that bought her wares. Cute small town barmaids. A town of people whose generosity was exceptional in the face of her help. She was tense and balked at positive attention. Kindness was suspicious.

It seemed she could like Mina, but the front of it seemed like a smile for amusement.

But she seemed to be… less tense than he remembered her at an honored dinner or in a crowded tavern, selling wares.

Of all things, he could detect, she seemed to be… having fun. As he'd never saw her sat quietly with a smile, even if it didn't entirely reach her eyes.

She inhaled, deeper, closing her eyes. Wy'Ziot. She felt it push against her lips, wishing to be said and practiced. Her life had held many names passing through head and hands, but she had never felt a name that she should hold close to her heart. Even her own name was an anomaly. A neutral term which defined her and at many times cursed her.

Wy'Ziot… out of all the names she would remember, it the one she felt she had to clutch on to.

Someone leaves the audience chamber of that innermost sanctum. Someone in dark armor, tall and lithe. Their face is hidden, but even Panyin looks for the somewhat commotion. Whoever it is acknowledges the werewolf beside her in passing. Rivalry or respect. She can't tell from here.

One of the triad of guards gestures for them, and she stands to follow Wy'Ziot. Rushes her tea before catching up. Eyes are on them again until the duck into the other room.

She runs her tongue against her teeth to remind herself.
 
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Wy'Ziot finally allowed his gaze to fall on the two women, and he couldn't help but bite his lip in appreciation. Sure, Mina was on display; she always was. She wasn't ashamed of her body, and to put it on show got her more customers, both to her little bar here, and also in... other areas. Then Panyin, and her clothes. Wy'Ziot still struggled to understand his own desires; clothing making it all the more difficult to ignore her; if she were dressed like Mina, he'd probably be able to ignore her, but she didn't; she dresses like a traveller, an adventurer, a rogue. She didn't wear form hugging skirts or dresses; she wore practical trousers, shirts and vests. And she was delectable. Mina's squeal of excitement at the retaliation from Panyin set his teeth on edge, and his wiggled a little finger into his ear as the girl wrapped herself around Panyin, draping over her, her sly expression on Wy'Ziot. 'Share'. That wasn't his decision to make, but Panyin may have just signed that offer in her reaction.

When the tea was deposited, and Mina had winked and waved to her new friend, before heading off to do whatever it was she had to do on her little tavern bar, Wy'Ziot eyed Panyin. "I 'ope djou know vhat djou just did. Zhat girl vill be obsessed vizh djou now for as long as djou return vizh me." It was more of a statement than a query. He looked at her hard, but shook his head with an honestly amused smirk and chuckle, the first time he'd relaxed in this place since they'd arrived. "Mina is a good kid. She got wrapped up in zhis crap as a youngster. She should never 'ave been 'ere. Brought in as a stray by one of zhe men. I protected 'er for as long as I could before she made 'er own choices on vhat sold best 'ere. Her drinks, or 'er body. I'm sure djou can see vhich." The werewolf cast a morose expression towards the girl for a moment, his face slowly hardening before he revealed too much. "And she calls me trouble. It vouldn't be exaggerating to say she may 'ave caused at least a quarter of my scars vizh 'er trouble." He smiled though, face softened, before he took a long sip of his tea, enjoying its taste.

The werewolf followed the gaze of his companion, and frowned. The tall figure that left the Contractor Sanctum was not one he had seen for a fair while, and he slowly stood, stepping in front of Panyin. The tall figured bowed his head to Wy'Ziot, whom did the same, with the same hand gesture he'd used when placing the skulls into the earth beneath the river. The enclosed hand, starting at the centre of his forehead, before being moved away with the fingers opening and splaying wide. The tall, shrouded figure did not reciprocate. When they were motioned in, Wy'Ziot waited for the tall man to disappear from site, before finishing his drink, and stepping down to where the doorway was.

The room is dimly lit, and where it is lit hides the number of people sat in the audience seating. The light highlights solely the central 'stage', lined with sand and sawdust, to clear any... spillages. Around the auditorium, a few shuffles are heard, and Wy'Ziot could pick out at least 5 separate breath noises. He rolled his shoulders, and stood tall, keeping Panyin close. What he wouldn't wish to be in his natural form, to be able to see past the dramatic lighting. Only, the Contractors didn't appreciate a large, slightly unhinged werewolf being loose, not after the last time...

"Zhank djou for seeing me, Contractors. I come bearing zhe news zhat zhe Lord of Stonelm is dead, as is 'is... abomination... of a son, as per zhe requ----" A cough cut him off, and Wy'Ziot fell silent, dropping to a knee, and bowing his head.

"The job had been to kill solely the man and his beast of a son. You were not permitted to kill as many of the guards as you did. Yes, Wolf. It got back to us that you went more than a little overboard." The werewolf turned his face down, quietly cursing. "You thought you'd get here before news of what you did, Wolf? Hardly surprising, you always were dense." The voice belonged to an aged fellow, but whom's voice commanded a great respect. The werewolf stood once more, leaving his head down, hands clasped in front of him, clearly missing his blade.

"What is this creature you bring before us?" This voice belonged to that of an older woman, whom's haughty tone was like nails on a chalkboard.

"Zhis voman saved my life. As djou are probably avare, I did not 'oley go to Stonelm vizh zhe intention I vould get out alive. Zhis girl protected me, tended to my vounds. I owe 'er a debt." The woman's response from the darkness was nought but a harsh, choking laughter. Snide and derisive, it made Wy'Ziot wince a little

"A debt, Wolf? You bring a debt with you? Perhaps you were not the right one to send to Stonelm after all." Laughter echoed around the crucible, and Wy'Ziot snarled to himself. "Needs must, I suppose. We should be thankful she was able to bring back one of our finest, even if you're nothing but a sensitive, over-complicated fool, Wolf." The woman's voice stopped, and the elderly male one returned.

"Girl. What price does the Wolf have on his head for your helping? We'll pay whatever it is, so you can be on your way. But mark this, you ever tell of where you have been. Or what you have seen. You will be dead, before the day ends." Wy'Ziot looked to the girl, once more dropping to his bent knee when they finished talking with him. His mottled eyes begged her not to say anything stupid, to say anything to anger these leaders. He hated this place with a passion, but it provided his income, and gave a reason to his skills. And to what he was. He was not often assigned tasks such as the one he'd been given; he was, as had been shown, a messy killer. His strengths laid in making a scene, and making it horrific. He'd been given the Stonelm job simply because of the son, infected by one of his own. Now, the Contractors had been proven right that he couldn't take care of sneaky business opportunities, and that when he did, he brought home strays.
 
"I 'ope djou know vhat djou just did." Panyin raised her brows at him. "Zhat girl vill be obsessed vizh djou now for as long as djou return vizh me."

He saw the look on her face. What had been nothing, truly nothing to Panyin had ended up being the world of her to that young woman. She didn't know how to feel but mistaken. It was still out of her conception that her actions had any great effect on people. Even now, Panyin did not notice that she thought of her own saving of his life as no great gesture anyone else were incapable of. Her minor distraction toward the girl should have also been a throwaway gesture, as it was to her, and it should be to anyone else.

She made a mistake, and would be embarrassed for it. She chuckled, hiding her eyes in her folded hands. That would not be an enjoyable future. But she was laughing.

She raised her eyes to watch him and his story, his recollection of Mina; the smile still sitting with her. Her brows raised, amused. There was history there. One she would have enjoyed seeing. And chuckled, though sadly, at the thought she'd been part of his history of scars.

Tsk tsk.

A stray… it was something he called her once or twice. Or others did in place for him.

Was she comparable to Mina, then, to him? She didn't see the two of them to be much alike; the other woman so much younger.

She knew her history would not be very different if she had come here in the same way. At the same age. This place did not seem kind to those who needed to grow.

She could do it, almost anyone could do it--but as with everything it still took skill to be good at any practice. And Panyin did not have faith her mind would find its hold and stop its eating of itself had she been stuck in such a business.

She watched his exchange with the dark figure. A werewolf as well? Or simply someone honored. Then she stood.

It was time.

They were plunged from a warm area into a cold pool. The sound had drained out here, quieted away as if the other room hushed. It was not that the other populace was quiet, the doors simply closed the sound away. They stepped out from a disgusting warmth, like a poisoned womb, to a cold, unfeeling darkness which strangled kindly. Panyin preferred the poisoned wombs.

She stared into the blank darkess in front of her, night blinded by the lights and unable to make out any faces. Wy'Ziot began to speak, and she began to drift in her attention.

A cough.

Wy'Ziot dropped to a kneel, and she stared at this form. It didn't make her angry... but it surprised her to see it. Him nearly prostrating at the sound of a voice.

Her tongue felt past her cheek, and she stood, waiting.

Stood without honorifics, adjusting her footing once on the soft sand. Her head tilted in such a way it primed to fall off, and she stood in much too lax a way in the presence of those who regarded themselves as kings. She listened, the annoyance on her face visceral. She hid nothing, and those who watched her knew she was not belligerent to hide fear and unease.

But the conversation went on, and slowly her posture settled in itself, and her head went down, listening.

She was the woman. The creature before them. Again, that had saved his life. She wondered; did she really?

The woman's laugh was hard to get past, and Panyin's mind started closing itself, as it did when bored, from disdainful prattling, but it rewound on something said in passing.

Without the intention to get out alive.

Her head turned to him. Two parts continued to listen. One part realizing.

She had saved his life.

Is what he said. Over, and over, and over.

But not from wounds.

She didn't know what she was seeing as she looked at him.

She saved him from letting himself die.

...She swallowed.

The sudden significance of herself hit her with a weird feeling, one she was not prepared for. And now was not the time to have this happen. So she swallowed it down, forced herself back to the present. Gathered up all her strings and tried to listen.

The voices tethered her, returning her to an old place. Her old hatred. It was somewhere she was comfortable. And she could think here.

She latched on. This is how they treated one of their finest. Disposable. She frowned. Either they had so many at their disposal that their finest consisted of more than fifty, or they were simply fools who treated their valued with nothing more than disdain. Perhaps they wished to think themselves apart from their hands. They were the hands which pointed the way that led these murderers. And yet perhaps they thought themselves above the grunt work they ordered out.

Teeth pressed at her edges. She watched Wy'Ziot now and then. She was trying not to.

He was an over-complicated, sensitive fool. She agreed.

Then they talked to her. She caught him late as the disembodied begun speaking.

They asked her what she wanted of this. She had not prepared for that, and wondered if Wy'Ziot knew this question was coming.

She looked at him. He was already staring at her. The intensity in his eyes was desperate, giving her something to fight the things inside her that held no restraint.

Don't say anything stupid.

He could see the biting at the edge of her mouth as she stared at him. Through him. Waiting out the beat in her heart.

Killing. Slowly. Anything inside of her that would talk. Until it didn't beat and something else would come out when she spoke.

What did she truly want out of this? She was not prepared for anyone to ask.

Her mind raced through the possibilities. There were wrong answers here. They were asking her what she wanted from him, so that they could give it to her. And then take him away.

A mind of two things. How to get out. And yet she needed to answer the question.

Her brain grasped at the little straws she was given. She couldn't calculate these types too well--it was do or die in every interaction with those. The ramifications of every intention she meant could end in disaster.

In a utility sense; it was protection. He swore to her a permanent protection. But he had given her more than that. She could pay for protection with coin.

If she said protection… they might simply assign her passing spirits which drifted in and out of her life, followed at a distance and kept her safe.

Slowly, in small movements, she raised her head, to look into the darkness.

Panyin could hear their impatience at taking her time. She didn't care.

She opened her mouth, and blood spilled out. Warm drips splattered into the sawdust in small drops. She'd been biting her apparently more than she knew. She paused to wipe this with her wrist, red smears remaining across her face and hand.

So she had to be clear.

She talked.

The words eked out in the stillness, to the darkness. "…I want Wy'Ziot."

That sounded… not truly intended as it was. She lowered her head, words coming, her body falling into them naturally. Her stance relaxed. "His protection suits me. We travel at the same pace." She tilted her head up. Looking as if she were seeing them. "...I'm not a stranger to criminality and murder. And I don't plan to stop him from… whatever this is."

A pause. Maybe a mistake. "And I don't want to be assigned other protection."

She pained herself at her last sentence, lowering her head in a calm stance controlled by the merchant hand she held within her. But her eyes closed, waiting. Wincing.
 
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The silence was deafening to the werewolf. The shifting of cloaks, fabric rustling, the occasional clink of metal, someone wearing armour in the darkness. Wy'Ziot heard it all in the darkness that surrounded them as he remained on his knee, head bowed, waiting for Panyin. The scent of her blood when she first opened her mouth, the pattering of it peeked not only Wy'Ziot's senses, but that of his Wolf. His beast clawed at him, screaming to go to Panyin, wrap around her, give her strength, but her words... the Wolf quietened, his eyes solely for this beauty. The silence after she finished was long, and Wy'Ziot, too, closed his eyes, unsure if her words had been appropriate.

Around them, murmured discussion, laughter at the situation, a few derisive snorts. Finally it all fell silent. The sound of someone standing. Wy'ziot's eyes shot wide, and with his inhuman speed, jumped to his feet and stood before the girl as the throwing knife sliced through the air. It plunged, deep into his chest, and the beastial snarl confirmed to them whom had truly made the promise. The black metal dagger was small, with a loop of metal in its hilt, and it quivered in the barely contained menace of the wolf. One large hand reached up, and yanked it from his sternum and threw it to the ground. The edges of his vision blurred, butWy'ziot ignored it. He could feel his hot blood pounding in his ears, making a mess of his tunic.

"As suspected, it was the Wolf in this pathetic man whom made the Promise, and we do not understand these ancient magicks enough yet to know how to break it, without killing him. We expect you, Wolf, to work out an appeasement to this situation, and get this woman on her way. As for your latest job, you will take a deduction; a quarter of the payout is yours. Next time, follow the brief. Now get out. You will be summoned when we have a new job for you. Don't leave the Capital until you have received it." Wy'ziot nodded, his snarl still in place. His vision was starting to swim as he turned, taking the arm of Panyin and wrapping her into his side, as much for physical contact as it was for support as he felt like he'd been drinking. "Oh, yes, one other thing, woman. Show us your skills. That dagger has a poison applied to control this fool. Something specific to his kind. If you can work it out, and free him if it's affects before we next meet, perhaps, even, create more... you're welcome to stay in our Family."

Wy'Ziot growled again, and led the pair out. The light was blinding as they stepped into the underground market hall, andWy'ziot swayed on his feet. He kept them moving, till they were close to Mina's bar, and he waved, having to sit upon the cold steps. Sweat beaded on his skin, and his breathing was sharp. He smiled at Panyin, pulling her in to him, hugging around her waist, burying his face into her stomach. He stayed there, breathing her scent, holding her, covering his eyes from the blinding lights around them. The Contractors had done this to him before; it was a poison, and he knew it would pass, but could take weeks to not feel and appear drunk, and they had stated they would let her stay if she could manufacture a cure, and more of the poison.

He slowly raised his head from her body, his muscles starting to twitch uncontrollably; this was the worst part; it could take hours to pass, and his Wolf didn't like it. "I am so proud of djou, Panyin. Djou did it." His face split into an honest smile, broad, and at ease. The more his muscles relaxed now he knew she was safe here, the more the involuntary convulsions spread through him, small tics that would tire him; it was the purpose of the drug they'd synthesised; a control for the beast within him. He turned his face and growled a moment as his vision swam, and he felt like he might pass out. His large hands held on to her hips for stability, like a drowning man clutched at anything buoyant.

Behind them, Mina appeared; she'd seen this before, and trotted down the steps from her tavern. "Oh Wolfie, did you upset them again?" Her sing-song voice interrupted his dizziness, and he held out a hand for her to take. Together, the two girls raised him to his feet, Mina, being the taller, and physically able to, buried her own shoulder into his armpit to help him to the seating in her bar. She deposited him somewhat roughly, and skipped off to find some water.

"She's not 'uman." Wy'Ziot stated, leaning back in the seat he'd been plonked down in. He had always wondered, but being able to help such a huge beast up the steps was hardly something he'd imagined she could do. He held out a hand for Panyin, chlosing his eyes as more convulsions shook his muscles. "Panyin..." His eyes drifted, rolling into the back of his head as Mina returned with water and a cloth.
 
They waited.

Shuffles, and laughter. It didn't sound like a good reaction.

It was a good thing she had been drinking all that healing potion just before.

She raised a hand to continue speaking but it had already happened. A skid of sand and flash of movement more powerful than any she could ever muster, and the snarls in the aftermath were the only way she had known what had happened.

"Wy'Ziot!" Her tone screamed with anger. The plonk of the knife as it hit the sand was the next thing for her, and she recognized the sheen along the blade that was not wet from his blood. They talked, figuring out what had truly happened. They knew of the Promise. They knew he could not leave her. She gathered the details while he slunk, lower and lower in front of her.

Apparently it was the Wolf who had desired this companionship. Not Wy'Ziot. It was something that would kill him. Something beyond them. Reminded her it was magic further than five hundred years ago, beyond their capabilities.

She looked at him. He had managed to make it their trump card.

"Oh, yes, one other thing, woman." She turned. "Show us your skills. That dagger has a poison applied to control this fool. Something specific to his kind. If you can work it out, and free him if it's affects before we next meet, perhaps, even, create more... you're welcome to stay in our Family." The details shed light on the type of poison, that it was to control and not to kill. And it was as if she wouldn't have already figured that out and done it as soon as she were out of here anyway.

They assigned her. To control. Give them more.

As if she wanted to be part of this circus. Her eyes could not roll farther back in her head as the disgust hit her stomach, boiling her anger.

The dagger lay there, collecting sand, its red blood caking. He wouldn't let her go, so she stamped her foot on the dagger and dragged it under her, ducking to get it and nearly toppling them in the process. They saw her before she left, looking back at them as a finger dragged across their blade and she touched it to her tongue.

It was bitter. Aconite. Obviously. In a particularly fashioned mixture. Her brain counted out the ingredients, picking them apart.

Beyond easy. Even if she hadn't a cure yet.

She hadn't time to worry about that now. He stumbled down into the stony floor, just managing to collapse them on the steps. She thought this was as far as he could go, but he held her. Buried in her. She waffled, thinking this was weakness. Showing his back to everyone here. Trapping hers. But he breathed her, relieved. So relieved. And she killed that part of her that worried for death... and let herself hold him.

He looked up, and she smiled, uncertain at him.

"I am so proud of djou, Panyin. Djou did it." If he was proud she simply kept her mouth shut... she didn't know how to feel. It hadn't felt as though they had won anything. The Contractors he was so indentured to still sought to break his pact with her. His... Promise.

He started to contract. Her smile ended, feeling the warm blood dripping through her shirts that touched her now.

Mina came, to her relief; the only person they could consider some sort of ally. With some effort, she got them to the bar proper.

Panyin slipped into the seat next to him, watching his wavering form. Not realizing how long it'd take to get out of here. At his observation, she spared a moment to look at Mina. She could not be an orc... her skin was alabaster like the moon, with no gray or bluish tint either. She could be a sliver of giant. Panyin could picture it. How fortuitous for them.

"Panyin..." He held out his hand. His shaking had become convulsions, and she held his hand, cupping it with both of hers as she watched him slip away into sleep.

She cast her eyes down, holding his hand close to her chest. "You're an embarrassment..." She muttered. Showing such a level of weakness to all these murderers. Was this so normal? Did they really care so little as to when he was exposed or was there some odd sense of family and camaraderie that permeated this group as a whole? She hadn't gotten any remote sense of the latter. She felt the melting pot of backstabbers and bottom-dwelling murderers. No art existed here.

Panyin looked around to see how they were being watched. She realized it didn't matter much anymore. It was all out now. He had shown affection for her. Needed to hold her. It had all been in plain sight. She expected this to put another target on their backs. Yet she watched him, his sleep ebbing her with sereneness, Mina wringing a cloth and wiping it over his brow and Panyin watching the water rivulets drip down the side of his face. She'd seen the flash of ease before he was sent into a painful slumber.

She couldn't quite care of the newly painted targets on their backs. The fact they chose to show weakness for one other. All those who wanted to hunt them would have to come. Mina wiped his brow, unable to do more at the moment, and Panyin didn't see her step away.

She noticed movement as he started sliding off the counter. "You're joking me." She grabbed him to try and keep him from falling off, and dragged him back onto it with all her strength. She shuffled through her things to drink a strength potion, gulping down the whole vial.

She got under him, and lifted him enough to drag him held over her. It was almost effortless. But the difference between them was too much to deal with how to drag his body with its long limbs, all the way back to the hotel without being a pile moving in the street. She could not maneuver this. She slipped him off her, back onto the bar as Mina returned to investigate the commotion.

She looked at her, voice sweet but her face wearing only a cringe. "Mina..."
--

Eighteen hours.

That's how long it took her to make an anti-poison. It took twenty minutes for her to think and figure out what was in it. It took about forty minutes to get him back to the inn with Mina, dragging him through the street in the dead of night. The stairs at the inn were the worst part. The banister was narrow, and all three of them had been crammed in, trying to figure out a way not to carry his whole weight while not catching him on the lips of the wooden stairs. Fancy stairs were absurd. And then it took ten minutes for Mina to leave, all the promises plied out of Panyin.

Her lab took up the entirety of the table and the floor under it. She had made a difficult decision to keep it out of the bathroom in the case that he woke with the need to go vomit. Knocking over her labs would be the first obstacle to getting all this done, and gods forbid if anything broke.

The lab work was fine. It was her. The elements and axioms of her being. Just another challenge waiting to be conquered and the only thing in her way was time.

It was him that was the difficult part.

For a big brute like that to which pain was second nature, she would have left him alone. Kept him pure, for the sake of knowing exactly when she had produced the right antidote. But she could not. He was no longer the faceless merc whose results were the only thing that mattered. She went through the motions of treating him. Her mind felt betrayed and her body ached. She plied him with anti-fevers. Fed him muscle relaxants. Aided his sleep more deeply. And tasted his blood.

When his shaking stopped, she couldn't know if he was still poisoned. How poisoned. So she tasted it in him. Cut the side of his wrist and lapped the blood like a vampire cat and ignored her idiocy as she made sure it was the same poison courcing through his veins.

He metabolized her potions as he drank them, and yet the poison stayed longer. Surely this was something to admire of their concoction. ...No. Not theirs. They asked her to make more as if they were unsure if they could get more from their own source. Whoever had made it. And she was loathe to suddenly become their supplier.

Sleep was forgotten. As often it was.

Before he knew it, he awoke by early evening. The light was still bright, askance in the room, and from his groan, he heard her foot patters.

She stared at him from the doorway of the bathroom.

"...Morning..." She walked toward him. Her legs were bare. The shirts fell over them, almost to her knees, as they were not tightened to her chest by the vest and belts. The room was humid, though the window ajar, the air didn't seem to leave. Her hair fell about her in a way as well.

"How are you feeling...?" She knelt on the bed and crawled almost over him, opening his eye with a hand to look at him closely. He didn't like this.

He also didn't like how many things she was feeding him whilst he was asleep. At some point he wouldn't take any more of what she was giving him, and the wolf inside snapped at her a few times, unhappy with the taste and what was happening. Feeling as though he was drowning.

She'd made the cure. It was just a matter of him drinking it. "Here..." She had the rest of it, and tried to help him sit up to take the rest.

Eighteen hours.

They had no idea who she was, to ask her to do such a thing, thinking it were difficult.

But in that confidence, she realized also that it would be the same for anyone. It was the same for Wy'Ziot. She looked at him after he finished the flask, seeing him feel the effects of the antidote. Panyin smiled in an odd way. There was no reason to be sad. But it was there, strangely. She sat back. "...I... they don't really know who I am. To ask me to do such a silly thing." Her smile was snide. Then it faded. "...well... you don't, really... either..." It made her sad unnecessarily.

With some bashfulness, but really, as she spoke it was gone, she sat back. "...I'm greatest alchemist that yet lives." It was not a title she carried officially or shouted for recognition. It was simply... the truth. She turned and laid back on the bed beside him. Finally feeling exhaustion and all it's clinging fingers on her. "I've never met anyone who comes close."

Young. Old. Prodigal. Schools of studies. Universities and professors. Hermits in the woods. None were comparable.

She was quiet. Her eyes open to what was ahead of her. "…There's a craziness inside my head… It puts nails in my skull and keeps me awake if I don't do anything... and it always wants to consume..." She hardly knew she was talking. "… it needs to. And when I did alchemy, the feeling went away, so I never… stopped…"

And it was the only thing to give her, always, peace. Thirty years of practice, of tiring sleeplessly. She could taste what things could do. She could make potions out of one ingredient.

But she had stopped a few days ago. And the insanity had not struck her. Until now, again.

But what happened a few days ago…

Her hand clutched him, with her eyes closed. "I don't want to sleep…" she was drifting. "Keep me awake…"
 
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Wy'ziot's head was fitful. Sleep drifted in and out, and he only barely noted when things were poured into his mouth and choked him. In his chest, his Wolf paced, fierce. It didn't like being fed this stuff, and on the odd occasion his head was swimming closer to the surface, human teeth snapped at the hands that held his cheeks, his jaw, pried open his mouth to feed him the substances that tasted foul. His body would convulse, his back would arch, but still he'd sleep, his body twitching periodically. The dreams were weird, they always were when they used this stuff on him. He saw times of his past, running through the woodland with his siblings, bowling at the moon, dancing in swirling stars like a stream, lights dancing around his feet, the female he'd been destined to join with, laying as humans under the afternoon sun, caressing.

It was then he realised his dreams and the feelings he was experiencing were similar, and the touches to his body were actually occurring; caresses to his sweaty chest and face, a sting in one of his wrists. The light hurt his head as he started to come around, and as he tried to sit up in the comfortable bed, he felt hands helping him, and then prying in his eyes. His lip lifted in a snarl, and his teeth clacked towards her hands before he had fully came to. As he sat, a long, grumbling moan reverberated around his chest. Something was forced into his hand, and a simple direction given. His blurry vision regarded the red head with skepticism, but he started as he was told, its taste not as abhorrent as some of the tastes he'd received, and his Wolf accepted it this time, feeling the warmth spread through his veins. His vision swam for only a few moments, before everything started to become clear, and a huge sigh rocked his frame. As she appeared before him, radiant, he smiled, rubbing at his chest with a hiss.

"Vhat 'appened..." He murmured, frowning into his chest as he tried to draw his memories back to him. As she sat next to him and started to speak, he looked at her with confusion, realising that she was telling him this because the Contractors had twigged her skills. He looked about the room, and saw all her lab kit laid out. He looked to her again, and continued to listen, his mind a whirlwind, still recovering its faculties. She mentioned something that clawed at her head, at her mind. And she gripped his hand, and begged his help. He leaned forward, grappling with the front of her shirt and dragging her into his lap, pressing a crushing kiss to her lips. His hands held her waist, thumbs brushing her hip bones that pushed through her shirts.

He pulled away, looking at her, careful. "I only know vone vay, Panyin. Djou must tell me djou're sure." He placed a hand under her chin, making her make eye contact, seeking out the approval he required to continue.
 
It was not short.

Yet when he pulled away, her mind doubted what had happened.

She stared at him blankly, vaguely aware as he tethered her there with his thumbs, guiding her hips. He spoke, crossing reality and what she thought were hallucinations.

"I…" Did she? "…I can't…"

She moved her head from his hand and looked down. "Right now…"

And leaned her head into his shoulder.

"…I want to know your way later…" she was delirious. "But right now…" He felt the grip on him. "Don't leave me… please…"
 
The werewolf coloured, realised he'd misunderstood her, but he didn't remove his hands, instead sliding them over her bare thighs, teasing the edge of her shirt hem, but not travelling any further. He marvelled at the feel of her, smooth and soft beneath his calloused palms. He leant back into the pillows, noting her head on his shoulder, and gently tracing his hands up her body, one to her hair, where it idly teased at the wild red gold tresses, the other drawing circles upon her slim back through the shirt. He felt he body responding to the closeness, but fought with it, fought with his Wolf. Where she was pressed against him, his Wolf rolled under the surface, trying to feel her touch through the barrier that separated them.

"I apologise, Panyin. I misunderstood." his fingers gently eased the knots from her hair that she'd left wild. He wondered if she had a brush or comb, so he could continue the work, but didn't want her to move. He shifted a little, trying to get comfortable, still idly drawing patterns down her back to calm her. "Panyin, vhere vould I go? I am afraid to say djou are stuck vizh me for zhe foreseeable." His chuckle was low, his mottled eyes staring off and he balanced his chin on the top of her head.

"Tell me, Panyin. About zhe feeling djou get? Does it seem similar to my Volf, and zhe vay 'e claws at me?" He peered down at her, stilling the hand in her hair to stroke down her cheek, placing a small spattering of kisses to her forehead and scalp, burying his nose into the scents of her in her hair, the one picking up most at this time being the scent of the Vixen. The dancing fingers lowered to her hip again, and squeezed gently, admiring the feel of her hip bones and waist under her shirt. He'd wanted to touch her through this shirt so many times. But he'd resisted, knowing she was now more than just some short term fling.

"Talk to me Panyin, it vill 'elp keep djou awake."
 
She shivered as his hands stayed. Ran over her skin, lingering close to her edges.

Her legs tightened as his hands ran up her back. He could feel this, and the quivers beneath her skin as he touched her.

She edged closer, pulling herself over him a bit. Her breasts melted against him through her shirt. She allowed this, yet to entice was distant in her mind. She felt comfortable here.

The idea that he wanted her, though it would seem to have been clear, was a disbelieved notion. One that had passed, and she may have ruined.

She knew she could be a replacement for someone else.

Wy'Ziot himself was shirtless, as she thought it cruel to leave him in a blood-stained tunic through his fitful sleep. She hadn't time to sew or clean the shirt, and it was left hanging in the tub. She'd cleaned his wound using water, and soap. Iodine. It was this that stopped her from reaching to the potion at her side as if it were the natural thing. And she was loathe to set acid to his stomach while he lay there in vulnerable sleep. Not knowing dreams or reality. It was then he might truly hurt her, in that addled state, if she thought she could prod at him now.

He apologized. He didn't need to. She thought she was at fault.

He'd noticed her hair was a mess, it seemed. She'd washed it the other day, and the water cleaned and knotted it. His fingers worked painlessly, with the surprising dexterity she'd come to expect from him. His hands were impossibly large, but scarcely ever oafish. Five hundred years… she was not surprised he seemed more dexterous than she in the articulation of fingers.

Stuck with you, he said. Her eyes opened. He felt the lashes against his neck. "Are we…? They seem adamant that you will... will break your ties to me sooner rather than later." At their leisure. Her hand traced down his chest. Ran over the knots, the smooth scars and pulled skin.

He touched her face. As his fingers moved, her gaze fluttered, becoming sleepy. Then he woke her, touching kisses across her head. Soft, and warm. Gentle with her, this wolf.

He had kissed her. More than once. What she scarcely believed in one mind and had understood as reality were slowly coming to terms with each other. That he had truly kissed her.

But what had it been?

He held her close. Breathed her, the nails in her hair. Her throat tightened. Her skin prickled. It often did when he held her. When he breathed her, something raked inside her. Called to him from her blood.

All unknown to her. All she knew was that she felt… something.

"I'm not… sure." She woke. "You don't… really tell me what he does to you…" Did the Wolf claw and eat at him the way her madness did? His relationship sounded a lot more… symbiotic. Mutual. A pause, one feeling like she'd like to know his stories. Whatever he chose to tell. "But the one you ended…" the boy at the castle, "who'd be eaten alive… it somewhat sounds like that… I think. But that's just what it feels like…" slowly, "I've never tried to just let it go and see what happens…"

That thought sounded terrifying once. In the midst of it, it probably would be. She doubted she'd the strength to endure her insanity just to see what happens. If it would actually kill her. The decades of feeding it proved as such. But it hasn't been gnawing for days.

She couldn't say this.

His hand felt her hips, feeling her bones, feeling to know who she was. He heard a noise from her throat. Not displeased.

Panyin. He was saying that often now. It was odd. She had campaigned for him to call her that, and now it felt odd, over and over.

Talk please. She'd a few questions… a few more after that underground market. She interrupted her comfort, one of the questions occurring as the memory struck her. "…'Wolfman'." Ugh. "So… everyone… in that place… who is already an enemy... or keen to be one… they already know who you are? Or what… you are…?" There seemed to be no secrets there. "…I thought… there was some kind of secrecy about your Lycanthropy..." She was probably wrong. It seemed like a demonstrated wrongness. Being a werewolf was a dangerous and discriminating title in the middling, mundane life. It felt as thought it were something that still would have been kept out of the hands of enemies. Yet... in two seconds of thought, their nearly publicized jobs in their groups, secrecy would be almost impossible. But it still posed a threat.

The next words, she forced herself through, turning her head away to make it easier. Her body attempted to follow, without really parting from him.

"And... when you… held me…" She balked at what she was saying. She knew in some way it was not that she should be ashamed. "At the market... everyone was there… they'll know I…" pause, "…really am a weakness for you." Panyin looked back, coming back to lie on him properly. Staring at his eyes, looking for the answer. "…are you... worried?"

Color faintly crossed her. Her eyes evaded now. "And… did I really do well in the sanctum? It seemed as though they were displeased and you got stabbed."
 
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