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This document contains explicit content, and is not suitable for minors,
individuals easily offended by adult content of an abstract nature, or anyone
forbidden by law to view such content.

This story, the characters, and the world the story is set in are © Quexvax
the Hard to Pronounce 2010-Present.  This is a work in progress.  You are
more than welcome to keep a copy for personal use, but any use that generates
profit or omits this opening message is forbidden.

As for you perverted adults who are bound and determined to keep reading, you
can expect depictions of female masturbation and references to beastiality in
this chapter.

If you feel that this document is worth saving as part of your personal
collection, I only ask for a little feedback, through asstr.org or via my
e-mail address, quezvax@gmail.com  I am a lazy writer, and need
encouragement in order to keep writing.

A special thanks to all my friends who helped me edit and improve upon my
work!

Story codes: (best/Fsolo)

Synopsis:  A different breed of lycanthrope seeks to manipulate a noble woman
to change the country.

Chapter 3

	Vevnan found, to her relief as much as her dismay, that she made good
time on her journey toward Ghalen.  Her new traveling acquaintance, Quezvax,
kept up with her without complaint or noticeable effort.  Her pace was one
that had been cultivated by years of training in the military.  When she
asked him what experience allowed him move with such similar ease, he only
vaguely answered by explaining that he had spent numerous, extended periods
of time alone in the wild.
	While he clearly wasn’t giving up all of his secrets, he was happy to
discuss almost any topic that came to her mind.  Half the time, though, they
walked together in silence.  On the few occasions when their words were
brought about by his own thoughts, she concluded that he had a staked
interest in her.  Unlike other men who had attempted to court her, he did not
do so by quickly working to prove himself her better or equal; nor did he
roll over and beg to be found worthy.  She found his demeanor charming, but
she maintained her emotional distance.
	Several days into the trip, they made their way into the small city
of Anacron.  From here, Vevnan had planned to catch a caravan on its way to
Ghalen, to speed up her travels.  She was amused to find that a gypsy caravan
had made its way into town, and had a small area outside of town set up to
provide various forms of entertainment.  The roving performers always managed
to spark a measure of curiosity within her.  She bid Quezvax an abrupt
farewell before making her way toward the colorful tents and wagons.
	Gypsies were unique in that they were the only people who could
freely travel between the countries of the Known World.  Freely was a
relative term, however.  They were frequently harassed by town guards, from
whom they had no protection outside of their own talents.  Nonetheless, they
managed to survive, and often thrive, by Vevnan’s reckoning.
	The sun was starting its descent, so Vevnan found she had to slip
through a throng of people to find the entertainment.  A big top was easily
visible as a landmark, so she had no problem finding her way about, seeing
what attractions could be found.  The gypsies knew better than to put on any
freak shows here, given the hatred of non- and demi-humans in Narsinia.
However, they did have a number of animals on display, some being led through
various performances, others evidently amusing enough by their mere presence.
	She approached a large cage that had a pair of wolves bedded down on
straw.  They didn’t seem to mind the innumerable faces that flowed around
them.  People enjoyed taking a peak at what was normally a feared predator,
now safely behind bars.  Vevnan found her way to the rope that kept people a
safe distance from the enclosure, and gazed with pity at the creatures.  One
of the animals looked at her, sniffing the air with mild curiosity.  It leapt
to its feet, however, much to the initial delight of the crowd, and bared its
teeth at her, growling.  The other animal quickly followed suit.
	The crowd laughed and pointed, jovially enjoying the spectacle.  The
wolves soon started to bark and howl, however, backing as far from Vevnan as
they could, their tails between their legs.  The townsfolk started getting
nervous as the barks, yaps and howls grew louder, and new animal voices could
be heard somewhere beyond the camp, answering them.  By now the crowd looked
to be near panic, until a man clad in the gay colors of the troupe leapt
toward the cage door.  He opened it and stepped in without fear, which seemed
to placate the people more than the wolves.  He worked swiftly to soothe the
beasts, speaking to them sternly but slowly in his own language.
	Through the entire incident, Vevnan had stood dumbstruck.  She had
dealt with animals extensively during her time alone in the wild; this had
her completely baffled by what was happening.  After finally calming the wild
hounds, the gypsy closed the cage door and turned to the woman who seemed to
have been the cause of their panic.  “My deepest, most sincere apologies,
madam,” he said, bowing deeply.  “Normally our hounds are far more docile.  I
am not sure what has caused them to loose their heads like this.”  He righted
himself and offered his hand.  “Come, I must make this up to you by having
our fortune teller peer into your future for free.”
	“I hardly think that’s necessary,” Vevnan was quick to respond, even
as he had taken her hand, leading her past a few staring individuals.  “I
truly don’t mind.  If you insist that I see your fortune teller, I shall do
so, but I shan’t feel right without paying.”
	The man scarcely seemed to be listening to her at this point.  She
followed him through a roped off area, behind numerous tents and wagons.
Momentarily, she was amused by how the private parts of the encampment
contrasted heavily with the warm, inviting colors and displays where the
public trod.  Eventually, she found herself drawn through the back of a tent,
where her guide engaged in a heated debate with a woman sitting behind a
table that housed a crystal ball.  Their words flew back and forth fast
enough that, even if she understood the language, they would have still been
unintelligible.
	“My sincerest apologies, young mistress,” the woman finally changed
to the common tongue.  Even so, she spoke with a heavy accent.  “Antonio did
well in bringing you to me,” she said softly and slowly.  The man departed
without another word.  “My name is Gabriella.  Might I know your own?”
	Vevnan figured from the abrupt change in tone and pace that there was
much that she was not going to be told.  Gypsies were renowned actors and
actresses, given the fact that entertainment was how they made their living.
She would not be surprised if Antonio and this woman suspected that the scout
held some position of power, and wanted to be certain she was placated.
Narsinians were notorious for unexpected retaliation at an unexpected time
after being offended.  “My name is Vevnan,” the young noble answered.
	The woman sitting before Vevnan motioned for her to sit.  She stepped
carefully over to the plush chair and settled into it, her eyes wandering
briefly around the inside of the tent.  From the other side of the crystal
ball, she noted that Gabriella was heavily dressed in reds, violets, and
blues.  She had gone to great lengths with various forms of makeup to make
herself look younger, but subtle signs spoke of the weight of years.
	The tent they were in was small, housing little more than a table and
two chairs.  The table was covered with velvet fabric decorated with knotted
patterns.  A flawless crystalline sphere sat atop a small stand in the
center, and candles positioned around it lit the tent dimly, but evenly.
	“I need not look into the future to see the past upon you,” the gypsy
began, smiling lightly.  “You are a martial woman, and you wear it with
pride, Lady Vevnan.  You are well-off, but you do not wish the source of your
wealth known.”  Leaning forward, the woman blew out the two candles closest
to her.  “Now, I shall glimpse into what lies ahead.”
	The woman began to murmur softly, her hands moving in mystical
gestures over the ball.  Smoke appeared within it, and swirled in response to
the fortune-teller’s hands.  Various shapes and colors mingled with the
smoke, though how it came to be in the solid sphere was anyone’s guess.
	“Most who grace my tent have a future as certain as sunrise.  The
path you travel, however, has *many* forks.”  The fortune-teller gazed deeper
into the globe, her eyes reflecting indistinct images.  “You are young.  Not
so much in age, as mindset.  Many things you have yet to decide.”  She blew
over the globe, sending the smoke within through turbulent motions.
	The older woman peered intently into the fog, her brow furrowing in
concentration.  “I cannot tell you much, for which I beg your forgiveness. 
What I can tell you is thus:  An inseparable pair seeks to manipulate your
actions.  The arrival of another is immanent; one whom you shall either hate,
or accept as part of your being.  Gods, both your own and those unknown to
you, shall observe your progress with interest.”  The gypsy leaned back in
her padded chair, suddenly looking as though she had aged decades.
	The younger woman was perplexed.  “Is that all you see?” she asked
quietly, trying to digest what she had been told.  She was not surprised by
what the gypsy had surmised prior to using her ‘magic’.  They were notorious
for being observant.  It was also rumored that if a fortune teller couldn’t
find much to say, they would make up something to fill the time and amuse the
customer.
	“It is all that I can tell you,” Gabriella replied, rubbing her eyes.
She blinked away the visions before clapping her hands twice.  Antonio
returned through the back flap.  “Please, make certain that Lady Vevnan is
given *anything* her heart desires.”  The man nodded, then moved past her to
open the front flap, and offered her his hand once again.
	The young woman declined his hand, but followed him outside, back
into the festively decorated part of the encampment.  She found it was
evening, and that most of the patrons had either left or gathered around
specific performances.  There was a crowd working its way into the big top,
and another, smaller one gathered around a man juggling flaming knives.
	Vevnan realized that she had yet to find a caravan headed toward
Ghalen, and that she had best do so soon.  “Please let Gabriella know I
enjoyed the reading,” she explained to her guide while fishing out the
coppers she’d taken from the bounty hunter.  “I’m afraid I need to find
transportation bound for the capitol as soon as possible.”  She handed him
the coppers.  She more or less forced him to take them when he tried to wave
them away.
	“We depart tomorrow night for Tower Watch,” Antonio quickly replied.
“You could come with us as far as Kelinostra, then find further transpor-
tation there, if you would like.  We will not charge you for a ride on one of
our wagons.”  The man displayed a genuine, if somewhat nervous smile.
	The woman hesitated, mulling it over in her head.  While she always
enjoyed seeing the performances and oddities that gypsies had to offer, she
had never traveled with them, not even a short distance.  “I will come back
tomorrow night if I am unable to find a ride by that time,” she decided
aloud.  “If I return, shall I ask for you or Gabriella specifically?”
	“No, no, Mistress.  I will make certain that anyone among us will be
prepared to receive you, should you desire our assistance.”  He gave a steep
bow before retreating back to the closed-off portion of the camp.
*****************************************************************************
	Vevnan spent the rest of the evening trying to find alternate
transportation.  She started with the merchants’ quarter, where she found the
earliest departure was scheduled for the following week.  After that, she
went from one tavern to another searching for any other sort of wagon or
caravan that might be heading out.  For her, time in taverns seeking
information meant allowing various men to purchase drinks for her.  Midnight
found her less than sober.
	The scout stumbled out of the last tavern in Anacron, the Hung Man’s
Folly.  She was certain she hadn’t had that much to drink, and she could hold
her liquor.  Now, however, she found now that the street teetered beneath her
feet.  Worse, she had yet to secure a ride.  The woman leaned heavily against
a building that had found its way in front of her.
	“Any luck yet, Lady Vevnan?” a familiar voice asked from beside her. 
She glanced over to see Quezvax standing next to her, his expression shifting
like quicksilver from friendly to concerned.
	“Don…” she mumbled.  “Don’t call me ‘Lady’.  I hate that.”  She
pushed herself away from the building, determined to find her way to an inn
where she could sleep for a week.  The wall of the friendly building fell
away, and she found that as she walked, the ground slanted and tried to catch
her side.  An arm prevented her from landing on the pavement, which looked
like it would have done well enough as a bed for the night.
	“How much… …to drink?” asked the distant voice.  The voice sounded
nice.  She only wished he would speak up.  She liked him.  Her arm draped
itself over a warm body.  The body felt so nice, felt like a good place to
sleep.  He asked her a question, though, didn’t he?  It was only polite to
answer.  She held up four fingers.  She knew that was right.  She never had
more than four drinks in a night.
	“Hm.  I didn’t… …wasted like… …ability to count… …spiked.”  Vevnan
giggled gaily at the voice.  It wasn’t making a whole lot of sense, but it
still sounded nice.  Her field of vision didn’t extend very far, for some
reason, but a face gracefully took up position where she could examine it
closely.  She peered into green eyes, and then wandered over brown hair, a
freshly shaven face; features that somehow fit the voice that was so amusing.
Yes, she decided, Gods forbid her parents should ever want her to marry for
the family, he would make a wonderful escape plan.  He liked her, right?  Of
course he liked her.  She leaned forward to seal the deal, pressing her lips
tenderly to his, even nipped at his bottom lip.  To her addled mind, it all
made sense.
	“G’night,” Vevnan murmured, having decided this was a good enough
place to sleep, even if she wasn’t sure where she was.
*****************************************************************************
	Quezvax swore proficiently as he carried the unconscious woman,
finishing off his tirade with “Damn the lout who thought he’d take advantage
of her!”  She wasn’t overweight, but right now she was deadweight.  He paused
in the middle of the street and guided her half way over his shoulders before
lifting her off the ground.
	'Do you need my help?' the animal asked.  He could feel the strain in
his arms, the lack of balance that was making this a rather difficult task.
	'As tempting as it is, I’m not ready to take any risks in the middle
of a town, even if the people are asleep,' the man answered.  He stumbled
step by step toward the edge of the town where he could smell a montage of
scents that told him where the gypsies were camped.
	A voice called out behind him, “’Ere, now!  There be our lass!
‘Fraid she’d gone ‘n walked ‘off, we were.  Hand ‘er over ‘n we may ev’n let
ye share in the fun.”
	The burdened man turned around slowly, keeping the woman balanced
precariously atop his shoulders.  He found himself facing half a dozen men,
each armed with a martial weapon.  They had obviously been drinking, but they
were sober enough to inflict damage on a fellow man.  “Gentlemen,” Quezvax
began, but paused and shook his head.  “No, no.  I’ll dispense with the
pleasantries.  ‘Pathetic slime’ sounds far more appropriate.  Turn around,
walk away, pretend you never saw me or poisoned this woman, and I’ll refrain
from murdering every one of you.”
	“Oi, now!” one of them men exclaimed.  “Where be your shining armor,
knight?”  The rest of the men roared with laughter.  The men wore light armor
themselves, though their equipment was beaten-up and in need of repair.  As
far as they could see, he wore none.  To an experienced eye, they were
obviously swords-for-hire between jobs.
	'They are little more than thugs.  We should dispatch them quickly.'
The animal was finding the encounter more of an inconvenience than a
potential problem.
	“Come, now,” another man jibed.  “There be six ‘o us and one ‘o you.
Are ye daft?”  Chuckles from his companions followed the ruffian’s words.
	“May ‘s well stick ‘im and move on to that piece of meat,” another
responded.  “I call dibs on ‘is blade, once he’s out.”
	By now, Quez had enough.  He eased Vevnan down to the ground beside
him carefully.  Turning to face the group, he popped his neck to the left and
right before approaching them.  He stopped three paces away, and spread his
arms.  “I give you one last chance.  Walk away now,” he growled, “or you will
each sleep in a pool of your own blood tonight.”  He drew his rapier in a
single, fluid motion, the tip sweeping a smooth arc in front of him.
	“Sorry, Knight,” one of the men sneered.  “This aint your evenin’!”
He charged forward, his axe coming over his head in a downward chop, intent
on splitting the would-be hero in twain.  Quezvax stepped easily to the side
and rewarded the man with his blade through the attacker’s throat.  He
slipped out of the way of the falling corpse and drew his blade out at the
same time, red glistening on the metal in the dim light of the moon.
	“One down, five to go,” the victor said in a patient, mentor like
tone of voice.  He slipped to the side of a somewhat more cautious attack
before stepping out of sight.  To the mundane eyes around him, it appeared as
though he had vanished.
	“Where’d ‘e go?” one of the men asked nervously.  “Dark arts be at
work!”  While four of the men readied themselves for an attack, the fifth
strode confidently up to the unconscious woman.
	“Yellow bastard fled, ‘s’all.  Now fer what we came for.”  The brave
thug knelt down, but before he could touch the sleeping beauty, he found a
blade protruding from his chest.  His eyes traced the tip of the rapier to
his chest, where it had exited his chest after piercing his heart.  He tried
to say something, but only a gurgle and blood came forth as death laid claim
to its second that night.
	“What part of ‘murder every one of you’ did you not understand?” the
woodsman sneered, ripping the blade free of the fresh corpse.  He turned to
face the remaining four, who were now staring at him wide eyed.  Realizing
that they were facing a competent foe, the four sell-swords surrounded their
assailant, acting as the team of fighters they were.  Quez found himself on
the defensive now, but he fought without fear or doubt.
	The quartet discovered that they were up against a man who was more
than a match for any one of them alone, but (they hoped) little more than a
challenge when they coordinated their efforts.  Quezvax seemed to be a dancer
as much as fencer.  He parried and dodged and turned, keeping all four of the
attackers on their toes.  Landing glancing blows seemed easy enough, and
blood stained the man’s shirt in numerous places, but he kept on unhindered.
One of their number took a viscous hit to his arm when their opponent finally
made a counter-attack, but they thought the fight would be over when he
opened himself to an easy telling strike.
	Quezvax roared in pain as much as outrage when he felt the sword
sliding into his left side, finding the gap between his bottom two ribs.
Pain raced through his body as steel ripped through his organs.  This would
have been the point that marked the end of a man’s life.  He, however, was
more than a man; he was also an animal.
	Time seemed to crawl past him in his moments of extended agony.  The
men about him moved in slow motion, the one who had impaled him shouting
triumphantly as he drew out the offending weapon.  When it left the wound,
Quezvax dropped to his hands and knees, his rapier clanging to the ground
beside him.  He felt only one thing for what felt like eternity: pain.
	Most, when overwhelmed by the offending sensation, are forced to
wallow in it, to feel it so keenly that it debilitates and overwhelms them.
Very few have any ability to disperse physical agony, to soften its blow or
share it with another.  Quezvax was one of those few.
	The animal within alleviated his pain, took it on as he physically
made manifest.  No thoughts needed to pass between them.  The new vitality
flowed from his heart through his body, and the wound began to close.  The
wracking pain gradually subsided to a dull ache.  Fortitude was not the only
gift of his animal half.  His entire skeleton grew more limber, his muscles
stronger.  The hair on his body grew longer and thicker, until it was a full
coat of fur.  Spots marked the fur, while his face elongated to blend his
human and feline features.
	It had taken a dozen seconds, perhaps, for the transformation to
complete.  His senses were heightened to the point where he could see, hear,
and feel miniscule raindrops beginning to call.  He pushed aside his expanded
awareness and focused on the men still standing above him, now discussing
what to do with the corpses.
	Quezvax leapt to his feet, roaring in fury and indignation.  The men
screamed in fractured unison, falling over themselves trying to get away from
the risen monster.  Inhuman strength aided the already-skilled warrior, and
two of the men lost their throats to four deep gashes each.  The man who had
last received the touch of Quezvax’s blade stumbled backwards and collapsed
on the ground in a heap.  He inhaled to scream a second time, but jaws
clamped over his face and ripped it to bloody shreds.  The fourth man made it
the furthest: about a dozen paces.  The lycanthrope pounced upon him and
ripped him limb from limb in a flurry of enraged teeth and deadly claws.
	The leopard stood up from his last kill, his rage quickly abating
with the departure of the last defender.  Quezvax sighed in annoyance more
than anything else.  He had been revealed, even if the witnesses were now
dead.  His long tail flicked back and forth behind him.  He would not be able
to shift back to his human form until he slept.  Making his way back to
Vevnan’s sleeping form, he picked her up with ease, as if she weighed little
more than infant.  He walked on, taking to the shadows and keeping out of
sight until he arrived at his destination.
*****************************************************************************
	Vevnan stirred from a sleep that had been deep, but far from restful.
Her mind was quite uncooperative when she tried to recall where she was, and
how she got there.  She knew she had arrived in Anacron.  Working her way
forward from there, she recalled the gypsies, then searching for a caravan to
take her to Ghalen.  The normal places to find one had turned up nothing
departing soon enough, so she’d gone to a few taverns.  She only had a few
drinks, after which point she could remember no more.
	Her memory being of no use currently, she turned her attention to her
senses.  She was covered in a blanket with a pillow beneath her head.  She
was warm, almost the point of sweating, and around her was the smell of
spices and incents mingled with the smell of dust from the road.  There was a
foul taste in her mouth, like the sort of spirits made strictly for
intoxication, not enjoyment - not the sort of drink she would willingly
consume.  With a start, she realized she was on a moving wagon.
	She pushed the blanket off of herself, glancing around the inside of
the covered wagon.  The light on the canvas told her it was the middle of the
day.  The first nearby box she opened held her belongings, evidently meant
for her to find.  She paused to listen to what was going on outside the
wagon, and heard the sound of numerous walking feet, as well as the clip-clop
of hooves.  She caught bits of dialog in a language that she did not
understand, but recognized.  She was traveling with the gypsy troupe.
	She knew she had told Antonio that she would travel with them if she
was unable to find another caravan, but she never intended to actually take
him up on the offer.  Before she could formulate some idea of what she was
going to do, the flap at the back of the wagon was pulled to the side, and an
unfamiliar man looked in.  He turned over his shoulder and called out in his
unknown tongue.  Past the man, she could see another colorful wagon being
pulled by horses.  The man received a short reply, and then returned his
attention to her.  “Glad to see you are awake,” he said cheerfully.  “Master
Quezvax will wish to speak to you.”
	“I’ll want to speak to him, too,” she replied, as much to herself as
the young man who had greeted her.  For some inexplicable reason, it did not
surprise her that Quez was around.  She had questions, and certainly expected
answers.  This attitude was probably a product of her noble blood.  She
didn’t have to wait long before he climbed up into the wagon with her.  He
called out something in the same tongue the gypsies spoke, then sat down,
making sure the flap he had come in through was closed behind him.
	He exhaled slowly, a worried look on his face displaying his
discomfort.  “Vevnan, do you remember anything of what happened last night?”
he asked.  The atmosphere felt uncomfortable and hot, even though she was no
longer covered by a blanket.  He glanced at her briefly, but for the most
part kept his eyes on the roof above them, as if waiting for something to
fall though.
	While she expected nothing, she nonetheless combed her mind, trying
to remember something past her time at the bars she had visited.  “No,
nothing after what I presume was the last tavern I visited.  Why am I here?”
	He looked momentarily relieved, and then immediately stressed once
again.  “You were poisoned in one of the taverns, likely the last one.  A
group of men intended to take advantage of you and Gods only know what else.
I intervened.”  His gaze dropped down to her, and this time he did not look
away.
	Vevnan squirmed under his scrutiny, somehow finding it uncomfortable.
“I doubt it would have been a problem.  They know what Lymair does to those
who deflower a virgin against her will.  Nonetheless, I appreciate it.”  Her
face flushed and her heart skipped a beat when she remembered that she was no
longer pure.
	Lymair, the Goddess of Love among humans, brought righteous vengeance
upon any who raped or otherwise defiled a virgin human woman who honored the
Church of the True Gods.  It was the only known wrathful side of the goddess.
	“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that one of your bearing has yet
to find someone worthy of her bed,” he chuckled softly.  His smile did not
betray the fact that he knew her little secret.
	Vevnan’s thoughts reeled back to the incident, and she felt heat
rising between her legs, moisture building at a time she certainly didn’t
want it.  Worse, she thought, given the fact that he had likely carried her
last night, he probably realized her negligence in wearing undergarments.
Her face turned a deeper crimson, and more disparaging still was another
unwanted thought.  Being discovered by a man like Quezvax didn’t sound all
that bad, and even increased her arousal.
	She pressed her legs together, desperately hoping he wouldn’t discern
the effect her thoughts were having on her, even if he could not read them.
Still, with her heart beating fast in her chest, she had to know.  “Did you
observe anything during your rescue that warranted note?” she asked, choosing
her words carefully and slowly.
	He smiled lightly, an amused look playing upon his face that gave her
the answer she sought.  “Aye,” he said softly, leaning closer to her, his
voice dropping to just above a whisper.  “Enticing though the sight was, in
most respects I am a gentleman.  You needn’t fear judgment from me.”
	Vevnan swallowed hard.  This man was pushing all the right buttons,
treating her like no one else had, and even giving her the urge to lean
forward and kiss him.  Something she had never done.  At least, not that she
remembered.  “I, uh, appreciate your discretion.”  She shook her head,
annoyed by how hard it was to think in her current state.  “I should think a
little time alone with my thoughts would do me well right now.  Could you, by
chance, tell the others to leave me be until I emerge of my own accord?  I
can assure you, I will be fine.”
	Quezvax’s smile eased to an expression of understanding.  “Of course.
Take all the time you need.  There’s still a quarter day before our hosts
stop to let the horses rest.”  He slipped gracefully from the wagon the same
way he had entered, and made sure the flap was secure behind him.
	As soon as Vevnan was alone she shuddered, her mind going places it
had never been before.  Her hands worked to hastily relieve herself of the
lower half of her armor, giving her easier access to her now sopping sex.
With the armor out of the way, she slid her fingers down her stomach to the
juncture of her thighs.  While pleasuring herself in the past, she had always
done so in a place she knew she would neither be interrupted nor heard.  She
had also been gentle with herself.
	Now, she was no longer pure.  She had tasted the pleasure that a male
could bring her, even if it had been that of an animal.  She slid two fingers
into her slit, stretching herself and pumping the fingers in and out
desperately, trying to remember more keenly what it had been like to have
that foreign tool so deep inside her.  To add to it, her other hand found her
clit and rubbed vigorously.
	She whined softly as her pleasure grew, soon finding it was difficult
to keep quiet.  She rolled over and planted her face in the pillow, whining
and moaning without restraint.  She would lift her face only to draw breath,
and then push down again, crying her ecstasy into the pillow.  Her fingers
slid in and out, and she added a third, her hips up in the air as she wished
so desperately that the man she respected would come back, intrude upon her
privacy in more than one respect.
	While her hips were up in the air, one hand pumping fingers into her
sex while the other rubbed over her clit, she could feel her own nectar
trickling down her thighs, as well as her stomach, to the top half of her
armor.  She moaned almost loud enough to be heard when she remembered the
sensation of fresh feline seed flowing down her legs.  She pined for the
sensation again, wanted so badly to be taken as she had before, without mind
for risk or consequences.
	She lifted her face again and gasped for air, glancing back at
herself, thinking of how obscene she must have looked, but still wishing for
just that one man to see her like that, to know that she desperately craved
the pleasures of the flesh.  Her wet digits pumped in and out, as deep into
her folds as she could go.  It wasn’t deep enough, but it was certainly
having an effect.  That and the stiff, quick paced rubbing of her clitoris
had her quickly nearing climax.
	She whimpered as she breathed in and out heavily, trying to keep
quiet without the pillow, but finding it difficult.  Her heart pounded in her
chest, and she just kept hoping that he would hear her, that he would come
back to aid her.  'A gentleman in most respects,' she thought.  Lymair curse
her!  That was what she wanted, she told herself.  Vevnan pushed her face
back into the pillow and screamed, her inner walls clenching over her fingers
and letting loose a torrent of her own juices.
	Vevnan came hard.  Perhaps not as hard as when the animal had taken
her, but it was the first time since she had allowed herself to remember the
encounter without guilt.  She rode out the orgasm, her breath eventually
returning to normal after she rolled over again.  She stared up at the canvas
roof above her, but she did not yet remove her hands from between her legs.
	She let one finger slip from her snatch, now only fingering herself
with two.  Her other digits slowed down considerably on her clit.  She idly
played with herself as she thought over her newfound sexuality.  The leopard
held a strong presence in her mind, as did the man who had so recently
rescued her.
	The encounter with the animal had proven most enjoyable physically,
though emotionally it had been confounding, to say the least.  There wasn’t a
way to develop love of that nature with an animal, particularly one who had
simply walked away after making a woman out of her.  Given the fact that
there was no way to change what happened, she made up her mind not to regret
it.  Prior to the encounter, she had never even imagined that sex with a wild
beast was plausible.  She rubbed her clit a bit faster and started to probe
deeper with her fingers when she concluded that, given the opportunity, she
would probably do it again.
	This man that had come into her life, however, was a different
matter.  Sex with a human was still unknown to her.  Lymair certainly
wouldn’t approve if she pursued physical relations with him if she never wed
the man.  Marriage, however, was the last thing on her mind at this time. 
Nonetheless, she moaned softly as she felt about her slit, daydreaming of
Quezvax naked atop her, taking her for more than just the pleasure of it.
She liked him, respected him, and deemed him worthy of the forbidden
knowledge he had gained.
	She could call out to him right now, she thought, her cheeks flushed
as she pleasured herself.  She could call out for him, and no doubt he would
be there, and be ready to make her a ‘proper’ woman.  She moaned a bit louder
than she intended to, but secretly hoped he could hear her.  She still held
to some shred of modesty, though, as she rolled over and buried her face in
the pillow once again.
*****************************************************************************
	Quezvax walked outside the wagon, his keen ears and sense of smell
making him well aware of what she was doing.  He walked casually, in spite of
an erection that would be painfully obvious if he was viewed from the correct
angle.  His own mind drifted back to the encounter, where he had been rather
surprised that mating with her had opened itself up as an option.  He
certainly had no regrets.  She was now infected, and in a couple weeks time
the moon would be full.
	'She is calling to us with her scent and vocalizations,' his animal
half told him, more bothered than the man was with the prospect of azure
balls.
	'She’s still only human for right now,' the human reminded his wild
half.  'I’m sure that after the change, when she is in want, she will be far
less subtle.'
	'We could take her again now, in my body.'  The animal did not
understand modesty.  Quezvax glanced around to the various gypsies that
walked nearby, including the ones who drove the wagon Vevnan was in.  A few
of them caught his glances, and nodded respectfully.  'They won’t care.'
	'I know, but I’m not ready to tell her.  She might try to cure
herself, if she figures it out.'  The sun beating down on the caravan made
the trip somewhat arduous, but it was better weather for travel than the rain
or snow that was likely to become more typical as fall wore on to winter.
Birds chirped in the trees over them, watching the passing people bound to
the ground.
	Quezvax was a natural-born lycanthrope, so he did not fully
comprehend what it was like for those who acquired what many viewed as a
curse.  He had, however, known a number of individuals as they went through
it, so he was not completely ignorant.  He had spent his entire life hiding
what he was from the majority of people in Narsinia, the country that had
always been his home.  He was grateful, though, for gypsies.  Aside from the
mages (who were always holed up in their tower, out of sight and mind), the
free-roaming travelers and entertainers were the only people found in
Narsinia who did not have a problem with those who were more or less than
human.
	He had lived with them for half a decade, but he found that his
animal half had the urge to find territory and stay there, as long as it
provided safety and game.  That, unfortunately, never lasted more than a few
years.
	Quezvax’s thoughts were interrupted when he heard Vevnan calling his
name.  His feet brought him swiftly to the tent flap, where he climbed in.
As far as he could see, she was fully clothed, but his nose told him
otherwise.  Her fingers still glistened slightly from the moisture that they
had so recently caused.  Her scent filled the wagon and aroused him fully
once again, but he ignored it, in spite of himself.
	“I’d like to thank you a bit more sincerely for your efforts on my
behalf,” she said calmly, obviously having relieved her previous arousal and
calmed her nerves.  “Forgive me if I reward you with more questions, though.
First of all, how did you come across me?” she asked, looking at him in a
more appraising manner.
	The real question, he realized, was ‘Why were you following me?’  He
answered with enough honesty to make his lie sound believable.  “Given the
fact that I, too, am headed for Ghalen, I figured I would try to catch up
with you and see if you’d had any luck in finding a caravan.  I had
difficulty in it, myself.  Luck had it that I found you when I did.  You had
just stumbled out of Hung Man’s Folly.”
	Had his words been alone, he could have convinced her.  However, from
their previous exchanges, as well as from her gut, she knew there was more to
it than that.  It was an interesting game they played; neither showed their
entire hand, while pretending to be open and honest.  She did not realize,
however, that he had already seen her cards.
	“Fair enough,” she replied.  “Perhaps luck is with me now and again.”
She smiled, respectful of and amused by his humility in the part that he had
played.  “My second question is, of all places, why did you bring me to the
circus?”
	He had brought her there because he was unable to shift to his human
form before bringing her to safety.  Of course, he wasn’t about to explain
the whole truth to her.  “I trust them,” he replied, shrugging.  That wasn’t
a lie.  “I’m afraid my knowledge of the reputations of the inns in Anacron is
scant at best.  I also feared that they might think I was the one who
poisoned you.”
	The thought had briefly crossed her mind, but she suspected her
current situation would be far worse if that had been the case.  As it stood,
though, things weren’t bad at all.  “I’ll take that as truth,” Vevnan said.
“My third question is why the gypsies call you ‘Master’ Quezvax.  Are you of
noble blood?”
	'We’re feline.  That equates to nobility,' the animal part of him
thought.  This he did not share with her, but agreed silently.  “No, I do not
trace my bloodline back to any known noble family of Narsinia,” he admitted.
“Their respect for me is based more upon my skills in certain arts, as well
as my previous association with them.”
	“’Certain arts’?” Vevnan repeated.  “What arts do you speak of, and
what was your previous association, anyway?  You speak their language,” she
said, her tone more accusing than she meant it to be.  While, since
childhood, she had enjoyed attending the performances the perpetual wanderers
used to make their living, she had always kept them at arm’s length.
	“Part of it is stealth,” he admitted.  Both knew the vagabonds had a
reputation for lightening the purses of some of their wealthier patrons, but
Vevnan never particularly cared, since she never had a shortage nor need for
money.  “Another quality they respect is the ease with which I live off the
land.  Most of it, though, comes from having lived among them, and
understanding their ways and philosophies.”
	“Interesting,” Vevnan murmured, somewhat entranced by the idea of
living as free as the thespians.  She shook such fanciful thoughts from her
mind, though, and turned her attention back to him.  “I’d never before heard
of a Narsinian who traveled with a gypsy troupe,” she remarked.
	“You might be surprised how many run off to join the circus,” he
laughed.  “The thing is, though, that most of those who join feel no desire
to return to a mundane life.”  He leaned closer, his voice dropping somewhat
conspiratorially, “Most who decide to settle down do so in Dason!”
	Vevnan’s face flushed, and she leaned back as if she’d been slapped.
“Any Narsinian who moves to Dason is a traitor!” she spat.  “I don’t care by
what means they do it.  I think I’ve suffered your company long enough,
Quezvax.”
	The man wasn’t too surprised by her reaction.  He shook his head and
chuckled as he casually slipped out the back.  “Have it your way, Lady
Vevnan.  I won’t make you suffer my presence any longer.”  He closed the
flap, and was gone from her sight.
*****************************************************************************
	Vevnan kept to herself for the rest of the evening, for the most part
content to remain in her wagon.  She felt that she had earned some time to
rest, after what she had been through.  Not only that, but she would need it
when it came time to deal with her family.  Such thoughts brought a knot to
her stomach.  Not surprisingly, no one bothered her.  It seemed that she had
been assigned her own private wagon, aside from the various crates and sacks
of materials she didn’t bother to sift through.
	The caravan stopped to rest an hour after nightfall.  Vevnan finally
decided to emerge and stretch her legs at this time.  The atmosphere around
her proved jovial, with the entertainers chatting casually but merrily among
themselves.  Any she neared immediately turned and bowed to her, offering her
a formal but sincere greeting.  It reminded her only somewhat of the
treatment she would receive while she was in Ghalen.  While most treated her
with respect, it was always apparent that it was forced.  The gypsies,
however, displayed what bordered on reverence.
	She partook of the large vat of stew that had been made to feed the
entire caravan, finding the road-cooked meal rather to her liking.  She
expressed her gratitude to the chef before retreating back to her wagon.  She
did not see Quez during this time.
	By the following morning, she had both slept and made up her mind to
apologize to the man who had helped her.  She emerged shortly after the sun
had risen from the East Cardinal Gate and found that he was nearby this time.
He was chatting in the strange tongue of the road with a man who bore an
uncanny resemblance to Antonio, but he looked much younger, scarcely an
adult.
	Quez looked up to Vevnan when she approached, his face passive.  “I,
um, wanted to apologize for my reaction to your words last night.  They were
uncalled for, especially the last part.”  She winced at the thought, her eyes
cast down in shame.  It was not an emotion she was accustomed to.
	“I should have been more sensitive to the fact that you serve our
nation’s army,” he replied evenly.  “I accept your apology, though.  I am
glad I did not cause a rift between us for more than a day.”  He reached out
a hand and placed it lightly on her shoulder, which he gave a light squeeze.
“We’re almost to Kelinostra,” he remarked, nodding toward the trail ahead of
them, where a few thin pillars of smoke could be seen reaching toward the
sky.
	“I suppose I should thank Gabriella for the ride before we,” she
caught herself, glancing as Quez, “or rather, I, take my leave.  I do not
mean to presume.”  She glanced around, not honestly expecting to see the
fortune teller, but some indication as to where she might be found.
	“Provided it does not offend, I’ll be happy to continue to accompany
you,” he replied smoothly.
	The young man Quezvax had been speaking to stepped forward.  “She’s
up at the front, Lady Vevnan.  She should be very easy to find.”
	Vevnan thanked the young gypsy before heading to the front of the
caravan.  She checked her gear along the way, making certain she hadn’t left
anything behind.  It wasn’t difficult for her to make her way to the front,
given the fact that she was accustomed to moving quickly, and people made way
for her.  She almost wished she could stay with them a while longer, but duty
called to the north.
	Gabriella was dressed much the same as she had been when Vevnan had
seen the older woman in the tent.  She seemed unaffected by the dust and dirt
of the road, as though she’d just bathed and dressed a few minutes ago.  She
sat atop a well-groomed stallion.  Her attention was split between various
individuals around her; it was quite apparent that she led the troupe.  When
Vevnan approached, though, the head gypsy waved off those around her and gave
the noblewoman her full focus.  “What can I do for you, Lady Vevnan?”
	The younger woman shook her head with a smile.  “Please.  Vevnan will
do just fine.  I wanted to thank you for the private wagon.  It was very nice
of you, even if unnecessary.  I’ll be off, now, headed for Ghalen.”
	“To aid someone in your position,” the fortune teller said in a
cryptic tone, “is the greatest undertaking available to us.”  When she bowed
low, Vevnan was afraid that Gabriella’s headpiece might fall off.
	“Farewell!” the scout called, moving ahead of the caravan at her own
comfortable pace.  She was not surprised when Quezvax caught up to her a
couple dozen paces ahead of the caravan.  “I was wondering when you were
going to show up,” she quipped.
	“I try to stay out of the way when I’m not needed,” he explained.
Some ways ahead of them, they could see the city of Kelinostra up a gradual
rise.  There was a formation of soldiers outside the gate, which immediately
registered as unusual to both of them.  “That’s odd… what would they be doing
here?”
	“I don’t know, but I certainly intend to find out,” Vevnan replied.
As they got closer, the sergeant in charge appraised them both visually.  He
waved them both on, but Vevnan approached him with purpose.  “What goes on
that would warrant the presence of your unit here, Sergeant?” she asked.
	The soldier gave her a closer look, noting her rank subtly displayed
on the shoulder of her armor.  “We’re here to intercept a vagabond gypsy
caravan.”  He glanced past her, seeing the front of the aforementioned
caravan approaching.  “That would be them, it looks like.”  He moved to pass
her, but she was quick to keep herself in front of him.
	“You will address me as Scout Vevnan De’Niryl.  I am not finished,”
she spat.  The sergeant’s face immediately paled.  Quezvax only seemed mildly
surprised when she used her full name.  “What is your name, Sergeant?  Why
are their travels being interrupted, and under whose authority?”
	“I am Sergeant Daniel Williker, Ma’am.  Under the authority of First
Lieutenant David Spain, they are to be stopped and investigated for the
murder of six men in the city of Anacron.”  He stood at rigid attention,
sweat suddenly beading on his forehead.
	“Was the caravan not questioned in Anacron at the time of the
murders?” Vevnan snapped, now annoyed.  She knew that they would never stoop
to killing.  The worst crime they were guilty of was petty theft.
	“They were questioned extensively, and a priest was present to
discern falsehood, but no direct falsehoods were detected.  Lieutenant
Spain-“
	“-Is a piece of shit who deserves a demotion before he’s thrown to
the front lines of the border.  You will order your men to head back to the
barracks they were stationed at prior to the lieutenant’s command.  You will
stay here and greet the caravan, and wish them well before returning to your
usual post.  I will find your post and return to you in two weeks’ time with
a priest of my own to make certain that you have followed my orders.  If your
lieutenant has anything to say, he can be directed to me.  Is that clear?”
Vevnan spoke in an even, clear, crisp tone, her voice loud enough for the
entire company to hear.
	Sergeant Williker was quaking in his boots, but held as still at
attention as his nerves would allow.  “Yes, Ma’am!” he replied.  He turned to
his men and called out, “You heard Scout De’Niryl.  Return to the barracks.”
The formation quickly dissolved and the men headed swiftly into the city.
“Any further orders, Ma’am?”
	Vevnan smirked.  “One.  When next you see Lieutenant Spain, tell him
that I said to put his rank to better use.”  She walked past the stunned
enlisted man, with Quezvax close behind.
	“Pulling rank *and* family,” he chuckled.  “That was bold.”
	“I have no taste for crap like that,” she spat, the bad taste still
lingering in her mouth.