by Kracken
“It means that we have new friends!” Kyrill called back.
His word that they were friends seemed to be enough. The werefoxes came running up to him, tails waving, ears flicking excitedly, and mouths running as they demanded a full accounting of where Kyrill had been all at once. They were never still, each one of them a blur of motion, with Kyrill dancing in place at their center as he tried to greet them.
“Enough!” Shang hissed.
Everyone froze. Kyrill laughed lightly. “It's all right,” he assured his friends. “He doesn't approve of excitable werefoxes. We'll speak when we reach our tents. Is father well? My sisters?”
“Well enough,” one of them answered, “Except that they have all been very worried about you.”
Kyrill frowned then. “Father's biggest concern has been finding dowries for all of my many sisters.”
A werefox with pale ears shook his head. “You're wrong. He's missed you, Kyrill.”
“Even after my last letter?” Kyrill wondered skeptically.
The werefoxes all looked at Lormar. “He'll speak to you about that, I'm sure, Kyrill,” one said diplomatically.
“I'm very sure of that,” Kyrill growled.
“Is there trouble?” Tamarind asked.
All of the werefoxes crouched with ears flat and eyes wide.
“It's all right,” Tamarind assured them. “I don't eat werefox.”
They didn't look reassured. Tamarind was small for a werelion, but they were even smaller.
“My father didn't approve of my journey,” Kyrill explained, “or my choice of mate. Being the only male heir of my family, in a sea of sisters, made his disappointment that much keener. That's my worry, though. You don't have to concern yourself with my family's squabbles. It's the Chief that will greet you and give you hospitality, not my father.”
The sun was low in the sky, but Shakra was eager to get out of its heat. “Can we continue, then?” he almost begged, though he wouldn't admit how exhausted he was.
“Of course,” Kyrill replied contritely and led the way over the dune.
Stretched out along a wide, flowing river, bordered by reeds, trees, and crops, was a sea of colorful tents and more permanent buildings. Werefoxes moved about it, glinting in the sun with gold and adorned with fluttering scarves that made them look almost like butterflies from that distance.
“Home, for now,” Kyrill announced with a wide smile. “My people are nomadic. Once the crops are in, we move away from the seasonal floods and return again at planting time.”
Tamarind suddenly took the lead, feet eager to find a place where there was no more sand to irritate them. The others followed, Shakra at his side.
Shakra observed, “They won't be able to stop the werelions. Look at them... small and lightly armed. They don't have any defenses either.”
Shang surprisingly said, “They have a reputation as great fighters, my Prince. Don't be deceived by appearances.”
“If my people were weak,” Kyrill said proudly, “Then this would be werelion lands already. We are very fierce fighters, Shakra. They won't come to our home without a costly battle.”
Shakra hoped that the cost wouldn't be paid in werefox lives.
The met the Chief in a colorful tent filled with carpets and pillows for sitting. Those assembled around the Chief, were mostly female werefoxes wearing beaded scarves and very intricate earrings. The few males looked to be guards, ranged behind where the Chief was standing.
The Chief of the desert werefoxes was an old creature, grayed and missing part of one ear. He wore a knife on a belt around his waist, but didn't bother with scarves or jewelry of any kind. A grizzled veteran, Shakra thought as he approached and bowed low.
“Yaine,” Kyrill introduced him, bowing low himself, “Chief of my tribe. This is prince Shakra of the forest weres.”
“I'm sure there is a story to tell,” Yaine snorted and rubbed at his bad ear as if it pained him. “You are marked by claws and one of our enemy walks among you.” He nodded to Tamarind. “I will greet him as a guest for now, until he proves himself an enemy.”
Tamarind bowed, but he was tense, his shoulders twitching nervously.
“Your father has been missing you, young Kyrill,” the Chief continued. “Your absence brought sorrow to many.” He smiled, though, and added, “I understand wanderlust. I had a good dose of it myself when I was younger, much to my father's dismay.” He looked over Lormar, fascinated by his dark bands of color. “I can see why you were so enamored of this one. He is... very striking.”
Kyrill grinned. “He is not only handsome,” he chuckled, “but brave and honorable as well.”
“I hope that your father sees and honors those qualities, then,” the Chief replied. His eyes rested on Shang. “We have your close kin, here, werelizard. They will be pleased to have news of their cousins in the north.”
Shang looked disdainful, but inclined his head marginally.
“We will continue pleasantries later, I think,” the Chief said as if everything had been formality and required up until then. “Now I must know if you are bringing war to our tribe, Kyrill. You are wounded, marked, and weary. You are without your guards and supplies. Everything about you and your companions speaks to me of a hurried flight across the desert. Who chases you, Kyrill?”
“The king of the Savannah werelions, Katze,” Kyrill replied. “With me is his adopted son, Prince Tamarind. Katze wishes his return and wants our deaths.”
The werefox raised an eyebrow. “Is Prince Tamarind your captive, then?”
“No, he's my mate,” Shakra replied.
Both the werefox's eyebrows rose now in shock. “Is such a thing possible?”
Shakra looked embarrassed, but answered readily enough, “Yes, it is. Tamarind has decided to be with me, not with his kind on the Savannah. He doesn't want to join Katze’s war.”
“Commendable,” the Chief said and then looked thoughtful. He turned to one of the females. “Yahla, gather the guard and put them on alert. Lila?” He turned to another. “Make the tribe ready for travel. This is not a defensible place.”
“He may not be moving his army here,” Shang protested.
“We have seen scouts,” the Chief replied. “We have been waiting for Katze to attack us. It is better to leave the field workers behind and take the most vulnerable to safety in the hills as a precaution. The Prince's defection may be the impetus Katze needed to move his forces in our direction. I will send warriors into the desert to give us early warning.”
“Better than those who we met there earlier, I hope?” Shang grumbled.
The Chief narrowed eyes at Shang. “I have heard from your desert kin how arrogant northern werelizards can be. I see the proof of it before me. Don't underestimate the skill and bravery of my tribe.”
Shang bowed, automatic apology, but an apology wasn't in his eyes. Shakra knew from long experience that the werelizard didn't give compliments or respect easily.
“You are my honored guests,” the Chief told them. “Our homes are your homes. Kyrill?” He gave the werefox a level look. “I entrust them to your keeping, for good or ill.”
Kyrill bowed very low, accepting the responsibility.
Everyone murmured their thanks and then they were bowing out of the tent. Kyrill looked troubled, as if a great weight had been placed on his shoulders.
“What is it?” Lormar wondered in concern.
“I have been given orders to entertain you and to make certain that all of your needs are fulfilled,” Kyrill replied.
“And you have been given the responsibility to end our lives if we prove to be enemies?” Shang guessed sourly.
Kyrill nodded.
“No danger of that,” Shakra growled, “so stop worrying.”
Tamarind was frowning though. Shakra eyed him and then gave him a nudge.
Tamarind whipped his tail in agitation and said, “If my people kill enough werefoxes, how long will it be before they wonder why I am allowed
to be among them?”
“We are not like that,” Kyrill assured him as he led them to a guest tent. “We will judge you on your deeds, not those of others.”
A female sand colored werelizard, with dark brown stripes, stood in their path as she spoke with a female werefox. The werelizard had long, dark hair and a crest that was white and flicking upwards to catch the sunlight. Her dark eyes turned and caught sight of Shang and his companions. She froze and Shang looked her up and down with an arrogant tilt of his chin.
“Sand lizard,” Shang said.
“Desert werelizard,” she corrected with a snap, and then introduced herself proudly, “Sahri of Li’Lon.”
“Shang of Li’Won,” he retorted as if it were a challenge.
They stood stiffly, staring at each other, and then the female was walking away and Shang was continuing to the guest tent.
“I think they're in love,” Kyrill snickered.
Tamarind laughed and nuzzled Shakra, who smirked and rubbed his face against Tamarind's. Shang pretended not to notice, but the spines along his tail were quivering.
Chapter Seventeen
“How can it be?” a voice whispered.
“It is,” Kyrill replied just as softly.
“Still...”
“Sometimes, love has claws,” Lormar chuckled and was shushed.
Shakra was wrapped in Tamarind's warmth, Tamarind's head resting under his own as they lay curled on cushions in a corner of the guest tent. He couldn't help licking a rounded ear, even though he wasn't really ready to wake up yet. Tamarind emitted a rumbling purr for only a second and then was still again.
“Who is dominant?” the strange voice wondered.
There was a sound of a cuff and Kyrill's angry growl, “Impertinent child! Being my cousin does not give you leave to be rude.”
“I'm only a year younger than you, ancient one,” the stranger growled back.
Shakra lowered his ears, a clear warning that wasn't missed by Kyrill.
“You may leave now,” Kyrill told his cousin. “This is not a traveling circus. They are guests.”
“I'm not the only one who's curious,” his cousin replied. “You won't be able to avoid everyone's questions.”
Cloth rustled as the werefox left and then Kyrill sighed. “He's right.”
“We don't have anything to hide,” Shang's arrogant voice said. “Our intentions are honorable.”
Tamarind's scent under his nose, and his fur tickling his skin, were the only things that Shakra wanted to face just then. He stubbornly refused to join the conversation or to see who occupied the tent with him and his love.
“Don't let your desires make you unprepared, my Prince,” Shang's voice said, not at all fooled by Shakra's faked sleep.
Shakra rolled one eye open and then closed it again stubbornly.
“I don't think that he needs much preparation to answer the ridiculous questions of these desert weres,” Lormar snorted. “Is he part dog that he is colored so? Was the werelion raised by werewolves? Is that why he mates with one, because he imagines that he is one? Does King Katze make war on them because he doesn't want crosses between werewolves and werelions? Would their babies be werewolflions?”
“Babies?” Kyrill was shocked. “They believe that Tamarind is... female?”
“I'm not sure,” Lormar snickered, “Unless they believe that even male werelions can carry young?”
There was a quiet moment and Shakra imagined Kyrill blushing.
Tamarind's tail became an instrument of evil. It flicked around and lightly brushed Shakra under his tail. It did this twice and Shakra warmed with his own blush. He captured the tail and held it lightly. He could almost feel Tamarind smirking.
Kyrill had decided to avoid any more talk of males and babies. “The desert werelizards would welcome you if you allow them to, Shang. They have a very large community here.”
“I don't have time for such things,” Shang hissed back. “We are close to war. I will need all of my energies to prepare the werefoxes to repel King Katze’s assault. That may only be days away.”
“Perhaps,” Kyrill agreed. “All ready my people are moving to safer ground, but we've always been ready for attacks. Some of the deeper tribes of the deserts can be fierce. We are used to fighting. Besides, the desert werelizards will fight beside us.”
There was a heavy silence and then Shang asked. “Will they?”
Kyrill sighed. “Your fight with them is generation’s old, lizard. They are no longer the people that abandoned your clans to the enemy so long ago. They've become brave and honorable.”
Shakra's ears flicked, surprised, and he felt Tamarind tense beneath him. A mystery solved. Shang's prejudice was understandable now. Especially when he hissed, “Half my people died because of their cowardice. Our eggs were laid waste. It isn't a thing to forget.”
“Would their presence have mattered?” Kyrill wondered. “Or would they have died too?”
“That isn't the point,” Shang snapped back. “We were pushed back from our ancestral lands. It took us a long while to recover them again.”
“And why were you sent away, Shang?” Kyrill wanted to know.
“Not sent,” Shang corrected disdainfully. “I chose exile.”
“Why?”
“My people made treaties with our murderers for their safety.” Shang's passion was intense, his hatred for that act. “I couldn't face that.”
“Then it isn't just the desert werelizards that are despised by you,” Kyrill guessed.
“No,” Shang snapped back and then cloth rustled and the clash of crest spines was clearly audible as Shang left.
“You could have said something Shakra,” Kyrill said disapprovingly.
Shakra eyes were mere slits. “Do you really believe that any words of mine will make any difference?”
Kyrill sighed and leaned against Lormar. Lormar was sitting and drawing a comb through his banded fur as if nothing more important were going on. His eyes were thoughtful, though. He snaked an arm out and briefly hugged Kyrill as he said, “You can't make it better, mate. His is an old wound and it's deep.”
Werefoxes came in with food then and Tamarind frightened them when he suddenly sprang from underneath Shakra and descended on them excitedly, the desire to rest and be with his mate forgotten. One server dropped his platter and backpedaled with flailing arms. The food that fell was a very large haunch of raw meat. Tamarind latched onto it as if he were making a kill and then carried it eagerly to where Shakra was just sitting up.
“K-Kyrill?” the frightened server spluttered.
“It's all right,” Kyrill soothed. “Just leave the food and go. It's not good to come between a werelion and his meal.”
Lormar snickered as the servers hurried to go. Kyrill had neatly avoided another round of questioning.
“It's fresh,” Tamarind purred and then began to messily eat.
Shakra stepped back and away, watching Tamarind's sharp teeth and razor claws making short work of the haunch. Bone crunched loudly as Tamarind separated the haunch without any effort at all.
Cooked meat and other delicacies were on the other platters. Shakra joined the others in eating his own meal, his eyes watching his mate. How easily Tamarind could hurt him, he thought, and yet didn't. It made his love that much stronger.
Belly distended and a grin on his lips, Tamarind finished, burped, and then slowly moved towards the tent flap as if he were already half asleep. “Warm rock,” he murmured.
“Tamarind, I don't think....” Shakra began.
“Let him go... and go with him,” Kyrill urged. “Let my people see the fierce werelion looking like an over-stuffed lap kitten,” he chuckled. “It will help them learn not to fear him.”
Tamarind growled irritably, but didn't have the energy to retort. Shakra followed him out of the tent, into the warm sun, and onto a flat rock. Tamarind flopped onto his side, burped again, and then fell instantly asleep. Shakra settled next to him with a
n indulgent sigh and spent the next few hours watching a parade of werefoxes flit cautiously by to get a closer look at the sated werelion. Kyrill had said that they weren't a circus, but at that moment, Shakra felt like one.
“What are you doing?” Shakra had taken his own nap and found Tamarind mysteriously gone when he had awakened. It unnerved him that an overfed werelion could move so quietly when he chose, but finding the scent of meat and Tamarind wasn't a problem. The werelion needed a bath, he thought, and then amended, as he caught his own scent, so did he. It was a wonder that Shang didn't smell either of them, but then again, he was busy being uncomfortable.
Shakra crouched by his mate at the base of a rock. Tamarind had ears cocked, his long tail twitching. He was looking upward, a small smile on his face.
Shakra cocked his own ears, curious, and caught Shang's voice saying, “I need to know how competent your fighters are, female, not hear you bemoaning your exile here.”
“I was not bemoaning,” Sahri said. “I was explaining to you the harshness of this land and how well we have protected our fields from invaders. We enjoy our homes here and our alliance with the werefoxes. We don't have any wish to return to our clans.”
“Neither do I!” Shang retorted, “You talk a great deal, and yet tell me nothing that I wish to hear.”
There was a dueling sound of clashing spines, attesting to their mutual anger. “I am a warrior!” Sahri said. “I am very skilled, as are all my kin. The werelion clans will pay dearly if they attempt to take our lands.”
“You will pay dearly if you are over confident,” Shang warned.
“Who is over confident here?” she retorted. “You are here, without any of your kin, and in the company of misfits.”
“My Prince is not a misfit; he is the heir of his people!” Shang hissed and Shakra felt warmth at the werelizard's obvious pride in him. “You would do well to respect that fact and the fact that I am his guard.”
“He is fortunate in that, if nothing else,” Sahri replied, but then added, “Even the least of our people is formidable.”
It was a backhanded slight that wasn't well received. “You will gather your people so that we may plan. I need to speak with your best warriors.”