Back to the village

Jasper made his way back home slowly, still coming to grips with what had happened. Zephyra, the beautiful Elf, had tied him up, pinned him against a tree, and... And.... used her mouth on him. She had wanted sex, but he had told her that he wanted his first time to be special. To his surprise, she had respected his wishes, and gotten his consent before sucking him dry. Then she'd given him the horn, the little silver horn, which she said was enchanted, and would bring her around if blown.

Feeling a little sore in his feet, and needing a rest, still with a few miles to go before his village, Jasper decided to sit a while. There was a spot he knew well on this trail, a small pool where one could sit and think without being disturbed. Jasper walked off the trail, hearing the leaves of the bright summer day crunch under his feet, feeling the warm, golden sunlight on his skin. His red hair was a bit tousled and sweaty, and he still hadn't eaten. In the shock of receiving oral sex for the first time in his life – from a beautiful Elf girl, no less! – he had decided not to hunt. It was all so new, and so unexpected. It almost didn't feel real.

Jasper picked his way over the trail. It scarcely even existed, more of a deer path than a trail. A narrow strip of dark brown dirt, barely visible under the wet grass of the trail, snaked past dense shrubs and hells of vegetation. Round a low knoll, and Jasper saw it: a deep pool. A small waterfall trickled in from his right, off of a short rock face, and a narrow stream led away into the undergrowth. The pool was deep, green water rippling gently under the dappled sunlight, solitary leaves here and there tumbling softly until they stuck to the surface of the water. Shafts of sunlight shot through the canopy and cast patches of light here and there. The shadows of the swaying branches moved on the ground in hypnotic patterns, mottled shade flitting over the flowers, over the rocks and roots and mushrooms. The smell of soil and water was heavy in the air. It was a humid day.

Jasper sat down on a fallen log by the pool. His kitty ears twitched here and there, and his tail swished idly. His narrow shoulders were bowed, and there was a tree close to his back.

He looked tiredly into the pond. It was a few miles to his village, yet, and he didn't have camping gear with him. There was no option of camping an additional night. He would have to make it back to the village that same evening, even if he made it back late.

Jasper reached into his pack and found the silver horn that Zephyra, the seductive she-Elf, had given him. He turned it over in his hands, wondering at it. It was covered in the flowing Elvish letters that he had seen, here and there, on foreign curios.

Jasper's village was far too small for wealthy merchants to approach, but once in a while, a wanderer would get lost and wind there. Such strangers would rarely have anything to trade, except for a good story. So the villagers would humor them, give them some hay to sleep on and a hot meal, in return for being regaled with tales from foreign lands. One such stranger had told a story of being captured by the Elves, winning their friendship, and being released. Jasper had disbelieved the stranger at first. But then the stranger had shown off a piece of green cloth, a cloak, embroidered in a flowing script that nobody present had ever seen. Thinking back on it, Jasper realized that the letters on that cloak looked very much like the ones on his silver horn. Jasper couldn't read Elvish script, but he could read the common speech; there was a priest of Sol in the village, who had taught him to read when he was young. The Elvish letters fascinated him. What did it say? Was it a magic spell? Was it just Zephyra's name? Was it just "ha ha I can't believe you actually took this you dumb gullible cat"? In spite of himself, Jasper chuckled. Humiliating, yes, but he couldn't deny how funny that idea was.

His stomach growled. Jasper realized he was still very, very hungry, and resolved to make it back to the village by nightfall. His friend Kissa owed him a favor – he'd given her a great grouse he had nabbed on one of his hunts. Perhaps she had some dried fruit or something that he could eat. Nevertheless, he'd eat nothing unless he made it back to the village before everybody went to sleep!

Jasper sighed, thinking deeply of Kissa. His friend, the girl he'd known from childhood. She annoyed him, on occasion. She was very tomboyish. She liked to tackle him and put in him a headlock, twist his arm and try to make him say uncle. She was a rabbit-girl. Rabbit ears and a rabbit tail. Very fast. She always said, "Well, cats eat rabbit. How come you're the prey here?" He thought of the time she'd woken him up on Midsummer's Day by splashing his face with water. The way she'd always try to get him drunk to say something silly – but also, how she would always badger him into drinking water between beers. How, when he was too ****, she'd take him by the arm and lead him home. One memory, in particular, came to the fore.

"Jasper," she said, staring at the dead boar, "This is dangerous. You're not a big man. You shouldn't be out there fighting a fucking boar."

Kissa stood a head taller than him. She was tall, waifish, with light brown hair and green eyes. She was a rabbit-person, with the ears and tail to match. She presently stood glaring angrily at him, scowling with arms akimbo.

"Kissa, just relax. I got him with an arrow at thirty paces. Right in his eye."

"What if he had charged you?" she snapped, turning to him, "You think this is funny? Look at those teeth, Jasper! If it got hold of you, it'd fucking rip you in half! You shouldn't have done this!."

"Kissa! Calm. Down. If he had charged me, I'd be up a tree in three heartbeats. You know how fast I climb."

"It doesn't matter! You're missing the point! Jasper, you're not someone who needs to hunt boar. You don't need to feed anyone else. You are so convinced that if you don't bring home the most meat of anyone, you'll get thrown out because you're a cat-person. You are so convinced that everyone hates your guts..."

Jasper's face went blank and he inhaled deeply. Then he began speaking in a very quiet voice, the way he always did when he was furious.

"Kissa, I'm not a baby."

"I'm not saying you're a baby."

"I know. Just listen. Kissa –" she kept trying to interrupt him, and he kept saying her name: "Kissa. Kissa. Kissa. KISSA. Listen to me. Kissa. No, Kissa, just – Kissa! Shut. UP. Now listen. I know you just want to protect me. I know you used to protect me when we were kids, because..." he suppressed a laugh, in spite of the tension, "because someone would try to bully me, and you were better at fighting than me, even against boys. But listen to me. Just listen. Kissa! I can't just hunt rabbits forever. Fish don't always bite. If you want even a modicum of respect around here, you bring home bigger game. Full stop."

Kissa stood there for a long time, and then, when she spoke, her voice was softer. "Listen, Jasper. I'm not saying sit by the stream and just catch fish forever. I know you have to progress, okay? But this is too much. Not so fast, alright? Just slow down. I just... What if something happens?"

He exhaled slowly, trying to control himself. He told himself that Kissa was trying to get through to him. She seemed to be listening. He should listen, too. He told himself not to just shout, but try and process what she had just said to him.

"Kissa, it's never going to be safe for me to move forward. It's always a risk when you try something new. Just... just don't worry so much about me, okay? I'm not your responsibility."

"I know you're not," she said, suddenly sounding a little deflated, "I just... Don't hurt yourself. You should do this because it's the right time, not because you have to live up to some bullshit standard somebody else put on you. Okay?"

There was a far-away look in his eyes, and a wistful smile on his face. Oh, Kissa. Nobody else could piss him off that much, or tug so hard on his heart strings.

He continued walking. It was late afternoon. He was west of his village, and a soft west wind had been blowing for some time. The wind shifted late into the afternoon, and Jasper inhaled something lovely.

Smoke! His ears perked up and he lashed himself excitedly with his tail, wondering what he would find when he got back to the village. Smoke meant fire, and fire meant cooking! His kitty nose picked up on scents like smoke much sooner than a human would. He could often smell even his prey from far off, when he wanted to hunt a rabbit or deer.

Jasper picked up his pace, walking more confidently now, and with an eagerness. The endless twigs and ferns at his feet, the endless tree trunks on either slide, slowly glided past him. A faint smile crept across his face, showing his small fangs poking cheekily out of his mouth. Oh, whatever was cooking, he was going to get some of it! He had a little gold, or perhaps it'd be cooked by someone who owed him a favor, and then.... Food!

After another hour or so, Jasper frowned. The smoke didn't smell right. There was something going on. He didn't smell any grease, no fowl or swine flesh. Just burning wood. Were they having a bonfire? He frowned and picked up his pace. It wasn't that far, now. Soon he'd come down through the clearing in the valley, and then he'd be upon the village afterward...

As Jasper walked toward the clearing, the trees around him began to thin out. Before the village was a small river valley. It was close enough to the village that the woodsmen had taking to thinning the trees out a bit, to clear room for camp grounds. There had also been talk of erecting a toll station; it was their road, after all, and they would need to clear some room for the toll station to be built. Such a station would need walls and outbuildings.

As the trees thinned out, he was able to see more of the sky overhead through the canopy. In the distance, toward the village, there was something in the sky. Some sort of weird-shaped cloud. He squinted, peering through the gaps in the leaves. What was it? Was there a storm blowing in from the sea to the East? The cloud was tall, like a dark pillar. A very dark pillar. Why was it so dark? A rain cloud. But no, not a cloud at all. It was smoke.

The village was burning.

Jasper stopped dead. What was happening? The village... was burning? It had to be. That much smoke would take every house in the village.

He broke into a run momentarily, and then stopped again. His eyes were wide. He didn't realize it, but he'd broken into a cold sweat. His hands shook and his palms were sweating. His breaths were deep, fast, and ragged. The village was burning. The village was burning. Oh, gods. What was going on? Should he... if he ran there, what would he see? Bandits? Orcs?

Jasper ran off the trail, into the woods. To the right side of the trail was a tall hill. He ran up that hill, deep into the woods, until he reached the top. Then he turned and began heading toward the village this time. This way, he wouldn't approach by way of the trail. He would stay clear off the trails and far away from anyone who might be running around, and only emerge from the forest at the last moment.

As he drew near, he could hear some faint noise. At first, it was barely audible over the sound of the birds and cicadas and other ambient forest noises. But as he grew closer, his sensitive cat ears heard things that were not ordinary. The crackling of flames – huge flames, to be heard this far away.

Jasper sped up, leaping over stones and roots, hopping from rock to rock to cross a small stream, speeding up a hill at breakneck pace with his upper body held parallel to the ground. His heart was pounding again, from the exertion and the noise flames. No longer just flames, but now screaming, now shouting, clash of blades and of hooves...

He crested a hill. The forest had been cleared from here down to the village by villagers looking for wood. He stood at the top of the hill and gasped, blue eyes wide with shock.

"Oh, gods," he whispered. His hands were balled up into fists and his whole upper body was shaking. His mouth was clamped tightly shut. He hyperventilated, loudly sucking air in through his nostrils and blowing it back out. He was white as a sheet. Sweat poured down his face.

"No," he whispered, slightly higher than his natural register, "Please, please, no."

Just as he'd suspected, just as he'd known all this time. The village was in flames. Orcs, orcs everywhere. He could see their green skin and smell their putrid stench all the way from the top of the hill. The houses were burning. Dead men laying on the ground, swords by their sides. Some, who couldn't afford a sword, had tried to fight with farming implements. They were dead too. Women, weeping, screaming, being bound and **** into some sort of horse-drawn cart. Jasper stiffened. The Orcs would only bring such a cart if they wanted to transport humanoids. They had come to the village specifically to take slaves. Female slaves.

He walked behind the tree, putting it between him and the village. In his mind, he had a vague idea that he didn't want any of the Orcs to see him. But there was also a need for isolation. The village was burning.

Jasper had never once, in his life, been more than ten leagues from the village. Even on his farthest hunts, when he camped deep in the wilderness among the Elves, he had never been farther than that. Every person he had ever known by their first name was in the village. Every person he had ever loved or hated. The two old women who had raised him after the **** of his parents. His friend Kissa. Oh, no. Not Kissa. Please, not Kissa!

He peeked around the tree, eyes darting around anxiously, searching. Where was she? He didn't see her among the people being shoved into the covered cart. That meant she was still free, right? Rabbitgirls were fast. She could easily outrun an Orc. Of course! She must have escaped. That was the only way. Otherwise... He shook his head. No. Kissa was fine. She had to be. That's when he heard them.

He'd been in shock for too long. But he heard the tramp of armored boots and the rough voices of Orcs, snarling in their brutal language. But he recognized one word, because it was a cognate in common speech: "Verugu!" The Orcish word for cat.

He'd been spotted!

Jasper rose to his feet and dashed down the hill. Closing in quickly behind him, he heard the heavy footsteps of Orcs. They had poor eyesight, but they could smell well. They didn't like water and they didn't like to climb. They were also not terribly bright, except for the chieftains...

"Verugu!"

Jasper cursed under his breath and darted into a bush, crawling on all fours and emerging from the hedge a dozen yards away. He weaved between the trees, bounding over logs and running along narrow dirt-bridges over the wet areas. They were headed into a swamp now, by design. Jasper knew that Orcs hated water and they were heavy. They did not swim or wade well.

He looked over his shoulder. He'd lost them in the dense underbrush, seemingly. He sank his claws into the bark of the nearest tree and scampered up the trunk, staying close to the center. It was a big, spreading oak tree. If he stayed near the trunk, he would be invisible behind all the branches and leaves.

He could hear the Orcs beneath him. Tramping around, bumping into things, cursing at one another. Finally, they turned and stumped away, becoming disgusted with their search for him. Jasper peered down at them. Gods, Orcs were so stupid. But the chieftains were clever. The chieftains could plan things, like how to surprise-attack an isolated village in the late afternoon. Orcs came originally from the jungles, far to the south, where they lived in the millions, but roving bands of them sometime ventured very far north.

Jasper sat on the limb. It was a big enough limb that he could lay on it semi comfortably. He realized, suddenly, that he was very tired. The long walk, the lack of food, and the final chase, had all depleted his energy. He had walked many miles, eaten nothing for two days, and then been chased by Orcs. He yawned, little feline fangs showing in his mouth, and curled up on the tree limb. Like other cat-people, he was prone to falling asleep whenever tiredness took him.

He shook his head. No, he had to go to the village. But what could he do? Something shuddered inside him. Nothing. There was no reason to go to the village, not now. He would only die if he did. Troubled, he lay his head down and wondered if he would ever see Kissa again. Time passed and his worries fought his exhaustion. His exhaustion won, and he was out in nary a minute.

It was dark when he woke up. The crickets were chirping. His cat ears pricked up, listening intently to the sound of the animals and crickets. There was no more shouting or flames roaring. Quietly, he slipped down the tree and began walking toward the village.

It was still smoldering when he reached it. Up the hill, through the woods, and then down the hill into the clearing where the village had been. Where his whole life had been. There were red embers in the dark here and there. Jasper, with his excellent night vision, could see some of the bodies. He didn't dare look at their faces, knowing that he would break if he did. He knew every single person in the village. Any given face would be one that he had known. Rolf, the cobbler who had made his boots. Aaron, the fletcher who had made arrows for everyone. Brawn, the smith. And Kissa.... Kissa... Kissa...

He climbed up the side of a house, one of the few still standing, walked to the top of the roof, and sat down. It was a clear night, and the stars and nebulae and spinning galaxies were all visible in the sky, and the two moons as well, the blue one and the violet one. Jasper looked up at the sky. He'd sat on this roof many times, being able to climb so much more easily and the normal humans. He'd looked into the sky, sometimes with Kissa beside him. They would talk and talk and talk, about life, about the gods, about love. His heart thumped in his chest.

"Kissa," he said quietly.

Jasper looked around, eyes welling with tears, and then finally burst out sobbing. It was over. His life was over. Everyone he had ever known was gone. Every friendly face, every familiar voice, every person who had bothered him or said hello in the morning – gone, gone, gone. Vanished. Just a psychic scream and a deep sucking noise, nothing left over, a black pit.

He cried into his arms. There was no one around to share this with. Would he just be alone forever? How would he survive in the woods? Was he going to be a wild man, living in a cave? Would he find Kissa's dead body on the ground somewhere? He could go and look at the cadavers if he wanted, see exactly which of his family – for everyone in the village was his family – was dead. He decided against it. He'd rather just not know. Fool's hope is better than no hope.

Jasper sniffled, shaking slightly, when he heard a twig snap. Someone, something, had crawled up onto the top of the house, and it was right behind him!