A parting gift

The next day dawned bright and busy. The trader convoy was still in Havenford, and Crombie made his rounds early.

He found work quickly. A weathered human merchant named Master Torren — a man who had seen enough of the world not to flinch at a blue-furred Bugbear — was short on muscle for the next leg of the journey. When Crombie offered his services as escort, Torren looked him up and down, noted the well-made halberd and massive shield, and gave a short laugh.

“Most men would piss themselves if a Bugbear walked up asking for work. You swing that thing like you know how to use it, and you didn’t slaughter those raiders the other night. I’ll take you on. Pay’s fair, food and a place by the fire. We leave at first light tomorrow.”

Crombie accepted with a respectful nod. One path secured.

He also asked around town for work that could travel with him. The answer came from a narrow shop tucked between two larger buildings — The Veiled Relic, a discreet dealer in rare magical antiquities. The owner, a sharp-eyed half-elf woman named Mistress Veyra, listened to his request for portable work, then studied him for a long moment.

“I have a delivery to the next town,” she said at last. “Small chest. Valuable. Dangerous if it falls into the wrong hands. I need someone strong enough to protect it and honest enough not to open it. The chest will be magically bound to you — it won’t leave your person until it reaches its destination. I’ll provide a compass that pulses toward the address. Payment is a horse suited to your size… and a modest purse of gold.”

Crombie considered it. The binding magic sounded restrictive, but the horse would be invaluable on the road, and the gold would help. He agreed.

By midday he had secured both jobs. His coin purse was already heavier from the work he had done at the inn and for the traders.

It was while walking through the lively market that he saw her.

Among the traders’ wagons, a female feline bard was performing — a graceful catfolk with soft tawny fur, a long tail that swayed with the music, and large, luminous green eyes. She sang with a low, sultry voice while playing a small lute. When her gaze found Crombie across the crowd, she didn’t look away. Instead, her pink tongue slowly traced her lower lip. Her cat eyes held his with unmistakable interest — bold, appraising, and warm.

Crombie’s ears twitched. Something low in his belly stirred at the open hunger in that look.

Then the crowd shifted, and she was gone.

He searched for a few minutes but couldn’t find her again. The memory of those eyes lingered.

That evening, after the inn had closed and the last lamps were dimmed, Crombie slipped out the back and made his way to the stables as Lila had asked.

She was already there.

Lila stood in the soft lantern light, wearing the same simple dress from earlier, her auburn hair loose around her shoulders. When she saw him, her face lit with nervous excitement and shy desire.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t come,” she whispered.

“I said I would.”

She stepped into his arms without hesitation this time. Crombie lifted her easily — she weighed almost nothing to him — and carried her to a thick pile of clean hay in the back corner. He sat on a sturdy bale with her straddling his lap, careful not to crush her with his size.

Their kiss was deeper than the night before. Hungrier. Lila’s hands roamed his blue-furred chest and shoulders while Crombie kept his clawed hands gentle at her waist. When she pulled her dress down to bare her full breasts, he groaned softly against her mouth.

“You’re so careful with me,” she breathed, arching into his touch as his large palm cupped one soft breast. “I’m not made of glass, Crombie…”

“I know,” he rumbled, voice rough. “But I’m still twice your size. I won’t hurt you.”

They didn’t rush. The night was short and they both knew it. Crombie let her explore him — her fingers sinking into his white mane, tracing the lines of muscle beneath blue fur, even brushing shyly lower until she felt the heavy, heated length of him through his garment. He touched her in return with reverent care, learning the sounds she made when his thumb circled her nipple or when his hand slipped between her thighs.

When she finally guided him inside her, it was slow, careful, and incredibly intimate. Crombie held perfectly still at first, letting her adjust to his size, one massive hand supporting her back while the other stroked her hair.

“You feel… so big,” she gasped, forehead pressed to his chest. “But it’s good. Don’t stop.”

They moved together in the quiet dark of the stable — her riding him with growing confidence, him thrusting up in careful, measured strokes that made her cry out softly into his fur. It didn’t last long. The tension had been building for days. Lila came first, shuddering and clinging to him, and the sight and feel of her pleasure pulled Crombie over the edge moments later. He buried his face in her neck and groaned her name as he spent inside her.

Afterward they stayed tangled together for a little while, breathing hard, her small body curled against his much larger one. Lila traced patterns in his fur with one fingertip.

“I wish you didn’t have to go,” she whispered.

Crombie kissed the top of her head. “I have work now. With the traders. And a delivery I agreed to. But I won’t forget you, Lila. Or this.”

She nodded against his chest. They both knew her father would never allow anything more. This stolen night was all they could have.

Before dawn, Crombie slipped away. He left a small pouch of extra coin hidden where she would find it and a simple note: Thank you for seeing me.

He was gone before Harlan woke.

At first light, Crombie stood with the trader convoy as they prepared to roll out. Master Torren clapped him on the arm.

“Glad to have you, big man. Stay sharp.”

Mistress Veyra from The Veiled Relic met him by one of the wagons. She pressed a small, ornate chest into his hands. The moment it touched his skin, glowing runes flared and the chest seemed to bond — a faint magical tether linking it to him. It would not leave his person until delivered.

She handed him a simple brass compass. The needle pulsed softly, pointing toward the next town.

“And your payment,” she said, gesturing to a massive, sturdy draft horse already saddled and waiting — easily the largest mount in the convoy, built to carry someone of Crombie’s size and weight.

Crombie secured the chest and mounted up. The horse shifted but held steady beneath him.

As the wagons began to move, he caught one last glimpse of the feline bard among the traders. She was riding on the back of one of the supply wagons, tail curled around her ankles. When their eyes met across the distance, she gave him a slow, deliberate smile and another slow lick of her lips before the convoy pulled away.

Crombie looked back once at the walls of Havenford as they grew smaller behind them. He thought of Lila, of the mysterious elf who had saved him, of the catfolk bard’s bold gaze, and of the long road ahead.

His coin purse was heavier. His halberd and shield were ready. A magically bound chest rested against his hip, and a compass pulsed in his hand.

The world was waiting.