Reluctantly

He sighs. “I agree. Not like I have much of a choice,” he mutters.

“There’s always a choice,” you remind him. You snuggle against him, your breast feathers rubbing against his chin and tickling his warm breath. “Mmm. But you made the right one.”

“Well…What do you want me to do first?” he asks in a tremulous tone.

You frown a little. Maybe he’s a bit stupid. Well, that can really only work in your favour you suppose. “Well,” you say, returning to toying with his short blonde hair. “Tell me about yourself first. Then we can decide. How does that sound.”

“Alright. But um…Can you maybe let me go first?”

“Why?” you say in mock hurt. “I’m not comfy? Not soft enough?”

“N-no! No. It’s not that. It’s just…”

You laugh and open his prison of feathers allowing him to slide free. He scuttles quickly to the other side of the cave, where he sits, back against the wall and eying you warily, clearly not trusting you quite yet. Well, that’s fine. There’s plenty of time for that. You tuck your legs under your body and wings at your sides, settling on the moss bed you made. Your ruffle your feathers in comfort, projecting calm and trying to put the young priest at ease. “It’s pretty cold in here,” you inform him. “And my feathers are awfully warm.”

He blushes again. “No, thanks. I’m fine.”

You shrug. You’ll give him this, for now. It’s inevitable, in your opinion, that he’ll realize he needs you. So high up in the mountain, a draft of cold air cuts in constantly through the crack of a door to the cave. He’ll be more accepting of your presence soon enough. “Suit yourself. Now, how about you get started Kiev.”

“How’d you know my name?”

“I stalk you.”

“What?”

“I heard your friends mention it on the way up. Now, let’s put some story behind that name, other than the fact that a priest of Mishas named Kiev has been kidnapped by a harpy. But I want a little more than that.”

“Well…Right.” He clears his throat of nerves. “My name is Kiev. I was b-born in Ostvale. It’s a city, near the edge of the mountains. My mother was a priestess of Mishas when she had me. When I was born I was raised by the temple by the cult. Only children born there or given as children can join. Boys aren’t all that common. Apparently it has something to do with the herbs the priestesses use.” He pauses, wrapping his arms about himself, taking a moment to try and still his chattering teeth. He continues after recovering. “I was g-given special lessons by the high priestess, a-away from th-the others. They thought it was…wouldn’t be, um, app-propriate to have the same lessons as the g-girls.”

You nod. A picture is beginning to form. Emboldened he continues after tucking his knees in closer to his body.

“I was educated personally by the head priestess i-in the various ways of the goddess. I-I was taught w-well.”

He stops again as you rise and pad over to him. He shrinks from you, but you merely settle next to him, passing your wing about his shoulder and tucking him in against your side. You smile down at him as his shivering stops. He returns it, nervously, and unconsciously leans into your warmth.

“So you were trained by your head priestess?” you prompt.

He nods. “Yes. She was very nice, but kept me separate from the others. She was a very good teacher and cared for me a lot. She taught me a great deal about the goddess and the prayers. But I never got very far in terms of the holy spells.”

“Why not?” You shuffle a little closer to him, your downy feathers pressing against the side of his face as he leans his cheek against you, relishing in your arm softness. “Did she not want to teach you?”

“I…I think she did,” he said, flushing a little deeper. “But she said the lessons for men were underdeveloped. So few boys are born. But she knew a few. They were…” He trails off and faintly licks lips suddenly dry. You note this and file it away silently.

“So what did she teach you?” you ask.

He sighs, relieved, his warm breath rustles the feathers of your side. You fold your wing over him more securely so only his head remains visible beyond your feathered embrace. “She taught me a lot about alchemy. Priestesses of Mishas are great apothecaries. We make all sorts of potions. A lot for fertility in men. A-and women. I spent most of my time earning skills in alchemy and new recipes.”

“That right?” Your mind flashes back to the potions he had. You glance at your moss bedding where they hidden, so quick he couldn’t have caught it, and return to gazing into his open face and guileless eyes.

“She did teach me some lower end holy spells, but said the higher ones require certain attributes I don’t have. She never explained.”

“I bet she didn’t,” you say. Now you’re starting to get it. No wonder a priest of a fertility cult is so nervous! Under the care of some old woman who probably had no idea what to do with him, surrounded by a cult built on fertility but rarely having any man actually in the grounds. She probably never saw him as more than a child! This is too perfect. “So how’d you come all the way up to my mountain?” you ask.

He shifts against you. “The…I was called on to help a ranger. Her name was Ranna. She was buying potions and I was sent to deal with her. The high priestess was busy. She was very nice. She came back often and talked to me a lot. She told me about all sorts of adventures she went on. Deep forest zones, fighting monsters, caverns, slaying evil trolls and warlocks. She always had something to tell me, and even started bringing me things back a few times.”

You stare blankly at the priest. No way. No one is that naïve. Yet he continues chatting on as if you were some sympathetic ear at the hearth of an inn rather than a monster who had killed his companions and kidnapped him. How sheltered was he? You snap back as he begins to wind down his explanation.

“…And one day, she asked me if I ever wanted to go on those sorts of journeys. And, well, it seemed nice. And I think it would have been good, and I really wanted to…to be an adventurer to and go on those sorts of things with her, so I agreed. Then we came to the mountain and I…”

“Mmm. I think I can guess the rest,” you say. He looks up, as if surprised to remember who he’s talking to. You grin. He tries to smile. Progress! “Sounds like you had a pretty boring life. All cooped up in that temple learning only a little of your class spells. Being cut off from most of the sisters.”

“It wasn’t too bad,” he defends, but weakly, as he seems to have begun to realize how close he is to your naked breasts once more.

“But,” you say, your voice low and lilting with insinuation. You crane your head so you’re bending over his face, smiling slyly. “I bet you learned a few things all the same. Hm? I bet she couldn’t keep you away from learning about some things, could she? Maybe a little priestess snuck in now and then. Tried to teach you all sorts of things. Or maybe,” you continue, “maybe your high priestess would ask you to do some things for her. Or would show you some of what it is that a fertility cult specializes in.”

He averts his eyes and fails to answer.

Your stroke his side with the arm of your wing. “Maybe you should show me,” you say.