Sageis Del Gyrnos
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The Lady’s Pet
By Sageis Del Gyrnos

	Renard was not like other knights; no heavy suit of solid steel or weighty shield protected him. At his side he carried a long sword, its hilt stamped with his family’s crest, a dagger on his opposing hip bearing the same mark; in place of plate he wore a simple hardened leather jerkin. About his neck hung his symbol of station; a simple medallion, upon one side the mark of the royal order, upon the other his family crest.
	Where other knights were protected by plate and metal, Renard (or Ren, as he preferred) was protected by his cunning and quick mind, which had earned him the title “Knight of Guile” among his peers. Upon his head sat two russet-furred ears, matching the orange-red of his hair, above his leggings and sweeping out what he felt was a respectable two feet in length was a matching tail, both ears and tail crowned with white peaks. 

	Though hidden by the clothes upon his back, just below his left shoulder was a tattoo of Ren’s family crest – the same that took up one face of his medallion – as a means of identifying him should the worst happen. A green ink outline of a book rested neatly on the crossing of two swords, the shade perfectly matching his eyes. The book represented his father, a scholar and scribe by trade appointed to the noble courts, and the two blades represented Ren and his younger brother.
	This was the personage that perplexed the people of Marids when Ren arrived. For three weeks the people had waited after sending a letter for assistance to the Royal Order to deal with the witch who had moved into the dark Whispering Wood far to the south. For three weeks, blight and troubles had beset the town, and now that their supposed hope had arrived, they were greeted not by some bold warrior clad in protective armaments but by this slim young foxling in the midst of his summer years.
	Ren's arrival caused quite a stir, travel pack slung over his shoulder and boots dirty from the long walk, with no horse or guide to be seen. Still, children and younglings gathered about him to pepper him with questions. Adults watched warily, unsure if the stranger was actually the one who had been sent to help them or was just another trick from the witch. They were only slightly mollified when, with a smile on his face, he gave the children some treats and sent them upon their way.
Ren made his way directly to the town's magistrate. The old boar, though nearly blind, could still see the markings of the Royal Order upon the medallion and so gave the young foxling the little information they had. A witch had moved into the Whispering Wood; some said that she was there to listen to the words in the never-ending whispers of the wind through its trees, some that she was plotting something far more sinister. The magistrate chuckled, shrugged, and said in plain and simple words to Ren, “We do not want her here, whatever her reason.” The knight's response was the equally simple, “Then she shall be gone.” 
Ren’s steps were light, though his trek was long; a good day and a half passed before he reached the edge of the Whispering Wood. The sound of the wind cutting through the leaves and hollows of the trees lent the woods a mystic feel, sounding as half-spoken words upon the wind. He paused a few moments at the edge of the trees, then steeled himself and continued on for the remainder of the day, settling down to camp as the setting sun dimmed the light in the already dark woods. 
	The embers of Ren’s fire smoldered, bright red against the darkness of the woods. The sleeping foxling’s ears twitched at unfamiliar sounds, yet none of them woke him until a branch crunched within his camp. Bolting up and reaching hastily for his blade, the fox knight hesitated as his eyes fell upon a lovely sight. She stood the breadth of a hand taller than he, wearing a gown of silver silk twined with ribbons of a deep wine-red, her eyes were large and yellow and about her shoulders and cascading down her back spilled a mantle of feathers, tawny brown just verging towards amber.
The moment of hesitation was all Aria, The Lady of the Whispering Wood, needed. Her hand outstretched, a whispering word fell from her lips to mix in with the whispers of the tree. Ren did not even notice it as first as he leaped to his feet, fully drawing both blades. With his first step everything was fine; with the second, he noticed his grip was faltering; and the third step that should have brought him to the woman came up short, not as close as he expected. It took a few more seconds for his eyes to fully adjust to what he was seeing; the woman that had seconds earlier been barely taller than him now loomed at double his height. His blades, too heavy to hold, fell from his grip, as his clothes became loose, hanging off of him like sheets.
Ren trashed about in the enwrapping folds that were his clothes, struggling to untangle his arms from the mass of fabric they had become, the world around him swelling to monstrous size. Lady Aria’s hand loomed over him like that of a giant before her fingers wrapped around his now nude body, lifting him at a dizzying speed far above the ground. A smile played over Aria’s lips seeing for the first time the lean sculpt of the now miniature foxes form, that smile shrinking down to a wicked little grin as she shifted her grip, pinning his limbs with her fingers. Holding him firmly but gently, she brought him to her mouth, her tongue playing over intimate parts of the knight now revealed.
Aria’s tongue found Ren’s miniature shaft and easily encircled it, swathing the naked member in strong silken tongue, slick and stroking firmly. The knight’s face and ears flushed with humiliation as the witch stripped him of his strength, his clothes, and now his dignity. His resistance crumbled quickly at the onslaught of the witch's tongue, shuddering and arching in her grip as his length twitched and sprayed his seed upon her tongue.
Ren’s sudden climax surprised Aria and amused her, a soft laugh escaping from her like the chiming of silver bells. Bringing the captive fox up to her neckline, part of her dress separated from the rest, silver-sheened silk wrapping around Ren’s legs and up to his hips, becoming true silver. The silver crept up along the fox’s shaft, encasing his still firm member in a delicate filigree of silver. From around her shoulders, slim, pale-green tendrils peeked out of Aria’s feather mantle and slithered down to wrap themselves around Ren's upper arms, pulling them out firmly and leaving his silver-encased lower body to swing freely. They encircled his neck, his head, holding it firm, and a single bulb forced its way past the fox's lips, gagging him to silence.
With her new fox pendant upon her chest, Lady Aria of the Whispering Wood turned and made a sliding gesture with her hand. Dirt of the forest floor lifted up like a tide, covering the embers of Ren's fire, smothering them and setting the woods to true darkness but for her golden eyes as she turned, her steps sure in the pitch-black, and made for the castle she now called home.
To Be Continued 
In
Little Fox, Big Castle

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