Groaning, Pazil scans the bulletin board once more. He has extra coin, but not that much, especially not for a bunch of illiterate chumps that clearly all went to the same scribe. He considers braving the catacombs himself, even though he would undoubtedly get ambushed without someone watching his back, before his eye catches on a flier on the very edge of the board. Previously, he disregarded it because of how much the ink ran down, but now, he finds the fact that they must have written it themselves appealing. 


“Only one silver?” the wolf mutters to himself, fantasizing that he might profit, instead of indebting himself for the opportunity to use the Altar of Empowerment. The rest of the flier details their abilities: standard magic for a wizard, except for some power to feel through walls. “Surely they mean see.”


Regardless, Pazil memorizes the directions, and makes his way to a small hut on the outskirts of town. The cheapness of the wizard’s services is evident in the hut’s sagging, thatched roof and the aged wood of the front door. Knocking on it, Pazil fears it’ll collapse with how much it bends with his fist. But it holds, and soon creaks open, revealing a short German shepherd, who stares straight ahead at the wolf’s midsection, making it impossible to see anything besides the top of his head.

“Salutations, young man,” Pazil says. “I’m here in regards to a post on the bulletin board.”


“Hi there.” The German shepherd looks up at Pazil, but he doesn’t meet his eyes, probably because he can’t. A bright yellow blindfold wraps diagonally around his head, clashing with his brown-and-black fur and obscuring one eye. The other bears a scar on its eyelid that prevents it from opening fully. “I’m the wizard you seek. Name’s Hevaru.” Hevaru sniffs. “Is it just you?”


“Indeed. I, Pazil Qu–”


The wizard brandishes a wooden staff and draws an unfamiliar glyph in the air. The uneasy sensation of a strong magical aura envelopes the area. The wolf disregards it as showboating–despite interrupting him just for that is strange–until Hevaru makes eye contact with Pazil. 


Is he not blind? The giant claw-mark across the eye and its unfocused stare suggests he is, but no spell can cure such a thing. Plenty can enhance the senses, so maybe he retains some sight and the spell brings it up to usability? Or is it possible he moves his eye based on sound? Or smell? Then how is it so precise?


“Wow, you’re a hunk of wolf, aren’t ya?”


Lost in thought, Pazil responds automatically, “I suppose that is an accurate assessment. My height and weight far exceed average.”


The shepherd giggles. “You some kinda shut-in? Why do you talk like that?”


“I know not what you refer to. I merely speak the words that come to mind.”


“Alright, well, I assume you want an escort to the Altar of Empowerment?” 

“Correct,” Pazil says.


“Great, I’m well-suited for that place. The only real threat comes from all the places a skeleton could be hiding.”


“Apologies for my confusion. What is this advantage you possess?”


“Did you not read the listing? Well, whatever, it’s easiest to show you.” Hevaru covers his eye. “Let’s see here…You have a one-pawed sword and no shield, so it’s likely you use your off-paw for rudimentary spell casting. And underneath your leather armor, you have a lot of patches where no fur grows–scars I assume.” 


“Hmm. If you can sense beneath my garments, then this power of yours may indeed prove useful.”


“Very useful, yeah.” Hevaru reveals his eye, which reluctantly opens and meets the wolf’s. “Anything within about a ten-pace radius I can kinda feel–that’s the closest word for it anyway.”


“I shall try one thing.” Pazil rummages through the pouch hanging off his belt for a silver coin and flips it at Hevaru, who catches it between two fingers. “Your power is satisfactory.” 


Still, the cheapness of the wizard’s services irks the wolf. A wizard should be more expensive than everyone else on the bulletin board, since all but a select few run out of the mana they’re born with by the middle of their life, only able to get more by harvesting it from somebody and killing them in the process. “However, I have a few errands to attend to. Meet me there, say, when the sun reaches its zenith?”


*




Pazil spends most of the rest of his morning asking the townsfolk about Hevaru. He doesn’t learn much though, only that he grew up here in Balinew, and his past customers highly recommend him. While the wizard having alive past customers disproves the worst of his worries, he still goes to the library and researches the spell Hevaru showed off. The Spell of Extended Palpability is a high-mana-cost spell that, combined with the complex glyph required for casting, most wizards don’t bother learning in favor of a danger sense spell. He flips the page over to another depiction of the glyph, this one with a line criss-crossing it. He traces the line over and over, until his finger can replicate it without him looking at it. The next page details more of the mechanics of the spell, but glancing out the window, the sun nears its apex. 


When Pazil arrives at the catacombs, the German shepherd is already at the entrance, a black cloak hanging off his shoulders. As the wolf nears, the powerful magical aura washes over him, but he ignores it, saying, “I shall let you lead the way.”


“Wise.” 


They enter what were once ordinary catacombs, since corrupted by some fool’s magic. Pazil lights a torch to help navigate the cramped corridors, the scent of fire relief from the mustiness. He peers into any loculi a skeleton could hide in, while Hevaru strides confidently forward. It isn’t until they reach the second floor that he slows down and whispers, “There’s a skeleton on one of the shelves around the corner.” He readies his staff. “Make some noise to lure it.”


“Affirmative.” Pazil grabs a slab of stone crumbling off the wall and slams it into the ground, its shattering echoing in the small corridor, followed by the rattle of bones. The instant the skeleton comes into view, a gust rolls through, which extinguishes the wolf’s torch. Without light to see by, he only has the skeleton’s silence to comfort him. Still, he grasps the hilt of his sword, and drops his torch so he could cast at a moment’s notice.


“Look at you floundering around. So cute.” 


A red glyph cuts through the darkness, but Pazil identifies it as a basic, almost harmless fire spell. Light blinds him for an instant, coming from his own torch in Hevaru’s paw. 


“Here ya go,” Hevaru says.


“My deepest gratitude.” Pazil takes the offered torch. “However, I must inquire about the efficiency of that.”


“Of what?”

“Such a strong wind spell would most assuredly extinguish my torch. Why waste your mana?”


“I just said. I find it cute how people fumble around in the dark.” Hevaru continues deeper into the catacombs. “Besides, I have more mana than I could ever use.”


“How fortunate for you.” At this point, the wolf trusts the shepherd to detect any threats, so he doesn’t bother checking the loculi. “You could become quite the revered wizard if you wanted. Why not do so?”


“The biggest thing is I can’t read; I can't easily learn new spells. The only one I’ve managed to learn after I lost my sight is the one compensating for that loss. And that took a year of my grandma guiding my paw through the motion.”


Pazil is about to leave it at that, until he remembers something. “Was it her that wrote the notice on the bulletin board?”


“No, she passed away a few years ago. I wrote it myself. I use a ton of ink so I can feel the shape of it. People say it looks like shit, but they can read it.”


“My condolences for your loss.”


“Thank you. Now, let me focus.”


As they venture deeper into the catacombs, the skeleton encounters grow more frequent, and the shepherd always uses wind magic that extinguishes the torch. The time before it’s relit increases, presumably because Hevaru has to slay a few more skeletons than the previous time. Right when Pazil thinks the light won’t return, the wizard’s red glyph appears. The wolf could keep the torch lit himself, but that would mean he wouldn’t have his casting paw to defend himself, which he believes is his biggest advantage. 


After ten floors of this, they stumble upon the first wide-open room, containing only a stone platform large enough for even the wolf to lay on. “This must be the Altar of Empowerment,” Pazil says.


“Yes,” Hevaru responds. “Relax on it until you feel the strength flow into you.”


Knowing it’s useless, Pazil hands his torch to the shepherd. “Will you ensure my safety?” He lays down on the altar.

“That’s what I’m here for. In fact, there’s a skeleton right there!” 


Pazil has to clutch the sides of the stone platform to prevent himself from sliding off as a gale storms through the room, enveloping him in an accustomed darkness.


“Good news: I got it. Bad news: the torch blew all the way to the other side of the room, outside the radius of my spell. I can still follow its scent, but it’ll take me a bit.” Hevaru’s footsteps travel from one side of the wolf to the other. “Just stay right there and close your eyes.”


The last thing Pazil will do is comply, especially as a brown glyph forms in the air beside him. It’s so advanced he can’t identify it, so it can’t be any sort of tracking spell.


He recalls the diagram from the book in the library, but his paw refuses to move. Like getting out of bed before you’ve had adequate rest, his body wants to stay exactly how it is. Thankfully, that’s a conquerable feeling. He convinces his arm to rise from the stone, rapidly flicking a simple, black glyph. It chirps and replaces itself with the glyph for the Spell of Extended Palpability.


“What was that spell?” Hevaru asks.


Pazil’s finger acts as a knife through the glyph. His precision seems perfect, but the cuts don’t sever. He continues anyway, encouraged as Hevaru’s brown glyph stops forming. When he finishes, the glyph thrums, regenerating itself.


“What did you do?!” Hevaru exclaims. “Everything feels staticky.”


Pazil shakes off the rest of his body’s lethargy and launches himself in the direction of the wizard’s voice. The humm of all the magic prevents him from pinpointing Hevaru’s location, so he blindly swipes into the darkness. His claws connect to fabric. Curling his fingers around it, he yanks it. The fabric tears, but a hollow clack sounds right in front of him, unlike claws on stone, and more like…He reaches for it, finding the wizard’s staff and wresting it from him. 


Using a staff instead of his finger feels clunky, but it enhances his power enough that when he tries the same thing as before, the glyph falls into pieces that shimmer into nothingness. Mana that was supposed to last him for the next month drains from him. While not the biggest loss he’s suffered, he has to suppress a growl. 


He snaps the staff over his knee and unclips his scabbard from his belt. “Surrender! You have no chance of besting me in your state.”


“Seems like a fair fight to me. Or do you really believe that altar beefed you up?”

The question comes from close behind, so Pazil whirls around, swinging with the momentum. He only hits the air.

“Just lay back down.” Hevaru’s voice now echoes from the far left. “I’m not going to hurt you, so there’s no need to try to kill me.”


“I would never do something so dishonorable.” The wolf faces the most recent sound from the wizard, though swivels his ears for any movement around him. “My sword is still sheathed.”


Without a response, Pazil struggles for a way to locate the shepherd. Using magic would grant light, but would also reveal his own location and leave him vulnerable. The still air means his nose can only tell him that Hevaru’s here somewhere. So his ears are his best bet, but straining them further only allows him to hear his own breathing and heartbeat.


Right as he’s about to give up and find the exit instead, something clatters on his close right. He swipes at it. Yet again, he misses. How did the shepherd move that fast?


The alarm bells ring at the same time something slams over his head, snapping in the process. Despite how loud his ear rings, Pazil spins and slams his scabbard into Hevaru. The shepherd screams and crashes down.


After refastening his scabbard to his belt, the wolf lowers to where the shepherd pants. A jagged blade slashes along his muzzle. Pazil ignores the pain and clutches Hevaru’s wrist before it can fully retreat. When he tries to slam it into the floor, pain lances up his arm, so he settles on neutralizing its movement. Even that proves to be too much; the weapon inches toward his chest.


“Ha! I’m stronger than you,” the wizard boasts as he intercepts Pazil’s other paw from helping, though the wolf quickly wins that contest of brawn. He drags Hevaru’s unarmed paw to his other one, adjusts his grip so he holds both of them in the one paw, and flattens them both above the shepherd’s head. He pounds them into the stone, forcing Hevaru to release the weapon. With his other, weak paw, he grabs the weapon, identifying it as a piece of the wizard’s broken staff before tossing it away. He draws a brown glyph, which briefly illuminates the immediate area. The stone of the floor grows over the shepherd’s paws, encasing and chaining them to the ground.


“Who are you?” Hevaru vainly struggles against his restraints. “Only another wizard could counter my spell, or a–”

“A knight, you are correct.”


“You’re lying; there’s no way you’re a knight–the leather armor, the weak arm. And most of all, why would a knight waste his time chasing the myth of the Altar of Empowerment?”


“As vow seven dictates, ‘A knight must never lie.’ I am Pazil Quililine, First Knight of the Zaranan Order. However, I am off duty.” Knees aching from the stone, the wolf climbs off Hevaru and sits next to him instead. “To explain my armor, I lost my squire, thus donning my plate is impossible. The other inquiries have the same answer: I theorize that the altar can heal internal injuries, such as the one in my arm. Now ‘tis your time to confess: what were you preparing to do to me?”


“Depends, is your order one of the ones that chop the head off of all supposed evil-doers?”

“Without knowledge of your intentions or deeds, I can only comfort you with this: I’m honor-bound to not summarily execute you.”


“One of the slightly more reasonable ones then.” Hevaru gives up his fight against his binds and lays his head on the ground. “I was going to harvest your mana, like I do everyone I bring here.”


“As I thought, you are a deceiver.” Pazil sighs. Why can’t people just be good? Instead of constantly making his life difficult. “Murder is an offense you’ll likely face execution for. Rejoice in the time it’ll take to escort you to my command post.”


“I didn’t say I killed anyone; they all survived.”

“Impossible.”

“The altar keeps them alive somehow,” Hevaru explains. “Then all I did was alter their memories and they went on their merry way.”


Pazil flings his tail into his lap, then idly plays with it as he considers the possibility. “‘Twould align with my theory. Death by mana harvesting leaves no external wounds. Hence, the cause is internal and the altar could counteract the damage. However, this does not absolve you. The power hungry are often shown little mercy.”

“I’m not power hungry; I needed their mana. Without it, I wouldn’t be able to use my spell as often as I need; I wouldn’t be able to survive on my own. There’s nobody who could take care of me, not after…I had no choice.”


Pazil shakes his head. “What of your first victim? How did you ascertain you wouldn’t kill them?”


“My grandma used a golem to test the altar’s effects, and when she drained the excess mana she gave it to cast, it didn’t die.”


“I understand.” Pazil grits his teeth as he realizes he doesn’t have a say in how he must act. “Vow eighty-two of my oath dictates, ‘A knight must be show a better way of life to those who commit treachery for the cause of self-preservation.’”


“What does that mean? What are you going to do with me?”


“I shall bring you to my command post, and if the commanding officer approves, you shall non-lethally reap what you need from the prisoners–their magic gets bound regardless.”

“Really? That’s…that’s not a punishment at all.”


“Indeed, as that’s not what the vow calls for. I’ll free you once I’ve used the altar. However, it may take me a while to find it.”


“It’s five paces to my left.”

Pazil rises and, sure enough, his searching paw finds the altar only a few steps away. “How did you ascertain that information?”

“Just kinda kept track–easy since it’s the only thing here.”

“Impressive regardless.” Pazil clambers onto the altar, scuffing his kneepads as he misjudges the precise location of the uneven surface. To his alarm, the lethargy returns, but when he glances over to where the wizard should be, there’s no glyph forming. It must be from the altar, so he succumbs to it. The ringing in his ear fades, and the bones of his weak arm shift around painlessly.


“Hello?” Hevaru says. “Are you there?”


“Huh? I am.” Pazil flips over and solely uses his weak arm to push himself up to his knees; not even a twinge. Massaging his arm, the bones are no longer out of place. His tail wags. He didn’t expect this to actually work! He only did this to say that he tried before retiring. Now he can–well, first he needs to deal with this wizard. “I must retrieve the torch before freeing you.”


“My arms are cramping up from being like this for so long.”

“‘Twas only for a few moments.” The wolf hops off the altar and follows the scent of smoke to the torch. 


“Ain’t no way. I wouldn’t be surprised if the sun had set.”


“We shall see.” With the same fire spell Hevaru used, Pazil lights the torch. The shepherd’s eye squints at the sudden light, but even when it adjusts, it can’t find the wolf. While his cloak is torn and his fur is disheveled, he seems unharmed. Pazil banishes his bindings and helps him to his feet. When he tries to pull his paw away, Hevaru refuses to let go.


“You’re gonna need to guide me out of here. All my eye can do is tell if there’s light or not, and my staff is beyond useless.”


“Very well then.”


Exiting the catacombs paw-in-paw with Hevaru is a bit awkward. Pazil gets breaks to thwack the occasional skeleton. He considers giving the shepherd one of their bones as a cane, then thinks how gross that is. Besides, he needs him to stay close in case a skeleton jumps out of a loculus. 


Outside, Hevaru frees his paw and says, “I know this area pretty well.” Waving his arm in front of him, he navigates to a cobblestone path that cuts through the forest. 


After extinguishing the torch, Pazil discards it. “If you insist.” He follows behind the slow-moving shepherd. If this is the pace to command, they’ll be lucky to make it there before winter. While he’d rather not… “We’ll need to replace your staff to make the journey to command. Do you have coin for such a purchase?”

“I have the silver you gave me.”


“Out of my own purse then,” Pazil replies. “You should’ve charged your customers more.”


“I used to, but I wasn’t getting mana faster than I was burning it. Most showed up, saw I was blind, and left without a word. And that was only after I took that tidbit off the flier itself. Before, no one came. My only option was to be so cheap they–”


“You’re veering off the–”

Hevaru stumbles off the cobblestone and smacks his head into a tree. “Ow. I forgot the path turns right here.” He crouches so he can feel for the cobblestone, and resumes walking on it.


In the distance, the path bends similarly. Pazil will either have to inform the shepherd verbally, hold his paw again, or find him a cane to use. The last would be the most efficient, but what could that be? The wolf groans as he realizes the perfect solution. He presses his scabbard into Hevaru's arm.


“Guide yourself with this.”


“What is…?” The shepherd wraps a paw around the scabbard. “Oh. That’ll work, yeah.” He uses it to tap the cobblestone in front of him, centering himself on the path. “Thank you.”


“You are most welcome.” Pazil feels exposed now that he’s unarmed, but Hevaru himself isn’t a threat without the Spell of Extended Palpability, and there wasn’t anyone or anything on the way here, so it should be fine. “Do you know of a location to purchase a new staff?”

“Yeah, but the sun has set, hasn’t it? I don’t see anything.”

“It’s in the process.”


“She’ll still be open then.”


They make their way back to Balinew without any trouble, and to a small arms shop, where a deer greets them, “Hello, Hevaru! Nice to see you've made another friend.”


“Hi, Otanaji.”


The deer tilts her head at the shepherd’s makeshift cane. “You are conserving your mana today?”


“That’s why I’m here: I need a new staff.”


“Splendid! I’ve always thought you should replace that old thing. I have just the thing in the back.” Otanji skips through the door behind her.


WIth nothing else to do, Pazil looks around, drawn to a wall of shields. While none are near the quality of his, they would function until he retrieves his from his quarters at command. A shield would help with the treacherous journey back to command, now that he has the wizard for the magic he’ll need. But if he’s wielding a shield, he couldn’t counter Hevaru’s spell at a moment’s notice, so he decides against it.


“Here we go!”

When the wolf glances back to the front of the shop, Otanaji is back behind the counter with a longer, more elegant staff before her.


“Fifteen silver,” the deer says with a smile.


“Is this the cheapest option?” Hevaru asks.


“Only option in fact. I don’t stock many staffs since they don’t sell well, and just the other day, a coupla mice bought the other two I had.”


Pazil approaches the counter and tests the weight of the staff. Not hollow, so it would work better as a blunt weapon than the shepherd’s old one did, but that’s all he can figure. He hands it over to Hevaru. “Is it of good make?”


Hevaru traces the spiraling etching of the wood. “Much better than what I had, yeah.”


“We shall purchase it then.” Pazil pours the contents of his coin pouch into his paw, puts all the bronze and some of the silver back, then drops the coins on the counter.


The deer scoops the coins into her paw and counts them. “Really good friend you got here.” 


“Make no insinuations of our relationship. I am Pazil Quililine, First Knight of the Zaranan Order, and am charged with his escort.”


“Forgive me, First Knight Pazil Quililine.” Otanaji tosses a silver back on the counter. “Will there be anything else?”


“No.” The wolf takes the silver and turns to leave. 


Hevaru says something to the deer before following Pazil to the street outside. “I’ve never seen her let a coin go without a fight–for a reason too. Was that necessary?”

“I know not what you mean.” Pazil resists his ears’ desire to splay, then allows them to when he remembers the shepherd can’t see it. “I merely corrected her to protect myself from the dishonor of such a relationship.”


“Knights and their stupid honor. You didn’t have to name-drop and intimidate her.”


“My name was necessary to properly explain the situation, while also ensuring peace of mind that somebody competent escorts you. She is your friend, correct?”


“Not really. We’re the same age; we grew up together, but we never went out of our way for each other.”


“Regardless, I have no intention of depriving her of coin she needs. I thought I miscounted.” Pazil places a paw on the door. “I shall return it.”


“Don’t. She’s not a fan of charity–even if it’s not–and it’s not like a silver goes that far anyway.” Hevaru holds out the knight’s scabbard. “Here, take this back.”

Pazil takes his scabbard and puts it on his belt.


“Now let’s see how well this works.” Hevaru grips his staff with both paws and moves it around aimlessly. “It’s a lot heavier.” He hits the door to the arms shop. “I did not realize I was that close.” After creating some distance, thankfully not blocking anybody in the desolate street, he draws the glyph, slower than he did with his old staff. “Whoa. I can feel all the way down to Otanaji’s house–the one with a slanted roof. She’s reorganized her common room.”


The house in question is perhaps twenty meters down the street. “Isn’t it impolite to invade her privacy?”

“I can’t help it. It’s like asking me to look in a direction, but not too far. And, um…” Hevaru twirls the fur near his ear around a finger. “Let’s say that I regularly invade more private things. I’m used to it.”


“Ah, that explains how the spell is recognized enough that I found it only through a cursory search, despite most wizards not using it.”


“That’s its main use, yeah, though people don’t realize that you feel everything–intestines, liver, the blood in your veins. It’s not sexy at all and takes forever for it all not to overwhelm you.” Hevaru yawns. “I’m going home. I assume we’re heading wherever tomorrow?”


“Indeed. Meet me at the south end of town at first light.”








*




After a restful night at an inn, Pazil heads for where the residential district gives way to a grassland, and further out, to tilled fields. He feels Hevaru’s magical aura without spying him down the street. Hopefully, no one else around is sensitive to it, or have gotten used to it. After another minute, the wolf spots him coming off a side street, the tear in his cloak sewn and a meager pack on his back. They share a greeting, then embark on the road to Vibliv, where the Zaranan command post is located. 


They’ve only made it past the farms to where a forest surrounds the road when Hevaru complains, “I can’t believe we’re walking all the way there. Don’t knights have mounts or something?”

“I couldn’t ride with the previous state of my arm.”


“Well can’t you–Behind that bush!” Hevaru points down the embankment. “Something bipedal.”


“Merely another one of Nilteron’s ghouls.” The wolf draws his sword. “I shall slay it.”


A ghoul emerges from a bush, its gray flesh sparkling with its enchantment, and climbs up the embankment. Pazil readies his casting paw before remembering he can’t have a window where he can’t counter Hevaru’s spell, then slashes at the ghoul’s outstretched arm. It makes no move to dodge, and the blade cuts clean through. The arm plops into the dirt, while the ghoul keeps advancing, another arm growing as the old one withers. He hacks off its leg, which slows it to a crawl. He uses that time to glance back at Hevaru, who is engaging with his own ghoul. Still, Pazil doesn’t risk using magic, despite it would be much easier, and repeatedly delimbs the ghoul. The limbs regenerate slightly after they’re severed, and the wolf gets slower. But he pushes through the fatigue, counting: seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty.  He stops there, and ghoul halts, its entire body withering away. 


Panting, Pazil looks over to the shepherd again, and tenses as the wizard twirls his staff to form a red glyph. By the time he has the counter half-signed, the fireball is barreling toward him. It misses, and whooshes on something behind him. He turns to an on-fire ghoul, then jumps away from it as it collapses where he stood and burns to ash.


The wolf pants harder than before. “Refrain from fire magic. It’s already too hot out here.”


“It’s the most effective thing.” Hevaru continues down the road. “Do you not know the counter to their protection spell?”


“‘I must save my mana.”

Hevaru smirks.“Running out in your old age?” 


Pazil shakes his head. “I merely spent way too much in our fight. You shall have to cast the counter.”


“Sorry, but I can’t. Grandma never got around to counters before she couldn’t teach me much at all.”


“‘Tis most unfortunate.”

The shepherd stops. “There’s a bunch more in the ditch up ahead. We’ll have to go around.” He slides down the embankment, dirtying his clothes. “I hate spring. Why can’t you knights go around in the winter and kill them all while they’re frozen?”


Close behind the wizard, Pazil says, “That’s impractical for many reasons: they’re hard to spot in the snow, slaying so many would cost more mana than any knight would be willing to spend, and we’re spread thin as it is.”


“At least do a couple hundred a year to thin them out over time.” Hevaru’s path through the trees curves, presumably giving a wide berth to ghouls Pazil doesn’t spot. “That war was before I was even born.”


“That could take decades, perhaps even a century. We don’t have numbers on how many of Nilteron’s army were dead and transformed into ghouls when he casted the mass protection spell.”


“You knights could still try.”


Pazil shrugs and hopes Hevaru’ll drop it.


The rest of the day wears on, the pair making little progress. Each time they have to make a detour, Hevaru insists that Pazil use his magic so they can defeat them easily, but he sees no reason for haste and plenty for caution, so he declines. They’ve made it at best half a league by the time the sun sets and they stop for the day. 


The shepherd’s spell makes him an efficient hunter, so with a freshly-killed feral rabbit and some vegetables Pazil brought, they cook a stew over a fire and settle down with a bowl.


“How much longer do we have to go?” Hevaru asks between bites.

“At this rate, a fortnight or so,” Pazil responds.


“We need to speed up. I only have mana for another ten-ish days, and there’s the return trip to worry about.”


“Indeed. However, we don't have the means for faster. Is there–”


“You have the means; you just refuse to use it. I get that you want to ration out your mana, but it’s costing a ridiculous amount of mine.” Hevaru tips the bowl to his lips to drink the broth, then sets it aside. “Look, unless this prisoner has an insane amount, we’ll need to do this again. So the less mana I spend here, the longer it’ll be before I need more. Which in the end, saves you mana. Please, just do it.”


Unable to deny the logic, Pazil takes a bite as an excuse to not speak, getting a large chunk of rabbit that he chews slowly. He can’t send Hevaru back home; that would break his vow, and more importantly, put people in danger again. And continuing like this would mean he’d have to find a way to keep a defenseless Hevaru safe. He has no choice but to make himself vulnerable, despite it being unlikely he’ll scrape by with only a broken arm this time.

“I succumb to your demand.”


“Yes!” Hevaru jumps to his feet, pads over to where he left his pack, and pulls out a quilt. “I’mma head to sleep and we’ll get those ghouls in the morning.”


“Is that all your bedroll consists of? It should wrap around your body several times.”

“This is all I have. My fur’s long; it’ll be fine.” The shepherd grabs his staff. With only a couple of waves through the air, he extinguishes the fire, and his magical aura fades, replaced by a weaker one. “I’ve set up the alert spell for us.”


Despite that, when Pazil is settled in his bedroll and Hevaru seems to be asleep, he casts his own. It’s undeniably inferior, but necessary since Hevaru can’t trigger his own.






*




In the morning, Pazil shares some of his bread with Hevaru as apparently he didn’t bring any of his own food. After that, they gather their things back into their packs and resume their journey.


The ghouls flock on the road this time, allowing Pazil to notice them before Hevaru, since he can see farther than the wizard can feel. Hevaru stays as far back as he can while able to sense them, but the wolf’s spells don’t have much range without a staff, so he approaches them until they turn in his direction.


The wizard readying a spell unnerves Pazil, but he flicks the counterspell glyph anyway. He doesn’t need his eyes to guide his paw through the cuts into the glyph, so he watches the ghoul in case it tries to lunge. When he finishes, the glyph shatters like glass and fades into nothingness. The ghoul falters as its sparkling enchantment disappears. Pazil uses the opportunity to create more distance. A gust with a razor-edge sails past him, decapitates the ghoul, and continues into the crowd behind it. The ghoul withers before it can hit the ground, but the others march on as they regenerate.


“Come on, old man!” Hevaru shouts. “Again!”


Pazil casts the counter repeatedly, managing to dissolve the protection of two ghouls before Hevaru shoots out another wind spell. His sword serves only to cut off any hand coming too close, until the last ghoul, which he slices into far more pieces than necessary.


“There we go,” Hevaru says from behind the wolf, closer than he thought he was. “That took us a quarter of the time than we fought them the first time–half the time of walking around.”

“Indeed, ‘tis most efficient.” Pazil massages his aching wrist. “If a bit tiring.”


“Tiring? You barely drained any mana and your sword was little more than decoration. Is there some other reason you don’t want to fight them?”


Pazil grits his teeth. It is true that his wrist is tired, and that he wants to conserve mana so he doesn’t run out before he plans to retire, but the way Hevaru phrased the question forces him to admit the whole truth, or else break his vow of not lying. While he could not answer at all, that would inform Hevaru that there is a bigger reason. “I am cautious of you, and believe keeping my casting paw available to counter your spell is the best means of defense.”


“Really? That’s…not what I expected. Why go through all this trouble for me then?”

“Because I must follow the vow I recited to you before, else be stripped of my knighthood. They’re supposed to guide me to the right path. However, as of late, they seem to bring me harm.”


“Well, I haven’t hurt you…much. Are you talking about something else?”

“Indeed.” The vow doesn’t force him to elaborate, and in this case, Hevaru shouldn’t press when given silence, but he feels a need to justify his distrust. “A very similar vow to the one applying to you, eighty-one, states, ‘A knight must show a better way of life to those who commit treachery in protection of others.’ This applied to my former squire when he struck down a civet harassing his sister. My commanding officer determined that his combat prowess could be redirected towards our cause. Hence, he conducted the trial for my other former squire ahead of schedule, and when she succeeded, put the murderer under my guidance. As you can predict, he was just crazy and soon attacked me. My armaments weren’t with me–he was responsible for them–thus he managed to break my arm with his shield before I subdued him.”


“Is this a long-winded way of saying that I’m crazy?”


“No.”


“Then unless you think the vow is wrong for some other reason, you have no reason to not trust me”


“You are…correct.” Pazil has confided in many of his fellow knights about his doubts of their oath, yet it’s this conversation with someone who knows little about it that reaffirms his conviction. “It seems my faith was shaken for a mere moment. My apologies for my insinuations of you.”


“Let’s just forget about it and keep moving. Killing ghouls is fun!”




*




Keeping up the shepherd throughout the following days tires Pazil, but they manage to make up for lost time. On the third day, Pazil recognizes a two-trunked tree that marks Vibliv as a league away. After setting up camp and eating dinner, the wolf works on getting his armor off. The first vambrace comes off easily, but he struggles with the second, pain flaring in his wrist. Experience tells him it's not the kind he should push through if he wants his paw to function tomorrow, despite all he needs to do is a couple small tugs.


“My wrist is a little tender after today.” Pazil holds out his arm. “Would you kindly help me with my vambrace?”


“What do I do?” After a couple seconds of examination, Hevaru funfastens it. “There you go.”


“I appreciate your assistance.” Pazil massages his wrist. “My body has never cooperated with successive casting. ‘Tis why I prefer to use a shield with my offpaw.”


“It would be much easier if our roles were switched.” Hevaru punches the ground. “It sucks being an illiterate wizard. Well, not illiterate, I can write, but still.”


Pazil’s ears perk as an idea comes to him. “Hold that thought. You read while you’re writing, correct? That’s why you use so much ink.”


“The ink dries though. Reading for a whole minute doesn’t count.”


“I would concur, however, it means all you need is for the text to have a raised surface. Or conversely…” Pazil grabs his scabbard and carves a line into the dirt. “Can you see that? Er, not see but–”

“I know what you mean. And yes. I can’t believe I never thought of this. I feel so dumb.”


“Don’t allow your thoughts to stray in that direction. Divert your focus to this.” Pazil expands on the line. “This is what activates the counter. Can you replicate it?”


Even though his staff is beside him, Hevaru slowly traces the symbol into the air with his finger. The glyph thrums, beeps, then blinks away. “Did I do it wrong?”

“You performed perfectly. It merely had nothing to counter. Now, the essence of counterspells is dividing the glyph into perfectly equal parts. With ones that curve or just convoluted ones, it’s nigh impossible to calculate where you need to cut on the fly. However, scholars have done that for us.” The wolf draws another glyph in the dirt. “This is the protection spell that the ghouls possess. And here are the points you need to hit.” He marks up the glyph as he talks. “And this is the optimal path to do so. Try it.”


Halfway through the wizard’s attempt, Pazil interrupts, “You would’ve grazed the glyph in the wrong spot. The smallest error breaks the counter.”

“Sorry. It’s strange reading like this and I haven’t learned anything new since…years ago. And she was just guiding my paw through it.”


“Would that be easier for you?”

“Um, if you wouldn’t mind, yeah.”

Pazil shuffles right next to the shepherd and grabs his wrist. Though that’s plenty of leverage, he wraps his other arm around him to grab the other side of his wrist, practically hugging him. The touch isn’t awkward like back in the catacombs, because…Because I want it. The wolf shakes his head clear before his thoughts go further. A knight shouldn’t daydream about his charge. 


“Looking at my diagram, we start here, in the bottom left of it, then move diagonally…” Pazil continues droning on automatically, distracted by the tingles racing up his arm as he guides the shepherd’s paw. It’s been a long time since such a small touch stirred him so deeply; probably way back when he was a cub and that cougar invited him into the loft of his barn. What was his name again?

“Then we go across like this, right?” Hevaru’s paw moves as he said, dragging the wolf’s with it. “Pazil?”


“Huh? Apologies. That is indeed correct. Now, we must repeat to improve our speed.”


“Oh, we’re doing it again?” Hevaru’s tail thwaps into the wolf’s.

“No need to wag up such a storm. ‘Tis just–”

“I’m sorry. That’s annoying, isn’t it?” Hevaru frees his paw and slides away from the wolf. “I’m getting tired. I’ll perfect this tomorrow before we break camp.”


“Before we retire, would you kindly he-help…” The single stammer halts Pazil’s attempt at speech. He always prided himself on speaking eloquently, as a knight should. It took two summers to iron out his stutter, just for it to return now, decades later. Why?


“Are you still sore? I could help get your armor off. Just talk me through it.”


“I would be most grateful.”

The affair isn’t as intimate as Pazil hoped, since Hevaru’s touch is through two layers of clothing, but he enjoys the closeness regardless.


“You’re not wearing much underneath,” Hevaru says. “Are you not cold?”

“My bedroll provides plenty of warmth,” Pazil answers. “Are you inquiring because you are?”

“A little. There’s this hole in my quilt and I don’t have enough thread to sew it.”


“I have no thread. However, my bedroll is spacious enough for another, smaller person.”

“Oh, you want to…?”


“I merely propose sharing warmth. I’m responsible for your well-being.”


“Alright.” Hevaru extinguishes the fire, turns off his spell, and sets up an alarm, while Pazil situates himself in his bedroll. He wraps it far looser than normal and lays on his side. 


There’s only dim moonlight to see by, but Pazil uses it to verbally guide the shepherd through sliding himself in front of the wolf. Pazil doesn’t hesitate to press in close, and it only takes Hevaru a moment to relax into him. Thankfully, the wolf isn’t as young as he used to be, so his sheath doesn’t respond from being wedged between them. One of his vows forbids knights from getting intimate with their charge–any civilian they’re charged with protecting for an extended period–but since that’s the only one of the sort, he’ll have no trouble easing tension tomorrow, when he arrives at command.




*




The next morning’s journey is markedly smooth, and they finally encounter other travelers–all armed since there’s still the occasional stray ghoul. Those prove to be no issue, Hevaru casting the counter in the time it takes Pazil to unsheathe his sword, so it’s a simple matter of walking up to them and cutting them down. 


After one such case, Hevaru says, “I’m sorry. I get what you mean now.”

“What do you refer to?” Pazil asks.

“Casting the counters. I thought you just had bad joints or something, but this hurts.” Hevaru stretches and rotates each of his shoulders, passing his staff between paws. “Glyphs are so flowy; the counters have all these sharp changes in direction over and over and over.”


“‘Tis why counterspell mastery is rare. Luckily, you shall receive rest from here on.” Pazil points straight ahead. “I spy farms on the horizon. The farmers should’ve cleared the surrounding area before tilling the fields. And Vibliv shouldn’t be far past them.”


“Really? Finally! I’ve always wanted to see what the big city is like.”


“Don’t get too excited. We’ll take no breaks for sightseeing.”


“Still!” Hevaru races ahead.


Though he enjoys watching the shepherd’s wagging tail from behind, Pazil matches his pace.


The increased speed allows them to reach the outskirts of Vibliv as the sun begins to set. They’re both panting by then, and slow down.


“These houses are so much bigger,” Hevaru says. “And yet they’re packed full of–I don’t even know what species that person is. Is everyone having a party?”


“No.” In Pazil’s eyes, there’s not much to see, just the occasional passerby and clattering from inside people’s homes. “The city’s experiencing a population boom at present. The carpenters can’t build the homes fast enough.”


“They don’t seem to care; they’re, um, making more citizens to house.”


“Let’s leave them to that.” Pazil tugs Hevaru’s arm to encourage haste around a corner to the more populated main street. “It may be possible to arrive before my commanding officer retires.”


“Stop!” Hevaru drops his staff and holds his head in both paws. “There’s so many in that building. I can’t feel the end of them. And there’s more buildings. And everyone’s moving. Why won’t they stop? They’re in the street too. What are so many doing out this late? Why won’t they stop!?”


“Center yourself.” Pazil pries the shepherd’s paw from himself and gives him his staff. “Deactivate the spell.”


Hevaru struggles to do so, but Pazil has seen him do it enough that he helps his paw along. After his breathing steadies, Hevaru says, “Sorry. I didn’t think I could still get overwhelmed.” He taps the ground with his staff. “At least I got my own cane this time.”


“I’m afraid that’ll be of little use when traversing through the throng. Hence…” Pazil takes Hevaru’s paw and walks forward with him.


“Oh, thank you. Why’s there so many people in the street anyway?”

“The night market commences business at this time.”

“A night market? Fancy.”


“Not particularly.” Pazil pulls the shepherd closer as they enter the crowd. He doesn’t need to–he exaggerated how densely-packed the streets are–but he won’t miss an opportunity to feel more of Hevaru. They should travel everywhere like this. It saves mana and, based on the way Hevaru leans his head into him, keeps his charge content. He’s following his oath better by doing this, not worse. Even so, he forgets his vow forbidding intimacy, brought back to the time before his knighthood; to the time in adolescence where all that matters is one more touch with his crush; to the time when everything’s new and exciting.


Far too soon, they stand before a large, gray-stoned building. The oak double-doors usually invite Pazil in, but now, it seems an unwelcome end. At least the steps slow them, Pazil telling Hevaru where they are so he can bring his footpaw up to it. He reminds himself he can still pass the paw-holding off as strictly necessary, then swings the door open.


A coyote whips his head off the front desk he’s manning and says, “Welcome back, Pazil. Wasn’t expecting anyone. Found someone fun in the city?”


“He’s my charge, Yorsic.”

“Charge, right.” Yorsic’s eyes flick to their interlocked paws. “You need me to process him for a specific program?”


“He’s a special case. Blind and–You don’t need to be aware of it all. Do you know if Fequan’s retired?”


“Shouldn’t’ve. Last I heard he was in the courtyard.”


“I should have guessed that. Would you kindly show him to my quarters?”


“Your quarters, huh?” The ‘yote jumps out of his chair, and rounds the desk. “If it were anyone else I’d be more than a little suspicious.”


“You have my utmost gratitude.” Pazil releases the shepherd’s paw, soon taken by Yorsic’s. “Feel free to retire early, Hevaru. I’m uncertain when I shall return.”


“I think I’ll stay up for you.”


With that, they part. 




*




Some time later, Pazil sits next to his commanding officer, a jaguar, on a bench overlooking a small garden. Having explained the events of the last week and his plan for Hevaru, he asks, “Do I have your approval?” 


“If you can prove this altar really does as you say,” Fequan says, “it'll be a great boon for us to claim it.”

“I sense a ‘however.’” Pazil shifts uncomfortably on the bench. “May I ask where my judgment needs correction?”


“Don’t be so stiff-sounding, for one.” Fequan chuckles. “You need to loosen up. No one expects you to be back on active duty so soon. Your little plan tells me exactly what you need.”

“Can you elaborate?”

“The vow you cited, eighty-two, is typically used to rehabilitate the misguided by stripping their vice and giving them a mundane, but fulfilling life. In this wizard’s case, most knights would bind their magic, and find someone to care for them while also giving them some sort of work. Admittedly difficult, but not so much as what you concocted. Thus the only edit I have is that you make this wizard your squire–indefinitely since I can’t promote him to an actual knight.”


While Pazil is far from against the idea, he can’t comprehend why Fequan would allow such a thing. “What would become of all the knightless squires without me?”

Fequan waves a paw. “You’re not the only knight, you know. Besides, I’m not sure you could properly train another squire so soon.”

“I have recovered.” Pazil rises. “Witness it.” He bashes his paw into his leather breastplate. “No pain.”


The jaguar takes the wolf’s arm and feels along the shape of the bone, going around the vambrace. “Physically, I agree.” He lets go. “But if I let you take on another squire, would you not watch them with a keener eye? Scold them with a harsher tone? And most of all, distrust them every step of the way?”


“I would merely be more careful.”


“As I am being. I’m not saying this is for forever, just until I deem you fit. And you arguing does not sway me in the slightest.” Fequan stands and playfully shoves the wolf. “Go on to your wizard friend, and whenever you wish, I’ll put you two on active duty.”


“You leave me no choice.” Pazil turns to leave. “We shall prove our efficacy soon.”




*


Back in his quarters, Hevaru has his spell up, and Pazil relays the conversation to him as he removes his armor.


“I didn’t have anything to return to in Balinew anyway,” the shepherd says. “But what exactly do I do?”


Pazil's heart pounds as a scheme comes to him. “Biggest new responsibility is that you must learn how to help me don my plate.”


“Alright, can’t be too hard.” Hevaru gestures to the armor stand in the corner of the room. “Are we doing it now?”

“‘Twould be most efficient.” Pazil unfastens his belt and sets it on the bed.


“I thought we were putting clothes on, not off.”

“First lesson: most garments are unsuited for wearing under plate, such as these.” Pazil removes his tunic, folds it, and places it on the bed. “However, my preference is to do this myself, if you would merely give me a moment.” He finishes undressing himself, stacking everything on the bed. “Hmm. Exposing myself has allowed me to remember something our change in relationship allows.” He advances to Hevaru and brings the shepherd’s paw to his lips. “Dear squire, would you enjoy my intimate company?”


Hevaru stammers before managing to say, “I-is that okay? You said it was dishonorable or whatever.”


“‘Twas against vow ninety-two. However, now that you’re my squire, we may do as we wish.”


“Isn’t that backwards? You should be training your squire, not…”


“It has yet to be proven that it gets in the way of anything except protection–which only happened in the case of a knight prolonging a treacherous journey to have more time with a noblewoman before her family married her off. She was mildly injured as a result.” Pazil steps back to give Hevaru space. “Do you not wish to?”


“I do!” Hevaru squeaks. “I just wasn’t expecting this is all.” He crosses the room and grabs his staff to turn off his spell.


“Has your mana run dry?”


“I just don’t want it for this.” The shepherd feels for the edge of the bed, then uses it to guide himself to Pazil. “Y’know, what I told you before about feeling everything.” He places a paw on the wolf’s breast. “Plus, it only allows me to feel the shape of things, not the texture or heat, giving it a…impersonal feel to it.” He caresses down over a scar and back up to the shoulder. “Alright, so, could you take the lead here? I’ve never been with someone and have only heard of how males do it with each other.”


“They merely do as their bodies desire. Firstly, you must divest yourself of your garments. Do you want help?”


“I can do it.” The shepherd unties his waistband so he can untuck his tunic, throw it over his head, and drop it to the floor, then he kicks the trousers off. “Do I look good?”


“You require some grooming,” Pazil rakes his claws through knots in the fur of Hevaru’s stomach, “but yes.”

“Thank you.”


“You’d be even prettier fully nude.”


“I am…? Wait, you mean…” Hevaru covers his blindfolded eye. “You don’t want to see that.”


“Then why, pray tell, am I doing this?” Pazil reaches around the shepherd’s head and unravels the blindfold. “Answer: this yellow is atrocious and should be burned.” He tosses the fabric behind him.


“It was yellow? Why’d no one tell me?” Even though his paw hides the once-blindfolded eye perfectly, Hevaru angles his muzzle down. “I hate yellow. When I was a cub and would tie flowers into my fur, I’d avoid sunflowers; they’re hideous.”


“‘Tis most joyous that you concur. I’ll requisition a replacement for you. However, for the present, you’ll either have to do this single-pawed, or reveal yourself.”


Hevaru’s arm falls to his side and he lifts his head. Unlike his other eyelid, this one is unmoving, and leaves only a small gap, behind which lies only darkness. “It got diseased; they had to cut it out.”

“My condolences.” Pazil places a finger under the shepherd’s chin to prevent him from hiding himself again. “May I ask what happened?”


“A chimera.” Hevaru pushes his muzzle against the wolf’s paw. “Last thing I ever truly saw was its paws coming closer and closer. It was so big that only two of the claws could land. Grandma said my parents saved me, but she had to finish it off.”


“My condolences once again.” Pazil brushes his whiskers into the shepherd’s. “Taming such creatures is part of my duty–our duty. If you would prefer, we could request to not partake in such assignments–or specifically request for them.”


“I think I would like the opportunity to…not get revenge, but to make sure what happened to me won’t happen to somebody else.”


“They’re hard assignments, since we must do our best to pacify instead of kill. With you, however, I shall happily rise to the challenge.”


“Thank you, for everything.” Hevaru wraps his arms around the wolf, burying his nose in his armpit. “You smell good.” He nuzzles deeper, takes a deep breath, then pulls his head away. “Can we still…? I don’t know what to do now.”

“What does your body beg for?”


“To feel you more.”


Pazil brings the shepherd’s paw around to his chest. “Here?”


“...Lower.”


“Here then?” The wolf brings Hevaru to his lower abdomen, right above what he’s obviously after.


Hevaru frees his paw from Pazil’s to inch that last little bit onto his sheath. “Right here.” He circles around the girth of it. “I felt you the day we met, but to actually feel it…” He squeezes.

“Not so hard.”


“Sorry.” Hevaru traces the sheath’s opening with his thumb, while stroking the rest with gentle pressure. “Are you going to…?”


“It takes me a minute.” Pazil scritches behind the shepherd’s ears, who leans into the attention. “Don’t concern yourself with it; I am merely getting up there in years.”


“Can I try something?”


“By all means.”


Hevaru reaches for his own erection as he edges closer. Seeing what he intends, the wolf bends his knees so the shepherd’s cock presses against his sheath. The heat alone is enough to convince his dick to peek out, allowing their tips to slide along each other, which encourages the rest out. 


“This feels good, right?” Hevaru asks, before a more forceful buck of his hips causes their cocks to separate. “Nevermind.”

“That’ll happen,” Pazil consoles. “‘Tis easier if you hold them together,” he does so, “then thrust away.” Unfortunately, he can’t do that while his knees are bent, so he waits for the shepherd.


Hevaru begins with slow, grinding motions, leaning more and more into Pazil, until he is holding him up. The additional strain on the wolf’s knees is well worth it for how their pre spreads across each other, making the frotting wet and filling the air with male musk. Hevaru moans as clutches onto the wolf and uses him as leverage to quicken his hips. To encourage him, Pazil grabs his rump and pushes him along, but when the shepherd’s moaning increases pitch, he firms his hold and lifts him up, his sounds breaking into a yip.


“Sorry. Did I do something wrong?”


Pazil shakes his head, then remembers the shepherd can’t see that. “No, I merely wish to refrain from getting our ejaculate on the ceiling.”

“Oh.” Hevaru curls his chest fur around a finger. “So you want to…?” He flexes his buttocks beneath Pazil’s fingers.


“I’m open to any method of fornication. We could continue what we were doing, except on the bed so our ejaculate is more contained, or whatever else you desire.”


“I want to…” The shepherd tugs at the fur braided around his finger. “Would it be okay if we…”


“Do you wish for me to penetrate you?”


“Sure, if that’s what you want.” Hevaru yanks his finger free, taking some fur with it, only to curl a different patch around the finger.


“That’s a bad habit.” Pazil switches to a one-paw hold on the shepherd, and the free paw straightens Hevaru’s fur. “Do you wish to penetrate me?”


“I, um, if that would be enjoyable for you.”


“Most enjoyable indeed.”


The shepherd’s tail wags. “Thank you.”


“Very few allow me the receiving role. Hence, I thank you instead.” Pazil lowers Hevaru onto the bed, giving him a lick across the snout. The shepherd attempts to reciprocate, but the wolf dodges, then crawls to the end of the bed to retrieve a glass bottle from a chest there. Returning to Hevaru, he says, “This shall ease the penetration.” He places the bottle into his paw. “Apply it to yourself and inside of me.” He crawls beside the shepherd on shaky limbs. He hasn't received anyone in so long that it feels like his first time.


Hevaru grabs the wolf's hip, follows his form down to his leg, and straddles it. “You want me to put my finger inside you?”


“If you would prefer, you may also use your tongue–save on oil too.”


“I think I’ll just…use my paw.” After the clinking of claws on glass, Hevaru grabs the wolf’s swaying tail, running down the length of it to the base, then further down to his tailhole. “I didn’t expect you to be so warm.” Hevaru’s touch leaves briefly and returns with cool slickness. “So I should just do it?”


“Slowly.”


“Alright.” Hevaru slinks his fingertip inside. “Does that feel good?”


“Q-quite.” Pazil notices his stutter, but doesn’t care. He doesn’t need to be eloquent; he needs more of the shepherd’s electric touch. 


“Then I’ll keep going.” Hevaru moves not only his finger forward, but his whole body, and rests his head on the wolf’s back. “Your fur feels nice.” He hugs him with one arm while his finger hilts. “What do I do now?”


“You may now p-penetrate me properly."


Hevaru wiggles his finger slowly out, his other arm withdrawing as well. He licks across Pazil’s back, which keeps his body buzzing. After more clinking, the shepherd’s tongue drags up to his shoulder blade, where he relaxes his muzzle as he climbs atop him.


“Y-your instinct will demand you bury your knot in immediately. Resist.”


“And go slowly, yeah. Just like before. I got this, I think.” Hevaru grinds his cock up the wolf’s thigh, his arms tightening around him. “Just your fur is so overwhelming.” He huffs as he prods up to the taint.


Pazil pushes back in an attempt to catch that pointed tip with his tailhole, but it slides down into his sac. He whimpers and stays still this time as the shepherd pokes his way to his target. When he reaches it and applies pressure, it slips up his back.


“‘Tis easier if your paw he-helps,” Pazil says.

“Oh, that would make sense.” One of Hevaru’s arms stays around the wolf as he aligns himself. “I’m dumb.” 


“Don’t think like that.”


There is only brief resistance before Pazil stretches around Hevaru’s cocktip. The smoothness of the shaft makes adjustment simple, and the trickle of pre keeps it that way when Hevaru eases further in.


“You’re right. It’s like fighting my body’s desire to–” Hevaru breaks into a laugh. “Why is the first thing I think of yawning?”

“I suppose it’s a little like that, though amplified.” Pazil thwacks his tail into the shepherd’s leg. “Now resume.”


In one buck of his hips, Hevaru shoves the rest inside, including the barely noticeable bump of his knot. It would be too much too fast if it weren’t for Hevaru caressing through his chest fur and tracing some of the scars there. That relaxes him, as well as the shepherd’s soft panting tickling through his coat. Pazil attempts to speak, but a moan comes out when Hevaru nips him, so he presses his rump back instead.


Hevaru draws out slightly and thrusts back in, his knot still inside as he builds a rhythm. His panting quickens, reminding Pazil of the other times he’s heard it–when fighting him, fighting with him. Which leads him to all the times he failed to see past what he did to survive. The fact that one more misstep could’ve meant he’d never experience this intimacy, his affection, makes it all the sweeter.


Hevaru’s paws travel up to the wolf’s shoulders and yanks him back into his hips. Pazil cries out as Hevaru’s cock reaches deeper, his own erection leaking onto the sheets below them, which fills the room with more and more of its bitter scent. The shepherd’s fingers start to slip when he speeds up, so he digs his claws in. Before that becomes uncomfortable, he slams in and stills, his entire body shuddering and his panting replaced with a moan.


A knot expanding inside him is entirely new to Pazil. It stretches him farther than any cock has, but not overwhelmingly quickly. The heartbeat before it forces him wider is spent mostly anticipating rather than adjusting. When it reaches full size, it fits inside him perfectly, even as Hevaru jams it further into his tunnel. The sudden crushing of his prostate drains all strength from him and he collapses, tugging at their tie and causing both to yip. Hevaru rams the knot back where it was, then even further. He stops there as his cock throbs.


Heat fires into Pazil. With each jet, Hevaru nuzzles harder into the wolf, muffling his moans. The rest of the wolf’s tunnel, not graced with the stretching from the knot, soon fills. Pazil grinds his cock into the sheets. Hevaru cries out at the slight shift of his knot, and clutches around the wolf to keep him still as he continues to shoot into him.


Giving up, Pazil recalls his own first time tying someone, immersing himself in what Hevaru currently experiences. The satisfaction from his knot serving its purpose, fully surrounded and massaged instead of a squeeze from a paw, overwhelms. All that matters is keeping the knot as deep as possible, and seeding his partner until his balls run dry. It seems unending, but as it fades, and the need to stay pressed close replaces it. 


Though doing that in this position aches Pazil’s body. “Would you kindly remove your weight from me now?”


“I can’t,” Hevaru says. “I’m stuck in you.”


“I’m quite aware. However, we can still reposition to our sides. Specifically to the right, that way we don’t fall to the floor.”


Hevaru slowly rolls over, ensuring that the wolf moves with him so they don’t tug their tie. Once they succeed, the shepherd caresses through Pazil’s damp chest fur. “Why are you…? Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot.” His paw races to the wolfhood. “You’re so wet. Is this all…?”


Fighting through his swimming mind, Pazil only manages, “Pre-eja-ejaculate.” He thrusts into the fingers around his cock, which yanks on the tie.


Hevaru yips. “Stop moving.” With the wolfhood so lubricated, his paw glides up and down the shaft.


Pazil tries to tell the shepherd to squeeze his knot, but all that comes out is a stuttering moan, then he remembers Hevaru’s other arm is trapped anyway, so he does it himself. His knot swells from the pressure, while his paw becomes too weak to try to stay around it. It doesn’t need to, though, as the shepherd’s thumb teases over his tip, blissfully sending him over the edge.


He’s barely aware of his erection emptying across the sheets. Instead, as he clamps down on the shepherd’s erection, he notes every contour of it–the way the knot bulges while the rest of length remains sleek, ending with the pointed tip, beyond which viscous cum still warms him to his core. He squeezes harder when Hevaru huffs. The more stimulation he gives, the longer it’ll take for the knot to deflate. More time being this close to Hevaru is all Pazil craves. 


Far too soon, his muscle runs out of strength and relaxes, while his cock spurts out its last. His mind clears, making him aware of the ache in his rear, the musky scent of his seed, and the mess all over the sheets. None of it bothers him, though, with the shepherd embracing him so tightly. 


Roaming up and down the wolf’s chest, Hevaru says, “I know I said this already, but thank you for everything.” His paw follows a scar around Pazil’s flank. “Ever since I lost my grandma, I resigned myself to just surviving. Even that seemed unlikely some days, when I couldn’t afford food for the day, and I barely had mana to use the spell. On top of that, I felt like a drain on society. I knew some of the people I harvested from; I knew what I took from them. Some wanted to be wizards, some simply had to manually start fires.” He buries his snout in the wolf’s side, breathes deeply, then pulls away. “But now, I get to explore what life has to offer, and help people–make up for those I’ve hurt. Thank you.”


“You are most welcome.” Pazil covers the shepherd’s paw on his chest with his own. “However, I must express my gratitude as well. Although my arm would’ve healed and I would’ve returned to active duty without you, I doubt I would be half the knight I was before my injury and am now. I had no faith in my oath, barely a knight at all. I needed the reaffirmation of believing in the goodness of someone, and being correct. You gave me that and so much more.”


“Counting you, then, I need to help four more people to balance out those I hurt. Even though it obviously doesn’t work like that, it’s good to have a goal. When can we start?”