Whoo-Whoo!

This is the Grimoire of Emrys.

In the year when the moon eclipsed the sun, this tome was bound with shadows and soul.

To touch these pages is to bind yourself to my keeping.

Body and shadow. Heart and soul.

Mark this well.

This is no book of mere learning.

It is contract.

It is trap.

It is mine.

Sealed by Emrys of the Night Court, Keeper of Shadows.

You couldn’t believe you’d found the Grimoire.

It was even more impossible to believe that, after reading the stark warning on the first page, you had stubbornly, foolishly, opened it further.

It was as if the book had been waiting. As if it had called you.

The old gothic castle was silent, the library smelling of wax and dust. You’d heard the rumors. Visiting the Shadow Castle meant you had a chance to find the legendary Grimoire of Emrys. You’d risked it. Entered the magnificent castle from a door that was open at the back entrance.

Surprisingly, you hadn’t met a single soul. Nor had you planned to wander toward the library, but your feet had carried you there, to this desk, as if pulled by a string tied to your very soul. Stupidity? Perhaps. But now it was too late. You’d chosen to stay.

And so you stood before the desk, with the massive, throne-like chair behind it. Too big for you to sit... or rather hop on. Your palm lay flat on the Grimoire and with a soft breath, you turned it over and opened it. The heavy cover fell back with a thump and you winced because it was obscenely loud in the quiet room.

You prepared for the worst.

Nothing happened.

The pages were thick and velvety, spread open of their own accord filled with warnings, magic spells and sigils. The words seemed to pulse, the ink a living blackness that swam before your eyes.

Again, that should have driven you away. Logic, survival should have prevailed.

Turn back and run the hell away from this place, your mind said.

But instead… you felt warmth. Stay, your heart whispered.

A strange heat bloomed in your chest, spreading down your belly, then lower, warming between your thighs. You turned another page, eyes widening. There, inked in black and white, was a drawing. It was him. Emrys. The fae Lord.

Achingly handsome with broad shoulders and a face of sharp angles, eyes so emotional they seemed alive. Commanding, pulling you in. The longer you looked, the less it felt like paper and ink. It felt like he was looking back.

“Wow,” you whispered and leaned closer, eyes drinking him in; his powerful wings unfurling behind him, vast and dark, surrounded by claws. His cruel mouth was perfect. Before you could stop yourself, your hand moved, fingers tracing the line of his jaw, then drifting down to his lips.

You jerked back as if burned by fire. They had felt warm.

“You should not touch what is mine.”

The voice came from nowhere and everywhere. Husky and low as a growl. The candles flickered once then steadied. The hairs rose on your arms.

“Even after the warning… you still read. You still look. Touch.”

“Who—” you gasped, whirling around.

Shadows appeared in the corner of the room. swirling like ink dropped in water. A wind rolled through, even if the windows were shut. And then he was there, stepping from a black portal. Emrys.

Tall, unearthly, hair pitch-black, eyes too sharp to be human.

Your pulse thundered in your ears. Gods... The drawing had not done him justice. He was taller, broader, more potent. His skin was a muted gray, his clothes black, blending seamlessly with the huge, clawed wings. A regal powerful body. Sharp cheekbones, pointy ears and a mouth that looked carved for cruelty.

Speechless and frozen, you watched as he approached, his booted feet making no sound on the Persian rug. The smell of him hit you next; a musky blend of night flowers, spice, and a masculine musk that went straight to your head. It made your knees weaken, your chest heaving.

“You were warned. Yet you opened the book. You read the inscription, studied my face. Foolish human.”

Your lips parted, but your tongue was a dry, useless thing in your mouth. Why were you frozen? Why couldn’t you command your legs to run? Was it him?

“It’s me,” he answered your silent panic. He moved closer, one clawed wing scraping along the floor, black and golden eyes roaming your face and body.

“Undo this right now,” you demanded, your voice stronger than you felt.

To your shock, he did. The invisible bonds holding you vanished and you jerked a little.

“There. Magic gone.” He gestured with his hands, a smile ghosting his mouth. “I’m surprised, though. I did not think you would come to me so soon."

“This is insane. People say you’re a myth.”

“People say many things. Humans have short memories and big mouths. That does not make me less real.” His gaze flicked to the open book, then back to your face. “You touched my Grimoire. You woke the binding. That is not a myth. That is a choice.”

“I did touch it and…I’m sorry.” You squared your shoulders. “But I certainly didn’t choose you.”

“You did. The moment you entered my castle, you accepted me,” he said simply, taking another step, forcing you back until the hard edge of the desk dug into your buttocks. Only a few inches separated you. “You were always meant to open my book.”

You chuckled, fingers curling against the rough oak. “You’re saying the most dangerous grimoire in the world simply allowed me to read it? That it opened for me? Wanted me?”

His smile vanished. Shadows appeared from around him, twisted and ropelike, moving in the air with a life of their own. More tendrils of living darkness seeped from the Grimoire itself, curling across you. Emrys spread his hands and caged you before you could flee, his palms slapping down on the desk on either side of your hips, his body leaning in close.

“No," he drawled against your lips. “I am saying I wanted you.”

So near. He was so near. Your eyes met his, vivid and fathomless as ink with golden flecks in them. Your pulse was in your throat, frantic, but not from fear. Something else was blooming under your ribs. Heat, hunger, a dangerous, thrilling kind of curiosity.

“And what happens now?” you asked boldly. There was no going back. You were caught. You’d storm through whatever happened. “You punish me for opening it?”

“Punish?” His claw traced the edge of the desk, so close that the air against your wrist prickled. The shadows followed the motion, trailing from his fingertip to wrap around your wrist. It felt warm and so soft and your whole body awoke in goosebumps.

“No, little thief. But I will claim what is mine. Curiosity has its price.”

His words coiled low in your belly, and you hated how much you ached for more. For the danger of the unknown. For him.

“And if I don’t want that?”

Emrys leaned in, his breath brushing your cheek, his scent warm, dizzying. The tendrils of shadow slid closer, higher. Two curling around your hands. Another, like a rope, slid up your calf, behind your knee, making you jolt. But the touch lingered, featherlight, fondling rather than grabbing.

“Oh, you do,” he murmured. “Your body already trembles for me. You don’t want to run. You want to stop thinking and succumb. You want me.”

He was right. You were trembling. A reaction you couldn’t suppress. Betrayal was in your own body, defying logic and causing heat to rise under your skin. Your heart was hammering so hard it hurt, and there was that fluttering ache between your legs that left you raw and desperate.

“What say you, little thief?”

You exhaled and finally said, "I shouldn’t want this, but I do.”

His lips came down to yours, hand cradling your jaw, thumb brushing along your cheekbone. You let go, your palms flattening against his hard chest, feeling his muscles contract as you kissed. Lips brushing and merging as if pulled by gravity.

Your noses nudged softly when he deepened the kiss, his hand rising to cup the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair. You responded, your own fingers sliding along the sharp line of his jaw, tilting his face to better claim his mouth.

Lost in the feel of you, Emrys devoured your lips, tasting and tasting, unable to have enough. He lifted you on the tall desk, pulled you harder against his chest, and breathed softly against your wet mouth.

"Open."

Your lips parted on a sigh and his tongue sank in, tracing the seam of your teeth before delving deeper. A soft sound left you before you surrendered completely, your tongues meeting in a hot, wet dance. Gently at first, then with a deeper rhythm before slowing to tender again.

Amid the frantic kiss, he laid you down on the surface, his shadow-ropes wrapping around your wrists, pulling them high above your head. Pinning them flat against the cool, carved wood of the desk.

More shadows snaked around your knees and calves, spreading your legs open just enough to make you aware of every hard inch of him pressing against you. Emrys kept kissing you, and you kept responding, your tongue tangling with his, your fingers clutching at his clothes, knuckles white.

Cold air touched you everywhere.

You’d been so drugged by the kisses that you didn’t realize he’d used his magic to remove your clothes. Every single stitch. You rested bare on the desk, nothing between your skin and him but the bonds of his shadows. They slid over you like silk, making you shiver.

Emrys pulled back from your swollen lips and stood between your spread legs, his wings arched behind him in a beautiful sweep. His eyes roamed over your naked body. He still couldn’t believe he had you. His mate, accepting him and his shadows, spread open like a feast for him.

Pouty, well-kissed lips, softly curved breasts, hard nipples, and the prettiest cunt weeping for him.

A snap of his fingers and he was naked too, huge and powerful. You gulped, your turn to stare. He was magnificent. A broad, sculpted chest, a chiseled stomach, thick thighs, and between them… your eyes widened at the size of his cock. Inhuman, thick, long and thickly veined, with a bulbous head dripping with pearly pre-cum.

But he didn't take you with it. Instead, he bent down and resumed kissing you, letting that monster shaft rest against your inner thigh, like a lonely beast. You wanted more. You wanted that crazy, huge cock buried inside you, stretching you, filling the void.

“So beautiful. Open and exposed for me,” he said against your lips, tongue flicking against yours. “You know you can still say no.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Tell me what you feel.”

“Heat… everywhere,” you gasped, the magic ropes feeling like his mouth, his hands on your skin. “Like you’re touching me in a hundred places at once.”

“Good. That’s exactly what I want. You thinking only of me.“

A low growl rumbled from his chest as he rubbed himself against you, his cock brushing your inner thigh. His wings adjusted, curling around the desk like a leathery curtain. Two new shadow-ropes slid up your belly, tracing your belly, then moved upward to the underside of your breasts. You moaned as they wrapped around them, pressing, lifting, jutting your nipples up.

“Hmnnnn… haaaa.”

Emrys suckled one delectable nipple, tongue teasing the tip hotly. Simultaneously, a shadow stroked and circled your other nipple, mimicking the action of his mouth before his lips moved to claim that one, too. Strong, veined hands brushed along your inner thighs, so close to where you desperately wanted him, but stopping just short of your slick pussy.

“I… gods—” you moaned. “You’re… warm…please… hnn...”

“Say it,” he demanded and bit down gently on a taut nipple, just enough to make you squirm and cry out anew.

“You’re making me wet,” you blurted, pussy fluttering for his attention, for anything he would give you. “I need more. Please.”

He smiled. “Good girl.”

Again, he crushed his mouth to yours, lips meeting hotly, breaths teasing before his tongue thrust in your mouth. You whined into the kiss, pulling your tongue against his while more shadow-ropes neared your thighs.

Finally, came the hot touch slid between your pussy lips, sliding up and over you in a single stroke. A teasing circle that made you cry out in his mouth. Emrys drew back, watching as his shadows caressed you.

Ropes held your limbs, others worshipped your tits, two more playing with your cunt. Two shadow-tendrils spread your outer labia, baring your glistening hole to his eyes. A place to be fondled, suckled, kissed, and fucked.

Emrys lowered himself, his wings arching to accommodate the movement. He bent his head and brushed his lips to your slick folds, kissing your pussy lips the same way he’d kissed your mouth. You went frantic, your body awash with pleasure. But you could do nothing but take it as his tongue lashed out, lapping up your juices, flicking your clit, and growling against your flesh.

“There,” he murmured, lips kissing your folds, his nose nudging against your clit. “Mine. My pretty, dripping little cunt.”

Another shadow rope returned, the bulky tip nudging against your pussy while the ones curled around your legs shifted, tilting your hips up, presenting you fully to him. Emrys growled, the sound vibrating through your very bones as his hands settled under your ass, lifting you to his mouth.

“You’re trembling,” he said. “Both your heart and your cunt. Don't fear. Every shadow is a part of me. When they touch you, it is me, little one.”

“I'm not afraid! I want you to fuck me. You—the ropes—whatever—just… hnn!”

Your words were cut off when a shadow-rope thrust past your tight entrance at the same moment his mouth fastened on your clit. You cried out, already teetering on the edge of rapture. Emrys could tell and never changed the rhythm, the shadow-tendril pumping in and out of your pussy in perfect harmony with the suckling and lashing of his mouth and tongue.

All perfectly coordinated, giving your pussy their full attention while the rest of the tendrils caressed your hypersensitive body. Flicking your nipples, fondling your neck, rubbing your inner thighs. Your whole body sang under the multitude of touches, coiling tighter and tighter until it exploded in the most powerful, convulsing orgasm of your life.

“Do you belong to me?” he whispered against your dripping cunt, his now glistening lips forming a smile.

“Yes… yes, I do!” you muttered weakly. “All of me… yours!”

Another deep growl and his mouth returned to your clit, kissing the swollen bud before suckling it back into his hot mouth. You shattered again, thrashing in his hold without any hope of escape.

At the same time, a second shadow joined the one already fucking your pussy, squelching inside with all your wetness, both of them stretching you wide, opening you with shallow thrusts. The ones curled around your breasts kept flicking your nipples, this time with tiny pulses of magic that made your toes curl in the air.

The pleasure stacked, overlapped, became an unbearable continuous wave. Little aftershocks rocked over you, tears of bliss in your eyes. You couldn’t tell where one orgasm ended and another began. And yet Emrys kept going, pushing you further.

“Too much…” you sobbed, head thrashing. “I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he growled, obscene sounds echoing as he lapped at your cunt in the silent library. “You’re built for this. Built to take everything I give you. Built to make a messy, pretty little puddle all over my desk.”

The shadows inside you pulsed harder, faster, until you were writhing against them, every nerve a live wire screaming his name. Emrys kissed around your swollen, well-used folds, around where two of his tendrils were fucking you deep, watching your pussy lips flutter and your clit throb as another peak rolled through you.

“That’s my good girl,” he murmured in awe.

Breaths stolen, you wiggled frantically, hands pulling against the shadow-ropes not to escape, but to anchor yourself. Emrys held you steady, his mouth licking your clit slower now, same with the shadows inside you, helping you ride the waves of pleasure. He watched you, he always did, then placed one last, tender kiss on your hypersensitive clit.

At his mental call, the shadows drew back. The living ropes squirmed in your pussy and slid out, dripping with your essence, leaving your body feeling empty and needy. You shivered as the other ropes restraining you released, and easily rolled you onto your stomach. Your ass was lifted into the air, your face pressed against the open pages of the Grimoire.

A soft whimper escaped you when the shadows returned, this time from the book, curling around your newly freed wrists, coiling firmly like velvet cuffs. Binding you to the Grimoire. Another set curled around your ankles, keeping your legs dangling on the edge of the desk and wide apart.

Emrys moved, the heat of his chest pressing against your sweaty back. He tugged your ass closer, his hands curving around your hips to pin you to the desk. He covered you from behind, his massive, throbbing cock rubbing against your glistening pussy, lubricating himself with your juices.

“Comfy?” he murmured, kissing along your spine. “You look ravishing, little thief. But if you don’t like it, I’ll release you. Say the word and it all ends.”

Your body arched involuntarily. “No, don’t! I want them. I want you. Like this.”

“I’m all yours, mate,” he whispered, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Feel me.”

And then came ultimate heat and pressure, the broad head of his cock pushing inside. Despite all the foreplay and stretching, he was too much. The sheer girth and depth he claimed as he pushed inside left you whimpering into the Grimoire.

Emrys groaned and his hand found the back of your neck, holding you steady as he stayed half-buried in your perfect, tight cunt. It was a feat; his whole body trembled with restraint. Your pleasure was his priority. So he waited, fingers teasing your nape.

“Easy. Breathe for me,” he purred and his shadows pulsed around you, teasing, pressing, stroking. Helping you relax and accept him.

You released a half sob, half moan. “Emrys—”

“I know,” he soothed, kissing your temple as he sank another inch deeper, the stretch making you see stars. “I know it's a lot, beautiful. But you can take it. You can take all of me. Let me in. Let me all the way in.”

A slight roll of his hips and you took more of him inside you. And that was how it went. Him pushing gently, steadily. And you gasping, moaning, crying out, waves of sensation rolling, building higher and higher.

When he finally buried himself to the hilt, his balls slapping against your skin, you broke all over again, your walls spasming wildly around the fat girth stretching them so tight.

Emrys growled, his hips drawing back, his cock slick and shiny with your juices before snapping back home with a wet, solid thud. He fucked you slow and tender, tracing his teeth and lips along your neck, murmuring, purring, praising, and dominating you all at once.

“Fuuuck… that’s it… so tight for me, so hot. Tremble for me… gasp for me… lose yourself in me, little thief… all of it… mine.”

The shadows pulsed in time with his movements, their rhythm pushing you back into him, your bodies meeting with loud, wet sounds that filled the quiet library. Emrys gradually doubled his pace, his hands clamping around your waist, wings flexing and pushing him even deeper inside you.

“Emrys… I… oh gods… I can’t… it’s too much—I’m gonna break—”

All the shadows uncoiled from you completely.

Freed of the bindings, Emrys turned you over in his strong arms, gathering you against his chest, your breasts pressed to the hot wall of his torso. He scooped you close, his wings wrapping around you like a protective cocoon and kissed you hungrily, his cock impaling you right up.

You cried out into his lips and clung to him as he pounded up into you, this new angle making you feel even fuller, cockhead kissing your cervix with every deep thrust. Your lips merged frantically, breaths mingling, until you both exploded in a final, shattering release. Your convulsions milked him deep, jet after hot jet of his cum filling you up until it dribbled heavily out of your pussy and onto the floor below.

“It’s done,” he growled, his cock still spilling heat inside you. “Body and shadow. Heart and soul. You’re mine.”

“What… do you mean?” you whispered, dazed, trembling, body yielding in his embrace.

He kissed your eyelids, your cheeks, your swollen lips. “You always were the only one who could touch my Grimoire. The only one who could survive my shadows. The only one who could survive me. You’re not just my little thief. You’re my fated mate.”

“Fated. Yours…” you trailed off with a small, satisfied smile.

“Yes…” His fingers curled under your chin, tilting your face up until your eyes met his, black shot with gold stars. “The only one who can open the Grimoire and love the monster who made it. The only one who can accept my shadows into her body.”

“I love the monster who made it,” you whispered. “And his shadows.”

“Say it again,” he demanded, voice breaking. “Say it while looking at me.”

“I love the monster,” you repeated, holding his gaze. “I love you. And your shadows.”

He closed his eyes briefly and when he opened them, the gold within was brighter. His hard mouth formed the most breathtaking smile. The shadows that had retreated now returned, curling gently around your arms and waist, stroking you with affection, massaging your tender spots.

“Hmmm, so soft…” you murmured, leaning into their caresses. “They touch me exactly where I need them to.”

“Because they’re yours now, too,” Emrys said, nuzzling your hair. “Extensions of me. Extensions of you. They will obey your command as easily as mine.“

You blinked. “But… I have no magic.”

He nudged your nose softly. “You didn’t. But the Grimoire has a way of rewriting truths. You’ll feel it soon when you want something, the shadows will answer, little thief.”

You pouted. “Don’t call me that. I didn’t steal anything.”

“Oh, but you did,” he rasped. “You stole my heart and now, I’ll be taking yours in return.”

You'd expected more frustration and anger than what he was giving you now. It was like he wanted to know the exact conditions you created to lure the creature back here, as if he'd never wanted it to leave in the first place, years ago. What could you say that would fulfill his expectations?

There were no grandiose details to relay; you had gone outside on a bright night and sat down on the edge of the dock with a glass of wine in your hand. You recalled letting your legs submerge to the knee and wading them around in the black water while sipping your dry rosé and scrolling social media. The stress of the day still had a grip on your nerves, but the gentle movement of the water wrapping around your legs had fast worked a lull over you.

Then, you had felt a cool current underwater.

It rushed through your legs and stopped suddenly, returning the water to the temperature it had once been. Goosebumps erupted across your body, and the needle-thin hairs on the back of your neck stuck straight out. Instincts had taken hold of you rightfully, prompting you to hurriedly lift your legs out of the water to get up and head back to the house.

Yet, as you pulled one leg out and half of the other, long fingers shot up out of the depths and seized your calf. A hand tried to pull you back down. You did what was reasonable for anyone in these circumstances: scream as loudly as you could, throw your wine glass at the pale arm coming out of the water, and launch your phone at the pale arm as well.

The water was disturbed, splashing as if by a very large fish, and the pale arm and hand and long fingers recoiled back into the inkiness. You didn't stay to scout the thing out; you fucking sprinted for the house, shrieking, bolted the doors behind you, and stayed in your room until your usual alarm sounded to give your client his first dose of medication for the day.

Later that same day, you returned to the dock in broad daylight to find your phone bobbing on the wooden slats, bone dry.

You gave the man your explanation, still massaging his legs while he listened quietly in his recliner. Once you were finished with your retelling, the man spoke solemnly, "I think it's chosen you. Don't listen when it calls."

To you, that had come across as the nonsensical babbling of a terminally ill man beginning to lose his mind to delusions, so you did not heed his warning. You hadn't considered that it was one until the chill of sea air at night touched your skin, softly rustling the hair on your head, and you opened your eyes to the wide eye of the moon and clusters of stars in the sky.

Why were you outside? How did you get there? You just remembered rubbing the man's legs and sitting down on the sofa once he fell asleep in his chair.

No, wait.

You remembered a man's song. His singing voice was unlike anything you'd ever heard; you doubted it could be replicated by human tongue and vocal cords. The words were incomprehensible, yet your mind perceived them as if they were language and something you knew. Something that told a sad story of melancholy and suffering, a lifetime of immense yearning so potent that the singer was prisoner to his own heart, his loneliness.

He had called out to you so sweetly, his words like a silk thread woven between your fingers. There were so many things he wanted to say to you, so many things he wanted to show you. If only you would come to him… come to him… come to me… come to me… come to me…

Now, as your senses adjusted to your surroundings, you realized you were lying on the docks. You were close enough to the edge to see down into the black depths, the water stirring with movement beneath the surface. Something was there; it had been waiting for you to wake up.

One long hand shot up out of the water and grabbed the dock, then another. The fingers were inhumanly long with nails tapering into thin points. Its skin was the same sort of pale from the other night, grayish and translucent. As it hauled itself onto the dock, you noted the sharpness of its elbows and shoulders, how its wrongness was in its imitation of what it thought a human looked like. Below the torso, still halfway dipped into the water, was an enormous black tail with scales that glowed silver under the moonlight.

Now, however, you were fixated on his face and how simultaneously beautiful and horrible it was. He looked at you serenely, inexpressive, almost, as he dragged himself over your body to examine you more closely, deep-dark hair draping over you like a wet veil. His face was long with a tapered chin, black eyes without pupils, and lips a cold shade of purple and blue. Where the prominence of a nose should've been were two symmetrical nostrils formed into slits.

You weren't sure if you thought he possessed an otherworldly beauty, or if he was terrible and monstrous. Your mind couldn't make sense of all of his features existing on one face and body.

And then, he started to hum. It rose from the back of his throat, soothing and sonorous, warm and comforting despite his freezing hands touching your skin, caressing your face. You felt him kiss you, his cold, blue lips pressing slow and hard, still humming to subdue you.

Those long fingers of his continued to explore you, fondle you, learn your body more than you knew it yourself. His lips sank to your chin, molded into the shape of your neck when you moaned and moved, and tried biting through your clothes when he could no longer feel or taste your skin.

He appeared in front of your eyes again, this time with a gentle, accomplished smile. His sweet humming had yet to cease, your vision was smeared, and the limbs of your body were leaden. Even as the creature shrank back into the depths of the black murk, pulling your legs off the edge with him, you could not move.

You were paralyzed and utterly at peace with it.

Suddenly, a bellow cracked through the stillness of the night, and the man appeared with a rifle in his hands. He cried out into the air again, startling the creature in the water before shooting a harpoon at it. The spearhead missed the creature by inches and vanished into the blackness without a sound, but it had done its job.

The creature emitted an enraged, mournful wail as it released you and flipped its tail into the air to escape back into the void where it once came.

You'd expected more frustration and anger than what he was giving you now. It was like he wanted to know the exact conditions you created to lure the creature back here, as if he'd never wanted it to leave in the first place, years ago. What could you say that would fulfill his expectations?

There were no grandiose details to relay; you had gone outside on a bright night and sat down on the edge of the dock with a glass of wine in your hand. You recalled letting your legs submerge to the knee and wading them around in the black water while sipping your dry rosé and scrolling social media. The stress of the day still had a grip on your nerves, but the gentle movement of the water wrapping around your legs had fast worked a lull over you.

Then, you had felt a cool current underwater.

It rushed through your legs and stopped suddenly, returning the water to the temperature it had once been. Goosebumps erupted across your body, and the needle-thin hairs on the back of your neck stuck straight out. Instincts had taken hold of you rightfully, prompting you to hurriedly lift your legs out of the water to get up and head back to the house.

Yet, as you pulled one leg out and half of the other, long fingers shot up out of the depths and seized your calf. A hand tried to pull you back down. You did what was reasonable for anyone in these circumstances: scream as loudly as you could, throw your wine glass at the pale arm coming out of the water, and launch your phone at the pale arm as well.

The water was disturbed, splashing as if by a very large fish, and the pale arm and hand and long fingers recoiled back into the inkiness. You didn't stay to scout the thing out; you fucking sprinted for the house, shrieking, bolted the doors behind you, and stayed in your room until your usual alarm sounded to give your client his first dose of medication for the day.

Later that same day, you returned to the dock in broad daylight to find your phone bobbing on the wooden slats, bone dry.

You gave the man your explanation, still massaging his legs while he listened quietly in his recliner. Once you were finished with your retelling, the man spoke solemnly, "I think it's chosen you. Don't listen when it calls."

To you, that had come across as the nonsensical babbling of a terminally ill man beginning to lose his mind to delusions, so you did not heed his warning. You hadn't considered that it was one until the chill of sea air at night touched your skin, softly rustling the hair on your head, and you opened your eyes to the wide eye of the moon and clusters of stars in the sky.

Why were you outside? How did you get there? You just remembered rubbing the man's legs and sitting down on the sofa once he fell asleep in his chair.

No, wait.

You remembered a man's song. His singing voice was unlike anything you'd ever heard; you doubted it could be replicated by human tongue and vocal cords. The words were incomprehensible, yet your mind perceived them as if they were language and something you knew. Something that told a sad story of melancholy and suffering, a lifetime of immense yearning so potent that the singer was prisoner to his own heart, his loneliness.

He had called out to you so sweetly, his words like a silk thread woven between your fingers. There were so many things he wanted to say to you, so many things he wanted to show you. If only you would come to him… come to him… come to me… come to me… come to me…

Now, as your senses adjusted to your surroundings, you realized you were lying on the docks. You were close enough to the edge to see down into the black depths, the water stirring with movement beneath the surface. Something was there; it had been waiting for you to wake up.

One long hand shot up out of the water and grabbed the dock, then another. The fingers were inhumanly long with nails tapering into thin points. Its skin was the same sort of pale from the other night, grayish and translucent. As it hauled itself onto the dock, you noted the sharpness of its elbows and shoulders, how its wrongness was in its imitation of what it thought a human looked like. Below the torso, still halfway dipped into the water, was an enormous black tail with scales that glowed silver under the moonlight.

Now, however, you were fixated on his face and how simultaneously beautiful and horrible it was. He looked at you serenely, inexpressive, almost, as he dragged himself over your body to examine you more closely, deep-dark hair draping over you like a wet veil. His face was long with a tapered chin, black eyes without pupils, and lips a cold shade of purple and blue. Where the prominence of a nose should've been were two symmetrical nostrils formed into slits.

You weren't sure if you thought he possessed an otherworldly beauty, or if he was terrible and monstrous. Your mind couldn't make sense of all of his features existing on one face and body.

And then, he started to hum. It rose from the back of his throat, soothing and sonorous, warm and comforting despite his freezing hands touching your skin, caressing your face. You felt him kiss you, his cold, blue lips pressing slow and hard, still humming to subdue you.

Those long fingers of his continued to explore you, fondle you, learn your body more than you knew it yourself. His lips sank to your chin, molded into the shape of your neck when you moaned and moved, and tried biting through your clothes when he could no longer feel or taste your skin.

He appeared in front of your eyes again, this time with a gentle, accomplished smile. His sweet humming had yet to cease, your vision was smeared, and the limbs of your body were leaden. Even as the creature shrank back into the depths of the black murk, pulling your legs off the edge with him, you could not move.

You were paralyzed and utterly at peace with it.

Suddenly, a bellow cracked through the stillness of the night, and the man appeared with a rifle in his hands. He cried out into the air again, startling the creature in the water before shooting a harpoon at it. The spearhead missed the creature by inches and vanished into the blackness without a sound, but it had done its job.

The creature emitted an enraged, mournful wail as it released you and flipped its tail into the air to escape back into the void where it once came.

It was strange; the feeling of not being so alone while your pa and brother were hundreds of miles away while your companion was something, someone not quite…or rather not human at all. 

It had been a little over a week since you had shared the scones you had purchased from Lily with him on your porch. And while your strange cowboy didn't come every day he had started to make it a habit to check in on you often enough. He never got too close, always up in the treeline near the edge of your property when you called the cows in at night, or sitting up on your porch roof at night. 

He didn't seem to come around during the day and you wondered if like some prairie predators he was nocturnal, it honestly wouldn’t surprise you based on what little you knew of him.

You had started trying to get a better look at him when he showed up, eager to take in more of his strangeness, but he always stayed illusive enough you could only make out his most defining features. In reality the most you had actually seen of him was the first night he appeared and that was all such a blur now.  And as the days passed your curiosity surrounding him only grew as he remained sheltered by the long limbs of the trees or the deep shadows of the roof of the house.

You hoped that leaving him more food would maybe let you catch more than just a glimpse, but like some sort of specter he was very good at making himself difficult to observe. 

However you deemed that,  like a wild animal or a spooked horse, maybe if you gave him enough time he'd come around and linger a bit longer in your presence. 

—

The days are starting to get shorter, and the nights longer, and more often than not you find yourself reaching for your shawl and at times, even your gloves when you go out to do the evening chores. Mornings aren't as bad yet but you know it's only a matter of time before they too start to chill your skin. 

After a few days of cold rain it's nice to finally see the sun burning along the horizon line, warming and drying out the grasses as you finish up with the chickens and go to call the cows in. 

You haven't seen your companion in a few days and you assume that he's been hiding out from the poor weather. You wonder how he even manages to stay warm with so little clothing, maybe the cold doesn't affect him? Or maybe he burrows (that is a funny thought, burrowing like a lizard somewhere in a hole or a snake under a rock). You can't help but laugh to yourself. Next time he shows up maybe you'll ask, but you doubt he'll even understand the question.

The girls and their growing babes seem to be enjoying the sun as well, bells clinking as they chew their cud and grass unhurriedly along the far treeline. You smile at the sight and lean against the fence post closing your eyes and taking in the evening breeze and the smell of fall on the air. 

You enjoy the moment a while longer, resting your cheek against your arm and just…existing. But there is no rest for the wicked and you perk back up after a time and stretch your back and focus back on your meandering livestock. 

You cup your hands around your mouth like every night and begin your calling song, and like every night the cows perk up, mooing and grunting softly as they start to trot towards you and the paddock.

A rustling of branches and quivering of tall grass and you hone in on the sudden disturbance. Behind the cattle you catch movement along the fenceline, though it doesn't seem to bother them too much as they continue on their path. 

A moment later you're surprised to see your companion appear from the brush, right along the fence. Not up in the trees, not using his odd whatever that makes him shimmer like crystal clear water from spring snow melt. No, he's standing there, on the ground, watching you curiously as he always does.

Slowly, you duck under the paddock fence and start to walk across the field; you really should have put the cows away but you don't want to miss this opportunity.

You hold your breath as you approach, afraid that you might scare him off (which is a funny thought if you were to actually consider it). He continues to watch you, the appendages at his jaw working slowly and as you near you can hear a soft chuffing sound coming from him, as if encouraging you.

“I don't think yer one of my girls.” You say when you come to stand just five feet from him; you wonder if you can get away with moving closer and leaning on the fence post.

He huffs at that shaking his head, tendril-like hair clinking with the jewelry and bones he has woven into it. 

Careful you step closer, he remains rooted to the spot, unbothered by your approach as he just continues to observe you. 

Finally, your skirts brush against the worn wood of the posts and you carefully reach out, resting your hands on top of the fence. Even though you can't see his eyes you know he's watching your every move.

Your gaze moves quickly across his frame, from his head to his large chest and long muscled arms. You see a deep, long healed laceration running around his right bicep and you wonder what could have caused such an injury. It almost looks as though something, or someone had attempted to cut off his arm.

You can see more scars of varying degrees adorning his flesh, some old and silver and other and odd pale green, perhaps fresher? Your eyes catch on a healing bullet hole in his shoulder, and you realize it from the night he saved you and you feel your heart stutter in your chest briefly at the realization.

He's completely, foreign, otherworldly and you've never seen anything like him before; your brain working overtime to try and take him all in. 

You feel your fingers itch to touch his reptilian-like skin, brush against the streak of red that cascades down the middle of his chest and abdomen like a stream of fresh blood. You wonder if his skin is toxic, like some toads or lizards, if the color was any indication. 

His soft clicking catches your attention again and your gaze falls back to his covered face, suddenly feeling a bit shy that you had been ogling him so openly. 

He tilts his head at you and makes a small sound and you tilt your head in the same direction, mimicking him. To your surprise he makes a sound deep in his chest that almost sounds like laughter. 

You let out a small huff yourself and shake your head at the absurdity of it all.

You look back up at him through your lashes, studying him again before deciding to speak again.

“What exactly are you?” You finally ask. 

He observes you for another moment; you didn't think he'd understand you anyway but you wanted to try.

He tips his chin to you and your breath catches in your throat when you hear a deep rumble come from him, his jaw working as he speaks. 

“Yautja.” The word is rough and foreign and for a moment you're not even sure it is a word until you play it over in your head.

“Yow-ja?” You try carefully; you know you've butchered it by the way he huffs and shakes his head.

“Yautja.” He repeats, slower this time, putting emphasis on the pronunciation.

You try again and it seems to please him this time as he makes a purring noise.

“So…you can understand me? I mean, you understand what I'm sayin’” you realize you might be speaking too fast at this point but your brain is working a mile a minute.

“Sei-i.” He says and you tilt your head.

“Is that yes?” You ask and nod your head when you say the word ‘yes’ to help convey the meaning.

“Sei-i…yes.” The English sounds heavy and thick on his tongue and you're certain he's rarely, if ever had to use it, but still you feel sparks dance across your skin at the acknowledgement.

“You speak American? Sorry, English then?!” You lean in closer to him.

He tilts his head as if thinking before speaking again, he raises a hand, palm facing towards the ground, before slightly lowering his hand.

“Small…pyode amedha h’ko gkei’moun.” 

Your body shivers at the sound of his voice, you only understood the word ‘small’, but you like the way his words curl around you. 

“So you speak a little, but understan’ what I'm sayin’ for the most part” you press a bit more and he nods. 

You feel a grin pulling at the corner of your lips. 

“So we coulda been shootin’ the breeze for awhile then.” You reply and move to rest your chin against the tops of your knuckles as you grip the post, body relaxing further.

He tilts his head and makes a small chirp.

"Why…” he pauses again before motioning to you. “Sa-de Nrak'ytara-di s’ Rh’y’ll …shoot vayuh'ta?”

For a moment you aren't entirely sure what to say, his words come out unhurried, but still confusion laces his tone, which makes it even harder to parse out the English words that he had pressed out.

Finally, it dawns on you and you can’t help but laugh, and you only laugh harder when he seems somewhat confused by the sound.

“Sorry, I ain't laughin’ at you.” You reassure him and smile, showing your teeth at him.

He takes a few steps back suddenly and ducks his head, similar to a wild animal showing submission, and your posture straightens immediately, body on alert now.

“Easy there cowboy, I ain't teasin’ yeah or tryin' to scare you off.” Though you doubt you could do anything to scare off a being like him, you still speak to him in a tone you might with Penny when she's spooked.

He watches you for a moment, looking a bit uncertain in his posture before taking a step forward tentatively.

“Nrak'ytara-di s’ m-di  l'ulij-bpe?” He shakes his head as if trying to find the words. “…shows…fangs?” He finally offers. 

You have to bring your hand over your mouth to stop yourself from smiling again.

“Oh! I’m smiling at you, it means I'm happy.” You say and lower your hand a little bit to peek a smile at him.

He seems to puff up at this and it reminds you a bit of when your hens are pleased with themselves. 

“Nrak'ytara-di s’ yin'tekai.” His voice rumbles, low, almost purring and he ducks his head, this time in acknowledgement.

You can't help but smile widely, and this time he doesn't step back.

“So…you are Yautjaah.” You begin, knowing you are still probably butchering it. “Do you have a name, I mean I can jus’ keep calling you cowboy but…” you trail off as you force yourself to gather your excited energy and be patient.

“Rh’yll.” He says and brings a closed fist to his chest, bowing his head. You realize that you've heard him say that before.

“R-ell.” You try the name on your tongue and you hear a deep purr come from his chest, which you've decided is one of your favorite sounds that he makes.

“Well it's mighty fine to meet your acquaintance Rh’yll.” You say and offer out your hand. “Name’s Y/N L/N.” 

He looks at your hand curiously before slowly bringing his hand towards you, palm facing upwards. 

“Nrak'ytara-di?”

He's said that a few times now, you'll have to ask him what it means when you're not about to vibrate out of your own skin in anticipation.

You hold your breath and turn your wrist,  bringing your hand to his, your small palm slides over his massive one.

Oh! He's so warm! Warmer than you would have thought, you had expected the coolness of some sort of reptile. Carefully you curl your fingers around his palm, fingers barely reaching the side of his broad hand. His skin is rough, calloused and pleasantly dry like warm stones in the sun.

You feel him close his fingers around your hand and he basically engulfs the entirety of it. You want to melt into that feeling of roughness and heat, a strange feeling of security despite the fact that a little voice in the back of your skull is whispering “he could tear off your whole arm without breaking a sweat.”

It was one of the most odd handshakes you've ever received, mostly due to his confusion of how to do it, but it quickly solidifies into one of your favorites as you reluctantly pull away from him.

He flexes his fingers looking at them curiously and it's a strange thing to think he looks charming, even somewhat cute as he does, all seven plus feet of him.

You lean back on the post again, arms folded contentedly as you observe him further, chin coming to rest on top of your arms.

“Na rack ya tara dee?” You cringe, that was the worst one yet. But he quickly perks up at that. “What does that mean?” 

“Nrak'ytara-di.” He repeats for you, it sounds much better when he says it. 

“Yeah what is that? You've said it a few times, mus’  be something important.” 

He looks a bit confused and then points at you.

“Nrak'ytara-di.” he says and you frown.

“Y/N.” You say pointing at yourself.

“Nrak'ytara-di.” he says again and you huff.

“You callin’ me somethin’ nasty ain'tcha? Some sorta Yautja curse?” Your eyes narrow and your body tenses, shoulders squaring up as if preparing for a squabble.

He reels back slightly, making a distressed sound before clicking and starting up a weak purr.

“M-di… no….Nrak'ytara-di s’....” He pauses, searching for the words. “Nrak'ytara-di s’ small guardian…Y/N s’ small guardian.”

Oh!

You feel a bit embarrassed by your questioning of his words and at the same time a warm fuzziness fills your chest and blooms outward. He had given you a name, a fine name, one that almost felt honorable when he said it. It was something you'd expect from your family, a cherished pet name and was yours and yours alone.

You feel your shoulders soften again and your gaze mellows as you bask in the feeling of getting such a title.

“Small guardian…nrack y-tara dee.” You try slower this time; letting the words curl pleasantly around your tongue now that you know the meaning. “Why that's a fine title, and I'm much obliged to have it.”

You smile softly at him and he relaxes again and his purring grows louder.

—

Rh’yll began to show up more and more over the next two weeks, though he still rarely made his way to the center of your property, and never during the day. Though his late night/middle of the night visits on your roof become more late evenings where you would mostly sit in contented silence; the language barrier still a difficult one to overcome.

You had asked him why, curious more than anything why he seemed to skirt your property now that you were more acquainted. And he had said something about your clan's land, him being an outsider and something about earning rights. 

You didn't press him after that but enjoyed how he showed up with the girls at night when you called them in from the grazing lands. 

The days were quickly getting colder, with even the mornings now having a bite to them and you continued to wonder how little he wore, how he was staying warm. But every time you brush against him (accidentally and a few times non accidental though you lie to yourself and say it was), he was always impossibly warm. 

Still… 

One particularly cool night you had snuck inside and grabbed one of the thick wool blankets from the linen chest at the end of your bed and had passed it up to him while he perched on your porch roof. 

He had unraveled it curiously; petting at the course fibers before purring and very carefully folding it back up, seemingly pleased with the gift.

Soon his presence was a regular comfort, and the routine that you fell into with him a welcome one.

—

You know that you can go into town and purchase a good amount of dried meats and maybe even some fresh game on Saturday, and you could probably talk to Elliot Monroe out on the outskirts of the townline about getting some fresh deer meat from him at a good price since he was such an avid hunter. Though, apparently he had been gone for nearly a week and no one knew when he'd be back, probably on one of his extended hunting treks.

However, you decide to save some money (also the fact you are stubborn and can well enough provide for yourself) and spend a day out in the woods at the edge of your property. 

If you could manage to get a deer, you'd have more than enough meat to last you well into the winter months. You wouldn't have to worry about galavanting in frigid temperatures through mounds of snow chasing after rabbits or God forbid, your least favorite, trekking down to the river and fishing for trout. 

As you prepare your day pack and check over your rifle, you contemplate taking Penny with you to cover more distance; but ultimately decide to leave her home, not really wanting to go too far into the woods with the days being as short as they are. If given the option you know you’d probably go way out of your way without even noticing, and Penny is always somewhat nervous while going through the forest anyway. 

Rh’yll hasn't shown up in the past day or so, but he had mentioned something about a hunt so you weren't entirely sure when he'd be back. Hopefully you wouldn't be stepping on his toes by going out into the forest where he had seemingly made his stomping grounds. (Even though it was technically part of your land).

Hauling your pack up onto your back you do a double check, especially for the ropes and twine, you did not want to be hauling a deer through the brush by your bare hands if you managed to get lucky. 

Double tying your boots and grabbing your rifle by the door, you lock up the house behind you and make your way towards the cow paddock. 

Walking through the grazing area you pat a few of the ladies on their shoulders as they come to check on you and see if you have any treats for them. Some gently mouthing at your skirts which you laugh at and brush off as you hop around them.

They have been spoiled rotten. 

The branches creak and sway in the morning breeze as you reach the treeline and you can smell the pine resin and dying leaves in the air. You take a deep breath, savoring the crisp smell before ducking under the fenceline and walking into the thick woods.

Twigs and fallen leaves crunch under your feet as you press forward and you make the decision to walk down to where the trees meet a portion of the river that was more shallow than most so you can cross before making your way north into the denser part of the woods. It wouldn't be an easy path, but the area you were hoping to get to had always been good to your family when it came to promising hunts.

At least it was no longer hot out, which meant you'd be more comfortable on your trek.

—

It had taken until noon at least from what you could tell to reach the area you had hunted with your father with; which is longer than you would have liked, given that most likely meant you would be heading home in the dark.

The river had been much higher than previous seasons, most likely due to the rains that had been pelting the lands over the past week which had left you having to reroute your crossing point much further up than you had anticipated.

…To be honest, you are not looking forward to having to drag a deer back with you due to the detour you’ll be repeating.

Still… you are here now and you came here for a reason.

Slowly you begin to advance further into the thicket of shrubs and branches before you, thorns clawing at your blouse as you press forward.

Gingerly, you crouch down, making sure to watch where you step, to not alert any nearby animals to your presence. 

After another hour of creeping through underbrush, climbing over fallen trees, you find a well-traveled deer path and not far into it a wet patch of mud reveals what appears to be very fresh tracks. As you examine the print you can feel your pulse quicken at the find, it was definitely made recently and with the size of the hoof prints, it looks to be a good sized animal.

You glance up at the narrow path before you, well used,cutting through the trees; and you can see small tufts of tawny hair clinging to the overgrowth lining the run.  

Quickly but carefully, one foot over the other you, crouch walk following the path. You bring your rifle tight to your side, ready to get yourself into position at a moment's notice.

You nearly tripped a few times while climbing over some of the deep gnarled roots of some of the elder pine trees and had almost lost your footing in a thick layer of mud that you hadn't seen beneath a layering of fallen leaves. 

But it could have been more than half an hour before you saw it.

A deer, and not only a deer, a large buck with a beautiful set of horns adorning his head.

Your breath catches in your throat as you watch him casually stepping through the forest, occasionally bending his head to graze; ears swiveling at all times.

If you can manage to get a clean shot on him and take him down, you won't have to worry about meat for a long time; it might even last until your pa and brother get back. 

You lick your lips and do your best to steady your breathing; you've come this far…you don't want to lose this chance. 

As you take your time, narrowing the distance, pausing each time the buck lifts his head to look around, you try not to let the time of day weigh on your mind too much. This will be worth it, if you can pull this off, trudging home in the dark will be worth it.

There is a sudden passing feeling of something watching you and you pause, glancing around, listening intently. If you are honest with yourself, you have felt somewhat watched throughout your entire journey. But you're quick to brush it off again, chalking it up to nerves and being hyper aware. You just hope it isn't a hungry grizzly bear or mountain cat eyeing you up.

Finally in range of the buck and him non-the-wiser, you carefully wiggle yourself into a dense line of shrubs, pulling your rifle into position as you track the bucks movement. 

As quietly as you can you cock your rifle, your line of sight now perfectly aligned, you watch as the bucks ears prick, and you hold your breath wondering if he somehow heard the click of the Colt. Luckily he doesn't seem to be alerted and continues to graze. 

Your finger comes to the trigger and your fingertips on the gun tighten. 

Despite the fact you had been raised going to church every Sunday, you didn't really believe in a God but you find yourself praying under your breath as you squeeze the trigger.

The shot rings out through the trees, sound cutting through the silence and stirring up a cacophony of bird sounds and what sounds to be another hoofed animal that runs further into the forest.

You watch as the buck takes a shuddering half step as if attempting to bolt before letting out a horrible breathy wail and collapsing out of sight behind a large pine. 

You don't think you've ever moved as quickly through such dense growth ever in your life. You end up stumbling and scraping up your knee, and in the back of your mind you wonder if the sudden wetness running down your leg is just mud or your blood. But you'd take a hundred blooded knees if you come around the large tree blocking your view and see the buck laying on the leaf covered ground. 

Scrambling around the base of the large pine, you practically spill over yourself, anxiety and excitement bubbling up inside your chest. 

Your breath comes out in a shuddering sort of sound, somewhere between a laugh and a cry. 

Laying in bed of crisp fallen leaves and still vivid grass is the buck. 

You can see that his chest still rises and falls weakly, a sad hollow sound escaping him and you feel your chest tighten.

Straightening up, you make your way closer, watching as the beautiful beast clings to the last remnants of life. This was something that you always hate, the aftermath of the hunt, the realization setting in that you have taken the life of another being that used to be just as alive as you. 

Again, you begin to murmur a prayer under your breath, this time not for your rifle to shoot true, but for the animal before you. Reaching into your pack, you take out the hunting knife you had packed and come to rest on your knees beside the deer, gently resting your hand against his shivering shoulder.

“Thank you, you are greatly appreciated.” You say softly to it before being the tip of the knife to its breast bone, right where your father had shown you and thrusting it forward swiftly.

The buck lets out one more whine before stilling, body becoming completely lax. Slowly you remove the knife, wiping it off with an old rag you had brought in your pack before resting it on the ground next to you.

You sit there for a time, stroking the creature's shoulder, and you can feel the tears beginning to creep down your cheeks, falling and darkening the sleek fur you continue to pet. Your entire body suddenly feels tired and you can tell you are coming off the adrenaline high.

Suddenly a rustling in the branches above you catches your attention and your head whips up, scanning the trees.

You nearly laugh when you locate the source of the sound.

Above you Rh’yll perches on a thick bough, clicking softly as he observes you.

“I had a feelin’ something was watchin’ me.” You call up to him as you wipe your cheeks on the back of your sleeve.

“Nrak'ytara-di hunt well.” He purrs down at you before swinging off of the branch and dropping beside you. 

You wonder how something as large as him could be so incredibly quiet.

“Ya think so?” You say a bit shakily and look back to the fallen buck.

Rh’yll bobs his head and continues to observe you, coming to crouch down beside you.

“Guess once I get this back to the ranch and all cleaned up you can have another if you like.” You nod towards the rabbit skull he had woven into his belt. The first kill you had ever given him that he seemed quite fond of. 

He purrs deeply at this but shakes his head.

“Nrak'ytara-di’s trophy. S’ yin'tekai kv'var.” He replies and touches his index and middle fingers to his masked forehead.

You smile, not understanding everything he is saying but getting the jist of it.

“It definitely made my heart race, that’s fer sure.” You say and pat your chest before gazing up through the sparse leaves adorning the canopy. 

You have definitely spent too long out here and it would be well past dark by the time you got back. You'd be calling the cows in late and feeding and tending to the horses and chickens by lantern light.

Sighing you swing your bag forward and begin the rummage through it for your rope. You'd have to make quick work of dressing the buck before getting it tired up for the long haul back.

Rh’yll chuffs softly beside you and you look up as he brings out a wicked looking dagger, twice the size of your hunting knife.

“Guan s’ h'ka-se, kv'var s’ bpi-de, kwe, ’ki’sei aseigan.” he tilts his head towards the buck and then lifts his dagger.

You're not sure what he's just said and you go to take the weapon from his hand thinking he means to let you borrow it. But he pulls it away from you and shakes his head.

“Rest, I help.”

You feel a smile tugging at your lips, one soft, perhaps adoring at his words. You lean back on your heels and nod at him.

“I'll make sure to watch yer back while ya work.” you say and he purrs deep in his chest as he begins dressing your kill.

—

“Small…pyode amedha h’ko gkei’moun.” = Soft meat is not easy.

“Sa-de Nrak'ytara-di s’ Rh’y’ll …shoot vayuh'ta?” = Why would small guardian and Rh’yll shoot the breeze?

“Nrak'ytara-di = Small guardian 

“Nrak'ytara-di s’ m-di  l'ulij-bpe?” = Small guardian is not upset/angry?

“Nrak'ytara-di s’ yin'tekai.” = Small guardian is pleased/honored.

“Nrak'ytara-di’s trophy. S’ yin'tekai kv'var.” = Small guardian's trophy, an honorable hunt.