Epilogue
There was a small village that bordered the jungles at the heart of the country of Ikhonarrie. The inhabitants were a simple folk, mostly farmers who bartered with the people who lived in the jungle for pelts and meat. The villagers themselves were sometimes fascinated by these jungle-dwellers, who were foreign–looking people. And by extension, they had become intensely fascinated by the newest inhabitant of their village as well.
The man had first appeared almost a year ago, a wealthy foreigner from the northern lands. He’d paid for workers to come and build him a house just beyond the village itself, near a running stream and a green meadow. It was crafted of dressed stone and had a slate roof, something that fascinated the villagers as well since their houses were made of wood and thatch. And most of them had no more than two rooms, whereas the foreigner’s house had at least six (according to the village women who had been hired to clean and cook for this man). Equally as interesting was the fact that this wealthy man knew how to read and write, something no one in the village could do except for their headman – and he only enough to count their stocks each year on beaten pieces of bark with a piece of charcoal. But the stranger had many leather-bound books on shelves in his house, and he himself wrote on finely-crafted vellum scrolls with ink and a quill pen at a desk he’d had imported from another country.
The villagers might have wondered just why this foreign gentleman had come to live in their tiny hamlet, except for the fact that many of them had seen one of the jungle folk entering his stone house in the evenings and leaving almost every morning to enter the jungle once more. It was clear that this man was living with the foreigner as his lover, something astonishing to the villagers since they’d never seen anything like it before. And while they gossiped and made up stories, no one really knew the true story of just how this foreigner and the jungle man had come to be together. Neither talked about it, although the stranger spoke their language perfectly (courtesy of a certain rose-colored piece of crystal in his study). They clearly enjoyed their privacy, and since he’d brought a good deal of money and work to the village everyone agreed that the foreigner had the right to that privacy.
It was a clear spring day, not too hot yet. Lord Avhonari was writing in his study, his black head bent over his task. He was working on a comprehensive history of Z’sharan’s people, and his scholarly soul thoroughly enjoyed his task. He could hear the village women who worked for him moving around outside his study door, cleaning the house and cooking the meal that he and his lover would eat later when Z’sharan emerged from the jungle as he did almost every day as the sun was sinking into the west. It was routine with them, a comfortable routine that Avhonari enjoyed. He spent the day working on his writings or reading the many books he’d had imported from other countries, and the evening with Z’sharan. It was a peaceful existence, and one so much better than his life before he’d fled here with his wereleopard lover that there was no comparison.
Avhonari lifted his head briefly to glance at the small stack of letters carefully arranged in a carved wooden holder on his desk. He always looked at them whenever he thought about his old life, as a reminder of just how good he had it now. The letters were mostly from his nephew Traggen, begging him to return and take up his familial duties again. Apparently the stupid young cub had finally realized just how much work and sacrifice was involved in being the head of the family, and he wanted out. But there was really no one to take his place, so he was stuck as the new lord until such time as Avhonari returned. And since he had no intention of returning ‘home’, Traggen was shit out of luck. Eventually he’d figure that out and stop writing his importuning letters, but for now they arrived every three weeks or so.
There were also letters with the royal seal on them. The King had promised him full immunity for his ‘crime’ of helping the wereleopard flee the country, if he’d only return. Apparently His Majesty was dissatisfied with Avhonari’s successor Traggen, for some odd reason. His lips lifted in a small, rather vicious smile at this thought. He shouldn’t take so much pleasure out of this situation, he supposed; but that wasn’t going to stop him from enjoying it. He certainly wasn’t feeling any guilt over abandoning his onerous duties or the life he’d hated. He was happy here, and had no intention of ever returning to the country of his birth.
Avhonari laughed a little as he returned to his writing. The King and Traggen deserved each other anyway. And to add to his nephew’s misery (according to one of his desperate letters), his mother had received an anonymous letter telling her of the fact that her son was lying to her about his sexual preferences. She’d gone ballistic and had moved to the Capitol to stay with him, and was hounding him at every turn. Her nagging had ‘driven him to the point of suicide’ as Traggen had put it in one particularly memorable epistle. Avhonari couldn’t imagine who might have sent that letter to his sister. Really…
He chuckled, his quill pen creating the graceful curves and loops of his elegant handwriting. Ah, well. His family‘s dramas were not his problem anymore. He had a new home here, and a new family as well. Z’sharan’s folk had accepted him when the wereleopard had declared to them that Avhonari was his chosen mate, and he sometimes went into the jungle to spend a few weeks in Z’sharan’s village. He would spend the time talking to the werefolk, learning their stories and hearing about their histories; but he also just enjoyed spending time with them, and they seemed equally fascinated with him. But while he liked life in the jungle to a certain extent, he didn’t enjoy sleeping in Z’sharan’s ‘tree house’. And he couldn’t pursue his scholarly works there, as there was no room for his books or supplies. So he’d decided to have a house built at the edge of the jungle, close to Z’sharan’s home and large enough that he had the room he required. Also, this village was fairly near a trade town so he could have anything that he needed shipped to him. He had the best of both worlds, and no reason to complain about anything anymore.
The door of his study suddenly banged open, and a golden-eyed creature came bouncing in like a fresh spring wind. Lord Avhonari looked up with a smile of greeting for his lover. Z’sharan threw himself into his human’s lap for a kiss by way of greeting. He smelled faintly of sweat and musk, an odor that Avhonari rather liked. He ran his hands down Z’sharan’s bare back (the wereleopard wore only a sexy little loincloth, a garment that he had a particular fondness for) as their mouths mated and merged. Finally Z’sharan pulled back enough to look into his eyes. “Hello, Avhonari,” he purred.
“Hello, Z’sharan,” the human replied, patting him tenderly on his rump. “Did you have a good day?”
“Yes. I told the children some stories today; they descended on me in a pack,” the wereleopard said happily.
Avhonari smiled. Z’sharan was very good with children. But his face took on a more serious cast as some thoughts that had been running through his head lately intruded once more. “Z’sharan?” he said gravely.
“What is it?” the wereleopard’s brows drew together when he heard Avhonari’s tone of voice.
The human hesitated. “I have been thinking about something…” he began.
Anxiety flitted over Z’sharan’s pointed face. His claws unconsciously cut into the human’s shoulders as he cried: “You are not…going back, are you?!”
Avhonari blinked in surprise. It hadn’t even occurred to him that Z’sharan might think that. “No, no,” he said hurriedly, to soothe his lover’s worries. “Of course not.”
Z’sharan sighed in relief. “Then what is it?” he asked.
“Well…you told me last year when you were still living in my house that if two males or females of your kind become mates, that if they want children they are allowed to adopt orphans from one of your tribes. This is correct, yes?”
Now it was Z’sharan’s turn to look surprised. “Yes, “he replied. “Why?”
“I was wondering,” Lord Avhonari began seriously, “If we might be allowed that privilege, even though I’m not a wereleopard.”
Z’sharan’s mouth dropped open. You wish to adopt a cub?!” he blurted out, completely astonished.
Lord Avhonari nodded. “I’ve seen how good you are with children, Z’sharan,” he explained, “And I know that if you’d taken a mate from within your own tribe that you would probably already have adopted one. Or am I wrong?” he asked shrewdly.
Z’sharan squirmed uncomfortably in his lap. “Perhaps,” he conceded, “But you don’t have to do this just for me…”
“I am not doing it just for you,” Lord Avhonari replied. “I would have had to adopt a child to take over for me even if I’d remained as a nobleman, and I accepted that fact. I had simply put it off because I was not married, and did not wish to raise a child by myself. But now that we are mates, I think it is time. And I would be honored to help raise a child of your people. I would love it as much as I do you, I’m sure,” he added simply.
Z’sharan’s eyes filled with tears. He reached out to cup the sides of Lord Avhonari’s face with his hands. “My mate,” he said in awe. “Were or no, you are a good man. I do not believe that there will be any objections to our adopting a cub together, for you are much respected among my people. Come with me to the village tomorrow, and we will speak to the Elders together. And know that I will never forget this, nor take for granted how very special you are. When I awoke in that iron cage, I thought that my life was over. I did not know…” he went on as he kissed Lord Avhonari’s face, “That it was just beginning.”
“Z’sharan,” the human breathed, putting his hands around the wereleopard’s waist, “When I saw you in your leopard form in that cage, I didn’t know that my life was just beginning, either. You saved me from my boring, burdensome existence, and I will be forever grateful to you for that.”
Z’sharan leaned forward. Just before their lips met again, he breathed: “So we are both grateful to each other. Shall we express that gratitude now?”
“Most definitely,” Lord Avhonari agreed, and then their mouths met and there was no more talking in his study. Although there were plenty of other sounds, oh yes…
The End
There was a small village that bordered the jungles at the heart of the country of Ikhonarrie. The inhabitants were a simple folk, mostly farmers who bartered with the people who lived in the jungle for pelts and meat. The villagers themselves were sometimes fascinated by these jungle-dwellers, who were foreign–looking people. And by extension, they had become intensely fascinated by the newest inhabitant of their village as well.
The man had first appeared almost a year ago, a wealthy foreigner from the northern lands. He’d paid for workers to come and build him a house just beyond the village itself, near a running stream and a green meadow. It was crafted of dressed stone and had a slate roof, something that fascinated the villagers as well since their houses were made of wood and thatch. And most of them had no more than two rooms, whereas the foreigner’s house had at least six (according to the village women who had been hired to clean and cook for this man). Equally as interesting was the fact that this wealthy man knew how to read and write, something no one in the village could do except for their headman – and he only enough to count their stocks each year on beaten pieces of bark with a piece of charcoal. But the stranger had many leather-bound books on shelves in his house, and he himself wrote on finely-crafted vellum scrolls with ink and a quill pen at a desk he’d had imported from another country.
The villagers might have wondered just why this foreign gentleman had come to live in their tiny hamlet, except for the fact that many of them had seen one of the jungle folk entering his stone house in the evenings and leaving almost every morning to enter the jungle once more. It was clear that this man was living with the foreigner as his lover, something astonishing to the villagers since they’d never seen anything like it before. And while they gossiped and made up stories, no one really knew the true story of just how this foreigner and the jungle man had come to be together. Neither talked about it, although the stranger spoke their language perfectly (courtesy of a certain rose-colored piece of crystal in his study). They clearly enjoyed their privacy, and since he’d brought a good deal of money and work to the village everyone agreed that the foreigner had the right to that privacy.
It was a clear spring day, not too hot yet. Lord Avhonari was writing in his study, his black head bent over his task. He was working on a comprehensive history of Z’sharan’s people, and his scholarly soul thoroughly enjoyed his task. He could hear the village women who worked for him moving around outside his study door, cleaning the house and cooking the meal that he and his lover would eat later when Z’sharan emerged from the jungle as he did almost every day as the sun was sinking into the west. It was routine with them, a comfortable routine that Avhonari enjoyed. He spent the day working on his writings or reading the many books he’d had imported from other countries, and the evening with Z’sharan. It was a peaceful existence, and one so much better than his life before he’d fled here with his wereleopard lover that there was no comparison.
Avhonari lifted his head briefly to glance at the small stack of letters carefully arranged in a carved wooden holder on his desk. He always looked at them whenever he thought about his old life, as a reminder of just how good he had it now. The letters were mostly from his nephew Traggen, begging him to return and take up his familial duties again. Apparently the stupid young cub had finally realized just how much work and sacrifice was involved in being the head of the family, and he wanted out. But there was really no one to take his place, so he was stuck as the new lord until such time as Avhonari returned. And since he had no intention of returning ‘home’, Traggen was shit out of luck. Eventually he’d figure that out and stop writing his importuning letters, but for now they arrived every three weeks or so.
There were also letters with the royal seal on them. The King had promised him full immunity for his ‘crime’ of helping the wereleopard flee the country, if he’d only return. Apparently His Majesty was dissatisfied with Avhonari’s successor Traggen, for some odd reason. His lips lifted in a small, rather vicious smile at this thought. He shouldn’t take so much pleasure out of this situation, he supposed; but that wasn’t going to stop him from enjoying it. He certainly wasn’t feeling any guilt over abandoning his onerous duties or the life he’d hated. He was happy here, and had no intention of ever returning to the country of his birth.
Avhonari laughed a little as he returned to his writing. The King and Traggen deserved each other anyway. And to add to his nephew’s misery (according to one of his desperate letters), his mother had received an anonymous letter telling her of the fact that her son was lying to her about his sexual preferences. She’d gone ballistic and had moved to the Capitol to stay with him, and was hounding him at every turn. Her nagging had ‘driven him to the point of suicide’ as Traggen had put it in one particularly memorable epistle. Avhonari couldn’t imagine who might have sent that letter to his sister. Really…
He chuckled, his quill pen creating the graceful curves and loops of his elegant handwriting. Ah, well. His family‘s dramas were not his problem anymore. He had a new home here, and a new family as well. Z’sharan’s folk had accepted him when the wereleopard had declared to them that Avhonari was his chosen mate, and he sometimes went into the jungle to spend a few weeks in Z’sharan’s village. He would spend the time talking to the werefolk, learning their stories and hearing about their histories; but he also just enjoyed spending time with them, and they seemed equally fascinated with him. But while he liked life in the jungle to a certain extent, he didn’t enjoy sleeping in Z’sharan’s ‘tree house’. And he couldn’t pursue his scholarly works there, as there was no room for his books or supplies. So he’d decided to have a house built at the edge of the jungle, close to Z’sharan’s home and large enough that he had the room he required. Also, this village was fairly near a trade town so he could have anything that he needed shipped to him. He had the best of both worlds, and no reason to complain about anything anymore.
The door of his study suddenly banged open, and a golden-eyed creature came bouncing in like a fresh spring wind. Lord Avhonari looked up with a smile of greeting for his lover. Z’sharan threw himself into his human’s lap for a kiss by way of greeting. He smelled faintly of sweat and musk, an odor that Avhonari rather liked. He ran his hands down Z’sharan’s bare back (the wereleopard wore only a sexy little loincloth, a garment that he had a particular fondness for) as their mouths mated and merged. Finally Z’sharan pulled back enough to look into his eyes. “Hello, Avhonari,” he purred.
“Hello, Z’sharan,” the human replied, patting him tenderly on his rump. “Did you have a good day?”
“Yes. I told the children some stories today; they descended on me in a pack,” the wereleopard said happily.
Avhonari smiled. Z’sharan was very good with children. But his face took on a more serious cast as some thoughts that had been running through his head lately intruded once more. “Z’sharan?” he said gravely.
“What is it?” the wereleopard’s brows drew together when he heard Avhonari’s tone of voice.
The human hesitated. “I have been thinking about something…” he began.
Anxiety flitted over Z’sharan’s pointed face. His claws unconsciously cut into the human’s shoulders as he cried: “You are not…going back, are you?!”
Avhonari blinked in surprise. It hadn’t even occurred to him that Z’sharan might think that. “No, no,” he said hurriedly, to soothe his lover’s worries. “Of course not.”
Z’sharan sighed in relief. “Then what is it?” he asked.
“Well…you told me last year when you were still living in my house that if two males or females of your kind become mates, that if they want children they are allowed to adopt orphans from one of your tribes. This is correct, yes?”
Now it was Z’sharan’s turn to look surprised. “Yes, “he replied. “Why?”
“I was wondering,” Lord Avhonari began seriously, “If we might be allowed that privilege, even though I’m not a wereleopard.”
Z’sharan’s mouth dropped open. You wish to adopt a cub?!” he blurted out, completely astonished.
Lord Avhonari nodded. “I’ve seen how good you are with children, Z’sharan,” he explained, “And I know that if you’d taken a mate from within your own tribe that you would probably already have adopted one. Or am I wrong?” he asked shrewdly.
Z’sharan squirmed uncomfortably in his lap. “Perhaps,” he conceded, “But you don’t have to do this just for me…”
“I am not doing it just for you,” Lord Avhonari replied. “I would have had to adopt a child to take over for me even if I’d remained as a nobleman, and I accepted that fact. I had simply put it off because I was not married, and did not wish to raise a child by myself. But now that we are mates, I think it is time. And I would be honored to help raise a child of your people. I would love it as much as I do you, I’m sure,” he added simply.
Z’sharan’s eyes filled with tears. He reached out to cup the sides of Lord Avhonari’s face with his hands. “My mate,” he said in awe. “Were or no, you are a good man. I do not believe that there will be any objections to our adopting a cub together, for you are much respected among my people. Come with me to the village tomorrow, and we will speak to the Elders together. And know that I will never forget this, nor take for granted how very special you are. When I awoke in that iron cage, I thought that my life was over. I did not know…” he went on as he kissed Lord Avhonari’s face, “That it was just beginning.”
“Z’sharan,” the human breathed, putting his hands around the wereleopard’s waist, “When I saw you in your leopard form in that cage, I didn’t know that my life was just beginning, either. You saved me from my boring, burdensome existence, and I will be forever grateful to you for that.”
Z’sharan leaned forward. Just before their lips met again, he breathed: “So we are both grateful to each other. Shall we express that gratitude now?”
“Most definitely,” Lord Avhonari agreed, and then their mouths met and there was no more talking in his study. Although there were plenty of other sounds, oh yes…
The End
