Chapter 3
Lord Avhonari told Z’Sharan to stay in his study while he went to fetch clothing for his surprise guest. The wereleopard watched the tall human sweep out of the room, his golden eyes lidded as he thought about the bargain he’d made with Avhonari. His gaze swept around the room, taking in its muted magnificence. It was paneled in various kinds of wood, and the floor had a huge rug done in dark reds, browns, and greens covering it. The huge desk that Lord Avhonari had been sitting behind when his men had brought him the naked, unconscious intruder was hand-carved and big enough that Z’Sharan could have curled up and slept on the top comfortably. Books and scrolls lined the wall behind the desk in tiered shelves, and a huge display case was up against one wall. He got up and padded over barefoot to peer into this case curiously, seeing all kinds of strange artifacts displayed.
The wereleopard felt rather small and grubby in such a place – his own people lived quite simply, and the only luxuries that they possessed were usually jewelry and/or clothing. Their small houses (cunningly built into the trees themselves in the heart of the jungle where his folk lived) were plain, with a minimum of furniture. They usually sat on embroidered cushions not chairs, and none of them owned something like this case. Or that enormous desk, for that matter. Z’Sharan shook his head a little over the humans’ strange way of living. All they seemed concerned about was how much they owned, and their possessions also seemed to determine their status. Among his own folk, status was determined on personal merit and what abilities you possessed. Not how many personal things you might own.
Z’Sharan himself was only a fair hunter at best. But he didn’t need to be a good one, for his talents lay elsewhere. He was actually a Speaker, which among the were tribes was someone who was a combined scribe and historian. He remembered the history of his people back for many hundreds of generations. Lord Avhonari couldn’t have gotten a better captive to satisfy his curiosity, had he but known it. Z’Sharan could tell almost all of the stories of his folk to the human, should he so wish. But he did not wish, since many of those stories were sacred and not to be spoken to outsiders. He would keep his word and tell what he could, though. He wanted desperately to go home, and if relating some of his people’s history to this human was the only way to make that happen then that was what he’d do.
He sighed softly as he reached up to touch the tattoo at the base of his throat. He’d gotten it when he’d ‘graduated’, going from an apprentice to a Master Speaker. That had only been a few years ago, since an apprenticeship for a Speaker started when you were only a cub and went on for decades. He’d had to learn thousands of stories and be able to relate them back to his teacher word perfect before he could shed his apprentice status and rise to be a full Speaker. He could remember with joy the ceremony celebrating that, and the woman who’d solemnly burned the tattoo into his skin with a hot iron. It had hurt, of course, but he’d accepted the pain. And afterward, when he’d been able to sit still and not show any pain, she’d smeared a paste onto it that had numbed the agony. He’d applied that same paste until the burn had healed. Now, everywhere he went, people would see the tattoo and know who he was. They would come up to him and request a story of him, and he would tell it to them because that was part of the vows he’d taken as a Speaker. When people asked it of him, he could not refuse to tell the story requested.
It was often the children who swarmed him and demanded stories, for the little imps knew that he couldn’t refuse. But that was all right; he liked children and enjoyed spinning his tales for them. The wonder and awe in their big eyes as they listened always made it worthwhile for him to make the story as exciting and interesting as possible. Z’Sharan hoped to be able to sit down and tell tales to the little ones once more, a hope that had been all but lost when he’d woken up in that damned iron cage. As far as he’d known his life was over. But now…now he could feel hope again. He thanked the Spirits for this blessing, making the sign with his clawed fingers. He wasn’t sure if They could hear him so far away from his own lands, but he thought that They might. After all, hadn’t he been saved from despair and death by Lord Avhonari? And then the human had made this bargain with him, when he could easily have thrown Z’Sharan into a cage to display him as an exotic pet instead of promising to help him get home. Surely that was the work of the Spirits, who were watching out for one of their children even in this strange land.
He turned as the door opened behind him. Lord Avhonari entered, holding a pile of fabric in his arms. “These should fit you well enough until I can have a tailor make you some fitted garments,” he told Z’Sharan. He carried them across the room and handed them to the wereleopard. “Please put them on.”
Z’Sharan inspected the pile, finding a green velvet tunic and a pair of narrow silk pants in a darker green. There was also a set of embroidered slippers in green and gold. “They belong to my nephew.” Lord Avhonari remarked as the were began to pull the tunic on over his head. “You seem to be close to his size. He always leaves a fair amount of clothing here, since he comes to stay with me every once in awhile when his mother decides that he needs to be at Court to look over the eligible girls. I hate to tell her that he actually prefers those of his own sex,” he added dryly as Z’Sharan squirmed into the tunic and began to pull the pants on.
Lord Avhonari sighed a bit when all of that pale-skinned beauty disappeared inside of his nephew’s borrowed clothing. Z’Sharan looked very good in them, but he preferred the creature’s nudity. When the wereleopard had shoved his feet into the slippers, Lord Avhonari nodded. “Very well. Come with me, and I’ll show you to the room you’ll be sleeping in during your stay here. Afterward, we can eat dinner together.” He paused, eyeing Z’Sharan. “Do you eat raw meat when you’re in this form? I might have a hard time explaining that to my servants.”
Z’Sharan shook his head. “I can eat raw meat like this, but I can also eat cooked food.”
“Excellent. Come, then,” Lord Avhonari swept out of the room, and the wereman followed at his heels. They went down the hallway, Z’Sharan looking around curiously. The house proper was mostly of smooth, polished stone, which was white washed or painted in places. The human led his out into a central courtyard that had bushes and plants growing in ceramic pots, and a tiny fountain at its heart. He liked the look of this peaceful place, which Lord Avhonari noticed. “You may come here whenever you wish,” he told the wereleopard.
They entered the living quarters of the house, and Lord Avhonari led him to a room with a carved wooden door. Z’Sharan was fascinated by the carving, and would have stood looking at it for some time. But the human opened the door and motioned for him to enter into the bedroom beyond. The Wereleopard padded into the room, seeing a large canopied bed taking up a good bit of space. It was huge, at least five times as large as his tiny bed in his house back home. Dozens of his people could have curled up in it together, in fact. There was also a large wardrobe against one wall, a tiny writing desk, a couple of chairs, a window seat, and a vanity. A porcelain jug in a bowl was on a stand near the bed, which was flanked by small nightstands. Another rug, this one in soft greens and browns, covered the floor. It was too much. He felt uneasy and overwhelmed once more, longing for his own tiny one-room house. Homesickness flooded him, and his shoulders drooped.
Lord Avhonari’s eagle eyes saw his visitor’s response to the room. He was surprised by Z’Sharan sudden despondency, and wondered how to combat it. He remembered the wereman’s reaction to the central courtyard, and spoke quietly. “Why don’t we go and eat out in the courtyard, Z’Sharan? I can have the servants bring our meal out there if you wish.”
This perked the wereleopard up to no end. He turned to look at Lord Avhonari. “I would like that,” he said eagerly.
The human looked faintly pleased. “Very well. Come,” he led Z’Sharan out of the sumptuous bedroom, closing the door behind them. They left the living quarters, and Lord Avhonari left the wereleopard poking around in the bushes near the fountain as he went to request that the servants bring their dinner out into the central courtyard so that they could eat there. They were somewhat surprised by this order, but were soon carting a small table and two chairs out onto the slate stones and carrying trays of food from the kitchen to the courtyard as well. Z’Sharan hid behind Lord Avhonari discreetly until they were done, nervous and wary of these strange humans. Finally the table was covered with a white linen cloth, and dishes of food were set on its pristine surface. The servants withdrew, and Lord Avhonari turned to his guest. “Please sit down and help yourself, Z’Sharan,” he said politely.
The wereleopard approached the little table, sinking down onto the chair gingerly. Lord Avhonari seated himself across from Z’Sharan, and noticed that the wereman’s golden eyes were watching him intently. He realized that the creature was waiting to see what he did, so the human served himself from the dishes. He put the food onto his plate slowly, letting Z’Sharan see everything he did. The wereleopard copied him, piling food rather clumsily onto his own plate. Clearly he wasn’t used to the utensils that humans used. When he was finished, Lord Avhonari picked up his fork and began to eat. Z’Sharan did the same, putting the tined instrument carefully into his mouth. He made a low sound of approval in the back of his throat when he tasted the beef dish in gravy, licking delicately at the fork after he’d eaten the bite.
Lord Avhonari watched that pink tongue dart out to caress the fork, and felt a tightening in his abdomen. He wanted to groan a little, but held himself in check. It seemed that he was drawn to his new guest, which wasn’t a particularly good thing. Z’Sharan wasn’t even human, and moreover he was going home for good once Lord Avhonari was done with him. Yearning after this creature would be foolish. He concentrated on his own food, refusing to look up at Z’Sharan again. He had control of himself, just as he always had. He was not a child or a wild boy like his nephew. He could resist lusting after Z’Sharan, and he would.
But unfortunately for his peace of mind, while he wasn’t looking at the wereleopard anymore he could still hear the creature eating. And when he liked something he was eating, the wereman growled in appreciation or hissed in disgust. His small sounds of pleasure were doing nothing to help Lord Avhonari control his urges. He gritted his teeth a little, feeling the press of an erection against the front of his robes. His fingers were turning white around his fork because he was gripping it so tightly. He could barely taste the food he was eating anymore. He felt like an adolescent again, and he didn’t like that at all.
Then he glanced up almost involuntarily, and saw that Z’Sharan was sucking on a chicken bone enthusiastically. Those soft pink lips took the bone in, and the look of concentration and pleasure on that pointed face made his gut wind itself into knots. Lord Avhonari had to lock his teeth on a gasp, shuddering faintly as he closed his eyes. But that image stayed behind his eyelids even after they were closed. Finally, much to his acute relief, the slurping and growling sounds died away. He cautiously peered out from under his eyelids, and saw that Z’Sharan had eaten most of what was on his plate. The creature was sitting back in his chair, patting his full belly contentedly. His golden eyes were half-lidded, and Lord Avhonari could see the cat in him quite clearly. He looked as self-satisfied as though he’d just had a dish of rich cream and a fat mouse.
“Did you enjoy the food?” he asked, trying to ignore the fact that his voice had gone slightly husky.
Z’Sharan inclined his head. “Yes. It was very good. Especially the pale meat,” he added.
“Chicken,” Lord Avhonari replied. “It is a domestic bird called a chicken.”
Z’Sharan looked interested. He was wondering if he could take some of these birds back to his own people. His tribe would love that meat, whether in cat or humanoid form. Reading his face accurately, Lord Avhonari smiled slightly. “You could take a cage of chickens back with you to your folk, but I warn you that they have certain needs. They thrive on grain such as corn. And I’m fairly sure that your people don’t grow crops. Or do they?”
“No,” the wereman said regretfully. “But perhaps we can trade for it,” he added, brightening. “We do that sometimes with the humans who live near our lands. They don’t know that we’re werefolk, of course – they think we’re just foreign humans. We could trade them meat or furs for grain to feed these chickens.”
“A good idea,” Lord Avhonari agreed. “You will need to build a sturdy cage for them to live in, since many smaller predators love chickens and will steal them if they can. We have foxes that raid our chicken coops regularly if they can find a way into them to get at the chickens.”
“May I see these cages that your chickens live in?” Z’Sharan asked hopefully.
“Of course you may. There might be one deterrent for you, however – if the chickens see you as a predator, which is likely even in this form, they will panic every time one of your folk comes near the cage. It might be best for you to take chicks only, so that they can get used to being around your kind from a very young age. I will let you talk to the servants who take care of the chickens so that you can learn how to take care of them properly.”
“My thanks, Lord Avhonari,” Z’Sharan replied gratefully.
He waved a hand negligently. “It is only a small thing really. I am happy to do this for you,” he went on truthfully. “For now, since we’re finished eating, would you care to retire to my study once more? I have many questions to ask you about your people.”
Z’Sharan nodded, jumping lithely to his feet. “I will be glad to answer any questions that I can,” he said.
Lord Avhonari rose to his own feet. “Very well. I hope you will not mind if I write down your answers,” he said. “For my own personal edification only, I assure you. I will not show my notes to anyone else. You have my word.”
Z’Sharan was a little uneasy about having facts about his people put down on paper, but he trusted this human. So he indicated his assent, and the two of them left the central courtyard to return to Lord Avhonari’s study.
Go to Next Chapter
Lord Avhonari told Z’Sharan to stay in his study while he went to fetch clothing for his surprise guest. The wereleopard watched the tall human sweep out of the room, his golden eyes lidded as he thought about the bargain he’d made with Avhonari. His gaze swept around the room, taking in its muted magnificence. It was paneled in various kinds of wood, and the floor had a huge rug done in dark reds, browns, and greens covering it. The huge desk that Lord Avhonari had been sitting behind when his men had brought him the naked, unconscious intruder was hand-carved and big enough that Z’Sharan could have curled up and slept on the top comfortably. Books and scrolls lined the wall behind the desk in tiered shelves, and a huge display case was up against one wall. He got up and padded over barefoot to peer into this case curiously, seeing all kinds of strange artifacts displayed.
The wereleopard felt rather small and grubby in such a place – his own people lived quite simply, and the only luxuries that they possessed were usually jewelry and/or clothing. Their small houses (cunningly built into the trees themselves in the heart of the jungle where his folk lived) were plain, with a minimum of furniture. They usually sat on embroidered cushions not chairs, and none of them owned something like this case. Or that enormous desk, for that matter. Z’Sharan shook his head a little over the humans’ strange way of living. All they seemed concerned about was how much they owned, and their possessions also seemed to determine their status. Among his own folk, status was determined on personal merit and what abilities you possessed. Not how many personal things you might own.
Z’Sharan himself was only a fair hunter at best. But he didn’t need to be a good one, for his talents lay elsewhere. He was actually a Speaker, which among the were tribes was someone who was a combined scribe and historian. He remembered the history of his people back for many hundreds of generations. Lord Avhonari couldn’t have gotten a better captive to satisfy his curiosity, had he but known it. Z’Sharan could tell almost all of the stories of his folk to the human, should he so wish. But he did not wish, since many of those stories were sacred and not to be spoken to outsiders. He would keep his word and tell what he could, though. He wanted desperately to go home, and if relating some of his people’s history to this human was the only way to make that happen then that was what he’d do.
He sighed softly as he reached up to touch the tattoo at the base of his throat. He’d gotten it when he’d ‘graduated’, going from an apprentice to a Master Speaker. That had only been a few years ago, since an apprenticeship for a Speaker started when you were only a cub and went on for decades. He’d had to learn thousands of stories and be able to relate them back to his teacher word perfect before he could shed his apprentice status and rise to be a full Speaker. He could remember with joy the ceremony celebrating that, and the woman who’d solemnly burned the tattoo into his skin with a hot iron. It had hurt, of course, but he’d accepted the pain. And afterward, when he’d been able to sit still and not show any pain, she’d smeared a paste onto it that had numbed the agony. He’d applied that same paste until the burn had healed. Now, everywhere he went, people would see the tattoo and know who he was. They would come up to him and request a story of him, and he would tell it to them because that was part of the vows he’d taken as a Speaker. When people asked it of him, he could not refuse to tell the story requested.
It was often the children who swarmed him and demanded stories, for the little imps knew that he couldn’t refuse. But that was all right; he liked children and enjoyed spinning his tales for them. The wonder and awe in their big eyes as they listened always made it worthwhile for him to make the story as exciting and interesting as possible. Z’Sharan hoped to be able to sit down and tell tales to the little ones once more, a hope that had been all but lost when he’d woken up in that damned iron cage. As far as he’d known his life was over. But now…now he could feel hope again. He thanked the Spirits for this blessing, making the sign with his clawed fingers. He wasn’t sure if They could hear him so far away from his own lands, but he thought that They might. After all, hadn’t he been saved from despair and death by Lord Avhonari? And then the human had made this bargain with him, when he could easily have thrown Z’Sharan into a cage to display him as an exotic pet instead of promising to help him get home. Surely that was the work of the Spirits, who were watching out for one of their children even in this strange land.
He turned as the door opened behind him. Lord Avhonari entered, holding a pile of fabric in his arms. “These should fit you well enough until I can have a tailor make you some fitted garments,” he told Z’Sharan. He carried them across the room and handed them to the wereleopard. “Please put them on.”
Z’Sharan inspected the pile, finding a green velvet tunic and a pair of narrow silk pants in a darker green. There was also a set of embroidered slippers in green and gold. “They belong to my nephew.” Lord Avhonari remarked as the were began to pull the tunic on over his head. “You seem to be close to his size. He always leaves a fair amount of clothing here, since he comes to stay with me every once in awhile when his mother decides that he needs to be at Court to look over the eligible girls. I hate to tell her that he actually prefers those of his own sex,” he added dryly as Z’Sharan squirmed into the tunic and began to pull the pants on.
Lord Avhonari sighed a bit when all of that pale-skinned beauty disappeared inside of his nephew’s borrowed clothing. Z’Sharan looked very good in them, but he preferred the creature’s nudity. When the wereleopard had shoved his feet into the slippers, Lord Avhonari nodded. “Very well. Come with me, and I’ll show you to the room you’ll be sleeping in during your stay here. Afterward, we can eat dinner together.” He paused, eyeing Z’Sharan. “Do you eat raw meat when you’re in this form? I might have a hard time explaining that to my servants.”
Z’Sharan shook his head. “I can eat raw meat like this, but I can also eat cooked food.”
“Excellent. Come, then,” Lord Avhonari swept out of the room, and the wereman followed at his heels. They went down the hallway, Z’Sharan looking around curiously. The house proper was mostly of smooth, polished stone, which was white washed or painted in places. The human led his out into a central courtyard that had bushes and plants growing in ceramic pots, and a tiny fountain at its heart. He liked the look of this peaceful place, which Lord Avhonari noticed. “You may come here whenever you wish,” he told the wereleopard.
They entered the living quarters of the house, and Lord Avhonari led him to a room with a carved wooden door. Z’Sharan was fascinated by the carving, and would have stood looking at it for some time. But the human opened the door and motioned for him to enter into the bedroom beyond. The Wereleopard padded into the room, seeing a large canopied bed taking up a good bit of space. It was huge, at least five times as large as his tiny bed in his house back home. Dozens of his people could have curled up in it together, in fact. There was also a large wardrobe against one wall, a tiny writing desk, a couple of chairs, a window seat, and a vanity. A porcelain jug in a bowl was on a stand near the bed, which was flanked by small nightstands. Another rug, this one in soft greens and browns, covered the floor. It was too much. He felt uneasy and overwhelmed once more, longing for his own tiny one-room house. Homesickness flooded him, and his shoulders drooped.
Lord Avhonari’s eagle eyes saw his visitor’s response to the room. He was surprised by Z’Sharan sudden despondency, and wondered how to combat it. He remembered the wereman’s reaction to the central courtyard, and spoke quietly. “Why don’t we go and eat out in the courtyard, Z’Sharan? I can have the servants bring our meal out there if you wish.”
This perked the wereleopard up to no end. He turned to look at Lord Avhonari. “I would like that,” he said eagerly.
The human looked faintly pleased. “Very well. Come,” he led Z’Sharan out of the sumptuous bedroom, closing the door behind them. They left the living quarters, and Lord Avhonari left the wereleopard poking around in the bushes near the fountain as he went to request that the servants bring their dinner out into the central courtyard so that they could eat there. They were somewhat surprised by this order, but were soon carting a small table and two chairs out onto the slate stones and carrying trays of food from the kitchen to the courtyard as well. Z’Sharan hid behind Lord Avhonari discreetly until they were done, nervous and wary of these strange humans. Finally the table was covered with a white linen cloth, and dishes of food were set on its pristine surface. The servants withdrew, and Lord Avhonari turned to his guest. “Please sit down and help yourself, Z’Sharan,” he said politely.
The wereleopard approached the little table, sinking down onto the chair gingerly. Lord Avhonari seated himself across from Z’Sharan, and noticed that the wereman’s golden eyes were watching him intently. He realized that the creature was waiting to see what he did, so the human served himself from the dishes. He put the food onto his plate slowly, letting Z’Sharan see everything he did. The wereleopard copied him, piling food rather clumsily onto his own plate. Clearly he wasn’t used to the utensils that humans used. When he was finished, Lord Avhonari picked up his fork and began to eat. Z’Sharan did the same, putting the tined instrument carefully into his mouth. He made a low sound of approval in the back of his throat when he tasted the beef dish in gravy, licking delicately at the fork after he’d eaten the bite.
Lord Avhonari watched that pink tongue dart out to caress the fork, and felt a tightening in his abdomen. He wanted to groan a little, but held himself in check. It seemed that he was drawn to his new guest, which wasn’t a particularly good thing. Z’Sharan wasn’t even human, and moreover he was going home for good once Lord Avhonari was done with him. Yearning after this creature would be foolish. He concentrated on his own food, refusing to look up at Z’Sharan again. He had control of himself, just as he always had. He was not a child or a wild boy like his nephew. He could resist lusting after Z’Sharan, and he would.
But unfortunately for his peace of mind, while he wasn’t looking at the wereleopard anymore he could still hear the creature eating. And when he liked something he was eating, the wereman growled in appreciation or hissed in disgust. His small sounds of pleasure were doing nothing to help Lord Avhonari control his urges. He gritted his teeth a little, feeling the press of an erection against the front of his robes. His fingers were turning white around his fork because he was gripping it so tightly. He could barely taste the food he was eating anymore. He felt like an adolescent again, and he didn’t like that at all.
Then he glanced up almost involuntarily, and saw that Z’Sharan was sucking on a chicken bone enthusiastically. Those soft pink lips took the bone in, and the look of concentration and pleasure on that pointed face made his gut wind itself into knots. Lord Avhonari had to lock his teeth on a gasp, shuddering faintly as he closed his eyes. But that image stayed behind his eyelids even after they were closed. Finally, much to his acute relief, the slurping and growling sounds died away. He cautiously peered out from under his eyelids, and saw that Z’Sharan had eaten most of what was on his plate. The creature was sitting back in his chair, patting his full belly contentedly. His golden eyes were half-lidded, and Lord Avhonari could see the cat in him quite clearly. He looked as self-satisfied as though he’d just had a dish of rich cream and a fat mouse.
“Did you enjoy the food?” he asked, trying to ignore the fact that his voice had gone slightly husky.
Z’Sharan inclined his head. “Yes. It was very good. Especially the pale meat,” he added.
“Chicken,” Lord Avhonari replied. “It is a domestic bird called a chicken.”
Z’Sharan looked interested. He was wondering if he could take some of these birds back to his own people. His tribe would love that meat, whether in cat or humanoid form. Reading his face accurately, Lord Avhonari smiled slightly. “You could take a cage of chickens back with you to your folk, but I warn you that they have certain needs. They thrive on grain such as corn. And I’m fairly sure that your people don’t grow crops. Or do they?”
“No,” the wereman said regretfully. “But perhaps we can trade for it,” he added, brightening. “We do that sometimes with the humans who live near our lands. They don’t know that we’re werefolk, of course – they think we’re just foreign humans. We could trade them meat or furs for grain to feed these chickens.”
“A good idea,” Lord Avhonari agreed. “You will need to build a sturdy cage for them to live in, since many smaller predators love chickens and will steal them if they can. We have foxes that raid our chicken coops regularly if they can find a way into them to get at the chickens.”
“May I see these cages that your chickens live in?” Z’Sharan asked hopefully.
“Of course you may. There might be one deterrent for you, however – if the chickens see you as a predator, which is likely even in this form, they will panic every time one of your folk comes near the cage. It might be best for you to take chicks only, so that they can get used to being around your kind from a very young age. I will let you talk to the servants who take care of the chickens so that you can learn how to take care of them properly.”
“My thanks, Lord Avhonari,” Z’Sharan replied gratefully.
He waved a hand negligently. “It is only a small thing really. I am happy to do this for you,” he went on truthfully. “For now, since we’re finished eating, would you care to retire to my study once more? I have many questions to ask you about your people.”
Z’Sharan nodded, jumping lithely to his feet. “I will be glad to answer any questions that I can,” he said.
Lord Avhonari rose to his own feet. “Very well. I hope you will not mind if I write down your answers,” he said. “For my own personal edification only, I assure you. I will not show my notes to anyone else. You have my word.”
Z’Sharan was a little uneasy about having facts about his people put down on paper, but he trusted this human. So he indicated his assent, and the two of them left the central courtyard to return to Lord Avhonari’s study.
Go to Next Chapter