Chương 6: Vol 1. The Feminine Man

Tahir dangled his feet off the edge of the cart as he watched Morton work. The strange human was crouched beside a stack of logs surrounded by a bunch of stones in an almost ritualistic fashion, twisting a thin stick between his palms with intense concentration. Tahir found himself drawn to the human's clenched forearms: the way they shifted beneath the skin, the veins standing out bright blue as he worked. Morton had taken his shirt off and used the fabric to clean the wound on his back.

Prince Tahir wasn't sure if he had even seen anyone quite like the human. He possessed the sinew of a battle-worn woman, yet carried a visible soft layer of fat around his abdomen, like a caregiving father who had let himself go due to the stress of child-rearing. His skin was tanned like that of an elf labourer, but only along his arms, neck and face. And then there was the hair that covered his maw—thick, unruly, left to grow this way and that without restraint; so uncouth to the proper ways of a dutiful son…

Morton quickened his twisting. A small spark emerged. Moments later, the logs were set ablaze. As the sun slipped behind the mountains, the fire's luminous orange glow took over their world, leaving it the only source of illumination.

"Sir Christian," Tahir said.

"Yes?"

"Pardon my intrusions, but you are a man, correct?"

"I think I am," Morton said slyly. Tahir's ears twitched. He nodded.

"I see," Tahir said.

"Why do ya' ask?" Tahir mulled over how to word his next sentence in the courtliest way that he could,"Well… you are just… You seem very feminine, is all." Morton stared at him. Tahir felt a pang of worry in his chest. Had he overstepped? Then Morton let out a chuckle. Then a holler. Then he burst out in loud, boisterous laughter. Morton's guffaws were so loud that Tahir half expected an avalanche to come hurdling down from the mountains.

"Oh boy," Morton said, wiping tears from his eyes, "I think that's the first time I ever heard that." Tahir tilted his head:"Is that so?" Was that really the first time anyone had pointed out his glaring femininity? Of course, he supposed, most people, even the lowliest peasant with no formal training in etiquette, would know that you should never point out a man's lack of masculinity, especially if he is older, since masculine beauty is sadly fleeting. But still…

"Hey, ain't offended or nothin'. I'm not too concerned with bein' all macho or whatever," Morton said.

"Maybe when I was a younger man, but I've been through too much to care about silly things like that. I try to be true to myself, and if that means I'm 'feminine', then I'm feminine, and that's okay. I mean, you aren't exactly all that masculine yourself, I reckon." Prince Tahir's ears drooped back. His heart sank. He felt a wave of despair wash over him. Sir Christian… thought he wasn't masculine? Was it truly that obvious? He felt his hand trembling a bit.

Tahir analyzed himself, and he could see why: three days without doing his routine, and it was already starting to take a toll on his beauty. He hadn't bathed in three days, leaving an odd stench to him, like a farmer or labourer. He hadn't been brushed, so his fur was starting to clump and tangle. His beautiful dress was dirty and ruined, and the bandits had taken his jewels, and they were most likely somewhere in the pile of rotting carcasses that surrounded them. The rotting carcasses…

Tears streamed down Tahir's face. He intertwined the digits of his paws and choked down a sob. Neri. Oh, Neri. Only now did he realize how much he loved that woman. Honestly, he loved her more than his own mother. Sure, his mother, when she wasn't berating him, could be lovely.

But it was Neri who had always groomed him; who was there when he felt distraught, who would listen to his endless diatribes about playwrights and poets, who— If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

"Hey, kid?" Tahir looked up. Morton was eyeing him with a quizzical expression. His smile had vanished, and he sat up straighter.

"You doing okay?" Tahir chuckled. He probably looked like an uncouth, sobbing mess. He was so glad he wasn't at a party where he would have to put makeup on his eyelids.

"Oh, I am just fine," he lied.

"It has just been a rough couple of days, that is all."

"I bet," Morton said. Reaching to his side, he pulled up two hares he had presumably killed with that strange repeater. That thing was terrifying. Tahir wondered what a blacksmith could make that compact and small. That did raise the question of where exactly Morton had come from. Tahir assumed that he must be a warrior of some kind from a far-off land that he had never come across in his studies, either out of his own disinterest or because the land was irrelevant to their own political situation.

There was no reason for him to have ever heard of the human people. But then, how did he end up this deep into Avion? Morton set up a little contraption of sticks over the fire and hung the two animals on them. Tahir watched as the glistening flames danced upwards, and their harsh licks seared the meat. Fat hissed and dripped into the fire. It wasn't the fanciest meal ever—far from it—but Tahir was at a point where he would eat manure if it were put in front of him.

Morton gently unhooked the animals from the makeshift contraption, then flung one towards Tahir. He gasped and cringed in disgust as he felt the greasy animal in his hands. Ugh, how indecorous to hold food in your hand— Prince Tahir chomped away at the hare greedily and uncouthly in the way he slobbered and spat little chunks of meat everywhere.

He twisted the meat around like cobbed corn until all that remained was the skeleton and bits of flesh in hard-to-reach areas, which he still tried to gnaw off despite the futility of it.

"I always enjoy a good hare," Morton said, picking at his own meal.

"Where I come from, they are practically everywhere; find a burrow, and you are fed for a good while."

"Is that so?" Tahir said.

"Ay! Though, you certainly get tired of them after a while." They said nothing for a moment. The crackling noise of the fire permeated the air. Then, "where was this here cart headin' to? A palace or something?"

"Something like that," Tahir said sheepishly.

"Tell you what, kid, you certainly ain't goin' anywhere with your horses lookin' like that, and I don't know where I am." Morton stared at the fire as he said it.

"I have no place to go. I haven't for a long time, I suppose, but especially now. So how about I help ya' out: I'll help you get to your destination, and you help me get my bearings in this land. What do you say?" Tahir mulled over the proposition. That seemed to answer his question, at least partly: Sir Christian was not of this land. But what if he was lying? No, that would not really matter at this point, Tahir decided.

He realistically had four options: he could attempt to crawl back home and receive the biggest beating of his life, to the point he would be on the verge of death; he could stay here, surrounded by wilderness at the crossroads; he could attempt to head to the capital alone, with no horses, no bodyguards, and hope to survive or avoid being kidnapped; or he could get this stranger, who had shown him nothing but kindness so far, to accompany him.

"Are you wishing for payment?" he asked. Morton chuckled.

"Hell, I wouldn't mind a little payment, but it ain't necessary, kid."

"I see," he said.

"Say, lets leave by tomorrow morn. How far is the nearest settlement? By foot, I mean?"

"I would say around four days," Tahir guessed.

"Right, maybe I will need that payment. You got er-nough to pay for some new horses and a carriage?"

"I can check," Tahir said. He pushed himself into the cart and lifted the pillow off the seat, where he wedged one claw between the boards, felt a click, then opened a hatch. The bandits hadn't bothered to check for secret compartments. Well, the rest of his belongings were probably strewn among the cadavers and would be too emotionally draining to try to recover.

The briefcase hidden inside this compartment contained the last of his stuff: gold coins and the outfit he had prepared to wear at the Coniton, some grooming stuff, and a couple of books. Nothing for survival, obviously. He pulled himself back out of the door of the cart and said,"I should have enough."

"Great, get some sleep, kid. We are gonna have a long day tomorrow."

"Where will you be sleeping, Sir Christian?" Tahir asked.

"Ah, just next to the fire."

"But… will you not be cold? It is nighttime in early spring, after all."

"Heh, I don't mind," Morton retorted.

"Night, kid." He lay down and shut his eyes.

"Farewell for now," Tahir said. Tahir closed the door to the cart and huddled onto his pillow with his tail tucked inwards. He would have liked to say he slept well that night, but he did not. Sleep came in little fragments. Each time he drifted off, it transported him to the events of three days earlier. It would jolt him from his slumber each time, but still, he tried to sleep as much as he could. It would be a long day tomorrow.

Through the tiny window of the door, Tahir could still see the glow of the fire's dancing flames. The silhouette of the human hadn't moved.