1.5 Farthest From Nowhere

Qastael woke up to spurred boots and a wizard’s staff chiming on packed dirt. “Good morning, Sheriff,” she said, or tried saying slowly while keeping the bright sunshines out of sensitive eyes. Burns bubbling inside her maw and along her lips stung enough to make rapid vernacular a game of agony she wanted to avoid.

“Yer gonna be trouble, aren’t ya?” Sheriff Wapp mourned, stopping near her head to loose a dramatic, put-upon sigh, his accent thickening. “Could’ve saved me a lot of headache if’n ya killed Gowk outright instead of breakin’ a few bones. He rustled plenty trouble before, now I’ll need to make nice with the mayor an’ dance a jig to keep from arrestin’ an’ hangin’ all y’all. Also, midbell rang from the church hours ago durin’ yer nap.”

“I’m guessing you want me out of town this afternoon,” Qastael quipped, wincing and squinting eyes around to see a lot of blurs. What she made out of the sheriff was a casual man undecided on whether to be angry or thankful.

“I want ya out of Faluss, make my life a lot simpler.” Sheriff Wapp tugged his mustache while his other hand idly drilled his staff into the ground.

“You’ll stop with the threats now, Earler, unless you want to be hogtied and taught proper manners in my parlor.”

Qastael blinked rapidly to clear her vision, finding herself unsurprisingly on the street still. What was surprising were the dozens of girls wearing underwear - or otherwise explicit clothing - crawling up and around her body with buckets and towels. Notably, though all common raced, it was a menagerie of different races and cultures collected here. They even managed to roll her bulk onto an assortment of blankets and linen to keep her out of the dirt, washing and brushing out her fur. The air was heady with pleasant floral scents, soaps and conditioners luxuriating her body as Qastael became clean for the first time in months.

She was also, she realized, completely naked. And, with a blush creeping through her scales, thoroughly washed. Not that anyone noticed, the sheriff busy shaking a finger up at the dark skinned arachne woman looming herself down upon him. It amused Qastael that the good sheriff had his head turned firmly away from her direction.

“I’m not threatin’ nobody, Zesh, just tellin’ how it is! Gowk employs half the town in the mines. Me an’ my deputies will do what is right an’ proper, but if a posse decides ta come ‘round fer Thexi again I can’t be everywhere at the same time!”

“Then what good are you?” the arachne asked, whom Qastael gathered was Ms. Zeshyrrith, madame of The Silken Embrace.

“Thank you.”

Qastael swiveled her head away from the argument between sheriff and madame, finding Thexi standing nervously close by holding a bonnet. She had changed into more modest daisy yellow skirts with matching traveling cloak and a pair of steamer trunks waiting on the street. The squat and plump bunny girl’s pink and green ears dropped in worry while bouncing her feet. Now that Qastael could see her proper, Thexi had the largest, pale blue eyes. Qastael felt like she was looking up at the sky again, remembering the freedom of flying staring into the young rabbit’s face.

“Any time,” Qastael replied eventually, a stupid grin tugging at her lips before she hissed in pain from dag-darnation burns!

“Can I ask why…um, how you got inured?” Thexi clearly wanting to ask about something else, instead changed subjects while gesturing towards the wound.

Which Qastael didn’t feel any pain from. Lifting her head up and slithering across the ground to get a proper look, she found her side sewn completely up in a complex weave stitching her body together. Swampy gunk lined the wound, smelling strongly of medicine and the absence of ache and fire brought a relief she had given up receiving. For too long, ever since she ran into the wrong people and fled into Wylo, she was so sure the wound would kick her bucket. Now, the stitching zigzagged from the center of her abdomen and looping up along her rubs, coming down ragged into the middle of her back through the muscles that controlled two of her wings.

“The cleric had no idea what caused it,” Thexi kept talking, hopping over to join Qastael’s head as her patter sped up. “Like a bolt of lightning shaped in a jagged saw blade and angled downward to cut you in half. Only nothing burned, so your body bled gallons while it tried to heal. He also kept mumbling that none of his spells worked, like you weren’t actually alive. Which you clearly are. Alive, I mean. Ms. Zeshyrrith did the needlework herself and her daughters are inside making some clothing to replace what you wore.”

“You have a pretty voice,” Qastael said, then realized she must have lost too much blood if she mumbled nonsense.

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“I-I-I…?”

“Thexi, are you ready to leave?” Zeshyrrith asked, skittering along side with hands on hips as if ready to berate a child. “The coach will be around any minute.”

Working girls finished their ministrations, sliding off and allowing Qastael to carefully sit up. Sheriff Wapp was discussing something heatedly with a pair of deputies. The Madame of the house eyed critically at the stitches in Qastael’s side, nodding in satisfaction.

“Thank you kindly for helping me out,” Qastael said slowly to avoid aggravating the burns, absently crossing her legs and using one arm to cover her breasts. Modestly was going to take getting used to.

“Please, you did me more favors today than you realize,” Zeshyrrith said, smiling inhumanly wide and poking a thumb towards the boarded up window of the saloon recently defenestrated. “Gowk walks about like nothing can touch him, now he’ll think twice about abusing one of my girls. You borrowed a mountain of trouble, though. Least I can do is get you some decent attire. Broke both my hearts seeing a woman wearing rags like to did. Dressing a woman is a civic duty.”

“I actually came to see you about that,” Qastael said, realizing her still had the valise clutches in her hand and showing it to the arachne madame. “I need some clothing made, maybe a coat and hat…?”

Zeshyrrith waved her hands as her front pedipalps chittered, emphatically pushing the hand away. “Nope, your money is no good here. I know where Plone’s farm is, I’ll bring my daughters down and get you squared away proper in a few days. All the habiliment you’ll need and more. Spinning silk is hungry work, though, so you can pay us in food.”

Qastael wanted to wince and worry, but instead nodded in agreement. More mouths to feed, she hoped Plone’s stored food would last. All these problems kept getting more complicated. If only she could read Plone’s notes she might be able to make plans, but her spectacles wouldn’t arrive for months. She needed a solution right now!

An epiphany hit Qastael, pieces of the puzzle snapping together, clearing her exasperated mind as she snaked her head around and glared intently upon Thexi. “You, cute bunny girl. You’re being forced to leave because Gowk wants to kill you?”

“What? Yes, um, what?” Thexi was so flustered her nose turned beet red and she looked as if trying to hide her face under her ears. “I mean, I don’t want to go back to Yrlmuh, but I don’t have anywhere else to go. Wait, cute?”

“Can you read?” Qastael asked, already making excited plans in her head and wanting to cackle.

“Of course I can read!” Thexi said, frustration overriding embarrassment. “I can also cook and know how to teach music. What does any of this have to do with anything?”

“Excellent idea!” Zeshyrrith said, faster on the uptake and clapping hands resolutely. “Sounds like it solves a lot of problems for everyone. I’ll go help my daughters finish and both ya can get out of dodge while there’s still daylights.”

When Zeshyrrith swept into the bordello the rest of the prostitutes herded inside. Sheriff Wapp and his men were gone as well, leaving a confused Thexi with a grinning Qastael, who didn’t mind the burns any longer.

“I find myself needing a farmhand,” Qastael said now the cul-de-sac was intimate, isolated from the bustle of the rest of the city. She shifted herself to ease the pressure off her good wings and forgot how all this might look to a common race. “I can’t pay much and frankly, I don’t know anything about farming. I want to do it, and I want to do it right. I think you can help me out. Want to live on a farm?”

Thexi’s mouth dropped open, but her whiskers twitched excitedly at a fresh beginning. Her current prospect dismal, didn’t take much to convince the young bunny this was an opportunity she wanted to pounce on.

It took an hour to settle up. Zeshyrrith almost wouldn’t let Qastael go, insisting the crimson bra now holding up Qastael’s breasts were ”more an H cup” and too small for Qastael’s proportions, but the madame just didn’t have enough fabric. The matching mini skirt around her waist didn’t include underwear either, so she would also need to remember not to walk where someone had opportunity to peek upwards. Other than that, the fabric was highest quality silk and felt divine on fur and scales.

“I was not expecting this,” Thexi said, perched awkwardly on Qastael as the larger woman limped through the gate of Farthest From into the wild.

Qastael didn’t respond immediately, weighing the empty barrels in one hand and the lady’s luggage clutched in her other, shuffling in an easier, faster gait than she had walking into town. Still not a full stride, but it ate up the dusty trail faster than a horse cantered. It was a relief to move without pain, but she remained cautious of tearing the wound open again before it had chance to heal. Twin suns hung in late afternoon and the further the girls made it out of town before dark, the better.

“Lot of that going around,” Qastael finally replied, allowing a small smile. Her lips and mouth hurt something fierce from misuse of Breath, but pain was an old friend. “I’ve been fighting in wars for so long I forgot what it meant to be a person instead of a weapon. I was ready to die because I thought I was broken instead of injured. An old man taught me that hope is something you work for; maybe this is a bad idea, maybe this won’t work, but I want it to. I desperately want to become a farmer.”

“Um, that’s nice, I guess? I was more talking about this being an awkward way to travel.”

“Oh.” Qastael had the wherewithal to blush, but she didn’t stop or make other comment, twisting her neck to proper face her new farmhand.

Armpits deep, nestled up against Qastael’s sternum, Thexi was securely wedged into plush cleavage. The bunny in question flopped green and pink ears over her face and desperately clung to Qastael’s unsaturated fur, her nose so bright red it could serve as a lantern. The new bra was a bit tight, only serving to push breasts the size of wagons up together in an altogether lewd display. Honest, Qastael had only been thinking rational, practical thoughts when earlier she picked up the protesting bunny girl and deposited her there. This was a long journey for a common race on foot and it wasn’t like Qastael had a saddle handy. A very reasonable, even innovative solution to a problem, nothing more.

Nothing more, Qastael thought, thinking the weather was altogether too warm and hoping a breeze would show up to cool them both off. Lots of work required doing on the farm and she didn’t need distractions.