Chapter 1: Girl Trouble

Ash hesitated at the front flap of the canvas tent; of all the tasks for his family’s farm, he hated delivery the most. Naturally, it was one of the few his father never let him skip. “Practice,” he called it. For someone like his father, born in a major city to a family of merchants, talking to people came easy. The way Ash saw it, if talking to people was so great, his father wouldn’t have slipped off to spend his life helping run a farm in Eriskay.

It wasn’t as though Ash couldn’t talk to people. Dad taught him the form and function, but there was a gap between understanding and experience that books couldn’t bridge. Mostly, he just said the things he was supposed to: polite enough to avoid conflict, but uninteresting enough to avoid friendships. So the talking; that was easy, but connecting? There wasn’t a book in Dad’s dusty old trunk for that. 

“Hello?” Ash called into the tent. The barren fields surrounding it provided no cover, letting the dying winter winds chill him through his fur.

“Ash?” A girl’s voice came from inside, and moments later the tent flap drew open.

Hazel was their neighbour’s daughter. She’d been his older sister’s friend when they were little, back when talk was thrown around about the two of them getting together. Life had a sense of irony, looking back. She’d grown into a beautiful deer, with light brown fur running down her back complimented by the milky white creeping up her stomach to outline her mouth. Like him, she wore a cotton wrap around her waist, but she had another around her upper torso, leaving her midriff exposed. Just by looking, he could tell she’d removed her winter coat, leaving only fur that hugged her body. He only wished there was more between them. Like a canyon. Or ocean. Or a fourth wall.

“Evening, Hazel,” he said, adopting a smile in spite of the sour look shot his way. “Your parents asked for leather strips. I think they wanted to reinforce some new canvas before the rain comes in spring. I’ve cut them to-”

“Ugh.” Hazel’s mouth twitched up in disgust before she dropped the tent flap. “Get in. Some of us don’t live in fancy wooden houses and need to keep the heat.”

Fancy was a stretch. Their house had two floors: a base level for spending time together as a family, and two bedrooms on the second floor; one for his parents, and one he shared with his sisters. Truth wasn’t Hazel’s concern though; it wasn’t his house she had a problem with, it was Governor Ruari. After the Tythic Kingdom ‘peacefully annexed’ every island off their coast a hundred years back, a member of the royal family was assigned as governor to the northern islands. Most wooden buildings resulted from a royal decree by the governor’s office, and some people were still resentful.

Ash rolled the handcart into the large tent and secured the flap.

Inside was a cozy, if chaotic, collection. The midday sun hit one side of the tent, lighting up a wall in a dull yellow. In the back, seven piles of fresh straw were covered by blankets of cotton and linen, leaving only a few golden strands poking out here and there to catch the sun’s glow. Beside the family’s beds, an old wooden rack held a series of hooks, each hanging a large wicker basket filled with clean linens. Closer to the front, stacks of flimsy wooden shipping crates lined the tent’s edge, with worn farming tools leaning haphazardly against them. In the middle, Hazel’s brother Cole sat among a small stack of barrels.

Cole was the kind of man girls wanted. Looking at the boy - Ash considered him a boy, even if he was only a few years younger- made Ash’s appearance that much more unruly. He perched on his chair with an air of grace, with smooth curves and soft features that made it clear he hadn’t so much as looked at a field. Meanwhile, Ash had the body of a dockworker, and a gait to match, limbs and chest filled with all the strange bulges that came when men insisted on doing woman’s work. Cole’s fur was brushed clean and meticulously trimmed, so prim that Ash doubted his winter coat ever came in. That was something Ash could’ve done, if he had the time or inclination. Even if winters here weren’t as cold as down south, they were cold enough when the fashion was simple linen wraps. His body gave him few enough gifts as it was. He wasn’t about to hide indoors all season wasting one. Still, looking at Cole... Ash ran a finger over his messy, coarse fur, deciding it wouldn’t be the worst thing to look less like a goon.

 “Hi, Ash.” Cole gave a warm smile, which Ash returned. “Are you working? Will you have time to get ready for the celebration tonight?”

Hazel scoffed from behind her brother, tying ribbons into his antlers. Yellow, complementing the freshly pressed long orange robe. “Are you even attending?”

“I’ll be there,” Ash said. There wasn’t a right answer. Either he didn’t go and snubbed his heritage, or he did, and encroached on the traditions of the “real” islanders. In the end, it was easier to not care about what they thought, and that attitude probably wasn’t helping the ‘connecting’ issue.

“There’s a girl I’m sweet on,” Cole pressed forward, oblivious to the tension between Ash and Hazel. “I offered her my antlers tonight, and she said yes!”

A smile wormed its way onto Ash’s face, despite himself. “First time you gave them to a girl outside your family; you nervous?”

“Soooo much.” Cole grinned, giving a breathless giggle as Hazel tied off another ribbon.

“You’ll be fine,” Ash promised. “She’s probably as nervous as you are.”

From behind her brother, Hazel gave a stern look. “You can put the leather on the boxes there.”

“Oh!” Cole perked up, accidentally knocking a ribbon from his sister’s hand. “Who’re you giving your antlers to? Girl you fancy, or one of your sisters?”

Ash opened the crate on his cart and hauled up a bundle of leather strips, tied with as much tension as his jaw. “No one, probably. My sisters are at that age where they’ve got respectable boys like you to fight over, and I’m not much one for romance.”

“That’s a shame.” Cole sighed. “Dad says you’ve gotta put yourself out there. If you’re too afraid of failing to try, they can’t know you’re interested.”

Good. If the girls figured it out, maybe they’d explain it to the rest of the island. “He’s not wrong...” Ash hesitated, reminding himself he was here to do a job, not chat. “Oh, you’ll be handling the sewing right? You need to check the order?”

Hazel stood, clutching the ribbon and glaring at Ash while she held her brother’s head still. “He’s busy.”

Even Ash wasn’t dense enough to misunderstand Cole’s sheepish silence. “Right. Good luck, Cole, Hazel. If there’s anything wrong with the order you swing on by tomorrow and we’ll make it right.” With a grunt, Ash set the bundle on the crates, then offered a polite nod as he saw himself out. The moment he retreated into the brisk winter air his false smile washed away in a river of relief.

He rolled the cart back down the dirt path, crossing the expanse of barren fields back to his own house. It was a small wooden structure, marring the horizon created by the empty fields surrounding it. Well, three wooden structures, if you counted the chicken shed out back, and the long blocky stables fifty feet away. Dad sat on the porch in the long pants and tunic mainlanders generally preferred, looking up from his book as the squeaky wheels caught his attention. “Welcome back. How’d the deliveries go?”

“Fine. People don’t put up much of a hassle when you’re giving them stuff.”

“Good to hear.” His father closed the book, thumbing the page to mark his place. “I got you a robe for tonight, but you’ll have to hurry. Your sisters are just about ready to go.”

Ash sighed, noticing the dark green robe tied in a bundle of matching ribbons on the porch. “Thanks, but I’ll go a bit later, when the celebration dies down. It’ll give me a chance to tend to the beasts. Less work for tomorrow.”

“No one’s offered Mieure their antlers yet,” Dad persisted. “Even if it doesn’t mean anything to you-”

“She doesn’t need them,” Ash said, keeping his tone polite as he skirted the stairs. “Maybe this made sense a hundred years ago, when all we had for tools and weapons was antlers and rocks. But we can import iron tools from the mainland, steel too, if anyone could afford it.”

“Tradition’s important to old folks like us.” Dad liked to do that, acting as though his final winters were upon him despite only being in his forties, and in perfect health to boot. “I still give mine to your mother, even if she doesn’t need them.” He leaned in, giving Ash a reproachful stare. “You should go, the beasts can wait till morning.”

“I will, just a bit later is all.” Ash left the porch behind. “I still need to pray to Deianira for this year’s harvest, but we’ll all get by just fine if I remove my own antlers. They fall out every year, whether or not some girl’s helping them along.”

Ash slipped into the barn, sighing with relief as the door clicked behind him. He blindly reached out, catching a tiny brass knob and giving it a sharp twist. A flash of sparks bounced around the glass cylinder before vanishing, replaced with a softly glowing fibre mesh inside the gas lamp. He turned a smaller knob, increasing the gas. The shadows around the stable doors raced away, revealing the center walkway and causing excited grunts from the beasts within.

“Yeah, yeah, you’ll be my dance partners this evening. Calm down.” It felt a bit cruel, leaving them in the dark like that. Unfortunately, these furless beasts were native to the Othelan Republic, and adapted to their warmer northern climate. Exposing them to even Eriskay’s mild winter was too dangerous at their age. He walked down the centre, ignoring the stables on his first pass. He’d leave the lamps on for them, if he could, but between the cost of gas and the risk of fire, it wasn’t worth it. A few more weeks and it’d be warm enough to get these guys some sunlight. With two twists, the second gas lamp flared up, tuned the same as the first so the lighting was even.

His family raised two kinds of beasts, though he was only responsible for one. In a fenced-off backyard, a wooden structure housed nearly fifty chickens. They were stupid things, covered in fluffy white feathers, save for their beaks and strange four-fingered legs. Someday, when Ash’s father actually bothered to grow old, those’d be Ash’s responsibility too. For now, he handled the aibax. The six-legged creatures had eggshell white skin, with heads half the size of their bodies adorned with little blunted horns. As Ash peeked over the stall, the aibax threw itself at the door on its hind legs, groaning as its extended belly mushed into it. He smiled as he reached over the stall, patting the dumb beast’s head.

“Yeah. You don’t care if I get with a girl right? Long as I get you your food?” Aibax ate everything. Corn husks, wheat stalks, rotting meat, anything unfit for animal consumption converted to meat, fat, and leather. They were so useful that a few farms followed his father’s lead and bought aibax of their own. Leather and fat were easy to sell, but the trouble was meat. Although deer could eat some, most in the Tythic Kingdom preferred not to. That meant exporting more expensive, time-consuming food north to the dogs in the Othelan Republic without it rotting. So long as his father owned the only machine on Eriskay to convert aibax into non-perishable sausages, Ash remained a busy man this time of year.

When Ash flicked on the feeding room’s gas lamp his breath caught in his throat. He wasn’t alone. On the far end of the room, perched on the edge of the wooden feeding trough, was a girl. One who felt so comfortable in his family’s stables that she decided to lounge naked in the dark. For a second their eyes met, and she gave a playful smile before raising her hand to wave.

“Nope.” Ash slammed the door, causing a round of panicked grunting and wailing from the beasts behind him. Terror swelled within his chest, though he did what he could to smother it. He hadn’t recognized the girl, but there was only one reason she’d be here. Despite being seen as outsiders, their farm was one of the wealthier ones on Eriskay. If a girl could get in good with his mother, who owned the farm, or his older sister who’d inherit it, it’d help them financially. What better way than to seduce their unpopular loner of a boy, and what better time to stake a claim than before he’d offered up his antlers for the vernal harvest? He had to be getting desperate to find a partner, right?

The waves of fear and disdain rolled off him as he set a hand on the door and slowed his breathing. As horrified as he was, he couldn’t overreact. Parents put pressure on their kids to succeed and help the family. His father pushed him to get an education like his mother pushed his sisters to work the fields and train with a spear. Whoever this girl was, her parents probably pushed her into this, and dragging his parents over to humiliate her would hardly be civil.

“Look, miss,” Ash called through the door. “I don’t want you taking this personally, I’m sure you’re a wonderful girl. I’m just not interested in a relationship right now. There’s no need for this to be a whole thing.” He swallowed, looking back over the rows of whining beasts. “My family’s gonna be gone in half an hour, so you go ahead and put your clothes on, then wait till we leave and slip out, okay? I’ll leave the lamps on to make it easy; just shut them down when you go.”

With a deep breath, Ash patted the wooden door, then hurried back outside.

Dad looked up, shock crossing his face as Ash stepped onto the porch and grabbed the robes. “Ashling? Did you ch-”

“Yes! I decided I love crowds now.” Ash pulled the ribbons off, draping them over his shoulder while he unfolded the robe. “Let’s get down to port before they bust out that giant oven and cook stew for the whole island.”

He got a long, hard look from his father before the man sighed. “Okay, you’re acting weird, but I’ll let it slide since I’m happy you’re coming. Whatever’s going on, don’t ruin this for the girls.” 

* * *

To Ash, Eriskay was an island - a wobbly egg-shaped bit of land filled with farms, beaches and communal buildings. He’d touched every inch of it at some point, even the parts they sectioned off to preserve the groundwater years ago. To the rest of the world, Eriskay was this port, the beating heart of the island that created it in the first place.

Tonight, the docks were closed, but the port was more alive than ever. On its busiest hours, it hosted a few hundred, and those sought to complete their tasks and rush to the next big thing. For the vernal harvest, the ethereal glow of the winter’s final full moon shone across thousands of the island’s inhabitants. Even from the road, Ash could hear them. They shouted and laughed, some even sang, letting everyone hear Eriskay’s heartbeat.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

Dozens of thatch-roofed wooden buildings lining the port strained to hold their guests. Taverns and warehouses burst with people, spilling into the streets as the celebration stretched down the road. Tents with bushels of bread and salt rose up on either side of Ash’s path, little more than cotton sheets strung up on sticks for the night, lit by flickering torchlight.

People lining the street clustered into groups of friends, eagerly indulging in the glut of reserves the island held for emergencies. Men stood in pockets of colour, wearing vibrantly dyed robes with ribbons streaming from their antlers, while women wore dull cotton. 

The closer Ash got, the younger and more enthusiastic the crowd became. The outskirts were filled with men and women his age, drinking and cavorting loudly in groups. Women would offer drinks and flirt, competing for the attention of men who hadn’t pledged their antlers. Occasionally they’d even argue and wrestle, though Ash didn’t stay to see that. The only thing more dangerous than a girl was an irritated, inebriated one. Luckily, the girl he left in his barn didn’t seem drunk, at least for the few seconds he saw her. 

Sorchia, Ash’s older sister, cracked her knuckles and looked their way with a grin. After exchanging hugs with her family and promises to be back by morning, she disappeared into the outskirts for a night of drinking and carousing.

The port proper was decorated, welcoming the new season with lanterns, banners, and vibrant green sheets. Wooden stands filled with food were everywhere, and the scent of baking bread and pastries flooded over the excited crowds. The people here were better behaved. Most were families, and excited children sprinting down the street with fists full of sugary pastries were common. Throughout the crowds, women in leather militia armour held staves wrapped in layers of cotton, enjoying the festivities while keeping a watchful eye. Despite how unnerving it was to have girls watching, he did feel safer. Their presence kept the more spirited girls at the edge of town, and made it unlikely his secret suitor would corner him during the celebration. 

Each packed building Ash passed played another song, varying in instruments and styles, some he even remembered enjoying as a child. It was bizarre how relaxed everyone was with so many people around. It was like he was at someone else’s party, one he’d snuck into, and any minute now a militia girl would grab him and haul him off. Of course, that was twice a year, every year.

“Mom, Dad?” Mieure was Ash’s younger sister, though only by three years. She was a young woman by now, though that didn’t stop his parents from treating her like a kid. “Can Ash and I go to the square to pray? Maybe we can find some candy apples too?”

Their parents nodded, beaming at her hopeful smile. Before they could go, Ash’s father gave him a pointed look. Fine, he’d give the stupid antlers to Mieure. They were just bones, and they’d fall off in a week or two on their own anyway.

Ash and his sister pushed through the streets to the town square. Here, the ground was made of well-worn stone, and a sculpture of Deianira stood on a pillar overlooking the ocean. The goddess was a deer, though time and the sea had sanded the fine details down to smooth stone. They’d decorated her for the celebration though, covering her in lanterns and candles. Copper pots sat at her feet, releasing clouds of burning incense that glowed in the fire and emphasized her holy presence. The goddess of fertility’s statue stood proudly tonight, a babe in one arm, a bushel of wheat in the other; her breasts overflowed so bountifully with milk she could provide for all her children.

“Hey Mieure...” Ash said, ready to get this out of the way.

“No.”

“No?” Ash looked up, confused.

Mieure smiled, cocking her head. “You’re about to ask if I want your antlers. No.”

The island ritual was stupid. Extremely stupid. He didn’t even want to give anyone his stupid antlers, but somehow that didn’t take the sting out of a flat rejection. “Why?”

“Because I know you.” She poked his chest playfully with two fingers. “You think this whole thing is stupid, and you’re only here to make Mom and Dad happy.”

Well, he wasn’t about to deny it.

“I knew it.” Mieure grinned. “You go find somewhere away from the crowds and pull those things off. I’m gonna find Sorchia and fight over boys. If our parents ask, we vouch for each other.”

Ash couldn’t keep the smile off his face, it’d been five years, but it felt like only yesterday when Sorchia pulled the same thing. “Thanks, Mieure.”

Her arms wrapped around him, giving him a gentle squeeze. “Yeah, don’t you forget who your favourite sister is.” Mieure then vanished into the crowd, leaving Ash with his antlers and finally no one pressuring him to give them away. It was freeing, but without an anchor, he was loose in a sea of bodies, without any direction other than a creeping dread of the unknown. 

Ash grabbed a cup of spiced wine from one of the stalls. A drink would help, probably. He’d never tried it himself, but from what he’d read it’d help with the cold and anxiety, and all it’d cost him was his senses. He navigated the streets, holding the drink with both hands. How much more comfortable would he be? How much of his senses would he sacrifice to get it? If that girl showed her face it’d pay to have his wits about him, but if one drink was enough to get him in trouble surely they wouldn’t offer it. So what? Two? Four?

He squirmed, surveying the crowded courtyard. Deianira was a goddess, surely when it came to prayer, proximity to her statue meant less than devotion and sincerity. With a drink clutched firmly against his chest, he knelt, closing his eyes and drowing the world out while he prayed. Thanks flowed for the harvest last year, wishes for the harvest next year, and desires to be the best he could be with what he’d been given. After his usual annual prayer, he added a plea for the girl back home to give up on him, and let his frayed nerves be for nothing.

He’d only opened his eyes a moment before something soft pressed against his back. His blood froze as a young woman smiled down at him, gently prodding with the padded staff. “Sorry, but we’re bringing the oven out and we need all men to leave the area to be safe.”

The lump in Ash’s throat wouldn’t clear, but he reflexively defaulted to the compliant smile he used with women. Stumbling to his feet, he forced a small, “Of course, sorry,” and a bow before retreating to the docks. His breathing resumed as the rhythmic clicking of his boots on wood calmed him. He couldn’t keep acting like this. One day his mask would slip, and some woman would get offended and-

“Well look at you dressed up all pretty!” The drink slipped from Ash’s fingers as Lenn grabbed it from behind, then backed up with a grin. Lenn was one of the few people outside Ash’s family he enjoyed talking to. The rabbit was older than Ash, mid-thirties maybe, and with breath already smelling of mulled wine. Rabbits were like dogs, their fur came in all sorts of strange patterns. So when Lenn said his fur was natural, with half his face and an ear being black and the other half entirely white, it was hard to dispute. It made his smile strange though.

Lenn raised a toast, his black button-up shirt hanging open as he regarded Ash. Most mainlanders wore pants and shirts as opposed to wraps, and Lenn was from the Azure Syndicate, even further inland than the Tythic kingdom, where Eriskay was a territory. “Thought you wouldn’t show up till later.”

It was bad enough that the whole island thought him strange, he didn’t need Lenn on his case about it. “Hey, drinks are free tonight. Get your own.”

The rabbit swayed, raising an eyebrow. “You’re gonna drink it this year?”

For a long moment, Ash opened his mouth to protest, then sighed. “No.”

The grin intensified, then disappeared while Lenn downed the cup before letting out a satisfied sigh. “You can hide out here if you don’t wanna deal with the girls, I get you. Back at the Azure Syndicate, we’ve got rabbit-girls and cat-girls fighting for the top slots. How am I supposed to compete with that? The rabbits run so fast you can barely see them, and the cats can run from rooftop to rooftop on ropes. Ropes! How’s a man supposed to make a living?”

Ash grunted, watching the shore where two women carried a boulder-sized stone oven into the square and set it down to a cheering crowd. “At least they can’t crush your head with their bare hands.” 

“Worse!” Lenn slurred, holding a fist to his chest. “They crush your spirit!”

With a small shudder, Ash pulled his eyes from the shore. “One of them scared the crap out of me. Showed up in the stables, bare as an aibax, waiting for me.”

Lenn watched him flatly, waiting for the rest of the story, then rolled his eyes when it didn’t come. “You poor thing. How have you ever managed to survive?”

“It’s no joke!” Ash said, trying to keep his voice down despite the urgency. “Someone trespassed on our property; she could’ve attacked me! What if she won’t take no for an answer and hunts me down?”

“Hunts you?” Lenn smirked, shoving the empty cup back into Ash’s hands. “Even with all that strength, girls aren’t monsters. They’re people, same as you. She might’ve been a bit forward, but she put herself out there and got rejected. Most people in that situation are off sulking and embarrassed, not sharpening a hatchet while working on their manifesto.”

Ash flushed, looking away as Lenn started up the gangplank to one of the boats.

“Now, did you come to make me jealous? Or did you come to do business?” 

A jolt ran through Ash as he eyed the lush. Lenn didn’t come to the island to drink, or not only to drink. Ships passed through the island with all sorts of goods, but if you wanted something special, you went through the Azure Syndicate. The landlocked nation had seven bordering countries, and their entire state was a network of middlemen. So, trade with the Azure Syndicate meant trade with six extra countries. If you wanted something special, you needed an Azure Syndicate broker. You needed a guy like Lenn.

 “You have one?”

Ash hurried after him, embarrassment and fear vanishing as he stepped onto the ship. “Lenn? You have one?”

Lenn spun, then fell to his knees and dramatically set a case on the ground. The black half of his face vanished in the darkness as he glanced up. “No.” The case clicked and sprung open. “I have three.”

With a gasp, Ash hurried to join his friend on the ship's deck. Inside the case were three bound sets of paper, each adorned with romanticized scenes of battle in the snowy tundra. “Three? All at once? It’s been five months since you got your hands on one!”

“Deianira blesses us each with our own harvests, my friend! Now, for the disclaimers.”

“It’s been the same disclaimers for ten years!” Ash balled his hands into fists, planting knuckles against the deck so he wouldn’t be tempted. ”You don-”

“Imma fucking professional,” Lenn said, raising a swaying finger. “So you can wait one minute for me to do my job, then run away from the hot island girls giving out free drinks.”

Ash glared.

“We have issues 90, 91, and 96. All fan copies, but...” He flipped open the cover to one and tapped the Azure Syndicate mark underlined with a date and name. “They’re all inspected by an Azure Syndicate expert against the originals. All legitimate copies.”

Copies were fine. Books were painstakingly handwritten, so even popular ones only had so many in an original run. “Fan copies, very good.” Ash went through his pouch, removing most of the money he’d saved and slapped it on the deck. It took everything he had, but everyone needed a cut, from Lenn himself, all the way to the artist who copied the cover.

Lenn wobbled, carefully spreading the coins out on the deck, then gave up on counting and dragged them all into a pouch. “Go on, take ‘em.”

Ash grabbed the books and clutched them against his chest as he hurried down the plank and onto the docks. He could remove his antlers at home just as well as here, and he’d already paid his respects. The crowds ignored him as he retreated, barely looking his way as he slipped out of port and down the road, engulfing himself in the moonlight as he rushed back to the stables. The whole way, he assured himself that he’d find the feeding room empty, and his paranoia was just that.

Books weren’t common on the island, or in the Tythic kingdom for that matter. It made sense; most people didn’t learn to read even if the option was available. Being the first-born girl, Sorchia would inherit the farm one day, and Mieure would probably stay on to help till she found a farm of her own. Neither needed to read anything. As a boy, Ash could never match their physical prowess and expecting a proper share wouldn’t be fair. So Ash needed every skill he could get.

The smart move was to find a wife with her own farm. Preferably one who didn’t break into his stables. That meant competing against the boys who stayed out of the sun to protect their coats and avoided heavy lifting to keep their figure like the noble boys of the royal court. The other option was a dowry, but his father said money was for investing, not for giving away. New farm equipment would serve them better than getting rid of their aibax ranchhand. If he wanted a girl, he’d have to do it like his father, learning enough skills to impress one and convince them he’d be an asset to their farm. Incidentally, the first skill his father pushed on him was reading, and the first book he had for practice was “The Wolf Queen: Issue 1”

His father had his own trunk of books. Those were from this part of the world, thick, boring volumes of information Ash eventually read. Books from down south were different, so many people in the Dusk Empire could read that they made a hobby of it. The most popular format was to release a hundred small books that each told their own story, but merged together into an epic tale. “The Wolf Queen” wasn’t from the Dusk Empire though, but Sibir, a country of icy mountains in the southernmost part of the world.

Dad purposely picked the book to draw Ash away from the interests of the islanders, and it wasn’t a secret why he’d learned so fast ever since. “The Wolf Queen” was a retelling of a legendary figure named Sturm who lived during the Sibir expansion. Sturm, a bear-boy was visited by Deianira and tasked with becoming a holy knight to protect his homeland. Bear-girls were supposedly even stronger than deer-girls, so no one took him seriously until the savage wolf packs all fell under the thrall of the evil wolf queen seeking Sibir’s destruction. In that first issue, Sturm outsmarted the wolves and smuggled the villagers out in the dead of night, and Ash was hooked.

Ten years on and he didn’t talk about the books with his family anymore. Or anyone, really. It was enough for him to be insecure around girls, but he didn’t need to spread that around. So what if he liked the story where a boy got to be the big hero and save the girls for a change? A little fantasy never hurt.

The gas lamps were off in the stables, but flickered to life when Ash lit them. Aibax grunted, milling about as Ash crept to the door at the far end and put a hand on it. “Miss?” he asked, fur standing on end. “You went home, right?” 

Silence. This was the best place to read. The light in this room wouldn’t slip outside to alert his parents if they came home, and the aibaxs’ body heat made this place cozy despite the winter night.

With a deep breath, Ash opened the door, letting light from the stables spill into the darkness. “Miss?” There was no one here. He had to let go, being this afraid of half the people on the island couldn’t be healthy. When the lamp flickered to life, his suspicions were confirmed. Empty. The room had feeding and watering troughs, but no girls, naked or otherwise. Feeling sillier the longer he kept this up Ash moved to the side wall and pulled a secret handle, unfolding a panel that blended in with the wall to reveal an alcove.

Inside, the machine to preserve meat sat untouched, and the wall behind held an array of iron knives for butchering. All were present, and of course, no girl. “Everything’s fine, idiot,” Ash scolded himself, his only solace being no one else saw his fear. After shutting the panel, Ash put his back to the feeding trough and cracked open issue 90.

A warm smile spread across his face as he leaned back and dissolved into the familiar snowy mountains and sinister court intrigues. The last twenty issues had steadily raised the stakes, and coming into the last ten they were clearly preparing for Sturm to have a final showdown with the wolf queen. For the next hour, Ash stayed in his bubble, tearing through page after page before giving a final sigh and shutting the book. As always, it didn’t disappoint, whoever this Sibiric author was, he had a way with words and a love for history that bled through the page.

“Good book?”

Ash’s head jerked up to the naked deer-woman leaning against the doorway of the feeding room. His throat tightened in terror as he realized he was trapped, but the woman only smiled, watching him expectantly.

That's it for chapter one, I'll be back in two weeks for the next chapter. In case you're interested, the story book can be found here: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1422660