Chapter 11

After their morning romp, Lennard went to the kitchen and put on a pot of water to boil. He made them both a stimulating Garinga and Tunerist tea. He then went on to make some breakfast, and Harlow joined him after using the facilities.

Harlow had lost the clothing he was wearing, as they were shredded beyond repair during the removal process. He also didn't have the set of clothes he had carried with him, which he had intended to change into for the pyre. Those must have been lost somewhere in the crowd as he made his way from the wagon to Lennard.

So that he could leave the house, he put on one of Lennard's tunics. It wrapped around him almost twice and extended down to just above his knees. It looked like a huge but short robe on his much more slender frame. Harlow had gained some weight, height, and a lot of muscle while working for Lennard, but compared to Lennard's width and bulk, he felt underdeveloped.

“Well, I guess sharing a wardrobe isn’t an option.” Lennard chuckled upon seeing the comical way the shirt hung off of Harlow’s body.

Without proper attire, Harlow wouldn't be able to leave the house, let alone perform his duties as fetcher. So the first appointment of the day would have to be with the tailor.

Harlow had never actually been to the tailor before. His wardrobe consisted of hand-me-downs from older kids who outgrew their clothing and didn't have younger siblings to inherit them.

So after a breakfast of toast and jam, they set out. They made a beeline from the clinic to the shop. The trip wasn’t long, but they did have to cross the large main road.

The Dapper Dragon was located on the east side of the main street. Ordinarily, Harlow would have no problem walking through the muck-covered road, but in this oversized tunic, the act was a little more awkward, the oversized tunic continually tried to fly open and ride up his legs.

It was late in the morning, but luckily there wasn't much traffic today. Still, the people who were out stared curiously as the two made their way across the muddy road. Harlow couldn't help but feel as if all eyes were on him. His anxiety began to peak and his heart began to thump loudly in his neck.

The sign out front of the shop showed a friendly-looking dragon standing upright and wearing a striped suit. The chime above the door rang as Lennard opened the door and the two hurried inside.

Harlow was happy to be out of the street. He normally didn't care what people thought of him, but today's walk had made him keenly aware of the way the townspeople paid attention to anything out of the ordinay.

Harlow began to slow his breathing and saw a man roughly the size of Lennard standing near the back of the shop, arranging clothing on hangers.

Harlow looked and found the proportions of the man odd. The lower body looked much more rounded than it should be, and the tail was located at mid-back rather than above the legs.

The tail itself was short and bushy, brown with stripes of chestnut along its length. It was obviously not a Canursid's tail. Below it, the bottom of the person's body ballooned out. The fur was a lighter tan, almost cream color, and it was actually a similar color to Harlow's own. There were no obvious coverings along the bottom half of this person either, which Harlow found extremely peculiar.

“Crossman!” Lennard bellowed as he spied the unusually proportioned proprietor.

With what could only be described as a bounce, the odd-looking person turned on the spot and spied the two standing near the entrance.

“Lennard! My friend!” Came the strangely accented voice. Two small arms erupted from the upper body as he bounced forward to greet the big man.

Harlow watched in amazement as Crossman literally bounded forward, his arms much too small for his large body. Harlow's brain quickly realized that Crossman wasn't actually the size of Lennard either. He was riding atop a "furry bouncing ball?" Harlow's brain questioned its own perception.

Harlow was completely confused. He looked at Crossman more closely, trying to understand how this anatomy functioned. Crossman's head was the same brown as his tail, but it was masked with a lighter color. The lighter fur was the same light tan color as his lower half. It extended up his stomach, over his small chest and neck, and all the way up around his eyes and nose.

Harlow's own face had a similar mask, but his mask was almost white and didn't extend below his nose. He had always been told his mask was unique, so he was surprised to see Crossman have a similar type of marking.

Crossman leaped with a final bounce toward Lennard, who extended his arms out as if to give him a hug. But as Crossman left the ground on the final bounce, the mass he bounced upon immediately withdrew up into the now-small man's... "skirt?" Harlow was becoming more and more confused by the second.

Lennard caught the now-small man easily and did, in fact, give him a quick squeeze. He then extended his arm, and Crossman sat there, feet dangling and tail wrapping around the back of Lennard's arm. He took a good look at Harlow.

"Ahhh, you are Harlow, yes?" the accented voice inquired. Then, with a raised eyebrow, he asked, "Are you trying to use one of this lard-ass's shirts as a dress?"

Lennard let out a huge laugh, almost causing Crossman to fall from his arm. "That he is, Crossman!" he said, landing his other hand on Harlow's shoulder. "He fell into a patch of Iminit thistle and almost died. His clothes were beyond saving."

Crossman ran his fingers along his chin as if pulling on whiskers that weren't there, whereas his actual whiskers were black and stuck out from beside his nose. "I see," he said. "And you are this fat man's apprentice, correct?" He asked, and cocked his head towards Lennard.

It was time for Harlow to speak, but his brain was still trying to understand what was going on. All he managed was a nod, his eyes roaming over Crossman's body. What was he bouncing on a moment ago? Where did it go? he asked himself, a tickle of an unbelievable thought entering his brain.

"Then something durable and easy to maintain?" Crossman asked Lennard.

"Yes, Crossman, let's keep it simple for now. He may yet grow, perhaps even getting to my size," Lennard told the person sitting on his arm with a wink.

"Not possible. No one can be as big and fat as you, bear-dog," Crossman said matter-of-factly.

He then leaped from Lennard's arm, but before falling even a few inches, the cream-colored mass from before expanded and Crossman sat before Harlow, looking at him from eye level.

Harlow's eyes widened and he involuntarily stepped back to look down at what Crossman was sitting on. His mouth hung open in dumbfoundment, which brought another laugh from Lennard.

"What's wrong with you?" Crossman asked, pointing his finger at Harlow. "You've never seen a tanuki before?"

"No, sir," Harlow finally managed to get out. "I mean, I..."

"Yes, yes, everyone is like that the first time," Crossman said. "You want to know what this is?" He patted the large ball that extended from between his legs. “It’s my sack!”

In a demonstration of what his "Sack" could do, Crossman sank to the ground. The ball of cream-colored fur disappeared under his kilt. Only seconds later, Crossman extended his sack outward along the floor.

"It can do many things," he said. "It can be a rug." His sack then folded up over Crossman's entire body and shifted form. Where once stood the tanuki, now stood a small Elboar. "It can be a disguise." The Elboar spoke.

The sack unfolded and unwrapped from around the Elboar, and Crossman stood normally for a moment. Then, his sack once again stretched out and inflated in front of him. It rose up to Harlow's height and molded itself into the shape of a canursid.

The generic form began to shape details into the model, and within seconds, a clone of Harlow stood in front of his own face. The coloring was a little different, and the fur seemed finer than his own, but the resemblance was uncanny.

Harlow unknowingly reached out a hand to touch the face of his clone, who stood only inches away. Just before he touched it, however, it retreated back under Crossman and then inflated once again, bringing the man back up to Harlow's height.

"You don't go touching a person's sack without permission," Crossman scolded. "Would you like me to go grab your tail without asking?"

Harlow was stunned. His suspicion had been confirmed: this amorphous furry sack was truly this man's scrotum. "I...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

"Yes, yes, you didn't believe Crossman," the Tanuk’isan interrupted. "Everyone always wants to touch the sack without asking. But they never give Crossman permission to touch their tail."

Crossman looked at Lennard, who had his mouth covered by his hands to hold in his laughter, and then at Harlow. "Go ahead, touch it," he said. "I bet it's softer than your tail anyway." He bounced forward, almost nudging Harlow back.

"Go ahead, tell me how soft my sack is," Crossman said, waving his hand down to his furry sack.

Harlow was completely unprepared for this situation. He looked to Lennard for guidance, but the big man was doing all he could to keep from bursting out laughing at the hijinks occurring. He was absolutely no help in this situation.

Slowly, Harlow raised his hand and patted the sack. Then he caressed it. The fur was much softer and longer than it looked. His fingers swept through it in waves.

"Told you," Crossman said indignantly. "Softer right?"

"Not quite, but close," Harlow answered without thinking.

"Close! Every time you big bear-dogs answer," Crossman said, rolling his eyes. "Close! Every time. You touch Crossman's sack, but Crossman never gets to touch bear-dog's tail." He said with disgust. His accent was heavy, and it was clear that this was something that truly perturbed him.

A look of hurt crossed his face, then he turned and bounced away, leaving Harlow standing with his hand out. It was left floating where it had just been running through Crossman's scrotal fur. Harlow was unsure what he had done or what he should do now.

Harlow looked at Lennard again, his laughing fit had ended and a look of uncertainty crossed his face as well. He shrugged his shoulders at Harlow and began walking forward to lay his hands on Crossman’s shoulder.

"Crossman, are you okay?" Lennard asked in his sympathetic voice.

"I'm fine," Crossman said, jerking away from Lennard's touch. "Go away, I'll have clothes for your fetcher later." he said and moved off towards the rear of the store.

The annoyance and finality of Crossman's voice stunned Lennard. He had always liked the little Tanuk’isan, joked with him, let him poke fun at his size, and jovially poked back. This was different though, and Lennard was certain there was something more bothering his friend.

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Lennard beckoned Harlow forward with a bend of his finger. When Harlow and Lennard stood side by side, Lennard leaned over to Harlow and whispered, "I have an idea. Follow my lead, but only if you're comfortable doing so."

Harlow was unsure of what Lennard had planned, but he agreed with a nod. Lennard's hand wrapped around Harlow's back, and they moved forward towards the now droopy Crossman. His sack looked wrinkled and only slightly inflated. He sat demurely, his head only coming up to the height of Lennard's belly.

As they approached, Lennard's tail wound its way forward to the right. Harlow realized what Lennard was doing and hesitated for a moment. He was always told to guard his tail. To allow someone to touch it or to touch someone else's was taboo.

He also remembered Lennard telling him how most Canursids had several people who they shared their tails with. He was uncertain, but decided this must be one of the times when sharing your tail was appropriate, since Lennard looked like he was about to do just that.

As he watched Lennard's tail move closer to Crossman, he pulled his tail forward and followed his lover's example. He had to trust they were doing the right thing.

He quickly moved his tail into a similar position and in a synchronized motion, he placed his tail on Crossman's left shoulder at the same time as Lennard touched his right.

At first, Crossman didn't move. He twitched, then froze, as if he was startled by the tails now laying on his shoulders. Then, slowly, he raised his hands up and lightly touched first the top of the tails, then the soft underside.

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The Canusids couldn't see it, since Crossman faced away from them, but the look of absolute joy which passed over his face was immense. For several years, Crossman had lived here and provided his services to the community, dealing with the Canursids and their touch-phobic tails.

He actually had no issues when people wanted to touch his sack, but the game was always fun to play. But as more and more of his customers told him his sack was almost as soft as their tail, his curiosity grew in intensity. Today, for some unknown reason, the intensity overtook Crossman's integrity and his feelings had been hurt.

As these two gentlemen wrapped their tails around his shoulders, a feeling of wonder, then resentment for how he had reacted overtook him. He slowly reached up to the proffered appendages and, with what he thought of as a show of respect and gratitude, touched first the top of the tail as a comparison, then moved to the fur underneath.

The softness of it astonished him. He had begun to think it was all a conspiracy concocted by the people of this town to always tell him of the softness of the underside of their tail being just slightly softer than his own scrotal fur.

Now as he felt these tails for the first time, the term "close" which they always used, seemed too small a term. There was no comparison at all. The fur of his sack was coarse and inelegant compared to this. He felt tears of joy begin rolling down his cheeks.

Not only had he found friends willing to share their very personal tails with him, but being a connoisseur of fine materials, the utter indulgence of the fur he touched was incredible. He had access to many types of fur and other soft fabrics. He had shopped in some of the most exotic material shops on the continent.

Nothing he had come into contact with before measured in comparison to the fur he ran his fingers through now. It was ephemeral, as though he touched nothing at all, but was also surrounded by clouds of warmth.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, savoring the feeling of the fur against his skin. He felt a sense of peace and contentment that he had never felt before. He knew that he would never forget this moment.

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A small, "Thank you," came from Crossman as he softly stroked their tails. Lennard's arm brought Harlow in closer into a side hug and show of gratitude for allowing his friend to experience them both.

As Crossman touched Harlow's tail, it was all he could do to keep it in place and not yank it back. The alien fingers felt intrusive and uncomfortable. His eyes focused on Lennard. He had a quirky smile on his face. Harlow couldn't tell if he were having similar feelings, but felt that if he was okay with this, then he would be okay as well.

The small fingers moved to the underside as Harlow looked at his lover's face. Immediate sensations, both physical and emotional, bombarded him. He felt the same gratitude that the Tanuk'isan felt, as well as the build-up of emotions which led to his small meltdown. He watched Lennard's face for signs he was experiencing the same emotions, but his lover's expression never changed.

The physical stimulation was intense, but nothing compared to the level of intensity he felt when Lennard touched his tail. A small tingle began in his stomach and moved down to his groin, but unlike when he was touched by Lennard, the tingle didn't cause an immediate reaction.

After a few moments, Crossman released their tails and inflated himself back up to their height, turning to face them as he did. "You are best friends and customers," he said enthusiastically. He bounced up between Lennard and Harlow, landing on their chests and wrapping his short arms around each of their necks.

"Harlow, I will make for you a wonderful outfit," he spoke and kissed his cheek. "Lennard, I don't have enough material to cover your fat ass." He laughed and kissed Lennard's cheek as well.

Astoundingly, Crossman went right to work after thanking them. He bounced away to the racks of clothing hanging around the room and grabbed several outfits.

He moved to a table where he placed the pre-made pieces of clothing onto a model of Harlow that he had formed from his sack. Once the clothing was on the model, he began the alterations. There were threads, scissors, and other sewing-related equipment on the table. With access to the equipment, Crossman displayed a speed and dexterity that astonished Harlow, who had never witnessed anything like this before.

Crossman's small hands virtually blurred as he added stitches and hems. Within minutes, he presented Harlow with a supple yet thick pair of trousers in a pale blue that fastened at the waist with a button rather than a tie. It wasn't unusual for pants to have buttons, but Harlow had never had the opportunity to wear a pair with one before.

The pants also had pockets on the front and back with loops along the side. Crossman showed him how they could be unfolded on warmer days to expose vents along the sides to help cool him off.

Harlow was amazed by the craftsmanship of the trousers. They were perfectly fitted to his body, and felt incredibly soft and comfortable. He couldn't believe that Crossman had made them so quickly.

Only a few moments later, Crossman presented him with a tunic. Its color was similar to the pants, but with color blocks of cream along the sides and shoulders. The neckline was loose, but could be pulled tight by drawstrings which attached to a small hood.

After Harlow had dressed in the new clothing, Crossman also presented him with a jacket. It was long, coming down to Harlow's knees. It was a darker brown, almost matching the chestnut stripes along the Tanuk'isan's tail. It was lined with a material Crossman called "plaid", a series of squares, differing in size and color, creating criss-crossing intersections. It had an abundance of pockets both inside and out.

Harlow wrapped the jacket over the outfit and it fit perfectly, both going with the colors of the clothes he now wore, but also to the shape of his body. The jacket was warm and comfortable, and it would be the perfect attire for the approaching winter.

Finally, Crossman showed him how, if he weren't around, Harlow himself could easily let out the hems along each of the garments as he grew.

“Crossman, this is amazing,” Harlow said. “I’ve never dreamed of having clothing this fine. I will never be able to pay for this though.”

Lennard came up behind and placed his hand on Harlow’s shoulder. “I’ll be paying, you'll be repaying me,” he said and winked. The side of his mouth turned up mischievously.

Turning back to the Tanuk’isan Lennard continued, “Crossman, I think a pair of long underclothes would be good for Harlow to have as well. And maybe another pair for…”

“No, fat man!” Crossman interrupted and pointed his finger at Lennard’s face, his finger coming within a hair's width from booping Lennard’s nose. “I’ve made you all the clothes I can. It’s too much fabric. Lose some weight first!”

“Now look here you chubby little pervert, always getting people to touch your sack. Your belly is as big as mine and I can see the way it jiggles when you bounce around.” Lennard pounded his stomach with his fist, a loud boom coming from the impact. “I may be round, but I’m solid.”

Crossman took a flabbergasted look and backed away a bit from the boom of Lennard's gut punch. This gave Lennard the opening he had been hoping for. He swiftly brought his left hand, which had been resting on Harlow's shoulder, toward the startled Tanuk'isan, and with one thick finger poked Crossman in the belly.

There was an obvious jiggle as the finger poked and then withdrew. Crossman's eyes went wide as he watched his own flabby midsection betray him. The wave quickly spread from the middle of his belly to jiggle his flabby chest and even wobble the loose skin wrapped around his neck.

“How. How dare you!” Crossman said indignantly.

Harlow looked at Lennard, who had apparently just assaulted the man he intended to purchase these amazing clothes from. His face was still wide with a huge smile. Harlow's eyes moved to Crossman. He watched as the look of impertinence melted away and he gave Lennard an impish look, then began to laugh.

Crossman bounced forward into Lennard's arms again, as he had when they had arrived, and the two laughed, poking each other's bellies. Harlow was beyond confused and stood there slack-jawed.

Apparently, this was a game the two played each time they interacted. They clued Harlow in when they were able to speak again. Crossman's attitude noticeably changed after their game came to its conclusion. He was much more chummy and less standoffish. He even invited them to lunch.

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Sometime later, they found themselves at The Soft Underside for lunch. Being able to eat here was also a new experience for Harlow. The Soft Underside was the finer, and therefore more expensive, tavern in town.

They sat at a table in the corner of the room, and Lennard ordered mead for all of them. Mead was another one of the luxuries that Harlow had never really had. He had tasted it before, when his father had passed out and left a small amount in the bottom of a bottle. He didn't mind the taste, but he generally associated alcohol with his father, so he avoided it on principle.

"Don't be afraid to try it," Lennard said. "This is some of the best mead in town."

As the pretty server girl sat down the mugs and announced the menu, Harlow's mouth began to water uncontrollably. The Soft Underside offered several kinds of meat as well as soups and stews. He had smelled the fresh bread as they entered, and he saw other tables slather butter on hunks torn off of steaming loaves.

He would have been completely satisfied with just a hunk of bread and some butter, but when the server girl mentioned smoked Elboar steak, he blurted out, "I'll have that please," before she could even finish the explanation.

Lennard, presuming this was a special occasion for Harlow, smiled as he ordered the same. It was actually the dish he liked best here anyway.

"I'll take the smoked Elboar steak as well," he told the serving girl. "How about you, Crossman?"

The Tanuk'isan, sitting on a partially inflated sack in order to fit properly on the Canursid-size table, looked off to the side and thought for a moment before telling the girl, "I'll have a fresh loaf and leek stew."

Harlow, realizing that he hadn't ordered any bread, looked abashed as the smaller man ordered it separately. He wasn't sure if it was necessary for what he had ordered, but he didn't dare ask now. He inwardly moaned at the loss of being able to try the amazing-smelling bread, but he didn't have a coin to his name, especially since he had to leave all his belongings on the side of the road.

That's when it hit him. His eyes widened and his hand came to his forehead in a smack. He had totally forgotten until now about his clothing chest on the wheelbarrow he’d left along the side of the road on his way back from his house. Things had moved so quickly since, he hadn't even thought about his journey before falling into the thorns.

"Harlow? Is everything alright?" Lennard asked when he heard the boy's palm hit his head.

"I can't believe I forgot," Harlow said, pulling his face from his hand. "My things. You told me to bring my things, and I did. I filled my clothes chest with my books and stuff, but I had to leave them on the side of the road."

Lennard shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs and follow what Harlow was talking about. "Wait... you packed up your things from your house and were bringing them back with you?"

"Yes, Lennard," Harlow said. "You told me to move in, remember?"

Lennard vaguely recalled saying something along those lines, but it felt so long ago. "Yeah, I guess I did say that, didn't I?" he said. "I wanted you away from your father." He paused to think for a moment and gave the server a thumbs up to indicate their order was finished. "Okay, so you loaded your stuff into your trunk and put it on a wheelbarrow?"

"Yes," Harlow said. "But I was too tired to go on, so I took out a set of clean clothes and started walking to town." He told Lennard his story, the state of his room, his withdrawal from the house's hearthstone, and the journey from there to where he fell into the thorns. The more he told, the less he seemed to remember. The ending was a blur, especially once he had gotten the ride from someone, he couldn't even remember who though.

Lennard listened and his look grew more concerned. Crossman, who also followed along, but didn't understand the significance, asked, "So you are moving in with this guy?" He pointed to Lennard then looked at Lennard and asked him, "You're not going to be a lonely old man anymore?" As he said the last part of it, something clicked in Crossman's brain. "Wait, you two now are...?"

Lennard hushed the tailor before he could say anything too loud and cause a scene. "It's not public knowledge yet," he said. "There are some... issues. There are people in this town who would see our relationship as abnormal. Possibly to the point of causing trouble." He finished, glancing around nervously.

Crossman nodded his head knowingly. "Oh yes, I know who you're talking about," he said and pointed his finger to the other side of the room and continued. "Those would be some of them."

Lennard and Harlow both swiveled their heads and looked in the direction Crossman had pointed. At a table sat four men, all of them wearing identical clothing over their bleached white fur. Black trousers, a white tunic, and a small round black hat that fit between their ears. Normally they wore black coats as well, but these were draped over the backs of their chairs at the moment.

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These men were members of the Ailuropoda religion, or more commonly known around here as the black and whites. These men were devout to the point that they bleached their fur white, leaving only a black ring around their eyes.

Their beliefs forbade them from wearing colorful clothing, consuming anything considered intoxicating or pleasurable, or using magic. They were also generally the town's enforcers, as Greenby did not have a system of law enforcement in place.

The Ailuropoda religion was built on tradition and scorned any who deviated from the norms. They saw any relationships other than a male and female of relatively similar age to be deviant. They were also the enforcers and enacters of many of the rituals throughout a Canursid's life.

Although most people who belonged to the religion did not follow all of the strictures, they were quick to turn to the sect members when things went awry. Most Canursids in Greenby remained associated with the religion in one form or another, the beliefs being taught through the generations.

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"Ugh... of course they would be here," Lennard sighed. He watched them cut their meat with knives instead of using their claws, drink water after eating a small portion of bread without dipping it in their soup, and hold their napkins on their laps instead of tucking them into their tunics like the proper delicate flowers they were.

Lennard understood the need for proper cleaning and personal hygiene, but there were times and places for such things. When you were out to enjoy a meal with friends, you used your claws, you dipped your bread, and most of all carried on conversations. This was the biggest issue Lennard had with the Ailuropoda: they were taught to not speak unless they had something valuable to say. So conversation was virtually nonexistent.

Crossman brought their attention back to their table by saying, "There might not be a whole lot of people around here as devoted as those guys, but they have enough influence to make your lives very uncomfortable, if not even find some old law or something they could use against you."

Lennard nodded his head in agreement. "Exactly," he said. "It's best to keep our lives to ourselves. You understand our need for discretion, right, Crossman?"

The Tanuk'isan slapped Lennard's shoulder, his small hand barely making a sound as it hit the large man's flesh. "The heaviest stone hides the tiniest bug," he said in a heavy accent. He looked at the two Canursids, who were both staring at him blankly. They had obviously never heard this saying before. He smiled wryly. "Your secret is the bug, and I am the stone."

Harlow was a little unsure how to take the strange saying, but he hoped it meant their secret was safe with the Tanuk'isan. He hadn't had many dealings with the black and white sect, but he knew they were very intolerant. He was always told to mind his manners around them, so he just hid whenever he encountered the odd men.

He did know that many of the townspeople went to the black and whites' church and listened to their sermons. So if they told people that he and Lennard were bad, those people would probably listen.

A few minutes later, the serving girl returned with their meals. Harlow's delight was obvious when he saw that his smoked Elboar steak came with two large slices of hot bread with melting butter on top. There was also a large hunk of cheese and sliced Ponna.

He had only tried Ponna once before, but he remembered that it was a sweet and crunchy fruit with white insides and red skin that snapped when you bit into it. He dug in without thinking any more about the black and whites.

For the next few moments, the conversation at the table stopped as the trio greedily devoured their meal. Harlow was especially voracious. He had only eaten broth for the past three days, so he practically inhaled the meat, bread, and cheese. He finished well before the other two, eyeing their plates with hungry eyes.

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Lennard watched as Harlow devoured his lunch, barely coming up for air. When he was finished, the boy's eyes lingered on Lennard's plate as well as Crossman's. Lennard chuckled and pushed the remainder of his lunch to Harlow. "You can have mine," he said. "I could stand to eat a little less from time to time anyway."

Lennard grabbed his mug and gulped down the rest of his mead. He sat back and watched Harlow and Crossman finish off their plates. The lunch had been enjoyable, with good food, good company, and good conversation. Crossman and Harlow had quickly become friends.

Once finished, Lennard and Harlow bid farewell to Crossman, who said he would send over the underclothes and another outfit later on. Lennard had paid for the clothes as well as lunch, and while he wasn't broke, he knew his savings were diminishing rapidly. He began to wonder how he was going to afford to pay for the addition to his house.

The two newly minted lovers strolled casually back towards the clinic, taking the wider road rather than cutting through the alley. People waved from their houses or businesses as they walked by, Lennard stopping to say hello to a few people along the way.

They had been discussing whether or not to go out and try to find Harlow's clothing chest when they approached the entrance to the clinic. As if summoned by their conversation, a wheelbarrow holding a small clothing chest sat in front of the building.