Orfen wrenched himself from Marsa’s warm and protective embrace. He immediately dropped into a crouch upon hitting the ground, the fur on his tail poofing out, and a hiss pushing through his teeth.

The man was a soldier. His armor was a bit different than the armor Orfen was used to seeing, likely the local armor of Engroch. Which meant he wasn’t one of the ones that almost killed him... Not that it mattered. The soldier put his hand on his sword hilt. Orfen’s teeth grew sharper in his mouth.

Then Marsa stepped between the two of them, blocking Orfen’s view of the soldier. “I will not have violence in the Temple of Vasara. This boy has sanctuary.”

“A beast cannot have sanctuary.”

“And how do you define a beast?”

Orfen started backing away slowly.

“You think he’s not a beast cause he walks on two legs?”

“If he talks like a man and cries like a child then how am I supposed to see him as anything but a boy?”

“And yet he growls like a beast.”

Though Orfen’s view was blocked he distinctly heard the sound of a blade being drawn. He stood up, peeking around Marsa, “are you seriously drawing your sword on a Priestess? And I’m the beast?”

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

The soldier jerked back, dropping his sword, “it.... It can speak?”

*

Racqein woke with a start, his eyes snapping open. “Fuck.”

“You fell asleep,” Cruxion’s voice so helpfully supplied.

“Putting all the blame on me?

“Fine, we fell asleep.”

Racqein sat up, pushing dark brown locks out of his face. In front of the door sat two trays, with covered plates and bowls and a large carafe of water between them. With a groan Racqein patted Marisol’s cheek and she curled up tighter, forehead pressed against his hip. He grabbed her shoulder and shook. She jolted awake, freezing immediately. After a few seconds of stillness she realized there was no danger and rolled onto her back with a yawn and a stretch.

“We missed our opportunity.”

Marisol blinked sleepily up at him, “wha...?”

Racqein gestured at the tray of food. Marisol sat up. Her long brown hair was messy and falling out of her braid. Without thinking, Racqein reached up and started combing through her hair with his fingers, working out the knots.

Marisol’s shoulders slowly drooped and she sighed. Then she swung her legs off the side of the bed and stood, “might as well eat!”