Chapter 3

Master Edwin IronWing's study smelled of oak and wood polish, and leather and old vellum. It was a spacious, open room. A huge window took up the north facing wall, staring out over the planting fields to the north. In the distance the DrakeSpine Mountains set a breathtaking backdrop, with the crags stretching higher and higher, huge and ancient and enduring.

Sitting at the foot of the window was a large lacquered desk of solid oak. The surface was cleaned and lovingly polished until it gleamed. The desk was neat and organized, the stoppered ink wells and quill pens laid out carefully beside a sheaf of thick papers waiting for use.

At least, that's how Silmaria remembered it. The servant girl ran her fingertips slowly along the smooth grain of the desk, leaving trails in the layer of dust covering the desk. Her bright green eyes scanned the familiar room with a sad look. The walls of the room were lined with tall shelves holding a wealth of books, volumes, and scrolls. Thick, weighty leather bound tomes with yellowing aged pages leaned against small slender books held together by leather thongs. Scrolls were rolled and piled in reed baskets. The shelves which were usually meticulously organized, the books dusted and cleaned, were now in disarray. Volumes were put into the wrong places, and a layer of dust covered everything.

Silmaria sank into the chair before the desk with a frustrated groan. The Gnari girl missed Master Edwin. He had loved this chair. The chair was a sturdily crafted cherry wood with intricately carved figures of animals both mystical and mundane roaming all over the smooth surface. The seat was a rich blue satin stuffed with feather down.

During her youth, Silmaria was often assigned to the care of the study, tending to the dusting and cleaning and organizing of the book cases and tomes. Master Edwin would sit at his desk, penning his letters and reading over his maps. She would fetch him books and fresh writing paper when he translated an old text into the common tongue. He would smile at her youthful chatter and jokes, and tell her stories of his soldiering days and the foolish Nobles at Court.

He had been a kind, warm hearted man under his gruff and matter-of-fact exterior. A soldier for most the years of his life, Lord IronWing was not the type to live out his early retirement quietly. The Nobleman was healthy and strong even as he entered the latter part of his forties, and seemed to have the youth and vigor of a man several years his junior. As such, he enjoyed frequent outings to hunt and ride, as well as an interest in falconry and animal husbandry. It was quietly wondered by all in his house why, being vibrant and capable as he was, Master Edwin had not only retired from active military action, but had given up any position of command or advisement from behind the scenes of the war effort. Master Edwin seemed content, in any case, to enjoy pursuing his interests away from the grimness of the war or the power games of the court.

In addition to hunting and riding, Master Edwin had a peculiar interest in scholarly pursuits. Ancient history, weapons, military texts, writings on foreign lands and cultures, and foreign languages were some of the many subjects he pursued. He was also especially fond of tales of rare, mythical, strange, or dangerous beasts and far away unsettled lands.

Sitting here in this room now, alone, Silmaria was filled with mixed feelings. She was angry and sad all at once as she glanced around the room; the dust and disarray, the way the tomes and books were disorganized and out of place on the shelves, even the smudges on the great window looking over the fields and mountains. All of it upset her. Yet, at the same time, this room never failed to comfort her, even if it was a tainted comfort. There were too many memories here, too many good times. Memories of Master Edwin were strong here. He loved this place so much, and she couldn't look around the room without seeing him here. Even the smells in the room were his smells.

It was a bitter sweet thing, and gave her a bittersweet smile.

Truly, the Nobleman had been a cornerstone in the young Gnari's life during her adolescent years. That had been a hard time for her; on top of the usual struggles and hardships any girl goes through as she grows into womanhood, Silmaria had to contend with being a Gnari serving girl surrounded by Humans who didn't like her, with none of her own kind to help explain what she was going through.

Master Edwin had been a kind, patient, strong presence who gave her guidance and direction when she was lost and confused. He'd even gone so far as gathering writings and scripts about her people, their customs, and their ways to help her understand herself better. Like most girls, Silmaria had craved kindness and attention, and the approval of someone who cared about her. More and more, Master Edwin had become that someone, and she grew to love the older Human for his quiet steadiness.

Then Silmaria entered adolescence, and her body blossomed, and strange, uncomfortable changes began to overtake her.

Even in the writings detailing Gnari lore and culture, information on the strange changes Silmaria experienced were scant. There was no word or proper term for it in the writings; the texts simply referred to it as 'the Stirring'. Much like her bleeding, it was a span of days, sometimes weeks, tied to the Moon's cycle. During this time, Gnari women experienced an acute, overwhelming increase in sexual arousal, sensitivity, and drive. It was tied to her race's difficulty breeding and was a biological trait that encouraged females to mate frequently and successfully.

A simple concept when read from a book. To Silmaria, living it, the writings didn't even scrape the surface. The need for sex was a torment, a curse. The Stirring was maddening, a fire in her blood and her mind and her loins that was impossible to ignore and never remained sated long. The arousal was at times so intense that it was painful. Having a healthy sexual appetite to begin with, she lost near all ability to reason and restrain herself when the Stirring came on.

Coping with the trials of aging and puberty, the confusing and volatile shift of her emotions, and the feelings of being an outcast were bad enough. Adding to the mix the endless yearnings of her flesh, worse and worse every time the Stirring came on, made adolescence a long and miserable period for Silmaria. Her resolve to control herself, to quell her desires and keep herself restrained was a battle she waged for as long as she could.

Yet eventually, her nature won out.

Which found Silmaria one night in her fifteenth year, sitting in Master Edwin's study, a dusting rag clutched in her hands as she cried and shook while her Lord watched with a note of confusion and concern on his face. She had served the man for years by then and trusted him deeply. She looked to the kind old warrior for guidance. He had always done well by her, giving her kindness and attention and patient direction when she felt most lost and alone. And so, filled with shame and self-loathing, she sobbingly confessed to him that she simply hadn't been able to withstand the tormenting hungers of the flesh wracking her young body any longer.

She told him, with an odd mix of embarrassment, shame, and a flutter of remembered arousal how she'd caught the eye of a workman who had accompanied a visiting merchant on a delivery to IronWing Manor. The man was in his late twenties, an average sort who fit the role of a hired hand well, with shaggy brown hair, work worn clothes and a plain face. He had big hands that were as worn as his clothes.

Silmaria hadn't been particularly attracted to him, but it was obvious he'd felt otherwise. She'd been outside, taking a rare break from her duties at the study, to help with some gardening in the front of the house, pulling weeds and replacing a few shrubs that had died the winter before. His eyes were on her almost the entire time, running over her young, lithe body. She could practically feel his eyes memorizing every budding curve and developing swell, the way her hips had begun to gently round. She hadn't reached the full, lush shape of her womanhood, but even then as she blossomed and took shape, she was a sight to behold, her pelt smooth and glossy and like velvet to touch, and her young breasts firm and full and hinting at the promise of round weightiness to come.

The Gnari girl noticed him, noticing her, and where she should have been frightened and uncertain, she instead saw opportunity. The young man was a wanderer, a workman who followed whatever odd job happened to be about. He knew nothing of her, just that she was young, exotic, and beautiful and he wanted her. It was a dangerous, risky situation, but she would probably never see him again and he wouldn't be around to speak with anyone she knew afterward. It would be simple.

That was all it took.

She made herself bold, whispered some promising words and directions to the workman, and Silmaria slipped out that very night to meet the man in a small grove of elm trees on a hill overlooking a meadow almost a mile east of her home. The moon was out, not quite full but fast approaching, glowing huge and heavy in the star streaked sky overhead. To Silmaria's sensitive feline eyes, the night was almost as bright as the day, bathed in a glossy film of moonlight. The air was brisk but not too cold as it was spring, and the long grass in the meadow below filled the air with a rhythmic sort of rustling as the wind blew through.

It was a beautiful night. It should have been very romantic, the perfect night for a midnight tryst. It should have been a night to remember wistfully, all fuzzy edged and poignant like girls said when they boldly whispered tales of their first time.

The truth was far from it. The truth was uncomfortable and hard, her slender young body face down in the grass and the dirt. A thick root from the tree they huddled under dug into her flat belly. Her ass, small and firm and round was raised up high and her tail was lashing about in a panic where the man had yanked it aside, and he was on top of her and his fingernails scratched her through her pelt where his fingers dug into her hips. He was plunging into her deeply, rough and violent and uncaring, using her fresh young flesh for his own selfish pleasure.

And Silmaria was beyond caring. It hurt, it was humiliating and shameful and he was a bastard, and somehow none of that could stop her arousal from swelling. Even as she cried softly into the soft earth, she thrust her budding hips back into him, making that deliciously hard, thick cock filling her so well drive all the deeper into her hungry cunt. The sticky flow of her pussy was beyond control now, glistening on her engorged young labia and dripping down thighs that shook violently with the efforts of their rutting.

For rutting it was. Desperate, carnal, loveless rutting, fucking that ground dirt into her knees and made her graceful young flanks heave and her pelt itch with sweat.