12/98
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o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
o  	The 'Bookshelf collection' offers a very wide variety of  o
o  stories. They have been submitted by people from all over the  o
o  world.  Also from alt.sex.stories (Newsgroups).   There is no  o
o  particular  order  other than offering them to you in  alpha-  o
o  betical directories.                                           o
o   	Lest we forget!!!   This story was produced as adult en-  o
o tertainment and should not be read by minors.   Kristen         o
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

The Horsewomen - 2 (FF, f-beast)
a Love Story
by Jeanne de Stein

Nine parts posted separately. This is # 2

2. THE CAMP

They struggled up from the bed of the brook, he with a real
effort. Women, girls and hags gathered around them as they
entered among the tents. The women of the camp greeted Sarissa
and Atossa with embraces. One of them, a girl of fifteen or
sixteen, showed more emotion than the others; she reached out and
touched Atossa briefly and the woman spoke softly to her in
passing. All the onlookers were very curious about the prisoner;
the skewers gave rise to lively comment. A few hands reached out
and touched him, but Atossa growled and the fingering ceased
abruptly.
   He observed the horsewomen intently but fearful of appearing
to ogle them. The young girls were still not tattooed and fairly
light of complexion; they went completely naked except for some
kind of charm on a narrow string around their necks. The adult
women were much like the ones he already knew. Here around camp,
they did not wear boots however, but half-high moccasins. It
struck him suddenly that the difference in looks between Sarissa
and Atossa was not simply caused by the difference of age: young
or old, all the horsewomen he could see belonged to two obvious
groups, one that mostly looked like Atossa and one that had more
in common with Sarissa. The two groups had differently patterned
tattoos, too; but what all this might mean he did not know, and
he was not of a mind to be bothered about that just now. The hags
were incredibly wrinkled and weatherbeaten, but straight and
proud; their teeth were remarkably sound, though yellowed like
animal tusks. But in their eyes, he discerned a glint of cruelty
that worried him.
   It gave him a nasty shock to discover that a discussion had
broken out, and that he was the subject. Some of the women made
gestures that could not be misunderstood, one or two even had
their knives out. They were looking forward to entertainment, and
one of them became quite insistent. But Sarissa and Atossa stood
their ground. Especially the older woman spoke forcefully and
with authority. In order to underline her point, she pulled the
prisoner forward by the bag-strap (it had been put on again early
that morning), squeezed his arm muscles, slapped his buttocks and
finished by pulling his member.  She raised her palms, quite a
distance from each other, and there was general laughter. He did
not bother to produce more than a tired grimace of a smile. But
one of the women---he knew not which of them---cried aloud,
fallou, fallou!  And though he did not know it then, this was to
become his slave-name.
   Now one of the oldest hags spoke up. She seemed to be a person
of authority, though she wore no outer sign of it. Everyone
listened respectfully, and when she was finished, all nodded
assent and indicated that they had accepted her verdict. Atossa
and Sarissa looked relieved. He felt gratitude mingled with a
strange warmth. They had defended him, energetically and
successfully, and that old witch had saved him. When he had time
to think of just what she had saved him from, he felt sick and
his knees trembled.
   He got no time to nurse his fear. Now he was marched toward of
one of the tents. His owners---obviously he had to call them
that---had a lively conversation with one or two of the other
women; some of them were looking appreciatively at him,
whispering between them. The recent decision was clearly not
unpopular. Dogs ran after them and they sniffed him suspiciously.
Now he also saw two or three males that stared back at him. One
was a boy that had not yet reached puberty, the others were grown
men. They looked sleek and healthy enough, but they seemed shy
and they kept meekly out of the way of the women, who ignored
them. Except for the boy, they wore thin golden rings through
their nipples; so this was why Atossa had pierced him! One of the
males stepped clumsily aside, and he wore leg-irons, riveted in
place with a short chain joining them; leather rags around his
ankles protected them from chafing. Had he done something
improper to deserve this punishment? Or was this just an example
of wanton cruelty?
   Bending over, the prisoner entered the tent they had led him
to. His eyes, blinded by the strong noonday light, perceived at
first only a darkness inside. There was a smell of sun-scorched
canvas and hay. Stumbling, he was brought to a resting-place and
pushed down on it; furs tickled his skin. At last the strap
around his sex was removed, but he was not relieved of the one
around his wrists. Atossa spoke sternly to him, and he understood
that he must remain here. Then he was left alone.
   For a moment, he thought of escape. But he knew too little
about his situation and its possibilities as yet, and his
back-bound hands were a difficult obstacle anyway. Later, he
would think that he had abandoned his escape plans with
suspicious haste. Now when he knew that he would live, and that
the rumours had told the truth about the horsewomen's use of
their man-slaves, the need to escape did not seem so urgent any
more. Anyway, he would be safe from En-Tor here. He made himself
as comfortable as possible and reclined, listening to the sounds
outside---the yelping of dogs, the clanking of metal vessels,
voices, someone who was cutting firewood and a horse neighing in
the far distance.
   The darkness lifted by and by and he could take a look around.
The tent was furnished with furs, painted iron-bound travelling
chests and variegated textiles from the coast peoples. Ornate
fittings of iron and bronze and a hanging lamp of brass indicated
a certain prosperity. He sighed and tried to doze. He did not
dare sleep, and he was too excited anyway.
   His solitude did not continue for long. The entrance darkened
and a girl entered and squatted down beside him. She would be
twelve or thirteen, and though her lack of tattoos indicated that
she had not yet been taken into the circle of women, she had
several animal teeth in her necklace. She looked faintly like
Sarissa, a very young Sarissa. The girl scrutinized him without
embarrassment for some time, and then she started a lively but
for the moment somewhat one-sided conversation.
   Her name was Niki. Like Atossa and Sarissa, she was not the
least interested in his name, but she ferreted out where he came
from. As far as he could understand, she was the daughter of
someone called Lykomaki. Then she began teaching him the names of
various body parts, and she laughed with a gleam of white teeth
when he made a fool of himself. After some time she tired of the
language lesson, fell silent and regarded him pensively. She felt
the skewers. He did not dare show that she was hurting him: that
might have led her thoughts in the wrong direction. The children
were probably no less savage than the adults. Come to think of
it, children were often more cruel than adults. She moved her
attention to his sex and she took a hard grip on his member. He
did not dare but let her have her way; that much did he
understand, that he had no will of his own anymore, and that
every horsewoman must be obeyed.
   Still, he worried. What would happen if they were discovered?
The girl was not sexually mature, and he belonged to Atossa and
Sarissa anyway (mostly to Sarissa, he hoped). What if one of them
returned? Slaves were usually punished for the wrongdoing of the
freemen, and he understood that his position in the Sisterhood
was still insecure. But he could not stop himself from growing
randy, and from showing it.
   Niki grew noticeably interested. She was obviously enjoying
the impression she was making on him. At the same time, she was
showing signs of excitement herself. That children too are erotic
beings was an insight that was suppressed among his own people,
but the years at En-Tor's court had disabused him of his
innocence, and he was not surprised now. His apprehension
increased, however. What was this girl-child going to do with
him?
   She sat astride him. But surely she would not ... But she
contented herself with rubbing her hairless vulva against the
underside of his member. She looked down on him with moist eyes
and panting, half-open mouth. His back-bound hands made his
position very uncomfortable, still he found himself moving his
hips rhythmically. Soon he had to concentrate on not letting his
rising excitement run away with him. Now Niki leant over him and
presented her nipples; she had no breasts yet. He kissed them
obediently, and when she pressed herself against him he sucked
them cautiously. Slowly, the pleasure ache receded in his
abandoned sex. Her panting increased. She rose, and for a moment
she was standing on all fours over him.
   He knew beforehand what she would do. She sat down on his face
and pressed her sex against his mouth. This was only the second
time in his life that he had been forced to do the cunnilingus
(at En-Tor's house, where women were objects of pleasure,
fellatio was the thing) but he responded bravely. The sooner the
girl was satisfied and left him alone, the better. But as he
could concentrate on the act this time, he learnt more. Niki
showed him clearly what she wanted and what she enjoyed. He
kissed her clitoris, ran his tongue along her smooth labia and
stuck it into the opening of her tight little vagina to the
accompaniment of her encouraging squeaks and gasps. She tasted of
salt; she must have urinated since she bathed last. All the time
she kept a hard grip on his hair. At last she came. She jerked
convulsively and she fell forward. This was exactly the moment
when he discovered that Atossa was in the tent. His heart froze.
   Niki looked ashamed. Where Atossa was standing, dark against
the light from the tent door, he could not see her countenance.
He sent her a pleading glance. But she gave her attention mostly
to Niki. She spoke to the girl with a sternness which the
listening slave suddenly discovered to be feigned. The child was
sent out of the tent with a slap, and Atossa stood above him,
looking down at him.
   He was not punished. Instead, she leaned down and smoothed his
hair, tousled by Niki. She regarded him for a moment; her face
was immobile but she breathed heavily. Then she untied her
breech-clout and took the girl's place. Without demur, he started
all over again. By the bones of Hurri, he thought, I do hope they
do not prefer this kind of pleasure all of them all the time!
   But Atossa withdrew before reaching her climax. She left him
after releasing his hands. He did not think of escape anymore,
and she seemed to understand it. That evening he rested very
quietly on a thin bed near the opening of the tent, covered head
to toe with a black sheet which he did not dare throw off; but he
heard how the two women made love long and intensely. Atossa
cried out aloud from the crest of her ecstasy. Then the two
rested together for some time, talking. They seemed to have
forgotten him, and finally he went to sleep, still under the
sheet. He woke up in the middle of the night, half suffocated and
sweating, and pushed it away. The moon was up, and in the faint
light that reached the interior of the tent, he could barely make
out the sleeping figures of Sarissa and Atossa. The older woman's
arm was thrown across the shoulders of her lover. He rested long,
looking at them, without being able to untangle his emotions; but
at last he went to sleep again and slept like dead until the
morning.

Thus began his life among the horsewomen. His two owners kept him
under strict surveillance, and he was constantly in their
company, except when one of them was out hunting. Now and then,
the two women were briefly joined by the very young but fully
tattooed girl who had greeted Atossa with such affection on her
arrival back in camp. And he gathered that she was Atossa's
daughter, and that Halanna was her name, but where in the camp
she lived and with whom he did not know. She visited her mother
in her tent occasionally, but obviously she slept somewhere else.
   His early weeks in the camp shaped up into something that he
soon understood to be a kind of obedience training. He was
constantly in the presence of one or both of his mistresses, and
gradually, his entire conscious mind came to be centred on them.
Never was he left to his own devices; instead, the two women were
constantly forcing their will on him, and with less and less
effort. This did not mean that their demands on him grew less. He
was not only required to attend his mistresses and do chores such
as fetching water and grinding grain, but was also burdened with
tasks that were unpleasant and seemingly meaningless, such as
being led, on a leash and on all fours like a dog, around the
camp among amused women and giggling little girls, or lying
immobile on his back on sharp stones.
   Staring into the deep blue sky, he more sensed than saw his
surroundings. The stones soon grew painful, digging into his
back, but he was also uncomfortable because of the way his back
was arched and his head was slumped down on the other side of the
heap. His legs were slightly parted and his arms were thrown out
to the sides; he did not dare move a finger, for Sarissa was
standing guard, and she looked implacable. To his annoyance, he
had an erection, and, again to his annoyance, both Sarissa and
three or four other women noticed it. Damn it, why did these
things stimulate him? He was not born a slave. Submission should
not come natural to him, even less be pleasurable. But the fact
was incontrovertible: he did enjoy it. Yes, he did enjoy it even
though the stones were hurting him like hell, for he knew that
this was part of the whole, of his entire relationship with these
two women, and that relationship revolved around the moments of
closeness and pleasure he experienced with them, in spite of the
fact that they did not grant him sexual release. His celibacy was
a mortification of the body, not of the soul.
   It dawned on him that Atossa's methods (for it was mostly she
that handled the dressage) were subtle enough. The obvious
uselessness of the things they forced him to do made obedience
itself the main object. And he obeyed. Attentively, he tried to
read the gestures, faces and words of his two owners. His reward
was that they encouraged him more and more often. He frequently
gave them pleasure with lips and tongue, but he was always
himself denied it, and his pent-up desire for the two women grew
constantly. But this too was clearly part of Atossa's intentions.
His fantasies about what he would do to them, given a chance,
changed with time into expectation mixed with fear of what they
would do to him next. He knew that he was not just any slave. He
was a manslave, a tongue-slave and a penis-slave, and the power
and the glory of his two mistresses was his also. If they had
tried to whip him into submission, he would have resisted or at
least thought of escape, but games like these were something
else, and he felt himself slowly being drawn into an implicit
understanding with the two. The games were his too to play, and
he played them. As long as Atossa and Sarissa continued to play
by these rules, he would stay with them.
   Already the day after his arrival in the camp, he had been
pushed down on his back and tied, and then Atossa had pulled out
the skewers. She had replaced them with short studs. It hurt and
some blood came, but he was still relieved. The skewers had been
far more inconvenient. His nipples healed rapidly around the
studs, helped by Atossa's salve, and they were now permanently
pierced.
   He ate the same food as the women. By this time of the year it
was frugal but satisfactory, consisting mostly of wild herbs,
roots and seeds, with some dried meat or pemmican. He knew enough
about the grasslands to understand that the game had dispersed
over enormous areas now at the end of the dry season, and that
large-scale hunting was impossible. Groups of women went out
every morning to gather foodstuffs, each accompanied by one or
several man-slaves. Even the chained man was relieved of his
leg-irons in order to participate in the labour. The threatening
behaviour of the women made it clear that the prisoner had made
an attempt at escape, had been captured and had been forced to
wear irons as a punishment.
   He was himself taken out to forage several times. He was kept
to hard work, but Sarissa and Niki taught him to recognize and
name many edible plants. But he was frequently left in camp while
his two owners were out hunting. The first time this happened,
they led him to a stake in the centre of the camp and tied him to
it so thoroughly that he could not move a hand. Chest and hips,
arms and legs were bound separately with crisscrossing straps. He
was terrified though he did not dare show it; he thought that the
women had changed their minds and would kill him slowly for their
own entertainment, as was notoriously the habit of these people.
His relief was great when Sarissa patted his cheek and rubbed her
face against his before leaving him. Obviously, this was just--
just!---part of the training he was undergoing.
   Several other women had looked on with interest from a
distance, but they left him alone for the moment. The straps were
firmly but not brutally tightened, and apart from the burning
sunshine, which had already tanned his constantly naked body a
dark brown, standing at the stake was no great suffering. After
some hours though, his immobility was growing intolerable, and he
smiled again inwardly when he understood the cunning of the
women. No pain, no threats and no excitement drew his attention
away from the bonds themselves, which were instead constantly
present in his consciousness and underlined his helplessness. He
longed for the return of the two women, and he found himself
hoping that they would use their hands on him before releasing
him. The sexual fantasies which were now occupying all of his
free time and which the combination of celibacy and constant
stimulation made ever more torrid, had actually grown more and
more cruel too. His experiences made it difficult for him to
imagine himself as the active party in a love-game with Sarissa
(not to speak of the savage Atossa). Being used by them meant
being raped by them, and they would give him pain as a matter of
course. He did not fear it---well, not too much, anyway.
   He was dwelling on thoughts like these when he discovered that
two other women were looking at him. They saw that he had an
incipient erection---he had not himself been aware of it until
then---and they smiled sardonically. They were Niki's mother
Lykomaki and an old woman called Timesse. Both had been among the
women who had demanded to be allowed to torture him; he hoped
that his fear did not show.
   But this was obviously not the kind of entertainment they had
in mind. They felt his straps and then they let their hands slide
across his body. They continued by rubbing themselves against him
with increasing excitement. Half against his will, he felt his
own mounting randiness. Lykomaki clutched the skin at the back of
his neck with one hand, and with the other she gripped his
member. Her nails bored into its soft underside. Timesse put her
claws into his bag and squeezed his testicles. She increased the
pressure slowly. Lykomaki massaged him brutally, but the pleasure
was counteracted by the increasing pain from the balls. Finally,
he had to groan. They squeezed with all their might, their eyes
shining with lust. He barely kept himself from screaming, but his
pain was there nevertheless for them to enjoy. Then they drew
away. The pain died away, but he felt sick. He felt no pleasure
anymore, and he understood that he had lost his hard-on. Niki
stood at a distance, looking delighted.
   Timesse departed and was away for some time. Lykomaki's hands
were soft again, and slowly he regained his virility. She made
reassuring sounds and he managed a smile. He would do well to
ingratiate himself with these two women! When Timesse returned,
she was carrying a long, soft thorn-vine. She knotted the large
end around his sex. Handling the vine with heavy palm-gloves, she
wound it as tightly as she could, turn after turn, around the bag
and his member, while Lykomaki egged her on. The thorns stung and
burned his skin. The thin end of the vine Timesse tied carefully
around the tip of his penis; his foreskin had been pulled back as
far as it would go.
   It hurt like the very devil. All living and moving things of
the grasslands avoided the thornvine with its thousands of sharp
needles. Timesse and Lykomaki stepped back, cocked their heads
and enjoyed the effect, cackling merrily. Then they departed,
their arms around each other's shoulders.
   Niki remained. With his eyes and with pleading sounds he tried
to move her to relieve him of the vine, but without success. She
was too obviously delighted with the experiment and was in no
mood to interrupt it. Instead, she came up and tested the vine by
pulling it. His pain increased and he grimaced. Niki found this a
wonderful new game. She pushed a stick under the vine and
twisted; while doing it, she looked at him attentively in order
to ascertain his reaction. He begged her to stop it. She did not
understand what he was saying, of course, but she understood very
well what he wanted to say, and his entreaties had rather the
opposite effect of the intended one.
   At last she tired of the game, let go of the stick and skipped
away, clearly thinking of something entirely different. His eyes
followed her. In spite of her childishness, she was entirely a
horsewoman, and a sexual being; he wondered what she would be
like in a year or two? In spite of the pain, or perhaps because
of it, he was now nearly desperately randy. He actually found
himself wishing that Niki would come back to him, or even her
mother.
   Nobody else took pity on him. The women that walked past
looked at him and smiled but did not come to his aid. He remained
standing thus the whole afternoon; slowly, the acute pain changed
into an ache that with time became intolerable, mostly because he
could do absolutely nothing about it. Very clever of them! He
invented complicated forms of revenge: the two hags themselves
deserved to be tied with thornvines around their crotch and
breasts (Lykomaki was only Atossa's age and attractive in her
way, but for the moment he had no eye for her advantages). His
owners returned at last, but they just laughed at him. They did
release him from the stake after quite some time, but they
prohibited him with threatening grimaces from touching his sex.
   He had to wear the damn vine until nightfall. He was still
wearing it when Atossa pushed him over on his face and impaled
him on the horn-member again. This was nearly too much. The
training in self-restraint that the women had given him, perhaps
unintentionally, helped him to endure in stoic silence however,
which obviously made some impression on his owners. They played
with him speaking with mild voices, and their hands were tender.
   They pushed him over on his back after a while and bound him
in the same way as that first evening, when they had just
captured him. He suspected that he would now collect the reward
for  his obedience. Again the women caressed each other, and he
could now look at them with as little shame as they were showing
themselves; he had learnt to accept that the horsewomen, all of
them and not only Atossa and Sarissa, lived in loving
relationships which were both intense and lasting. Their use of
males seemed to be an entirely different matter; males were tools
of their physical lust only (a fact which did not exclude an
attachment of the kind we feel for pets).
   It was Sarissa's turn to be served by his tongue. While Atossa
was ridding him of the vine at last, Sarissa sat astride his
face. In the dim light he saw her supple body above himself in a
violently foreshortened perspective, which was at the same time
peculiarly attractive; he wished intensively that he would have
been able to caress her with his hands. She took her time, and
Atossa was now relieving the stinging sensation in his member by
holding it in her warm hand. Sarissa seemed several times to be
balancing on the brink of orgasm, only to retreat from it again.
When she came at last, with the tongue of her slave pushed as far
inside her vagina as he was capable of, he felt a curious
satisfaction, the cause of which he was unable to understand
rightly; for his own lust was still a torture inside him.
   Sarissa dismounted, still panting. It was Atossa, not him that
she kissed gratefully, but he was nevertheless given a smile and
an appreciative smoothing of his hair. Now it was Atossa who sat
across his hips and looked searchingly at him.
   What would she do with him? The last time around, she had
caused him the most cruel suffering he had yet experienced, more
cruel (though not more brutal) than any that he had expected from
the minions of En-Tor, and still his member was stiffer than
ever. But Atossa grasped it, and it slid slowly into her while
she let herself sink downward.
   He froze. The initial sensation of penetration was intensive,
and he felt as if his own member was being pierced lengthwise.
His eyes half closed and his face stiffened. Atossa seemed
herself to notice his situation; the tattooed body of the
she-savage, the face with the burning eyes, the waving plume of
hair---she did not wear it in a bun today---all was still. Then
she came down carefully in position on top of him.
    She was quiet for a long time before she began to move like a
reptile on top his body. Her face was only a couple of inches
above his. Again his lust was rising in him. He raised his hips
and met her, and his maltreated member ached inside her. He had
to get a grip on himself---he had to continue to be useful to her
until she came. He closed his eyes, for the sight of her face was
making him lose control of himself, and as a diversion, he tried
to recall to his memory the details of her back tattoos, but he
found to his horror that the very thought of her backside was
stimulating him; he began counting the horses of the Sisterhood
instead. Atossa seemed to sense his predicament and reined
herself in again.
   The ecstasy subsided, changed its countenance and was
transformed from a threat into pleasure. Now he felt that he
could let himself be fucked forever without losing either his
self-control or his ability.
   He moved his hips, and the muscular female body on top of him
responded rhythmically. Atossa was still piercing him with her
eyes. In a state of intensive concentration, he felt his pleasure
slowly intensifying and approaching the threshold of pain. Atossa
noticed it too and quickened her pace. She gripped his shoulders
mercilessly, and her breath came in bursts from her throat while
she threw herself violently up and down as if she were trying to
tear his member off his body. His anus contracted in cramps
around the tool that had penetrated it. The horsewoman cried out
like a bird of prey. He came. After weeks of abstinence, the
orgasm was so brutal that it hurt physically; for a moment he
thought that Atossa had harmed him.
   She remained long on top of him, warm and heavy, until she had
calmed down. Then she raised her head again and looked at him,
until she rolled away and left him. When they freed him much
later, he was granted an unexampled privilege: he was permitted
to sleep by the feet of the two women.

There was no doubt that he belonged to Atossa and Sarissa (mostly
to Atossa, and now he found this quite natural and even right).
But it soon dawned upon him that this ownership was more of a
prior claim than a monopoly. It was obvious that they had no
exclusive rights to him, and they in turn found it natural that
he had to serve nearly every postpubertal woman of the
Sisterhood, one after the other, from half-grown girls of fifteen
to wrinkled witches with breasts like pieces of leather. Atossa's
and Sarissa's permission was always sought, but clearly only as a
matter of form; the permission was always given.
   Without exception he had to lie bound on his back while the
women rode him. Several of them kept their knives hanging between
their breasts during the ride, some wore their whips wound and
knotted around their waists; but there was no need to chastise
him and they all seemed to find him satisfactory. Remarkably
enough, Lykomaki gave him one of his most satisfying experiences,
and he wondered after it if the memory of the pain she had given
him, and his fear of her, had not contributed. He had worried
about his ability to be useful to the old witches, but was soon
relieved of his fear. They preferred to make their rides at
night, in the darkness of their tents, and in its cover their
vitality and their clever hands made him forget their looks.
Afterwards, it was the common experience he remembered, and he
was beginning to see their bodies as the worn sheaths of
powerful, fascinating personalities. It was nevertheless these
women who, next to the very young girls, showed the least
consideration of his own feelings, and they often left him
physically un-released. No matter. To be allowed to satisfy them,
and to receive proof that they were pleased with him in their
reserved way, was a distinction. He found himself admiring these
old women, queenly like greying old lionesses and the
unquestioned mothers and leaders of their pride.
     He found the girls touching like pups. Among the most
interesting was Aryana, Hakki's daughter. She was still light of
skin under her tattoos, which she must have received recently,
just like Halanna; she was clearly proud of them and of her
position as a full horsewoman. She was deliberately hard on her
prisoner---she was actually the only one to deliberately give him
pain. She had given him several lashes with a short scourge,
while standing astride him on her knees. But he suspected that
she had held herself back, that she wished to be a merciless and
cruel brave, and again and again, the hard mask fell away
momentarily and afforded him glimpses of another Aryana, merry
and girlishly tender. He often found himself thinking of Niki.
Was this what she was going to be? He remembered the vine and how
she had tightened it around his sex, and he thought, no; but then
he saw her in his mind visiting him in the tent, on his first day
in camp, and changed his opinion.

(To be continued with part 3)
