Rising

   Chapter Nine



   Methaniel was awake and about before her, leaving Ahma to wake to a
cold, empty bed.  Her heart froze.  She trembled, feeling a strange panic
and ache inside, then calmed suddenly as her eyes fell upon his beloved
sword propped up against the wall.  He would never have left without it.

   The Wingling rose and tried to dispel the wave of panic fully.  She
quickly donned the new light gray wool britches and soft green tunic that
they'd bought.  They complimented the lovely shade of her wings.  She
brushed and re-braided her hair before arranging her wings neatly, preening
the feathers into place.  Then she softly sang her morning prayers, doing
her best to keep her voice down enough so she didn't bring any of the other
patron's attention.  She took simple pleasure in this ritual and allowed it
to relax and energize her for the day to come.

   She began to walk outside when the door swung open.

   "Master," she breathed, and she suddenly realized just how badly she had
been crushed by the thought of him being gone.

   Methaniel gazed on her in silent wonder.  Though he was no stranger to
the sight of her, he found himself amazed by her all the same.  Her rich
hair drawn into a thick, tight chestnut braid, sliding down her back and
between her wings and down to her buttocks, the light emerald of the
underside of her wings facing him, their brilliant colors fully settled
into the soft feathers.  Her flawless face stared up at him, her huge,
beautiful chocolate eyes shining softly.  Her pursed lips suddenly seemed
so soft, so welcoming, so inviting...

   He smiled at her, warm and sincere.  The girl filled him with a feeling
of life and vitality he'd never known with any other.  She was a marvel in
his eyes.

   She smiled back, "Good morning, Master Merie.  Did you sleep well?"

   "Very well," he nodded.  "And you?"

   "Of course," she replied.

   "I picked up a few last minute supplies and had the stable prepare
Lanion," he told her.  He handed her two thick scarves.  "Your brothers
told me once that Winglings use things like these to keep the base of their
wings warm."

   "Yes, thank you," Ahma smiled widely.  "I'll definitely use these."

   "I also stocked a lot of salt for us, and some bread.  I bought some
extra travel rations should hunting be thin.  Are you ready to leave?"

   "Yes, Master," she nodded.

   But she wasn't.  Even he could tell.  She didn't want to travel to the
next city.  Since he told her of his plans to find her a place to work and
stay in the next city, she'd grown quiet.  Something plagued her mind, even
if she tried to remain cheerful.  Methaniel guessed that she was worried
about the same thing he was: her safety.  Finding a decent place to live
for her would be difficult.  He would never be sure her new Master wouldn't
prostitute her or possibly rape her, or any other myriad abuses.  Life for
a servant in Rojinla was grim at best.  But they would find something, he
was sure, perhaps a church, or one of the rare households who cared for
their servants and workers properly.

   Outside they found two stable hands trying to keep Lanion from bolting.
Methaniel called to his horse.  Lanion snorted at him.

   The Master loaded their supplies onto the horse while Ahma adjusted her
cloak.  She watched the animal defy the man at every turn.  The normally
obedient horse could be very stubborn and rebellious when the mood struck
him, apparently.  As Methaniel moved to place a bag of dried provisions
onto the horse's back, Lanion side stepped into him, almost knocking him
over.

   Annoyance burned on Methaniel's face, but he managed to load the goods.
He turned to Ahma, "Are you ready?"

   "Hold on a minute!" a voice called out.

   They turned to see a rolly merchant approaching them.  He was middle
aged and seemed to have some level of wealth, judging by the cut of his
clothes, but not stunningly so.

   "The stable hands informed me this horse coupled with my mare
yesterday!" the man exclaimed.

   Methaniel gave Lanion a dirty look.  Lanion stared out of one equine eye
at him, and nickered softly.  Ahma tried not to giggle.

   "She's my finest horse!  I demand compensation for this!" the merchant
huffed.

   Methaniel turned his gaze to the pudgy man, staring him down.  "I
apologize, sir, for my horse's behavior.  But I'm afraid I won't be paying
you.  If anything, I believe you owe me a stud fee."

   "I wasn't trying to get my horse pregnant!" the merchant snapped.  "Oh,
this will cause me great trouble!"

   "Perhaps you shouldn't have her around the male horses when she's in
heat.  I'm not discussing this further.  If your mare does have a foal,
you'll make up greatly in profit with such a horse," Methaniel told him.

   The merchant continued to argue, but Methaniel mounted his steed, then
helped Ahma up in front of him.  As they rode off, they could hear the
merchant turn his anger on the stable hand for their `carelessness'.

   Methaniel patted the Lanion's neck, grinning widely.  "You old bastard."

   The horse, already seeming in a better mood after getting out of the
cramped stable, neighed loudly.

   "Ah, I almost forgot," Methaniel said, glancing down at the girl sitting
before him.  He reached behind him and ruffled briefly through their
supplies, then put an item in the Wingling's lap.  Her eyes widened.  It
was a sheathed blade, a short sword if she guessed correctly.

   "Unsheath it," Methaniel instructed.  He smiled proudly as she
reverently slid the blade free.  It was a fairly wide blade with a wicked,
gleaming edge.  It was smooth, unused and unmarred, but undoubtedly keen.
It tapered into a fine point, perfect for stabbing and thrusting, though
the blade was made to be a cutting weapon.  The hilt was comfortable and
easy to grasp, and a wide crossguard swept slightly upward.

   "Th-this is mine?" she stuttered, gaping at the blade.  Methaniel smiled
and without even realizing his actions, reach with one large hand to brush
back a stray lock of hair from her face.  He absently marveled at the
silken softness of the strands.

   Ahma stared at the weapon for a long moment before she realized he'd
touched her hair.  She smiled softly.  "Thank you, Master.  I'll do my best
to learn how to use this well."

   Inwardly, she was somewhat nervous.  The sword was so sharp it could
probably slice through bone.  It also thrilled her, as she hoped this meant
he planned to keep her with him some time longer.  He did have to teach her
how to use the sword, after all.

   They rode on through the day, traveling south.  Methaniel had bought a
crude but functional map before they'd left.  He planned to travel through
the plain lands and into the hillier regions, avoiding the major roads just
in case any eyes were looking for them.  About two weeks from Sefar was the
major city of Fernum.

   It was a mostly eventless journey.  Methaniel hunted as they rested the
horse, and occasionally at night as Ahma prepared the fire.  Prey
fluctuated in this area, both in variety and number, mainly consisting of
small game such as raccoon, hare, and wild squirrels.  They ate a steady
mix of the kills Methaniel brought in and the travel rations they'd bought.

   During the two weeks of travel Ahma's training became more intense. 
They used the scarves to bind her breasts tightly down to her chest.  It
wasn't comfortable at all, and made it a bit hard to breath at first, but
it kept her bosom out of the way and securely pressed to her body.  That,
combined with her new trousers and tunics, allowed her to move much more
freely and without worry.

   Methaniel began training her in stamina and conditioning exercises.  In
the afternoons they ran for some time, working and traveling all at once.
By the third day, Ahma was exhausted, and her body ached all over.  It was
a strenuous, hard, uncomfortable regiment and she plummeted into sleep each
night.  Methaniel pushed her and insisted that she give it her all.  He was
never cruel but always stern, making her go beyond what she imagined she
could every day.  He became somewhat gruff when he trained her, though not
unkind; he simply slipped back into his role as a soldier when they
trained. He was tireless, always demanding more, and if Ahma hadn't had an
appreciation for his fitness before, she did now.

   In addition to her conditioning exercises, Ahma's strength exercise
continued every night after they'd made camp and before they ate.  It was
more intense than ever.  They found rocks for her to lift and carry,
working to make her muscles stronger and tougher.  She trained in blade
maneuvers in the evening as well with both her dagger and her short sword.
She was able to practice with them in a more active and mobile manner.  Her
sword arm became heavy and exhausted day by day.

   She was, however, showing definite progress.  Methaniel drilled her
through her sword maneuvers, and after the first week of running, she was
able to keep pace with him for almost twice as she initially could before
having to rest from shortness of breath.

   Through it all, Ahma felt such a mix of emotions it was near
overwhelming.  She was proud of how well she was doing in her training; it
was difficult, and painful, but she knew it would serve her well in the
future.  She was also happy, truly happy.  She was so close to Master
Methaniel and able to spend time with him, to learn more about him.  The
more she knew him, the deeper in love with him she fell.  She had accepted
this; there was really no way she could deny that she loved him, not to
herself, at least.

   This love brought pain as well, however.  She knew it would never be
reciprocated.  Oh, Methaniel cared for her, she knew.  He showed his own
form of kindness and caring to her every day.

   But it didn't matter.  They were too different; their stations made any
relationship unacceptable, and their race would make things difficult as
well.  Ahma had no problem with the thought of mating with a Human; she
wasn't so sure Methaniel felt the same about Winglings.  And besides, he
cared for her, yes, but she highly doubted he felt the feelings beyond
caring that she was experiencing for him.

   And he was leaving her.  Though she hoped he would let her stay with him
for some time further, he spoke gently but firmly about finding her a
peaceful, safe place to live in Fernum.  She understood, of course; he was
trying to protect her.  In a way, that warmed her heart, that he would care
enough to try to ensure her safety.  But that warmth did nothing to sooth
the ache at the separation looming just ahead.

   The days passed, one fading into the next.  They were filled with tough
hours and times of learning.  When Ahma wasn't training, she occasionally
rode astride Lanion's back, sitting in front of Master Methaniel, but most
often she flew overhead, scouting for any sign of life around them. 
Methaniel still feared possible pursuit, and she was keenly searching for
any hint of hunters trailing them.  She also helped Methaniel search out
suitable camping sights, and watched for any sign of settlement or
habitation along their way to Fernum.

   They came upon the city a few days later than Methaniel had estimated,
but given their early camping each day in order for Ahma to train and
Lanion to rest, it wasn't a great surprise.  They arrived late in the
afternoon, as the sun was beginning to dip toward the horizon and gradually
turn the sky a brilliant orange.

   Fernum wasn't as large a city as Durinum, but it was massive compared to
Sefar.  It was walled in, though its walls were much more modest than those
of their home city.  The buildings were tall and largely made of rock.  It
was a tough, rough town, and it'd obviously seen some battle waged on its
soil before.  Many buildings still bore scars from past wars, and some were
entirely abandoned.  A shell of a building, crumbled and broken into half
formed ruin was not an entirely uncommon sight.  The town had a relatively
developed guard force, though they seemed more interested in putting
pressure on people for bribes and causing whatever trouble they could to
break their boredom than actually upholding anything passing for a law. 
Not one of them looked at Methaniel and Ahma twice as they entered through
the north gate, Methaniel on foot beside Lanion, who carried Ahma upon his
back, their façade roles put up for the public to see.

   The city was a cramped place full of closed spaces with buildings
bunched together.  The roads were crowded with people and branched off into
narrow and waste cluttered alleys.  Shops were set up and scattered around,
but they bypassed these, searching for a favorable inn.  The folk here were
even less friendly than those at Sefar, and Ahma felt her heart tightening
in her chest at the thought of living in this grim and oppressive place.

   It only became worse the further into the town they went.  The slave
trade was strong in Fernum.  Men, women, and even children were shackled
and led along, poked and prodded and beaten in broad daylight by Nobles and
Masters.  They hurried by a market square on one side of the city, where
Humans and other races sat miserable and pain filled in cages, taken out to
be sold on the auction block.  The sight turned Ahma's stomach.  There were
prostitutes frequenting the streets, their work unhidden and advertised. 
But these prostitutes were not free people; all of them, mostly women and
young girls, were shackled and wore slave collars, and were branded.  While
Ahma bore a servants mark, these slaves had been scalded by metal, leaving
scarring burns in whatever pattern their owners chose.  They were much more
clearly shown, marking the slave's arm, chest, and even face.

   They found an inn on the west side of town, a simple district of the
city that was neither slum nor upscale.  The inn looked favorable, but it
had no stables.  Ahma was fighting to hold her tears back by the time they
reached it.

   "I'll go arrange our room," Methaniel nodded.  He jerked his head toward
a stable yard down the street.  "Take Lanion to the stables over there and
get him comfortable.  I'll be by momentarily to help you settle the
payment."

   "Yes, Master," Ahma said softly.  Distracted by Ahma's distraught and
wishing to get her settled away from the ugly streets as soon as possible,
Methaniel walked briskly to the inn.

   The Wingling steered Lanion toward the stables with a sigh.  She was
horrified at the wide spread cruelty that filled this city.  She couldn't
imagine staying in this place.  It seemed even more horrible than Sefar. 
She put the horse up in the stables, making sure he was as comfortable as
possible.  She made sure he had plenty of hay and oats to eat and rubbed
his thick neck.

   "They'll take care of you," she told him as she caressed and rubbed at
his shining coat.  A stable hand stood in the corner, ignoring her; he'd
been more pleasant that the one in Sefar, likely because she had followed
their plan and claimed she was a Lady, and the owner of the horse.

   A few moments later a man came sauntering into the stable yard.  He was
clad in a worn leather hauberk and thick trousers, and heavy wool gloves.
He had a rough look about him, and his features were hawkish and sharp.  A
blade was strapped to his hip and his hand rested on it firmly.

   He glanced around the area, his eyes falling on Ahma.  He stared at her
for several moments, then gave a smirk and walked over to the stable hand.
The two exchanged hushed words, then the stable hand shrugged, accepted a
handful of coins, and left.

   Ahma tensed as the rough man approached her, smiling widely.

   "Nice horse," he commented, glancing at Lanion in his pen.  The horse
neighed sharply and tossed his head.

   "Um...th-thank you," Ahma stuttered.  She did not like this man.

   He stepped closer still, making her take a step back.  Her wings
fluttered nervously.  He smelled of state sweat and unwashed flesh.

   "Where you come from?" he asked conversationally as he reach a hand out
to pat Lanion.  The horse made to bite him, his blunt teeth snapping
quickly for the man's fingers.  He cursed under his breath and snatched his
hand away, glaring at the horse for a moment before grinning even wider.

   "Sefar," Ahma lied quickly.  She tried to subtly edge away from him, but
it seemed as if he shifted with her, keeping her trapped against the pen
fence.

   "Huh," he chuckled.  "And here I thought you were a runaway servant from
Durinum."

   Ahma's eyes flew open in alarm.  She lunged to the side, trying to slip
past him and run, but as soon as she moved he pounced on her, shoving her
back against the fence and pinning her arms to her side.

   "Let me go," Ahma gasped, trying to push him away.

   "Hah!" the man laughed, "I don't think so, girlie.  You've got a big
bounty on your head...enough to set this merc up for the rest of his days.
I dunno who wants you so bad, little bird, but I plan to deliver."

   Ahma was cold inside.  She knew what this meant.  Those who sought
Master Methaniel knew of her, apparently, and now they wanted her as well.

   She was being hunted.

   "You're mistaken, sir," Ahma said, forcing her voice to a firm but
neutral tone.  "I'm not a servant, and I'm certainly not wanted by anyone."

   The man grabbed her hand and held it up, smirking and showing her the
betraying marking that labeled her as a servant.  She cursed silently;
they'd been careless.

   "That's the mark they described, all right.  Wanted posters are around,
you know, for a Wingling woman with a servant mark on her hand, a house
symbol of a Dragon crouched with its wings spread.

   Ahma was in trouble.

   "I remembered the whole thing because of how much money was bein'
offered.  But I never thought I'd actually find you!"

   "My Master will not be pleased by this," Ahma said desperately.  "He'll
kill you."

   "Your Master?" the mercenary gawked, then broke out laughing.  "What are
you talking about?  You killed him!  You killed them all, and burned that
place down, too!  It's all on the poster!"

   "No," Ahma whispered in horror.  She was being blamed for that tragedy?

   The man suddenly yanked her forward, leering down at her, his hot breath
against her face.  "You're lucky, y'know.  The poster says they want you
alive.  I'd kill you, otherwise.  It's much easier to carry you back that
way."

   "Unhand me.  You can still walk away," Ahma said through gritted teeth,
her voice more steady and determined than she felt.

   "Walk away from what?" he barked, his grip bruising her arms.  "The
reward?  The good life?  A chance to finally get off the gods damned road
and have somethin' to call my own?  I don't think so."

   He began to drag her away.  She screamed, thrashing against him and
trying to slip free, but no one was about to aid her, and his grip was like
a vice.  She lashed at him with her wings, smacking him with them, but he
shrugged such blows off and only laughed at her.  He smirked down at her
and released one of her arms, reaching up to run his dirty hands through
her hair.

   "Poster says you're to be alive.  But it doesn't say anything about
being...unspoiled." His eyes bore into her, lustful and predatory, as his
hand reached down to close around her breast.

   But he'd made a mistake, a stupid mistake, in releasing one of her arms.
Ahma used her free hand to reach into a small slit she'd cut in the side of
her skirts, and grabbed the dagger strapped to her thigh.  She wrenched it
free from its sheath and slashed out, dragging the blade down the length of
the man's forearm.

   He howled and released her.  Ahma stumbled back and raised her dagger
into a ready position.  The man clutched his bleeding forearm for a moment,
then snarled cruelly and pulled the long sword at his hip free.  Ahma
trembled.  She knew her dagger would do little good against a sword such as
that.  Her new shortsword was still with the goods Methaniel had carried
into the inn with him.  She couldn't believe, after all the caution and
forethought they'd used up till this point, they'd stumbled so badly.

   "Looks like you'll have to be spoiled and scarred!" the man growled.

   Before he could lunge for her, a thick, wide blade suddenly exploded out
of his chest cavity, protruding almost a foot from his chest wall.  Blood
splashed onto the stable ground.

   Ahma felt a touch of alarm, but mostly relief.  She sagged backward, her
hand suddenly trembling around the dagger clutched in her fist.

   Methaniel pulled his broadsword free as he gathered the body up in one
arm.  He glanced out onto the streets, feeling suddenly thankful that they
were in a more-less quiet area of town.  He threw the body into the alley
across the road then ran back to the stables.

   "Don't mention this," he instructed her as he wiped the blade of his
sword clean and re-sheathed it.

   Lanion was neighing and snorting in his pen, tossing his mane violently
in agitation.  His flanks rippled; he was barely containing the urge to
kick his way out of the pen.

   "It's okay, calm," Methaniel said as he reached a hand out to Lanion's
muzzle.  He pat him several times.  The horse snorted indignantly, but his
temper began to cool.

   "We'll be back soon, my friend.  Calm yourself," Methaniel instructed,
then turned and put a hand on Ahma's shoulder, gently steering her away
from the stables.

   "Act casual.  Nothing is wrong," Methaniel murmured to her softly.

   "Master...that man...how are we going to explain?"

   "We won't," Methaniel replied.  "No one in this city will care.  He's a
mercenary...they're not particularly well liked here.  No one is.  As long
as we don't state responsibility, then no one will look twice at us.  In a
city like this a death goes unnoticed."

   "He's dead," Ahma said in a shaking voice.

   "I know.  But it would have been him or you.  I chose him."

   "He was searching for me," Ahma murmured.  "There's wanted posters up,
he said.  They're looking for a Wingling woman with the house mark."

   Methaniel nodded grimly and walked them through the inn and into their
room, passing through so quickly Ahma barely got a look at their
surroundings.

   "I'm so sorry," Methaniel said as soon as he shut the door behind him.
Ahma sat down on the bed, shaking now.  "I should never have left you
alone."

   Ahma shook her head numbly.  It was wrong.  Everything was wrong.  Soon
he was going to leave her in this horrible, ugly place, and she'd be alone,
without him, and now she was hunted on top of it.

   Methaniel paced the room for several moments, cursing under his breath.
Their room was like any other in an inn, semi-spacious and mostly empty,
with a large bed and a bedside table with candles stacked on top.  A chest
sat at the foot of the bed and a screen ran across one of the room's
corners to provide privacy for changing.  A small brick hearth sat along
the far wall.

   Ahma hardly noticed any of this; her heart was too heavy.  She felt as
if she would burst into tears any moment.  Their parting weighed heavily on
her and now she feared for his life.  She'd not been afraid for a long
time, not really; after all, the Master was with her, and she knew he would
protect her.  But what about in a few days, when he would surely leave
Fernum, and her, behind?

   The Master suddenly stopped his pacing and knelt down in front of her.
He took her shaking hands in his and softly squeezed them.

   "I will never leave you like that again, Ahma.  I promise you this."

   "You'll have to soon," she said, blinking away tears.  "You must
continue.  You have to find who did those horrible things.  You'll leave me
behind."

   "No," Methaniel said firmly, "I won't."

   Ahma's head jerked up to his face.  She was sure her ears had deceived
her.

   "What?" she breathed.

   "I won't leave you alone ever again," he repeated.  "I can't.  You are
hunted, and you are in very grave danger.  I felt that this was true for
some time...but I always hoped I could find you someplace safe to live. 
Now I think otherwise.  I don't know when that will happen, but it won't be
now.  You won't be safe alone anymore.

   "I know I'm going into violence," he continued, "It's almost assured. 
But I would rather you be with me, where I know I can keep you safe, and I
can teach you how to keep yourself safe."

   His rough fingertips caressed her small hands with infinite gentleness.
"Ahma, unless you ever decide you do not will it...I will never leave or
abandon you.  I will always protect and guard you against harm and danger.
I swear this to you."

   Ahma nodded, unable to process this.  She sat on the side of the bed as
Methaniel released her hands and settled the room.  He put their cloaks
away and started a small fire in the hearth.  He came and knelt beside her.
"I'm going out for a moment, Ahma...I don't want to, but I have to."

   She looked up at him in panic, but he patted her shoulder and handed her
the short sword he'd bought her.  "The door locks.  I'm going to take the
key.  Don't allow anyone to enter, not even a maid.  If anyone tries to
force their way in, attack them, make them leave, whatever you have to do.
If there's more than one person, slip out the window.  Fly out to the
thicket of woods out the north gate we saw this afternoon.  I'll find you
there."

   "Where are you going?" Ahma asked softly.

   "We need supplies.  And I have to check some things.  Listen, Ahma, I
will be quick, but until we find a way to better keep suspicion from you,
you should stay hidden in here." He squeezed her shoulder gently and looked
into her eyes.  "Don't worry.  I won't let anyone hurt you."

   She nodded to his words, but she felt disconnected and completely
removed from herself as she bid him farewell, promised to arrange their
things further, and locked the door behind him.

   Taking a few moments to put their garments and supplies away, she folded
their clothes into neat stacks and piled them in the chest by the bed.  A
small cot sat by the door on the other side of the cot, by the door, and a
single blanket folded on top of it.

   It occurred to Ahma then that there were two `beds'.  The cot was hers.
She had to remind herself, suddenly, that she was a servant.  She was a
servant.  Her mind had wandered too far these last several days to think
otherwise.

   She sat on the floor by the fireplace, feeling a wild mix of emotions.
He had sworn to never leave her, just moments ago.  That promise lifted her
heart and made it beat faster with joy.  She would never be without him. 
Yet her joy was tempered with fear from what she had seen of Fernum and the
attack she'd been subjected to.  She was hunted.  How could she ever feel
safe again?

   Sorrow filled her, too.  She would be with him, but only ever as a
servant.  He would be near her tonight, but she would sleep by herself. 
The days of closeness and intimacy were over, it seemed.

   Her mind flicked to the thought of the slaves wearing chains, and she
shuddered.  He didn't plan on putting her in shackles, did he?  Of course
not...even if they were to be only servant and Master, she knew he wasn't
so cruel as to do such a thing.

   But the damage was done.  She'd somehow harbored thoughts that, in some
way, somehow, they would be together.  Though she told herself several
times that she never thought it would really come to anything, she knew she
was lying to herself.

   With all the strees of the day, the horrors she'd seen, and her tired,
clattered state of mind, Ahma burst into tears.





   ***





   When Methaniel returned he found the Wingling girl huddled by the
fireplace, crying softly.  He tossed the goods he'd bought onto the bed and
quickly locked the door.  He sat down beside her, gathering her into his
arms.  He held her close and warm as she cried into his broad chest.  His
heart ached for her.  No doubt all the trauma and horrible events of the
last two months, compounded by the attack earlier that evening, had finally
been too much for her.  He smoothed her hair, caressing it, once again
enjoying the wonderful feel of it even through his sympathy and worry for
her.  He continued to hold her close as she hiccupped and sobbed softly
till her tears slowed and began to dry on her face.

   "Ahma?" he asked tentatively.

   Ahma scooted closer to him, until he pulled her into his lap.  She wiped
her face with her hands, sending tear stains all about.  Softly she said,
"I'm sorry, Master."

   "It's all right, Ahma.  Did something happen while I was gone?"

   She shook her head slightly, her eyes still staring downward.  "No,
Master.  I arranged our things and cleaned things up, then sat for a
while."

   "You didn't have to do anything," Methaniel said gently.  "I bought some
bread and cheese, and a few fruits so we can eat in our room tonight.  I
thought staying inside would do us both some good.  I'm ready to slay half
the city after seeing how they're treating...treating the slaves."

   "I know," she sighed.  "Even the children are treated horribly.  I don't
understand how people can do that...how they can hurt a child."

   Methaniel remembered the young ones, ten of them in chains, forced to
drag a cart loaded with goods.  Another man sold a girl, no older than
twelve, to a brutish man for three hours.  When the girl cried in fear and
tried to cling to her master, the man beat her to the ground.

   Master Methaniel rubbed her hair, feeling its texture, better than the
softest linens.  "Maybe some people just don't have hearts.  Or souls. 
Would that I had the power to change these things."

   She shuttered and pressed her face to his chest.  "Would...you really
have left me here?"

   "No," Methaniel shook his head.  "I began to have doubts in Sefar. 
After what I saw today, I realized there wouldn't be a safe place in this
town for you.  And now I believe I will only ever know you are safe if you
are with me."

   She smiled softly.  A strange, content happiness filled her, chasing
away all the negativity she'd been dwelling on.  Just being in his arms
broke through her despair.  She knew he would protect her.  She knew he
wouldn't leave her.  And she somehow knew, by his closeness, by the way he
held her and caressed her hair, that she was not to be a simple servant.

   What part of his life would she play?  She was his servant,
certainly...she still took pride in serving him and caring for him, and
tending to his needs.  But she was also, if nothing else, a friend, she
felt.  Beyond that...?

   She turned her gaze up to his face.  A small, serene smile touched her
lips as she took in the sight of him.  Her eyes sparkled in the light from
the fire, shimmering off the tiny droplets of water in her lashes.

   Then, before she could stop herself, she leaned up and gave Methaniel a
soft, small kiss.  It was simple, gentle.  He barely had time to tell how
her lips felt through his surprise before she pulled away and reburied her
head into his broad chest.

   "Thank you, Master Merie."

   He rubbed the back of her head, still surprised.  "You're welcome, Ahma.
Are you ready to eat?"

   "Yes, I am," she agreed.

   Methaniel brought the satchel of food to where they sat by the fire.  He
handed Ahma a waterskin and a piece of green fruit.  She took a drink.  By
now her eyes had mostly dried, but tear stains glinted on her face in the
yellow light.  Somehow, they made her all the more lovely.

   As he took a bite of some cheese, she suddenly asked, "What else did you
get?"

   He chuckled softly.  "I almost forgot."

   He opened the bag on the bed and pulled out a small pair of gloves.  He
handed them to her.

   They were a pale green color, slender and smooth, with small, triangular
flaps at the cuffs to cover her wrist.  As she felt them, she realized they
were some kind of soft, supple leather.  They were the nicest gloves she'd
ever seen.

   Her eyes widened and she looked up at him in surprise.  "You...got these
for me?"

   "We have to cover your marking," he answered, then winked softly. 
"Besides, I told inn keeper you were from a wealthy Wingling family, so you
should look the part at least a bit."

   Ahma blinked for a moment, then burst into a fit of laughter.  "That
cot!" she giggled.  "It's for you!"

   Methaniel broke into a grin.  "I suppose it is, if you plan on banishing
me to it."

   "Oh, Master, I could never do that.  I'll sleep there so you can have
the nice bed."

   He took one look at the cot, then shook his head.  "Absolutely not.  The
cot by the door is for the bodyguard, to prevent attackers from entering."

   "I understand, Master Merie, but you still get the nice bed," she
insisted.

   He smiled at her.  "Why are we discussing this?  We'll just keep each
other warm as usual.  Simple as that."

   She smiled shyly back at him.  "All right.  Thank you, Master Merie. 
I'm very lucky.  You have been so kind to me..."

   "You are more than deserving of such kindness," he replied as he
stripped off his shirt and climbed into the bed.  Ahma blushed softly,
lowering her eyes so that she would not stare at his muscled form as she
knew she wanted to.  He had not before slept in such a way, as it was
usually too cold, but now with the fire crackling and warming the room, and
the many blankets upon the bed, she supposed it was warm enough for him to
sleep however he was comfortable.  It was going to be...difficult to sleep,
perhaps.  She grabbed her nightgown and stepped behind the screen in the
corner to change.  She emerged looking beautiful and alluring even in the
simple, modest gown.  She snuggled into him as he held an arm out to her.
She was no longer hesitating or anxious about the implications of such
closeness.  Now she simply enjoyed his warmth.

   Though both of them felt there was more to say, they faded off into a
comfortable silence, simply enjoying each other's pleasant company.

   Methaniel gazed down at the Wingling girl pressed to his chest.  She
breathed smoothly, evenly, falling into a peaceful sleep in his powerful
arms.  The Nobleman idly reached down to brush a strand of hair from her
face.  He felt her smooth body pressing to his, her supple curves against
him, her generous bosom, just how large and plentiful he could only guess,
lightly crushed against his side.  He shivered at the thought of it. 
Images and fantasies played through his mind, the feel of her enormous
breasts, a feature he admittedly sought in a woman, her sensual curves and
smooth flesh.  He wondered if the skin was as pale and creamy all over her
body as it was on her face and arms.  He shivered slightly and tightened
his arms about her as she stirred gently.  She smiled in her sleep and
nuzzled closer into him.

   His mind thought of all the pleasures her flesh must surely offer, the
delights of her slender form and bountiful curves...he sighed softly and
shut his eyes, trying to force his mind elsewhere.  His muscles bunched
against silken skin and she pressed her body closer still.  She seemed
almost too good to be true.  Doubtless she had a glorious body, one out of
a dream, sensual and highly erotic, though she remained innocent and
angelic in her actions.  Her flawless face, her neat upturned nose, her
huge, innocent, shining brown eyes, her delicate cheeks and rounded face,
her full soft pursed lips... all harmoniously blended to create a perfect
work of timeless art.

   He leaned back, settling into the bed more fully, his mind drifting as
he slowly slipped into sleep.  Her body was certainly enticing, but her
gentle and kind soul her sharp and intelligent mind all made her the more
alluring.  Her personality was unique and her spirit was high, her heart
gentle and compassionate.  Those set her far apart from other women he had
encountered, and were perhaps the most prominent things that attracted him
to the girl.

   The Nobleman dozed, falling into pleasant, intense dreams of just what
wonders the Wingling woman might have to offer.

   ***



   In the morning, after a brief breakfast Methaniel gathered himself and
headed out into the city.

   "I won't be long," he assured Ahma.  "I need to gather some information.
Perhaps I can find what has been going on in Durinum and just how hard they
are trying to find us.  You can walk around the inn if you'd like, you're
registered as a minor noble so you shouldn't have any problems.  If
something happens, do as we planned last night.  Wear your gloves and keep
your weapons on your body.

   "Just be careful," he said at last, realizing he was babbling.  "If you
need some fresh air, I'm sure Lanion would enjoy your company.  He's taken
quite a liking to you.  He's more tolerant of you than me these days."

   Methaniel chuckled and reached down to squeeze her shoulder softly and
took her hand into his other one.  "I won't be long, I swear to you.  I
don't want to leave at all, but where I will search for information will
be... unpleasant."

   Ahma nodded slowly, understanding and grateful despite her nervousness.
"Please hurry back to me, Master Merie.  This place scares me," she
whispered softly.

   Methaniel bent down, and lightly kissed her forehead, murmuring soft
comforts before quickly stepping out of the room, eager to finish his
business and get back before the Wingling girl should worry too much.

   ***



   "Hurry up," Methaniel barked.

   The shady, sallow skinned man glared darkly at him but remained silent
as he slinked into the run down shack of a building.  Methaniel knew he
would return, hopefully with some useful information.

   He'd been directed to this dark corner of the city after asking around
in the local pubs and watering holes.  People tentatively pointed his way
here.  While these folk were hardly trustworthy, he was fairly sure he had
intimidated the doorman enough to convince him of the stupidity of trying
to pull something.  Besides, the promise of the funds he provided should be
enough to get him `quality' information.

   His mind began wandering again.  It settled on the all-too brief feel of
soft, silken, plump lips pressed lightly to his cheek.  He had been
surprised, but far from displeased, by Ahma's kiss.  On the contrary, for
the brief contact with Ahma's pink lips served to make him wonder what
other pleasures they could bring...

   The Nobleman mentally kicked himself.  But he couldn't seem to help it;
the girl plagued his thoughts endlessly of late, and he seemed more and
more to wonder what possibilities could be had with one was gloriously
different and exotic as she.  Though he was fairly certain of the innocence
of her kiss, he had begun to wonder...

   He snapped back to reality again as the shack door opened.  The Nobleman
dropped a few coins into the outstretched hand.  The ruffian inside
narrowed his eyes.

   "The rest when I get the information I seek," Methaniel stipulated
firmly.  The man spat at his feet, but his tongue suddenly became loose as
Methaniel's hand came down to grip the hilt of his sword.

   "Carimshaw, to the south and three miles east o' the road. 
Information's better there.  We don't know nothin' bout no Durinum nobles.
That's all I got."

   Methaniel cursed softly as the door slammed in his face.  He shook his
head, scowling away his anger.  At least he had a lead, some lead, however
minor it was.  He turned on his heals and headed back for the inn.





   ***





   Ahma headed straight for the stables the moment Methaniel left; he'd
been right, she did need a breath of fresh air.  She wore the hideous brown
dress, though it stood at odds with the fine gloves she wore.  Then again,
she was also wearing a cloak too large for her that sat awkwardly on her
wings, and a short sword strapped to her hip.  She probably looked
rather...eclectic.  She probably fit the impression of a crazy Wingling
Noble quite well.  Her dagger was once again strapped to her thigh, hidden
away in the folds of her skirts.

   At the stable the stable hand, one different from yesterday, greeted her
and showed her to Lanion, but otherwise took little notice of her.  There
didn't seem to be any concern for the blood stain sparsely covered over
with straw in the middle of the stable grounds.  Then again, now that she
looked, Ahma noticed several stains of a suspiciously similar nature.

   Lanion stood in his small pen, furiously chewing on the fence railing.
Apparently he thought this a clever way to revenge himself upon the stable
in general.  Ahma slipped between the fence rails.  Normally she wouldn't
have fit because of her wings, but Lanion seemed to have the `jumper' pen
with extra high fences.

   Lanion nudged her shoulder as she stood.  She patted his nose.  "Hello
to you too.  I suppose you weren't too happy with what happened yesterday,
huh?"

   Lanion snorted and kicked a rail.  Ahma smiled and rubbed his neck.  "I
thought so.  I'm not worried, though.  I'm safe with you."

   Lanion began to chew the fence again.  Ahma sighed and smirked softly.
"You're going to ruin your teeth."

   A man walked into the stables from the small shack they did business out
of and glanced around.  He spotted Ahma and walked over.  He was short and
lean and had a relatively well groomed appearance.  Ahma tensed.

   "Excuse me, my Lady?  Is this your horse?"

   "Yes," Ahma answered hesitantly, deciding her answer was close enough to
the truth.

   "He wouldn't happen to be for sale, would he?" the man ventured.

   "Um...no, I couldn't sell him," she replied.

   "Before you make a final decision," the man spoke, "I'm prepared to
offer you a rich sum.  I have much wealth, and I would gladly spend a
generous portion of it to own such a horse."

   The man seemed surprisingly honest, and he didn't appear armed.  Still,
Ahma crept closer to Lanion, feeling safer near the massive horse.  "I'm
afraid he's not for sale," she repeated.  "This breed is unique.  They will
obey only those who have reared them from foalhood."

   The man seemed confused.  "Interesting...but I don't particularly
understand.  I saw a man riding it earlier."

   Ahma thought fast.  "Yes, that man was my escort and horse master.  He
helped to raise the horse.  The horse obeys no other but we two.  He's
unable to do otherwise, I'm afraid."

   Lanion gave her a dirty look.

   "Really now?" the man murmured, nodding slowly.

   Ahma continued to talk to the man for some time.  She tried to end the
conversation several times, but he seemed intent on talking forever. 
Finally he stopped asking her questions, which relieved her as she finally
didn't have to make up answers anymore.

   He looked at her and said slowly, "I am a Duke from a country south of
here...Vetru, it is called.  Perhaps...you would like to visit some time?

   Ahma paused.  This was becoming somewhat ridiculous.

   "I will have to check with my m...father.  But he hopefully won't mind."

   He smiled.  "I would be delighted to have you."

   Lanion snorted and Methaniel appeared around the corner.  The Master
took one look at the man and began to pull his sword as he snuck up behind
him.

   Ahma announced, "Ah, there you are bodyguard.  I was wondering where
you'd wandered off to.

   The strange Noble turned to find Methaniel, sword drawn, giving Ahma a
dirty look.  He hastily bid her farewell and walked from the stables.

   "Who was that?" Methaniel asked.

   "He wanted to buy Lanion.  I told him no, but he kept on talking.  He
claimed he was a Duke somewhere and would like me to visit him."

   Methaniel's eyebrows raised.  "What did you tell him?"

   Ahma turned pink.  "A few different things I...well, made up."

   Methaniel smirked and sheathed his blade.  "You probably should try to
avoid talking to people."

   "I know, but he wouldn't go away," she sighed.

   Methaniel shook his head, realizing that Ahma didn't seem to notice that
inviting a "Noble" Lady to ones home was certainly courting.  Given her
soft beauty and fair composure, the poor man probably thought she was
practically royalty.

   Then again, given the strange blend of what she wore...

   "If someone asks after you, just tell them you're married.  They'll
leave you alone.  Or let Lanion bite them, whichever is quicker."

   Lanion bit the fence in reply.  Ahma giggled.

   "Did you find anything?" Ahma asked.

   Methaniel nodded and, after patting Lanion for a moment, led her back
toward the inn.

   "A bit.  All I really found was that we may be able to locate some
information in a town to the southwest.  We'll spend a few days here and
I'll try to see if I can find any other leads."

   "Can I do anything to help?" Ahma asked.

   "Yes," Methaniel chuckled, "Keep Lanion from killing stable hands."

   Ahma laughed softly.  Methaniel smiled down at her.

   "If I find anything, I'll let you know.  In the meantime, try to relax
and keep a low profile.  Practice your dagger and sword work as well as you
can in the room."

   "Yes, Master Merie," she smiled softly.  "Are you hungry?"

   Methaniel nodded vigorously and elbowed her slightly.  "Shall we,
Mistress?"

   Ahma blushed softly as she realized she'd let his title slip.  "Indeed,
bodyguard."

   ***



   After a brief lunch, Ahma went back to the room while Methaniel went
back out into town to search for more information.  She locked herself in
and changed into one of her tunics and leggings, happy to be rid of her
stuffy brown dress.  Master Methaniel seemed very concerned that she spoke
to the man, and she understood why, though she didn't feel she had much of
a choice.  The stranger refused to acknowledge a finalizing statement.

   Ahma sat by the fire for some time, mostly playing with her hair.  She
braided it around the front of her head, almost like a band, then left the
rest down.  It curled in every direction.

   Master Methaniel promised to keep her by his side, always.  That was a
strong vow he made, but she believed him.  He had more conviction than
anyone she had ever met, and he was serious about his word.

   She wondered, though, how he really felt about her.  She couldn't help
it, no matter how she tried to tell herself it didn't matter, that he was a
Master and she a servant, and no matter what, nothing could come of it. 
She tried to tell herself that he was simply being kind because it was his
way...but sometimes he was more than kind.  Sometimes he was warm, and
caring, and tender...and he looked at her in just such a way.  Even as
inexperienced and unknowing as she was, she felt that gaze had to mean
something.  Perhaps he cared for her more than it seemed.  It certain was
possible...they spent much time together, very close, his arms around
her...and he hadn't been the least upset by the liberty of her kiss last
night.  Did he have feelings for her?

   She needed to find out.

   Her face was serious with thought as she ran an idea through her head.
It might work...but the meaning would probably be lost, on a Human.  But
then again, the Master was intelligent...

   It was worth a try, she decided.  She would let him know of her
feelings, her desire, her love, in a tradition of her people.  She would
have to see how he reacted.  Perhaps he wouldn't react at all, who knew? 
If he didn't understand, it wouldn't upset her.  Master Methaniel was
knowledgeable in Wingling ways, for a Human, but he still might not
understand.

   But...if he rejected her, it would likely break her heart.  She loved
him, she knew that for a certainty.  He was the man she had always wanted,
even before she'd realized she wanted a mate to begin with.  He was caring,
strong, kind, and exciting.  She admired him and all the positive qualities
he showed, from his gentle touch to his unwavering sense of justice.

   Ahma felt a swell of excitement.  He seemed fond of her...more than fond
of her.  She hoped this would go well.  She risked much with this, but she
couldn't bear to contain her feelings for him anymore.  At night her heart
grew weak and the valley of her legs warm and moist as he drew near.  She
had barely been able to stop herself last night at such a simple kiss.

   The Wingling girl jumped at the knock at the door.  She rose and cracked
the door open, then sighed in relief and let Master Methaniel entered.  He
shook his head, a tight, hard look on his handsome face as he unbelted his
sword and propped it against the wall.

   "Damn street hustlers trying to cheat me," he grumbled.

   His face lost much of its irritation as his eyes fell on his companion,
smiling softly at him in amusement.

   "Hello, Ahma.  I've never seen you wear your hair like that.  Very
regal," he commented with a playful wink.  "Quite Lady like.  The court
women will likely adapt it immediately as the latest fashion."

   "I wonder if they'll adopt the frump brown dress look as well."

   He laughed.  "Are you ready for dinner?  The tavern is starting to get
busy."

   Ahma nodded.  "Yes, I suppose we should eat before it gets late."

   They went to the tavern and had a pleasant meal.  The food was good,
especially for how low the price was.  Their bar maid sold them the house
special wine for half price, though neither were particularly sure why. 
Ahma only drank half her glass, fearing what effects the strong alcohol
could have on her body.  It seemed to do little, however.  She wished she
had partaken more from the sweet stuff; perhaps it would relax her enough
for what was to come.

   Methaniel went to tend to the fire when they entered the room, throwing
some logs on to chase away the chill.  He turned to Ahma.  The Wingling
girl was fiddling with her hair.

   "Are you ready to change?" he asked.

   "Master Merie, can you help me with something?" she asked.  Her back was
turned to him as she sat upon the bed.

   "Of course," he nodded, watching her.

   "Some of my hair has caught in my feathers...can you help me get them
back in order, please?"

   Methaniel stood, motionless, staring at her for what seemed like a long,
long time.  The Nobleman had an idea of what a request like this was truly
about...piecing together conversations with her on the Wingling ways, as
well as things her brothers had told him, gave him a pretty clear picture.
Winglings did not allow those outside their family to touch their
wings...especially someone of the opposite sex.  And for a Wingling Maiden
to suggest such a thing...there were implications to such a request.

   He drew closer and slowly sat on the bed behind her.  There was no hair
stuck in the feathers.

   The Wingling woman stretched her wings out more fully, offering them to
him.  She offered that which was most precious to her, her feathers, her
wings, her bond with sky and air and all things graceful and beautiful.  It
was a precious gift she put forth to him in many, many ways.  She showed
her full, complete trust in him, and her submission to his care.

   Methaniel's fingertips, calloused and thick, caressed along her sleek,
smooth feathers in a light, soothing touch that gently smoothed the
feathers into place.  He shivered unconsciously, marveling at the soft,
perfect feel of them.

   "You...are certain?" he whispered into her ear.

   Suddenly he was close, very close.  His heart beat against her back and
his warmth washed over her body.  She could feel the solidness of him.

   "Yes, Master...I am certain," she breathed thickly.  Somehow, she didn't
sound nervous.  She was thankful for that.

   Several moments passed in which he continued to smooth and caress her
wings, letting her feel his gentle, loving touch and understand that he
would not rush nor harm her.

   His arms were around her, embracing her in a way that was at once
familiar and foreign.  She'd spent much time in his arms over the last
several months.  But this was not the comforting, friendly embrace meant to
warm and sooth.  This was intimate, erotic, and encompassing.  His hands,
his huge powerful hands, slid around the front of her body, stroking her
flat belly and sides.  They dipped under the hem of her tunic, tracing the
soft, formed lines of her abdomen.

   She giggled at his touch, unable to help herself as she relaxed and
enjoyed this new sensation.  His hands felt comforting yet highly arousing.
She sighed softly and leaned back against him.  Her wings made this
slightly awkward for a moment before she adjusted them in a way that
allowed her to fit against his body perfectly.

   Methaniel's lips were upon her neck, placing soft kisses on her silken
flesh before gently putting light suction on her skin.  His tongue and lips
caressed and tasted her.  His hands, massaging and caressing her tight,
toned flesh, slowly slip up her supple body.

   She pressed her head against him, turning to one side to give him more
access to her sweet slender neck.  His kisses sent chills down her spine
and sparked nerves between her thighs.  At the same time her heart began to
beat very fast.  She was sure this was what she wanted, but through her
excitement she felt a twinge of nervousness.  As his fingers crept under
her shirt and up her stomach the hot, churning feeling in her grew.

   His mouth became more insistent, tasting and slowly licking at her soft,
hot flesh.  His hands rose beneath her shirt, gently cupped the most
prominent and generous of her sexual assets, and squeezed.

   Ahma let out a noise, a mixture of giggle, moan, and surprised gasp. 
His hands continued to squeeze about her breasts, feeling the plentiful
orbs.  They were very soft and gave to his fingers easily.  It seemed to
him he could sink to more than a knuckle deep if he wanted.  It didn't hurt
her; it only made her swoon more.  He was amazed, confounded as to how such
a soft, supple, fleshy bosom could remain so shapely and firm, holding to
their perfectly rounded teardrop form.  They were quite heavy in his hands,
possessing a delicious weight and warmth.

   His fingers moved across the ridge of her areola.  Even crinkled inward
they felt quite wide.  Both her nipples were rigid with excitement and were
large enough even for his fingers.

   Ahma gasped in air, squeaking when he first squeezed her nipples.  She
felt a heavy splash of warmth between her legs.  Her wings twitched and
jerked slightly with her pleasure.

   Methaniel gathered her into his arms and turned her to face him,
settling her slender, light body on his lap.  His lips pressed tightly to
hers.  One of his hands reached around her to stroke and caress the small
of her back, his strong fingers working out the nervous tension.  His other
hand busily, gently, yet firmly fondled the juicy globe of her right
breast. Despite the huge size of his hands he could only fit a small
portion of the enormous bosom into his grip.  His fingers tweaked and
twisted at her thick thumb-sized pink nipple and tugged at it slightly. 
His arms were warm and strong around her, the heavily toned muscle rippling
against her.

   Passionately he kissed her, strong yet gentle and wanting without being
overly demanding.  His hand rubbed her fleshy breast in slow, sensual
circles, lightly pulling at them as he squeezed.  Ahma groaned into his
kiss, her own hands sliding along his body, feeling the power of him, the
warmth that radiated from his tight flesh.  Her hand rose up to his head to
slide through his thick hair of burnished copper.  She reveled in his
attention and she lightly slid her thighs together in unconscious pleasure.

   Methaniel shifted again, gently laying her onto her back, waiting for
her to adjust her wings.  He gazed down at her, smiling lovingly as he
slowly pulled the tunic over the swollen mounds of her bosom.

   The Master took in the sight of her perfect torso.  The intensive
training she'd been undergoing for the last month or so had taken her
already tight, slender form and shaped her into glorious fitness.  She had
all the softness and delicacy of a woman, yet her flesh was taught and firm
around her frame, and her belly was lined with the feminine but well formed
grooves along her toned abs.  Her skin was even more pale and creamy than
that of her face.

   Her breasts were generous even for a Wingling maiden, by far the largest
he'd ever seen.  They were superbly rounded, full and perky and high on her
chest, with a deliciously deep valley of cleavage.  They were pale indeed,
with thick, large nipples of a rose-pink color, and the widest, most
alluring areolas the Nobleman had ever laid eyes on.  The twin globes
bounced and jiggled about, flopping softly, sensually as they sprang free
of the tunic, which had somehow been squishing them down and holding them
back in a futile attempt to restrain them.

   Methaniel's began to gently, sensually palm and massage Ahma's aching
tits, watching his huge fingers sink in to nearly half way to his second
knuckle in the pliant flesh of Ahma's tits.  He marveled at the way the
flesh popped back into perfect rounded shape as he pulled his fingers away.

   Ahma sighed happily at the attention, arching her back to press her
breasts into his hands.  She smiled as he stared at her and savored his
ministrations to her sensitive bosom.

   Methaniel helped her sit up to fully remove her tunic.  He gently guided
her wings out of the slits in the back, which pleased her.  Then she boldly
kissed him, a firm, open mouthed kiss as he tossed the shirt aside.  Her
lust and need rose, guiding her into motions she didn't fully understand
but heartily embraced anyway.  She sucked on his lips, separating them and
sliding her tongue into his mouth.  He felt warm and quite nice as he
suckled on her tongue.  To him her licks and wildly moving tongue offered
nothing but pleasure and excitement.

   As their kiss broke Methaniel pushed her back down to the bed, smiling
at her.  He lowered his head and traced a trail down her gorgeous body with
his lips till he reached the deep, long valley of her cleavage.

   Methaniel's tongue slid slowly but firmly down the crevice of bosom
flesh then back up, playing his mouth at the upper slopes of her juicy
orbs. He licked along the plump flesh, every now and then pausing to kiss
or suck.  The Nobleman took a large mouthful of her soft bosom flesh
between his lips, licking and sucking at it before pulling back to gaze at
her shining saliva coated orbs.

   His tongue found and began to lick her wide areola, loving the taste of
her flesh as he lavished attention on the pink disk.  Then his lips closed
around her thick, throbbing nipple and suckled it firmly.  Ahma moaned with
joy and pleasure.  She wiggled underneath him, sliding her body along his.
His cock felt hard pressed against her abdomen, a stiff feeling even her
dreams couldn't match.  It pressed against her, straining the fabric of his
trousers.

   She tugged on his shirt.  Methaniel complied, peeling it from his body
and tossing it off the bed.  She shivered as his hot torso came to rest on
hers.  His warmth spread through her as never before.  His muscles rippling
directly against her sensitive flesh made her writhe.

   His mouth returned to her heated bosom and sucked her stiff nipple back
in.  One large hand reached up and squeezed her free tit, kneading it and
pulling at it gently as his tongue lashed against the nipple in his mouth.
He wrapped his tongue around the huge nub and flicked it firmly.  His free
hand ran down her slender side.  Her breasts and nipples tasted sweet.  He
gently pulled at the one in his mouth with his teeth and began to lightly,
lovingly nibble at it.

   One of Ahma's hands found its way back to his head and tangled with his
hair, swirling it around.  She rubbed his scalp, a gentle approval of his
actions.  Methaniel glanced up at her.  She smiled down at him, moaning
lightly as she gave his head a small shove into her cleavage.

   He released the breast he'd been sucking and watched as it bounced and
wobbled back onto her chest.  The Nobleman shifted and sat up, smiling
warmly as his hand slid down her body.  His eyes gazed into hers as he
slipped his hand under the waist of her trousers.  He caressed her legs
tenderly, gently squeezing the firm yet supple flesh of her inner thighs.

   Ahma's heart fluttered in her chest.  Never before had a man's hands
gotten this close to her womanhood.

   Methaniel's hands were gentle and careful on her skin.  Perhaps he could
sense her nervousness, or maybe he was simply savoring the experience.  It
didn't matter to Ahma which was the case; she was lost in a world of
jittery excitement.  She couldn't wait for what was to come.  Part of her
couldn't believe it.

   He pulled her leggings down.  The milky skin of her belly gave way past
her cute little belly button to the cut of her thighs.  Nestled between
them lay a plump, full, hairless mound.  Unlike some Wingling, there were
no feathers gracing her pussy, leaving it bald and naked entirely.

   The mound had a plump top that spread into long, full, engorged lips. 
It had a small dimple at the top where the lips met.  They parted slightly,
giving a peek into the soft pink inside.

   Methaniel added her trousers to the growing pile of clothes on the
floor. His hands came to her knees, lightly guiding them apart.  Ahma
slowly, nervously spread her thighs wide, which ever so slightly spread her
outer folds open.

   He smiled down at the beautiful sight, watching as a surprisingly heavy
trickle of thick, sticky honey leaked from her slit.  He reached down and
softly cupped her plump, juicy cunt.  He squeezed it gently, pressed his
palm against her pale pink slit and ran his fingertips along the soft, silk
smooth skin, reveling in the hairless, bald flesh of her pussy.

   Methaniel dipped his finger into her slit and ran it up and down the
pink gash, caressing her sticky wet inner flesh and lightly pressing his
fingertip to the swollen nub of her clitoris.

   The new sensation roared through Ahma's body.  His hand sent sparks
through her cunt.  Her pussy was hot and ready for anything and her
nervousness was quickly disappearing under a blanket of pleasure and lust.
She giggled and squealed with excitement and liquid continued to build
inside her and spill out plentifully.  The touch to her clit was so
pleasurable it bordered on being too much.

   The Master's middle finger found her tight, tiny hole, which was soaked
with pussy juice.  He slowly, gently eased it into her, filling the soaked
hole with the thick digit to the second knuckle.  He lightly pushed in and
out ever so slightly, then began to firmly stroke his fingertip along her
g-spot on the roof of her cunt.

   He withdrew his finger and stepped off the bed.  Ahma watched intently
as he undid the bindings of his trousers and slid them to the floor.  She
gawked openly.  She remembered his cock, of course, from the two times
she'd bathed him.  But this was entirely different.  Now it was swollen and
throbbing and enormous, fully engorged and just over eleven inches long. 
It was incredibly wide, probably to the point that she wouldn't be able to
wrap her hand quite three-fourths of the way around it.  The swollen,
spongy head was soft and pinkish purple, and even larger than the shaft. 
It was a vaguely mushroom shape, and it throbbed, fat and thick before her
eyes.  It seemed to call to her.  The juice in her pussy practically
splashed out, a huge wave soaking her ass and the sheet.  The sight of his
dick, hard and thick, made her want him more than ever.

   "Are you ready?" Methaniel asked gently.

   Ahma nodded vigorously as he climbed into bed with her.  He moved over
her, gazing at her naked figure as one hand stroked her side.

   "Take a deep breath and relax.  If it starts to hurt, tell me and I'll
stop."

   Ahma nodded again and bit her lip in a mixture of excitement and
uncertainty.  She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths to clear her
mind as the Master had suggested.  When she opened them again, he was
propped over her on his forearms.  She inhaled, causing her breasts to
graze his chest.

   She shivered, almost jumping as his cock fell between her thighs.  It
moved upward, resting on the lining inner lips of her pussy.  It was
immediately covered in the copious juices flowing outward.  Methaniel
shifted, sliding his cock down toward her hole.  The moments passed like
tense hours for Ahma and it seemed he would never reach his goal.

   The head of his cock wedged into her tight hole.  She tried to smile but
the feelings were too overwhelming for her to even do that.  It felt better
than she could have possibly imagined.

   He inched forward, his thick girth slowly stretching and widening her
hole to unbelievable proportions.  She gasped, her eyes rolling back.  It
hurt somewhat, just from the sheer stretching she was having to endure, the
gradual expansion of her moist, pink flesh to accommodate his massive size.
Yet that same stretching feeling was giving her the most exquisite pleasure
she had ever imagine, flooding her entire body with ecstacy.  He reached
her virginal seal after a few inches.  His cock throbbed against it; it
didn't feel particularly thick, almost strangely watery.

   Ahma hardly noticed.  She was enthralled with the sensations of his slow
filling of her.  So this was what it was like to have something inside
her...to have a cock inside her.  The Master's cock.  She felt as if she
was being pried open for all the world to fit inside.  She was very
stretched.  She almost thought she was about to split in half.  While there
was a slight sting to the feeling, it was otherwise far beyond pleasant.

   Methaniel caressed her hair and gently kissed her lips, murmuring
encouraging words, then thrust the rest of his cock into her at once,
breaking her barrier.  Ahma felt the slightest pinch, but beyond that she
felt an overpowering sensation of fullness as Methaniel's entire throbbing
length sank into her depths.

   She squealed softly as he fully entered her.  He stayed motionless for a
moment, letting her adjust to this incredible new feeling before pulling
back, taking his cock and that delicious stuffed feeling with it.  He slid
back in a moment later, bringing a volley of fabulous new sensations.  The
walls of her newly stretched cunt came to life, clinging to his cock
desperately, embracing it.  Again he left and came back, slipping in and
out of her tunnel at a slow pace.

   Ahma gave a small cry at the speed and depth of his thrusting.  She had
never imagined sex would feel this good, had never thought a cock could be
so wonderfully thick and hard.  It felt very solid and rigid inside her,
and she quivered in pleasure as she felt it pulse distinctly in the liquid
embrace of her cunt.  The head plunged against the top of her canal with
every thrust, massaging a sensitive, powerfully pleasant spot inside her.
She could hear the squishy sounds of her pussy as his thrusts became more
impassioned.  It slurped wetly on his cock, a steady sucking sound every
time Methaniel's dick sawed in and out.  She found she liked that noise.

   Methaniel quickened once more, thrusting into her with more force now,
though he was still careful and watched her face for any sign of pain. 
Ahma gasped with delight and a new, even better wave of pleasure came over
her as he sank his dick repeatedly into her squeezing hole.  She moaned
somewhat shyly as feelings of pleasure and incredible satisfaction began to
build up inside her.

   Methaniel pulled his thick, meaty shaft from the tight embrace of Ahma's
hot womanhood, sending a wet splash of sticky pussy juice along her thighs,
soaking her bald cunt and leaking down along the deep crack of her shapely
ass.  He plunged back in, grunting softly in pleasure as her inner muscles
worked at his throbbing shaft.  He had suspected she would be a
virgin...when he encountered her maidenhood, somehow subtly different from
that a Human woman's, he worried how she would cope with the change.  But
she was eager and wanting, and she seemed to be quite thoroughly enjoying
herself.

   Ahma's cunt was incredible.  It was quite tight, clinging and squeezing
at his meat.  It slurped at his member as he plunged in and out of her core
and stretched her freshly deflowered pussy wide, filling her hungry hole
over and over.  She was soaking.  Her honey leaked and splashed out of her
hole, spattering the sheets and both of their flesh, dripping sticky fluid
along his cock.

   He reached down and gripped her round hips.  He eased back, taking his
cock slowly, teasingly, agonizingly out of the sweet embrace of her heated
quim until only the swollen, fat head remained.  Ahma whimpered softly at
the loss it caused her.

   The Master plunged forward, a single hard, deep, filling thrust that
stretched the girl anew, packing her full of cock.  He began to fuck her,
faster and harder than before, driving his thick length of dick into her
repeatedly.  Ahma's enormous breasts bounced and wobbled with every deep,
powerful thrust into her hungry hole.  Methaniel smiled down at her,
watching her face shift and contort in pleasure.  He hammered into her
clinging tight pussy, harder and harder, using her cunt thoroughly and
opening it to seemingly impossible width as he buried every last inch into
her gaping hole.

   He plowered into her hole, feeling it pulling at him as his swollen
shaft of muscle pistoned in and out of her, deeper and deeper still. 
Methaniel reached down, pulling Ahma's long, toned legs up and draping them
on his shoulders.  He thrust downward from the new angle, burying back into
the Wingling's clinging cunt to the hilt.  Loud, suckling squishes and
slurps filled the room as her pussy yielded to his huge cock.  It parted
around his invading thickness, the head pounding along that sensitive spot
in the back of her cunt, sending a violent tremor of pleasure through her.
Even her hairless folds wrapped around his shaft as it thrust between her
labia.

   Ahma's wings twitched with each thrust, fluttering lightly.  Methaniel
had thought her wings would have made sex in this position difficult, or at
least require much more care, but they flexed and laid out easily enough
and Ahma showed no discomfort or unhappiness with the way they were
joining. Her body shook every time he filled her.  She closed her eyes and
tilted her head back.

   She focused on the feeling of his cock and the sudden life and sensation
that had been introduced to her pussy.  Her cunt felt so stretched and
full. She moaned softly, her entire body feeling hot.  Her legs tingled. 
She sucked in a breath quickly and gave a loud, lustful cry of ecstasy.

   Methaniel continued to pump her.  The head of his cock rammed against
the spot far back in her tunnel, making her cries and moans grow louder.

   Ahma felt an overwhelming feeling of looming pleasure, a feeling she'd
not experienced in such a way before.  She cried out, screaming now at the
top of her impressive lungs as his cock splashed into her cunt.  Her entire
body tensed.  Methaniel felt her legs go rigid on his shoulders and her
pussy clamped down hard.  The warm, soft walls became firmer and maintained
a strong grip on his cock.

   She let out a long, loud scream.  Intense feelings of pleasure ran
through her like a maelstrom, explosions wracking her body as her orgasm
raged inside her, overpoweringly strong.  Her body jerked and her back
arched as her muscles tensed in perfect bliss.  She sagged back to the bed
a moment later, an immense feeling of satisfaction washing over her.  She
lay breathing heavily, her great breasts heaving up and down, glistening
softly with sweat.  Methaniel moved her legs off of his shoulders, placing
them gently back onto the bed.  She put her arms around his neck, gazing
into his face as she rubbed at him.  He continued to pump in and out of her
cunt, shivering at the occasional spasming remnants of her orgasm.  A river
of honey leaked from her slit.

   Ahma simply relaxed and enjoyed the stimulation, though she was
beginning to feel slightly sore.  His pace quickened and he shoved his cock
into her in short, fast thrusts, gripping firmly to her open thighs.

   Methaniel grunted and stabbed his dick deep inside her.  She felt it
begin to flex and twitch and the next second it gave a hard heave and
pumped into her.  His seed filled her, splashing into her pussy and
flooding her with warm liquid heat.  She cooed softly, shivering at the
naughty sensation.  So this was what it was like to take a man's seed.  She
could feel it clinging to her insides in long, ropey globs.

   Methaniel let out a long, shakey breath and slowly pulled his fat dick
out of her pussy.  His cum came leaking out along with her juices, flooding
from her still-wide open hole to leak in a messy trail down her thighs.

   He moved to sit beside her, panting softly as he gazed upon her.  Ahma
bounced up from the bed, grabbing a towel and wiping the tremendous excess
of fluids from her body before grabbing a jug of water.  She sat down
beside him, handing him the jug.  He took a long swallow and handed it to
her.

   "How do you feel?"

   She considered for a moment, staring down at the jug and then back at
him, her big, wide brown eyes shining.  "Open, Master," she replied.

   "Do you hurt?" he asked her.

   She put the jug back on the table.  "No...I'm a little sore and it
stings just a bit...but it doesn't hurt."

   They laid down in the bed together, naked.  His warmth radiated upon her
as never before, heated and soothing her into drowsiness.  Ahma was
content...she was happy.  She had what she wanted.  He kissed her forehead
as he pulled the blankets up around them.  She nuzzled closer to him.

   She fell into a deep sleep quickly.  The excitement and new feelings,
and the intensity of their lovemaking had drained her completely.  She
hugged to his body, inhaling his pleasant, manly scent as she drifted into
dreams.

   But now, her dreams were real.



   End Ch.  9

   It took a long time, but it finally happened.  Writing this scene was a
lot of fun...I had to do a lot of trimming though, as it was originally
over fifteen pages...How did I write a sex scene that long??  Yikes.

   I've had a lot of support for this story up to this point, and I want to
thank every one of my readers for that.  I've had many people email me,
telling me that they didn't mind the long wait for sex, because they were
enjoying the plot.  I've also had many emails stating they couldn't wait
for the sex, but they were trying to be patient because they thought it
would be worth it and the content held up.  I thank both kinds of readers,
and hope this chapter didn't disappoint!

   Also, for those who were into the plot a whole lot, have no fear; sex
will become regular in the story from this point on, and will in some ways
play a role in various happenings, but I never intend to let this story
become nothing but mindless smut.  Sexy and naughty and possibly kinky in
places, yes, but there will always be an overarching plot and story driven
aspect to this work.

   Again, thank you everyone for your patience for this little development,
and it'll only get better from here :) 


  
Rising Ch.9