If we choose to believe that things exist, that there is the here, and the there. The now, and the then. Then we need the shape of what is in the here, the now, and will be the then.

See her coming, young, vibrant, tempestuous. A stretch of scars from violent birth, painted in the blood of the wound that made her, and the shocks of green, and blue, and gold she garbs herself in. Diss.

Young among the heavenly beings, violent and passionate, she lacks the maturity of her sister worlds, and as any youth, she steals what she loves, and casts spite on what she hates. A million stolen identities, woven together in a patchwork panoply to form an identity, a cocoon, for if she should ever reach maturity.

Follow as she turns, as we pass a vast continent of sand, with pointed monuments to the stars. We fly past a virulent jungle, with roots soaked in blood red waters. North, beneath a frozen stretch where wolves howl, is a forest. A peaceful land, built among viridian trees, rich red wood stacked on warm orange stone.

We land, here, in the quiet kingdom of Cusithis. Founded by the ones forced to be violent by the needs of the times, now quiet, restive, entering her own maturity. Her broad mud roads are flanked by simple dwellings, businesses, hawkers of game and leather work, and the occasional beauty of the artificer. The sodden earth is tramped by the paws of its tall, affable, long furred, denizens. They chatter and bark as their day winds on, as congenial as their wagging tails, none knowing that at the height of their community, on the mound of earth, in the stone halls, an alien bitterness sits. And that of course, such un-local sentiment, has come thanks to an interloper to their quiet, comfortable lives.

Inside the bailey, with its long hall for its king, impatience sits like a stink among the braided coats and beards of the gathered greatness of Cusithis. None there were well at ease to begin with, knowing just what was to be dragged before them, but that it was also late, and their loved leader seemed so agitated, only invited doubt and question. A coursing hound had already been sent to fetch the expected outsider, and a guard shortly after, but from his carven throne, his claws clenching in frustration, King Lud Cusithis, was beginning to lose his temper.

The warrior king, though he had known only petty skirmishes in his own peaceful rule, had dressed himself in his finest for their expected guest. For respect, not to give it, but to earn it. The shirt was of the finest spun wool, so soft and close that his own coat barely pierced it. The hose as well, wool, not a trace of flax or other hard wearing fabrics. His arms, hips, neck and even brow, were adorned with gold, hammered and smoothed, as beautiful as when it was drown from the mountain valleys. Every square of cloth was dyed, in green and red and blue, and none of Cusithis could doubt to look on him, that he was king. Still, he did not feel it, as he twitched in small discomfort from the thing that had had him humble himself, in calling for an outsider.

The tall doors of the hall swing, and in the hushing of his guests, the boots of his warriors fill the hall. Two great dogs, tabards green, and bronze plated shoulders shining the same, marched either side of something smaller by half, and not so resplendent. It wore white, and so stood clean apart from the natural colours of Cusithis. It carried in its small, childish, paws, a tall length of amber wood, twisted and scrawled with carvings. Its feet clattered oddly, because it wore boards of cork, pliant and foreign, strapped to the toes to elevate the wearer above the spatter of mud. It had many features that marked it as a fox, but not of the easterly princedoms. Not only was it smaller, but its coat was a pale yellow, and dusted in grey. Its ears were sharp, and tall, to such a degree it looked comical, a child's etching stepping free of the page. But most distinct of all, and not made by the being's species, but by the nature of the individual, was the casual, empty, disaffected smile.

The lead hound brought her fist to her chest, and dropped to a knee, filling all the hall with the noise of metal striking stone. Tall and powerful, even for their kind, her thick chin fur braided and twisted, she barked out for her lord. "Great King Lud Cusithis, we present to you the masterless beast known as Shyro, who some call wizard."

The king's daughter could not have made her hate more cleanly known than in those few words. She was loyal, she was devoted, she wore the green and gold of her god proudly. As her muscles pronounced her motions with every fibre, her face announced her displeasure. "Found him in a pleasure house, the bed still warm."

A titter, and King Lud's brow, rose, but Shyro the supposed wizard made no remark.

"Enough," The seated wolfhound said, paw raised to bring all back to order, "your disrespect to the court and this land is noted, Dust Wizard, but I am willing to overlook such things for answering my summons."

Shyro, smiling softly, gave the king a courtly bow at last. It was proper, deep at the waist, an arm cupped inwards while the other held his staff. It felt like mockery to the assembled court.

"King Lud Cusithis, son of King Calne Cusithis and Queen Kaev Aldech, by law and tradition old and new, I thank you for your hospitality." The lilting, high tones, came with as much ease as the accused wizard carried himself, straightening from his bow and looking with pale, greying eyes that would have been at home on a blind man.

"Your thanks are taken, but the lateness of your arrival leaves little room for pleasantries," the king clutched his gut a little tighter, the itch growing to a burn. "I did not send my best trackers after your tail, just for the novelty. You know of things, Wizard, and I was informed by my father that you would share that knowledge for a price. I seek the Silna Hoeg."

A mutter took the small assemblage. But the fox showed no reaction, and neither did the armoured princess beside him.

"Ah," he spoke, when quiet had resumed, his eyes lingering on what the king's paw tried to cover, "I believe the Seed of Life is a sacred symbol to you. I can understand well, why you would wish it found. I could share the knowledge that would lead you to find it, for a price." He smiled wider, and a mirth was in his tone as he repeated the words.

"No, I do not want your old words, nor promises and rumours that will have my people search a hundred years for a scent of our quarry. I will pay what you ask, but you must bring the Silna Hoeg to me, here, in my hall."

"It would be costly," Warned the sand coloured fox, but he did not give any indication of his refusal.

"Name it."

Sighing as if he addressed a disappointing student, Shyro tapped the metal butt of his staff to the stones while mulling over what to ask for. A tension came, as fingers covered lips, and eyes darted between the interloper, and the grim faced king.

"To find, and return with what you ask for, and bring it before you, in this place... very well." Decided, he stopped his tapping, and spoke clear and high for all to hear. "My price, you will build a home in your hall, and any who give you a word I will share with you alone will have full right to it. They will be your most honoured guest for one month, and you and your line will refuse them nothing. Even if they request the sheets from your bed, they will have it. On those terms, I will take this quest."

A shock at such an outlandish, and far sweeping request, filled the hall with escaping whispers. But in a move that only made them louder, king Lud stood, and pronounced, "Done."

"You will depart today, and my daughter, Magdela will accompany you to see it is done well."

That had greater cries of shock, but not from the wizard, nor the woman next to him. The audience to the small play made their appreciation to the scene known, but all the players did was exchange one last set of bows, promises, and then swiftly they quit the chamber.

It wasn't until the armoured hound, and the small fox, had taken provisions and set paws on the mud road out of the city, that they broke their silence.

"How long has your father been ill?"

It was blunt, but it didn't dent the armoured contempt of the far larger, stronger, angrier young woman. "My lord father is fit enough to rule, Wizard."

"Not what was asked, nor an outright lie. You have already taken your vow as paladin to the Green God then."

The armoured princess of Cusithis halted in her steps, but just for a second. Her hackles had not settled, but were now matched by her raising lip. "What do you know of that, fox? Did one of the fold let slip a rumour in the whore house?"

Shaking his head with no particular amusement, the tan sand fox smiled. "Nothing as clandestine as that, princess. I know well of your Green God, and oath's of honesty are not unique to your calling. But one does not summon a practitioner into their home, asking after a fabled miracle cure, unless they, or someone loved, is in dire need of it. As you have no surviving sibling, nor mother, that leaves only your father."

She glared, with the hotness of molten metal, but the mage smiled as mildly as he had been doing, placidity failing to cool her temper, but not provoking further ire. "Six months," she spoke at last, when they had passed the gates and stepped onto the open road south. "An assassin made an attempt on him. My father bested them, but was wounded in the fight, he has not fully recovered."

"A serious wound then, for you to go to such efforts to court me. The flesh-shapers of Kizzak-"

"It was a Kizzakian blade that caused it."

They walked on in silence for longer.

"Your father is indeed strong then, and the wound must have been shallow."

Magdela gave a curt nod, lengthening her stride, thinking of the reptilian killer with the twisted red knife. She had no idea what had marked her father for such a cruel death, the Cold Blood Kings of Kizzak were a distant threat, and their scaled race a rare sight outside of great market fairs or coronations and royal weddings. But every so often a peddler would come, and promise the black arts of that foul swamp, rumoured to hold the secrets over life and death, to mould and break the body to the master's whim, for any willing to risk it.

She was lost in her thoughts and memories, and so it took her a second to realise she no longer heard the rhythmic 'thud' of the old charlatans staff behind her. All at once she whirled, and saw he had gone.

Cursing, spitting, she turned in a slow circle and sniffed, hoping for scent or sight to help her find the deceiver she had so foolish let beyond her eye. Of course the heathen trickster would turn and flee on realising the enormity of the task, of course his word was worthless, and of course he would not have the faintest intention of saving her father.

All around was the whistle of leaves, the chitter of life, the call of birds. The straining of her shaggy, floppy ears, perked as high as they could, catching the distant sounds of home still on the breeze. But her charge was gone, vanished from even her trained senses.

About to bark a challenge, her paw was on the hilt of the ancient blade by her side, cold creeping into her veins, before a twisted stick jutted from between two old oaks, and waved for her attention.

"Cursed fox, the path is this way!" She stomped after him, following grudgingly off the road and into the undergrowth, bracken swiftly soaking her legs. Just beyond the barrier of wet green, stood the white and yellow vulpine, looking up with the same infuriating face as ever, while the way behind obscured all signs of the correct way.

"We have no time to indulge in straight lines," stated Shyro confusingly, leaning as always on that gnarled length of wood, so much taller than himself to be ridiculous, "we have much ground to cover, while we race the cancer eating your father. We must take alternative paths, and arrangements. If you are to be my companion in this, Princess Magdela, Daughter of King Lud and the maid Gwen, I must ask what price you would pay to succeed in this."

She drew in sharp breath as the old rumour was spoken, and with such surety, again her fingers tightened on the hilt, and again she felt a sweeping cold brought on by the daring mage to speak what even her father could not bear to confirm. "You dare to try and take your price twice? You have already been promised payment, outsider, I will not have my word held hostage as you exact more from us."

Shyro raised his free palm in a gesture of peace, still as calm as a sheltered pool before the far larger warrior. "I am content in the arranged price. However the journey ahead will exact a toll on us, nothing is without a cost, and if we need speed, then we must pay more. How much are you willing to give to save your father?"

With teeth bare, Magdela stalked forward, the Fanglenoir, the family blade whispering from the scabbard. But the Fox's eyes barely flickered with its reveal, and her anger was spent by the impassivity before her. The ancient iron was pitted, a dull and dark grey, and its length was almost the measure of the small male that seemed to stand the taller of their pair. In that moment she swore to herself that, if he proved a pretender, she would do what her instincts demanded of her and dispatch him. But, for love, loyalty, and the land, she set the point upon the ground, and knelt.

"Anything."

Her answer did not earn surprise, but it did make the Wizard of Dust, Shyro of the gold, close his smiling maw. His grip on his staff shifting, he offered her a paw. "I will do all I can to see you do not regret that oath, Magdela, Paladin of the Green God. Now come, our first step will not wait much longer."

She did not take the hand to rise, the gesture would be futile anyway with their disparity of size and fitness, but still she followed his cryptic words, as they walked ever further from the road, and deeper into what should be the domain of hunters, charcoal burners, and vagabonds. Their day vanished in a timeless trek, the sun still visible despite the best efforts of the trees to hid it from sight. Behind was nothing but foliage, beneath sodden leaf litter, and in front yet more green. They could have walked minutes, or hours, but nothing changed as they passed one trunk after another, green melted into green, as the forest devoured all notion of progress.

Her ears still pricked, she heard nothing but the woods, the thrash of fallen leaves about their paws, the sway of his robe and her cloak as they stepped, all forming a noise more empty than silence. At several times she came close to talking to the odd fellow she followed, but each moment bit her tongue and reminded herself that any words would be worthless and likely to lead her astray.

Then as she followed the long brush of his tail, she heard the crunch of small stones. They'd emerged onto road again, though where she could not place, and just in time for the small fox and his stick to step before a collection of hand drawn carts. They were garish, colourful things, simple in design but bedecked with streamers, ribbons, and bells, and Magdela had to wonder how she had not heard them till their emergence from the foliage.

"Good day travellers," Shyro spoke clear, smiling to the hastily halting caravan, "would you have room for two more on your journey?"

Setting the yoke down, two short, and vaguely plump faces of brown and tawny fur, and even taller ears than the fox, twitched whisker and adjusted belts. They were both buck rabbits, and naked from the waist up, and below wore short skirts that left much of their powerful legs free. Each male was armed, but with small knives, and neither they, or the emerging faces of the others behind, seemed to carry much wealth beyond crude beaten jewellery.

"Mayhaps," was the guarded reply, "though not for all, and not for nothing."

The small dark eyes of both lead lapins tracked high up Magdela, and she in turn gave a warning growl in case either had thought to move to violence. The roving rabbits were not much liked, or welcomed in Cusithis, with their strange ways and foreign faith, and each sized the other warily.

"You would best be served to take us," the smiling bent fox pursued, "your queen to be will have want of my services."

Each long ear among the caravan turned, and for a moment Magdela was certain violence would commence, till the careless wizard raised two fingers to his brow, parallel to the dirt below, and then parted them as if opening a window. The odd gesture carried a magical transformation, as at once the bucks let go the bone and wood of their knives, and made to welcome the smiling sand fox and the scowling princess of Cusithis aboard.

"So," she spoke, once they were seated in a cramped conveyance, and the queue of eager faces had had their fill of ogling the newcomers, "that's your magic is it? Beguiling them."

"No magic at all, just a little knowledge," the sand fox assured, reclining back as easily as one did before a hearth, despite the rattle and rock of the wagon, and the bump of the trail.

"I saw you, you made some sign with your hand, bewitched them somehow."

"The sign of the eye? It is an old gesture which they know, from a people who are now long gone. They do not even understand its history, but they know it means we are willing to give magic in return for their hospitality." He smiled, and Magdela wished to snarl.

"And you knew just what to say, how convenient that they appeared as soon as we stray from the road."

"Knowledge again, they are the fastest and safest route to take to begin our journey. We were not going to make good time with just our paws, and this seems a pleasant group to carry us a while."

As they rattled and bounced, the princess had to concede that the fox had the right of it. They had walked far, she could feel from the clench in her thighs, but still, she was a stubborn breed.

"Not much faster than walking, though I assume your knowledge of their leader must make it easier to hoodwink them in this way."

"Ah, you will see that tonight, and perhaps will feel moved to partake. Till then you should take this as what it is, a chance to rest, and think, and enjoy the journey. You might learn much."

He smiled, and leaned back against the rough canvas covering, and the iron grey princess had no retort, no desire for one. Instead, she looked out over the passing woods, and pondered how much further this trip would take her from where she began, in distance, and her understanding.

The rabbit drawn wagons rolled until the light was barely enough to see by. At which point coloured lamps and lanterns fashioned from skins and gourds were lit and strung from the sides, and the caravan pulled away from the trodden path to claim a patch of cleared ground. The circled carts separated them from the world outside; a cooking fire, a set of tents, and one wagon placed near the centre, swiftly made a village in miniature.

Soon all was settled, and a cauldron was disgorging a simple stew of grains and forage. As the stars shone, and the children were hushed and sent back into their beds, wine skins emerged and were passed just as freely among all those present. It was when the pungent brew reached their hands, that the wizard said more than small courtesies.

"Tonight is a celebration for them, the drink is a sign you're invited to join. If you do not wish to partake, you should stay by the carts. And whatever you do, do not enter the one with the antlers above the threshold."

His thin finger pointed to the central wagon, a more colourful one than the rest. It’s sides were painted green, and its covers died a deep red. Just as he said, above its closed curtains was an antlered skull, and along its sides and trim were small bones of a variety of beasts.

"And now you feel you need to warn me?" Her paw had strayed once more to her blade, her hackles rising as she saw what had made her uneasy about the scene. "Is it one that will get us robbed and thrown naked in the woods? What are they even celebrating in this no-where place?"

"Life and death, Magdela daughter of Lud. Last night the chosen of their god died, tonight her daughter takes her place. It will be a night of drinking, singing, and sex, all the pleasures of life in abundance. It is their tradition."

"Of course!" She scoffed, all becoming clear now. "I should have expected no less of you since I had to drag you from the whorehouse this morning. Of all the people we so happen to find, we fall in with a pack of debauched, wild beasts. Your lust is shameful and a distraction. We must focus on retrieving the Silna Hoeg and..."

His smile had not wavered, not once through her scolding, but again he made use of his palm to converse where words wouldn’t reach.

"I make no apologies for enjoying the simple and honest comforts of sleeping on a warm breast, or listening to peaceful snoring. You should not disregard your own interest in such things. But the choice is yours," He took the skin in hand, and drained it. "Stay at the edge, and simply decline should anyone approach you, or don't. Either way, try to enjoy yourself, this path will be quicker than almost any other."

He let go his gnarled amber staff, and it stayed perfectly placed as if planted. One swift toss of his head, roll of his shoulders, and the plain white robes tumbled free in an effortless ripple, revealing a straight and corded body, dressed in pale gold fur, lined in dusty grey. She had expected him to be bent backed, hunched and withered, his age written in his body like the carvings on the old wood, but he was as firm and supple as a young man in his prime, and no sign of his age was seen.

"Fox, hold, where are you...?" But she had no need to ask, as the small sand coloured vulpine hooked his clothes atop the head of the staff, and clopped towards the equally naked rabbits in nothing but his sandals.

"Remember, do not disturb the antlered shrine," He threw the words over his shoulder, and his tail rose in a clear sign of invitation, and perhaps unintentionally displaying his retreating aspects to her stone stricken face. Swiftly he was taken by the hands by two of the does, and led towards the fire pit where already others of the caravan had fallen to the drink and their lusts.

"Heathen, fox, liar, deceiver!" She swore at the small figure being kissed and handled shamelessly by the supposed strangers. They acted so free with him, paws taking him by the male half so casually she doubted this could be their first encounter. He was proudly out, a dark spear contrasted his pale belly, as he met the lips of the first woman, and then the other, tail still waving to invite any third in his greed to accept their hospitality.

Magdela realised she'd been watching, following as he fell to the floor with one and pressed his sharp features between her thighs, no doubt putting his lying tongue to use beguiling her. The paladin spat and cursed herself, casting her eyes elsewhere, only for them to fall again and again, on rutting couples. Her cheeks burned, the urge to tear him apart was forgotten, lost in seeing his actions copied amongst the camp, males and females, young and old, falling to their vices with joyous abandon. They did not care who they coupled with, of what sex or nature. She watched as a young buck took his fellow by the ears, and dragged him down to his knees, put a tapered length to his lips, and just as eager the other reciprocated and took what was offered deep and without complaint. Others were more traditional, and she watched transfixed as an old and grey buck took a tanned and tawny matron, her head clasped tenderly to his shoulder, as their hips moved in an unmistakable union. All as drums beat, and pipes played, and figures cavorted about the central wagon, with its head of antlers, and bones.

"Would you join me?"

The voice came, from the black of the night it whispered in her ears, while the curtain cover of that red stained cart twitched.

"What..."

"I asked, if you'd like to join me."

She blinked, the high sweet voice beside her, and Magdela saw the young doe with dark fur standing there, naked as the rest, with a wine skin in her hand. Her eyes were bright, and curious, but Magdela's gaze darted back to the antlered cart, where the curtains shook, and a low moan escaped through the seams.

"Join you? Like them," she jutted her muzzle at the brazen display by the fire, and the girl's eyes followed to watch the Wizard of Dust servicing a second doe with his clever paws and wicked mouth.

"Yes," she giggled, offering the drink again, "the ancient one looks to be having fun, don't you want the same?"

Magdela licked her jaws, looking hungrily at the proffered paw, knowing that if she took it, she could expect a night like none she had ever known, and perhaps never would again. Still her eyes drifted passed, to where now at the footfalls of the red wagon the fox was mounting and being mounted, two rabbits that might have been siblings with how they shared the same tan coat and dark ears, kissing him avidly as he took the brother to his rear, and the sister by her front. He laughed and gasped, filling and being filled, as the drums beat on, and the pipers whistled, and a third and fourth joined in his lust and their own.

"You call him ancient, looks pretty spry to me," Her words were dry, as Magdela did not want to give the rogue praise.

"My mother's mother spoke of some like him," The young rabbit flopped herself beside the hound, leaning on her as if they were sisters, "she's dead now, of course, but she said there are some like him that you know are old without needing to see, that will be old when we're with the crows and worms."

The rabbit's body was warm, soft, the muscles of her legs deceiving the full and tender feel of her fur. The wolfhound felt her own arousal quickening, a heat beneath her armour, as she listened to the music and the gasps and cries, the sound of coupling bodies and the crash of the drums.

"You speak very openly, about death, this seems hardly the place for it."

The black rabbit tittered, resting her head on Magdela's breast, one ear tickling the proud warrior's neck. "Death comes to us all, it is nature, nothing to fear, no more than what they are doing now. Everyone is nervous about the first time, be that dying, or..."

She pecked a kiss to the braided beard of the iron grey woman, eyes twinkling in the fire light.

"There's nothing to be afraid of, come join us, and you'll see."

And with that, the dark doe stood, leaving the wine at Magdela's side, as she was swiftly taken off her feet by a jack, and carried squealing and laughing into the ring of light. The temptress was deposited by the bonfire, and with a playful shove, sent spinning towards the wizard, swiftly caught in the dance as Shyro disentangled from one lover, to catch the next, as vital and gay as a boy in his first rut season. She found herself wrapped in his thin arms, her hips held fast, while the drumbeat and pipes sang a melody of heat and need. She did not fight, or struggle, as those around her were swept up by the madness, and succumbed. Everywhere was a cacophony of sex, of thighs pounding, of lips entangling, of lurid squeals and deep moans.

It was intoxicating, and Magdela found her paw drifting from her cloak, to the skin at her side. The princess of Cusithis, the paladin of the Green God, swallowed, and looked at her claws tracing the stopper.

It was a painful thing, to let it go, to draw her hand away, to not think of the plump hide as the flesh of a lover, warm, and smooth, and inviting. She was a maiden, but not a stranger to seeing sex, or hearing it, and could well imagine what that black doe might feel like between her thighs. But still she let the drink go, and instead her fingers climbed up her own leg, to the tight buckle of her sword belt.

Soon after, a new set of quiet huffs, and stifled growls, joined the music. Around the fire, limbs tangled, mouths sucked, and shafts were worked till they spewed their tribute, and at the edge of their display, a tall figure hutched against the wheel of a cart, and curled a digit down to shamefully ease her own needs. Her trousers had slipped, and her arse now rubbed against the grass, her womanhood as plumped and full as if she'd been in her season. The pleasure was small, compared to the riot about her, but she kept rubbing, letting a trickle of wet heat mark her efforts.

And the object of her fascination, her focus in the wild melee of mating animals, was now bent across a matrons knees, the smaller doe of moments before riding his length, while he gripped her sides, and lapped like a pup at the elder’s dangling breasts. He was everywhere, with a hand on this rump, a mouth on that sheath, and his rod buried in any space that would take it, showing no shame as he gave yipping barks whenever he reached his peak. Magdela huffed and hissed, biting back a howl as she too was sent to bliss by her own digits, a heavy slick coating her fingers, as viscous as she imagined his seed would be.

Basking in that moment, she watched as the red curtain parted, and a small hand beckoned, summoning the wizard to enter the antlered wagon.

Then, as she saw the last tip of his long, earth coated tail, vanish inside, she froze in cold clarity. With the pleasure faded, she looked down and saw the evidence of her deed, and made quick work to scrub and hide it with a pawful of torn grass. She could not linger, not there, not among them, so she grabbed her sword belt, and stood on unsteady paws, knees still shaking from her own efforts.

"I will never forgive you for this," She whispered, more to convince herself than curse him, as she dragged herself into the cart behind her, and curled in her cloak to wish for sleep.

Later, after it had found her, she woke once before dawn to the sound of ululation, and the roar of fire.