-	Disclaimer    - 
This piece of writing will be quite graphic at times and certainly isn’t suited for the faint of heart.
Read on only if you’re comfortable with the sexualisation of dark topics.
Of course, if you’re merely curious, might be that there are qualities in there that transcend petty arousal.
Proceed at your own discretion.

A Jackalope Surrenders
Part 1 – Weak Stomach

Today Siel reached the ripe old age of sixteen years. In spite of her virile and budding body, she felt worn and weathered. 
The age was an odd stepping stone for a jackalope. The predators littering the deeper woods and the hillsides had a habit of thinning their ranks and unanimously seemed to single out the ones now younger than her. She had heard the elders claim that once you reached that age, the scents that had the beasts crawling stopped dripping off a jackalope’s body… And when they thought the young couldn’t hear, they whispered that in time a jackalope’s flesh turned sinewy and dry. 
Few in the tribe of the Spottails reached her age. But when you did, a false sense of relief and safety might overtake you. They had to breed. Soullessly and with the efficiency of the animals more intelligent species likened them to. 
Now it was her turn. She was set to marry the prince of the neighbouring tribe, the Redantlers, hoping that unity would present more safety than before.
Jol was his name. She had only seen him a handful of times. He wasn’t exactly ugly. In fact, other girls whispered of him as if he was outright handsome. But he was pampered, often tucked away beneath the thick skins in his father’s tents. That was one way to ensure survival. Putting walls around your most precious kin.
She had always felt more drawn to the thought of simply being uncapturable, outside the walls. Where she didn’t have to suffer her family and the meek looks jackalopes wore. The elders said it was fate; her name meant “lonely”. Others her age scoffed at the idea of fate. She herself liked the thought that a grand purpose could envelope her life. But she didn’t feel that any such thing was there around her. She certainly didn’t feel like her fate lay with Jol. In breeding more scrawny jackalopes cooped up out of reach of the dark of night. Ever fearing being gobbled up by a deep maw, crowned in teeth.
She had no fear. She had crossed paths with plenty predators and experienced their gleeful lust. They gave chase, but always had to give up soon after she exercised a speed that she was certain was unmatched in her tribe. She was drawn to the sensation of her heart threatening to break her chest. The disappointment in the eyes of a predator giving up let on that she was precious. She’d likely make a better predator than them. Had she not been born a jackalope…
When she leapt through the treetops, looking for the bounties of nuts and fruit to bring home to the hungry, she at times wished she had sharper claws. Sharper teeth. She was the closest the tribe had to a hunter, though her arrows were meant only for defending their territory. Not bringing home prey. 
Her stomach wouldn’t handle it, the times she had attempted it. Killing small creatures and tasting them. Though she hadn’t dared ask anyone, she knew why. A Jackalope’s stomach was weak, merely built for what she was carrying. Nuts and fruit.
She brought it home, and the jackalopes serving her father gladly took it off her hands, keeping to the preparations for the evening’s festivities. Knowing she was expected to look her best, she reluctantly sat down among the elder servants and let them brush her hair. They undid the braids she’d idly made in the woods and decorated her antlers with soft, white and pink flowers. They rubbed plant oil into the back of her long ears, giving the pale brown a healthy shine. They gossiped as they fiddled about her, trying to get her talking of the prospect of bedding Jol. She didn’t manage to feign interest and merely grunted back.
She hadn’t had sex yet, not for lack of encouragement. Being the chief’s daughter probably didn’t help dull the suitors’ interest. It was something of a mystery to the others that she hadn’t managed to take a partner and bear a child yet. She’d driven off boys with hard words and scowls. Somehow, they kept coming, telling her she looked “beautiful” and “inviting”. She knew she could only keep it up for so long, but for now, there was no pull towards them. 
When she felt an impulse, she sated it on her own. Desires would rear up at inopportune times, but they didn’t seem to spur her towards the erections of the young bucks prancing around. She was more likely to reach an orgasm sitting alone in the canopy of the woods, with an entirely clear mind.
For tonight, she wanted to cover up her breasts, but everyone, her father included, insisted that she left them out, as to have Jol drawn towards her. Without complaining further, she merely donned her skirt and once more tried to align herself with the idea of mating. It would come to her eventually.

Being dressed up, powdered and painted, Siel could not pass her time by with the rigorous motion that otherwise kept her mind from gently dropping to rocky depths of apathy.
So, she found a tree to climb. One overlooking the patches of vegetables growing within their walls. The soil only sustained beets with a painfully flat taste, mostly used to simply fill the belly, rather than nourish. But the bushes above ground made for a rather mesmerizing view. It was like a maze, one she remembered hiding in often when she was younger. 
She watched the sun, steadily diving. Simple motion. The sky seemed without depth, like a painting.
Beneath her, she saw motion among the plants. Two kits, a buck and a doe, moved skittishly, looking about them, as if trying to catch onlookers. Siel pulled deeper into the shadows, feeling no need to announce her presence. They found their way to a bare spot, where the plants had been pressed flat, as if they had tumbled there before.
Something silver lit up in the fading sun, changing hands from the boy to the girl. A payment of sorts? She held it up, nodded and the next moment, he was undressing her.
Siel shuddered as they fell to the ground, kissing, wrapped up in the moment. Their just budding antlers clattered against each other. Kits started sooner and sooner these days. They couldn’t be more than ten years old. Judging by the torn-up leaves, the girl had likely done this more than once. Likely with different boys.
Siel had a clean view of the girl spreading her legs and the dazed expression of the boy as he stuck his tiny member into her. He started humping nervously, not able to contain his excessive breathing.
On a level, Siel knew she should feel shame. Kits should be left to their own discoveries, not watched. 
She should feel revulsion. The girl was being overly frivolous. Her future husband would feel properly betrayed when she couldn’t shake the habit of bedding the other does’ husbands for favours.
She could even have felt arousal, she supposed, even if they were young. They were beautiful with silky their black hair. The buck was lean, carefully entwined in the doe’s smooth legs. Her mouth hung open, and her hands caressed his face, as if she were properly infatuated with him. An act, surely.
But Siel didn’t feel much.
Before long, the boy pulled out and relieved his seed on her belly in eager bursts. Would she be afraid of having kits?
She giggled, touching her fingers to the white fluid sticking to her. Likely she knew having kits would put getting married on the horizon, whether it be to the father or not, meaning fewer years of what escapades she had planned.
That was certainly a way to pass the time. A part of Siel wished that she was still at the age where things felt new and insurmountable. Though she would never have looked twice in a boy’s direction. Now, the paths were closing in, and she had to follow tradition. 
She had to care for the pitiful health of her and her kind. 

When the evening came, the tribe gathered in its entirety and they all congratulated her one by one on her coming of age. They feasted on the foods she had helped gather, staining their fur with mottled pulp. They danced with each other, as the flute players escorted the night light of the moon through the cooling air. All the while, Siel glared from the end of the table, spitefully wondering if her breasts were to everyone’s liking.
Her father sat not far from her, his booming voice calling out to everyone one by one, saluting them, encouraging them to share the stories of their daily lives. “Come Siel,” he said and laughed. “Did you see anything on your ‘hunt’ today? Is the forest bountiful?”
She widened her eyes, uncomfortable at the looks around the table suddenly resting on her. “There was nothing special. There is plenty bounty. If you know where to look.” Though she hadn’t meant to, her voice came out sharp and scathing. 
Her father nodded dejectedly. He seemed to consider whether to push her further, but was luckily swept up in another conversation the moment after.
Soon after, the Redantler Tribe arrived. They were led into the enclave, Jol at the centre, guarded by the brawniest bucks they could muster. The newcomers spread among the Spottails, a wave of greeting echoing beneath the music. 
“Siel, my beauty,” Jol said, bowing before her when they stepped up. “I’ve been looking forward to this.
She only replied with a nod.
He squinted and held out a hand. “Would you allow me a dance?”
She softened her glare the best she could and sighed. He had dark, deep eyes. He could be called cute, she reminded herself, and she held his gaze as she rose and gave him her hand. The others cleared the area for them, and stood at the side, watching. The two embraced, circling each other, accompanied by a single, lithe flute, playing the melody traditionally a symbol of childish love in bloom.
She searched for the scent that the others said drove them mad with lust. But didn’t find it.
After the dance, the bucks started a competition. They had a line suspended in the air between two poles. The first to successfully hold his balance walking over it, without falling into the net below, would win. When Jol tried, he fell sooner than any of the others. 
It was painful for her to watch, so when no one was looking, she left the gathering. She moved through shadows, visiting the pond at the edge of the village.
She hardly felt she’d had time to savour the water on her toes or the shine of the night sky, when she heard someone step up behind her. Instinctively on her guard, she rose and turned.
“Siel,” Jol said. “You left on your own. Why?”
Her eyes veered off. “I’m not good with gatherings.”
“Plenty others have left the gathering,” he said. “Though they brought partners. One is likely to think… you didn’t consider me. And the union of our tribes.”
“I’m… sorry,” she said. “I was inconsiderate.”
He shook his head dismissively. He raised his face to the sky. “This is a fine place,” he said and he reached out, touching her cheek. “The ground is soft.” His hand slid down her ear and ended in a caress of her breast. “You should know that none of your kin could hope for a body like yours.” He leaned in and touched his antlers to hers. 
She looked down and saw his almost aggressive erection pointing at her through the cloth he wore. She winced and turned away from him. “I… I can’t.”
He gasped in surprise. “Why… why not?” He had probably heard the rumours and his anger surfaced swiftly. “You must be the only virgin in the Spottail Village. Even your very youngest seem to toy with each other openly.” He stepped in and put his arms around her. “We… we need to mate. Tell me… what difficulties you are having. And I will help you. I would do anything. My beauty.”
She growled and tore herself free. With tears in the corners of her eyes, she bolted away, not looking back. As she ran past the inattentive guard at village’s edge, she kept trying to silence that unnatural part of her.
The closer Jol was to her… the more she was filled with revolt. She felt that he didn’t deserve her. She knew she was being arrogant. But still, solitude was the only way for her to find comfort.

She took a known path and went to a treetop where she was safely tucked away behind heavy foliage. 
Her mind was torn. A part of her wanted to be normal. To find escape from the perpetual fear of the outside the same as the other does, by fawning over the lithe bodies of the bucks. The other part of her felt nausea as she turned the image of Jol in her head, trying to find an angle that piqued her interest. All she saw was a limp body that would never be able to keep up with her.
All jackalopes were limp and boring. Frail. And she was one of them. Was there a forgotten tribe somewhere far away over the mountains in which she belonged? With bigger, stronger jackalopes? What did it matter…? She would be forever small… Unable to fend for herself. Forced to run. A slithering sensation up her spine culminated in a taste on her tongue of perfect disgust at her inadequacy. And she cried.
As she sat sobbing into her legs, her instincts bid her to hesitate. There was a rustling on the ground below, and she froze up, breathing slowly. She needed to gather herself. As her mind stilled, the anger simmering like mud in the water, she delved beneath the tree’s crown to have a look.
In the darkness, a large shadow moved. Broad-shouldered. A sharp snout. His nose wavered through the air. A wolf. Likely one that had caught her scent. She was down-wind, he wasn’t likely to pick her out among the leaves.
He moved on at a steady pace.
Knowing it to be terribly stupid, she slid down the branches, making no sound. He was about to move into the moonlight. And when he did, she caught a perfect glimpse of him from the back. She had seen this one before. He had been at her heels more than once. And she was certain he had been the demise of plenty jackalopes. He wore a leather satchel and a spear, but save that he was naked in dark-grey fur.
He straightened his back, and the definition of muscles tossed the moonlight at her. The wind tugged at his tail, long and full. As he turned, straightening his ears, she saw the white of his eyes and the glistening teeth. She felt maliciousness in him. A lesser jackalope would have shied away at the visceral sensation setting root in her. But she knew no fear. He could only overpower her if he could catch her.
She smelled him. And at the heavy sensation, she felt a warm wave dull her senses.
He went on and she followed, closer by the minute. At every turn, he stopped to smell the air.
Suddenly he froze. She held back, and down the hill in front of them, she saw what the wolf had discovered.
It was a jackalope. A Redantler boy, shivering beneath a tree in the open. He looked not even ten years old. Likely one that had gotten left behind the group travelling to the celebration at her home village and stood waiting where his kin were likely to find him. He reminded her of Jol. They were probably related, with all the breeding they were doing.
The wolf set aside his spear and snuck close against the ground, closing in faster than she would have thought his size allowed. 
Climb, you pitiful thing. Bucks wouldn’t usually be good climbers, as their antlers would snag on the branches. But the boy hardly yet had antlers at all.
Could she protect him? She hadn’t brought her bow. She should be calling out for the wolf. Divert him, then dart off, leading him away. Then circle back and lead the boy to safety. But…
This wolf was bigger than any she had seen. She had never allowed herself to study it before. She had always been fleeing. If he caught her… No one ever caught her… But if he did. Before she knew it, he pounced and the boy squealed, caught between the wolf’s claws. It was too late to do anything for him. She only sat motionless in the safety of the shadows.
She was about to turn and leave, expecting him to bite the boy’s throat the next moment. But he didn’t and for a curious moment, she watched the wolf simply lift the boy off the ground, holding him out in a stretched arm.
The sheer strength. She imagined he could put a shoulder to the walls of her village and put them to the ground with vanishing effort. His claws locked around the boy’s throat and reduced the screams to a gargle. He tore off the boy’s loin cloth, with his free hand. He ran his fingers up the boy’s leg and ended in a caress on the boy’s tiny member.
She narrowed her eyes, suddenly doubly curious. 
There was a sort of justice there. The wolf needed to eat, the same way the jackalopes picked fruit. He followed his nature. Like a storm. A river. If he didn’t abide to it, it was no different from a tree withering.
Yet it was different. There was a power present.
The wolf chose not to eat yet. He tossed the boy onto the ground, and disoriented, the boy tried to crawl past the wolf. He didn’t get far before the wolf stepped on his leg, pinning him in place. Only then did Siel see his erection. 
And her breath got caught in her throat. It was red and menacing, even in the darkness. With wide eyes, she remembered Jol prodding at her and almost had to laugh. This! This… was where the heartbeat got caught in your throat. 
The wolf leaned down and grabbed the boy’s rear. The boy was crying with deep and anxious heaves. The wolf placed his member against his anus, and she had to gasp at the audacity. With hands enveloping the boy’s waist, the wolf pushed down. Though it seemed impossible at a glance, he squeezed carelessly and with ceaseless force, he barely entered, to a deafening cry from the boy.
The wolf howled, tossing his head back and saliva fell over the ground. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t go deeper in the tiny creature. To violent panting, he stroked himself, with the tip of his member locked inside the boy. He held the boy solidly in place. At that point the boy had ceased fighting. He merely maintained a blank, wide-eyed stare, and for a moment, Siel almost felt like he and she were staring each other down. She saw Jol and his smarmy lips.
The wolf had swiftly worked himself into frenzy of drool. He ran his tongue over the boy’s ears and finally placed his teeth around the boy’s head. The boy hardly seemed to react.
At a fierce groan, the wolf bit down. The boy’s skull shattered and blood poured over the wolf’s fur. The wolf arced his back and his muscles twitched in waves of ecstasy. The boy fell off him, and the wolf’s white seed spilled in bursts, mixing in his lap with red. 
Siel’s stomach had taken a dive. Her coursing blood had her alert and tensed up. Her muscles strained in unusual patterns. Her instincts bid her mirror the feeling of teeth sinking into the young one, and the piercing sensation rippled through her fur.
She sat still panting, mindlessly watching, as the wolf started to build a fire. As he took the now headless body of the boy, dripping seed, and skewered it on his spear, in a gritting, yet certain motion. What remained no longer seemed a jackalope, but closer to a mere thing. A plucked fruit. Suspended over the fire, sizzling. Steadily meshing with the surroundings, becoming background.
She reclaimed her senses. She felt disgust. At the parents that had let their young wander. At his inability to defend himself. Their bodies were so small… So easy to overpower. Their existence was a joke of their supposed creator entirely. 
She ran her fingers over her arm. She dreamed herself into the twisted mind that would seek delight in tasting it. She thought of her age of sixteen and what the elders had said. Predators were soon to lose interest in her and she would not need to fear being hunted.
And as her heartbeat finally settled, there was that feeling that sometimes claimed her. Suddenly it had a definite motion. A rhyme and reason. She felt arousal. And at first it frightened her.

Part 2 – The Truce

Not long after, it started to make sense. She was infatuated with the imposing shape of a predator. The more she dwelled on it, the more reason she saw in not feeling drawn to her own kind. She pictured them next to each other and there was a humour to the contrast.
Now what were she to do?
There was a wedding on the horizon, two months from now, when midsummer came. And by each day, she felt more and more that the skin she was dragging around on her bones would become too tired to pretend.
Could she imagine that Jol was something he was not? Put to work the depths of her imagination?
No. When she looked at him, his meagre body imprinted on her eyes, and even closing them, she saw him grinning a self-congratulatory expression. I own you. And together we will multiply. And your children will soon live your life. Their children after them.
She felt as if she was watching the spiral of a whirlpool. Endless motion. And the waste of the forest pulled beneath the surface. She felt a profound impulse to turn her back. She would be hated. But had being loved ever lifted her off the ground?
Not that she could remember.

Her satchel tossed about her, rattling against her thigh, filled to the brim with fiki nuts. They were crunchy on the outside, succulent on the inside, and yielded a calming warmth throughout the body when eaten. It was a near perfect painkiller. Every jackalope she knew, without fail, would trade what riches they had for the taste. The downside was that they had a prominent, savoury smell that predators were known to pick up on miles away. Intelligent predators in particular would know that finding the scent on the move would lead them straight to easy food. When jackalopes dared to go pick them, deep in the woods, they ran a great risk. Siel didn’t know many who dared.
She had never had issues navigating the trails safely. But lately, she had found herself intentionally moving closer to the ground, lagging behind her usual speed. Today, she had successfully lured the great, dark wolf out and about. With the cool air rushing over her body, she stayed barely out of sight of him, hearing him drool over her scent as his limbs struggled over the forest floor. Today she wanted not just to see him. She wanted him to see her. Grin at his hungry eyes. Vividly picture the dreams running through his single-trailed mind, when he tasted disappointment.
After having followed the cleanly trodden path, she finally broke off, before she risked tiring out. She aimed for a chasm, the opposite side of which towered over her. Light as a butterfly, she darted up a tree, held on to hanging vines, then swung herself to the safety of the cliff overlooking the ground below. With her legs dangling over the edge, she watched the wolf emerge from the shadows. He seemed neither dejected, nor-overeager. He stepped slowly, as if knowing he’d been beat, yet curious nonetheless. 
He paced, as if passively considering whether he could leap for her. He was too heavy, she knew. “Little Light-Paws. You are faster than this. Have you fallen ill?”
She was shocked and flattered at once, though she spoke in a flat tone. “You’ve nicknamed me? By the stars, how adorable.” 
He groaned, half annoyed. “You have been following me. Watching me. Why?”
“Not half as much as you have followed me,” she said and snorted. “You’ve had me curious… Why doesn’t he just give up… when he knows he can’t catch me?” 
Still pacing, he looked away. “I’ve always had my mark when given enough time before. You elude me. And now you slow down to mock me.” He showed teeth and glared for her. “When I finally catch you… I will make your flesh burn. And you will wish you had dutifully yielded to my claws, instead of spat in my face.”
She felt shivers. “Ooh, the big bad wolf scares me,” she said lightly. “What is your name? I’ve called you Darky so far.”
“You lack fear,” he said, and huffed out a grin. “Fine. My name… is Hearne.”
She smiled, what usually came hard to her. “And mine is Siel. Though ‘Light-Paws’ is music to my ears.”
He straightened his back, as if forgetting to be ferocious for a moment. “Are you… Making… Small-talk with me?”
“Call it what you want.”
“I…” he said with a snarl. “I have murdered a hundred of your kin. Some not even to feed. Some solely for perverse amusement. I particularly enjoy your young, for the way your doe faces convey melting horror, then soulless submission.” He took an amused breath. “Some among us wolves have something of a code of honour. They must feed, but see no need for pain. I don’t have to do what I do.” He laughed roughly. “But I regret nothing, and I will keep feasting on you and yours. Rape you until you feel as low as I see you when I finally end you.” He crossed his arms. “I know you know this. Yet here you are. Trying to share sentiment with me.”
Her stomach dipped at his words, and she felt a tinge of nausea. But she knew no fear. “Why… Why should I. A lowly jackalope girl… Deny you your passions? I’m powerless to stop them.”
He smirked when she said lowly. “Your curiosity. It’s unnatural.”
“I loathe that only you should be able to show curiosity. That I should be cowering, squirming at the thought of your teeth.” She crossed her arms back at him. “I… I know what it’s like to have… strange passions. Might be that’s why I find comfort here.”
He put his head askew, further dulling the look of wrath his body exuded. “Do you mean to tell me that your passions align with murder, doe? I can scarcely believe it.” 
She hesitated, their eyes locked. He was not lying about being malicious. She almost believed she felt it radiate from his body. Yet that still only made the place she sat the most interesting spot in the world. “What if I told you that I saw you bite the head off one the Redantler boys while your cock was spitting him… And I felt nothing for him. I only saw you.” She felt profoundly cold as the words left her lips. “What if I told you that I’ve imagined you eat up my betrothed, Jol? My father, even. And even then. I still only… see you.”
“Ah,” he said, and finally hunched down, sitting, though still with a body wholly alert. “You are insane then. Much like me.”
“No,” she said. “I was just born in the wrong flesh.”
“So…” he groaned, showing teeth and saliva once more. “Let me relieve you of it.”
“Nuh-uh,” she said. “I’ll be damned before I simply let you take me. A slow, clumsy mutt like you.” He was nothing of the sort, but she thoroughly enjoyed the hurt in his otherwise unfeeling eyes. 
But then he smiled, almost softly. “I am imagining what strange passions you might have, Light-Paws. And I am not opposed to satisfying curiosities on either end. I might propose… we call a truce. And we can simply talk. Without fearing the anger between our kinds. And if that is to your liking… Might be you could come closer. I could even allow you… control.”
His words started fires in her. She narrowed her eyes. Curious as she were, she was not stupid. “Thank you… but I don’t believe you. Thing is, you would tear my spine out the moment I got within your reach. Whether you wanted to or not. Your body would simply... Act out it’s ire on poor little me.”
He studied his claws before him. “Tear your spine out? No. You, Light-Paws… Siel. You, I would keep alive for long, so you could look into my eyes and taste defeat.”
“How gentle of you,” she said, chuckling. “Making my point for me, though. I don’t see a truce feasible. If I walk into your arms… I don’t expect my tribe would see me return.”
“Ah, but…” He looked as if remembering something. “If it’s a matter of you believing my word. Talk to Hanya of your tribe…”
Hanya? “The weaver in the west end? Mother of… seven?”

“I don’t know what ‘end’ she would reside in. She is mother of… six.” He rose off the ground. “Her and I… know each other. If you refuse to believe we could make a truce… She would tell you otherwise.” He gave a final smirk before turning, whipping his tail at her. “Until we meet again. Siel.”
She sat stunned, as she watched his proud ears disappear as the last of him in the shadows. He knew one of her kin? Whatever that meant. She needed to find out. 

In their village, she found Jol waiting for her in her tent, splayed among the bed skins. She stopped at the entrance, closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, as if considering whether she was capable of suffering his stupid face.
She reined her pout and walked to his side.
He beamed a callous expression, hungrily eying her curves as she sat down. He rested his head on his arm, the skins still miraculously covering his waist down. 
“What are you doing here?” she asked, managing a coy tone rather than a spiteful one.
“I was thinking that we give this thing another shot. I’m not liking how distant you’ve been.”
Everyone was expecting them to breed. Every day that passed, she felt the increasing weight of the looks from the elders. Even the young parroted their obnoxious questions. Shouldn’t you make love to Jol? It would be so good for you. As if that thought wasn’t exactly what tortured her.
“I…” she said, hesitating. She knew that if she waited too long, there was a very real chance that her father would simply have his guards hold her down, letting Jol go at it. “I suppose I can…”
She laid herself down and slid in, closing her eyes. She reached into her satchel and caught a few fiki nuts. She carried them to his mouth.
He gasped at the smell. “Oh my… for me?”
“I picked more than my quota. For you… my dear.” She pushed them behind his teeth.
He chewed and swallowed with a delighted sound. The warmth they yielded would have him docile. And maybe she could get away with less than he expected.
She reached down and found him naked under the skins. She bit down and found herself grabbing his member. She exhaled, somehow relieved. Its small size made it easier to just let it be the chore it was.
He groaned, and for a second the light in his eyes almost made her believe that he might have stayed away from other girls for her sake. She stroked and felt his body reeling at the slightest shift of her hand. He pushed himself upright.
“Grab my breasts,” she said as she picked up the pace. Play the part, spur arousal. She could mimic her usual care; rushing would likely backfire. He reached beneath her bindings and seized her. 
“Oh, Siel,” he moaned, squeezing at her chest, leaning back. She rolled her eyes. He made a move to rise up, and she placed her free hand on his chest, pushing him back again. Numbly, he let her.
She couldn’t stop his arm from running down her back, brazenly squeezing her tail, then caressing her rear. She sped up, hoping he was close, and he gasped. Before she could brace herself, he entered her rear with a finger. She winced, but didn’t fight. Anything to keep his dick out of her.
“Siel… Si-…” His expression was pathetically blank. “Stop. I’m about to…”
“Spill it,” she hissed. “For me. On my hand. Over yourself.”
The simple command pushed him over the edge. He came, trembling like a cornered fawn. With narrow eyes, she kept the motion up, even if she could have flinched as her fingers went sticky. Might as well milk him as deep as possible.
When he was done, she had to admit she was perplexed at where he had hidden the volume he had presented. It pooled over the edge of his stomach, into the skins. Where it was well useless. She barely smiled, but the thought of having to clean it all later exhausted her.
“You…” he panted. “We… This wasn’t right. We were supposed to…” Have actual sex?
She brought her dirty hand to his hair, disguising a wipe as brushing his hair. “After we’ve married… I will do anything you ask. I will let you fill me with your seed, night upon night.”
He looked lost. “Why… why not before?”
“Because…” She sighed, lacing the sound in a longing tone. “I want it to be special. I have waited for so long. And it’s like… it will have all been for nothing, if I don’t make it perfect. The dress, the atmosphere. It will be worth the wait. I promise.”
“I…“ She saw the light flicker in his eyes again, as if her empty words had managed to paint a palpable scene for him. “Alright he said… I… Alright.” He likely fought down several protests in that breath. A real man wouldn’t have taken her word. He would have taken her against her will, right then and there, if making more jackalopes was so important.
It was a promise she was already intent on breaking. She was merely unsure how she would manage it.
“Now, if you’ll have me excused; I have to go deliver fiki.” She gave him a swift kiss on his temple, and went out, heading for the pond to wash her hands.

She went to the west end, where a great hut with a large selection of looms made out a gathering point. She went on past to find a remote tent. She found a mother there, drooping eyes from being overworked, three of her kits squealing at her back. Likely the father had taken the bucks off her hands. She was sitting, picking the pits out of plums. Though she didn’t look worn otherwise, she was soon old enough to be called an elder.
She was skilled. Her father had picked her as the weaver responsible for the clothing at the ceremony.
“Hanya,” Siel said, approaching. “I have brought you a helping of fiki. Thought it might… help with work.”
Hanya looked up, widening her eyes. “Siel, my sweet.” Her eyes went to the pouch where Siel was digging out a handful. “Thank you. Thank you kindly.”
Siel knelt and emptied her hand in an empty bowl at Hanya’s side. “How is my dress for the ceremony coming along?”
Hanya brought her eyes down. “I’m uh… we’re short on indigo pearls, I’m afraid. We will be done in due time, don’t fear.”
Siel had been prepared to mention how she had wanted to see it and try it, though it would only have been to keep up conversation. Looking into the depths of the tent, she found her three girls now suddenly sitting sullenly in the corners, though they had been bickering the moment before. In one of the sleeping spots, pearls and dream catchers lay on display. As if someone had paid a tribute of sorts…
Hearne had said that Hanya was a mother of six. Siel was certain that she had had seven, not long ago. “I heard you… lost a child recently?” It was a hard topic to approach, yet a common enough occurrence that her question was not out of place.
Hanya froze. After a drawn-out moment, she set down the plum she had been holding. She sat staring into the air.
Siel sat herself down beside her. She reluctantly put an arm around her. “I’m so… sorry to hear it.”
“Don’t be sorry,” she said, taking on an aimless scowl. “Won’t bring her back.”
Why did I open with that? She wasn’t likely to spill her guts regarding Hearne. “Did you… talk to anyone about it?”
Hanya turned to her. “What would there be to talk about?” Nothing. Kits got taken all the time. Most of the time, you kept quiet and moved on.
She sighed. How much did she value good relations with Hanya? If at all? She’d best get to the point. “I’ve heard talk…” she said. “Of a truce. With a wolf.”
Hanya straightened her back, like lightning had struck before her. “By the moon…” she looked about her, and seemed to attempt starting a sentence several times before succeeding. “Did you… Did you see us? Oh my…” She breathed more rapidly by the moment. “Who else knows?”
“I mean...” Siel said, suddenly feeling profoundly curious. “For all I know, only me.” It was evident that this was a well-kept secret, and she felt suddenly confident. “And the wolf of course.”
“What…” Hanya sunk down, looking into her lap. “What do you want?”
“What… do you mean?”
Her eyes suddenly burned. “You come rubbing this in my face. You obviously mean to bargain favours, or you would have told the council. That or you’re just here to shame me.”
Siel suddenly felt… powerful. “I want you to tell me… what went through your head. What were you thinking? Make me understand.” On the surface, a logical question. Yet it was spurred by the excitement of suddenly picturing Hanya caught by the wolf.
“I… I don’t… know,” Hanya spoke quietly. “I suppose… I should have let him eat me…” She closed her eyes, taking deep breaths. “But the fear. The pain. He said he would come pick the… flesh off our bones. I had to please him. I had to… I had to.”
She had to do what?
“They would come… Many of them… Topple our walls… Rape… Rape us… The kits.”
Unless what? What truce?
“What does it matter?” Hanya suddenly snapped, hissing her words through her teeth. “I like being alive. Do I not deserve to be alive? Amia was an obnoxious, bratty child anyway. You would have done the same!”
Siel saw that her kits had turned their heads, though they likely hadn’t heard exactly what their mother said. 
Siel suddenly understood why Hanya was so stricken with shame. She had given Amia to the wolf. She remembered Amia, a sunny, yet timid girl that families had bickered over eventually marrying to one of their bucks. Raped and swallowed up by Hearne. Siel’s body reeled in simultaneous disgust… and the same diving sensation as when the Redantler boy had been eaten. Hanya was weak. But Hearne… He was worth being weak for. Simply taking what was his by right. Plucking the fruit from his orchard.
Siel tried reining her heartbeat, to no luck. Was there a chance… Hanya could bring her safely to Hearne? “Did… did part of you… enjoy him?” An outright foolish thing to say, she regretted it instantly.
“Enjoy him? Enjoy him?!” It seemed that her face was about to melt. “How could one? How? I am broken, Siel.”
Then she was not worth her time, the pitiful thing. Siel had gotten what she came for. What Hearne had said was true. At least one jackalope had known his embrace and lived to tell about it. One could ponder whether the prize could ever possibly be less than a jackalope kit.
“I won’t tell anyone,” Siel said. “Make the dress. I will be seeing you.”
As she walked away, she realized that it had sounded like a threat. The thought slipped away like rain through cracked dirt. She needed to prepare for the night.

In the dark, she went out looking for a predator that could be handled. Wrapped around her torso there was a vast length of vine rope. In her satchel, she kept a container of female dragonferret urine. It was taken from a tame one in the village. It was routinely used to divert male dragonferrets when one came upon them outside.
She headed for their breeding grounds, placed herself in a treetop and took the lid off the container. The heavy smell filled the air, and she couldn’t help but cough, before steeling herself. 
She had been chewing down fiki nuts like they were grapes. To her, they weren’t worth much more. Her body was warm, alert, and hungry. More importantly, whatever she could imagine subjecting her body to, she could be sure it wouldn’t balk.
After too long a wait, one came crawling through the bushes, smelling at the air. A lithe creature. Shaped like a shuttle, heavy near his rear, extending in a thick tail that made him dangerous to approach from behind. He growled, showing teeth, already frustrated that his pitch-black eyes had not found their mark yet. Unlike the jackalopes and wolves, these were pure instinct, almost mindless, like the cattle they kept. 
She leapt her way down, uncoiling her rope. In the motion, she had made a noose, and before the creature had time to react, she pushed off and fell onto his back, pulling it over its neck. He rose on his hind legs, trying to throw her off. She slid off on her own accord, and bolted around a tree, keeping the rope taut. She went against him once more, ducking under a sweeping paw. She wound the rope around his neck again, swiftly moving on to a tree on the opposite site. After weaving back and forth several times, he was suddenly dazed, seeming unsure why he couldn’t move, locked in place by the vines.
She approached him, holding his gaze. She opened the container once more and held it beneath his nose. He stretched for it, blinking slowly, seemingly calming down.
She stepped back and sat down. Carefully eying the beast, she spread her legs. She imagined… that the predator could feel a different sort of hunger at what it saw. That he would want to treat her wonderfully carved out body, not some chubby ferret.
After removing her loin cloth, she dipped two fingers in the urine. Not caring about the odour, she rubbed it over her slit, bringing her fingers back and forth. She worked her body like an instrument, simply picturing what was to come. Stretching his neck for her, he seemed convinced of the same story she was planning out.
Leaning to the side, she found her efforts paying off. His excitement was showing, his weighty cock pointing at the ground. On her knees, she crawled for him, moving beneath his belly. As she touched him, running her fingers down his length, she felt her body sing. It felt like the first time she touched a male. It was as long as her forearm, bulbous at the tip, as if made to impose. Leaning back, she let it fall between her legs, on her stomach. She closed her thighs around him and arced her back. He gave a pleased snarl, above her.
She put her palms to the tip, her jaw dropping at how small her hands felt on him. She caressed him, shifting her thighs against the heat. She imagined what anyone who knew her would think, seeing her lying there. Nothing good. Terrible, terrible things.
As she slid between him and the ground, her anxious breath spurring on the lust for moving on, diving deeper, she hesitated. The nuts she had eaten would dull any pain, but…
Would she truly be giving what she had saved for so long to a mindless beast tied up, with her being in control? No… It had to be someone who would gladly earn it, in spite of her best efforts. Yes. That would be… divine. She could hold out for that.
Nothing kept the thought from permeating her waning mind, and as she rolled out from under him, she imagined a different predator between her hands. She coaxed him into her mouth, gaping what felt impossibly wide. The stench of ferret piss drilled into her nostrils, but it didn’t bring discomfort. It was evidence of all the spite in the act, and she revelled in it.
Her hands worked his skin, following the rhythm of his pounding blood. He stood, legs shaking, no longer making any move suggesting he would rather move on to find one of his own kind. His instincts kicked in and periodically he humped nervously, pushing against her mouth. Keeping the image of the wolf in mind was difficult, but as her hand once more found its way to pleasing her sex, she found that making her body rumble in response, was easy all the same.
Finally, he burst, and he released well more within a moment than she could keep in her mouth. As the fluids spilled over her lips, drenching her chest, she came with force, trembling along with him. The taste was bitter and vile, but she swallowed, as if drinking from a well.
She sat back, panting. His cock fell free in a lazy swing, spilling on the ground.
Licking the palm of her hand, wet from his seed, she knew for certain that she well capable of going much further than this… 
But this ferret had earned its freedom. 

As the days went on, her thoughts were something of a mess. The wedding approached. She went over her options. She didn’t want to marry Jol. With Jol, she saw the very last of her spark smothered beneath the dirt. Her passions, though meagre, deserved to be fed.
She kept Jol pleased with her hands, and even once with her mouth. Afterwards, she went vomiting in the pond, defiantly not wanting his seed inside her.
Her father talked sternly to her one on one, more than once, trying to explain the importance of breeding in a way she might not have heard before. Her mind was vacant all the while, nodding. Her thoughts were only for Hearne.
Whenever she went gathering, she hoped he would catch her scent again. When he did, it was soon a ritual for them to dart through the trails of the woodlands, ever finding new crevices to test their endurance. When they saw each other, she would shoot him a demonic grin, knowing it would spur the spite he felt, very akin to her own. 
And when he finally gave up, allowing her to turn to get a glimpse of him before disappearing… he would have the fiercest erection. She could smell it in the air, almost feeling the way it was set on her and her only. She had no doubt that in his mind, all pleasures were slowly but surely becoming second to the thought of her. To his cock sinking into her, whatever direction he pleased, and his teeth biting into her, however deep her luck would allow.
Would it be so bad? To let him have it before the taste of youth had spoiled entirely.
She was more and more sure…
That what she wanted… was some sort of tragic finale to her life, a poetic conclusion to all the frustrations. She couldn’t be a predator. But if a predator could finally prove to be her better. She could pay proper tribute. And something beneath the night sky would finally make sense.

One day.
When he was tailing her, she turned a corner she had turned a hundred times before. And where there was usually a solid well-trodden path, suddenly there was instead a steep drop-off.
With her pride splintering the moment she tumbled, she landed in a curled-up mess, heart pounding. She looked at the hole around her. It seemed to have been dug by his claws. He had to have been swift, digging like mad. He’d dug it in a single day.
He strode to the edge of the pit and grinned at her, dark against the light above. “That worked, huh?”
She worked her way to a standing position. Dizzy, she adjusted herself, catching herself wondering if the chase and the fall had her looking unappealing. “Hello, Hearne…” Her beating heart made it difficult to find fitting words.
“So, this is it… finally.” She imagined hearing a note of disappointment in his rumbling voice.
She raised her palms faintly, in an apologetic shrug. “You got me. I can honestly say… I didn’t let you catch me. This was all you.”
“Why does it not… feel satisfactory then?”
She could only guess at what story he had been telling himself. “Because we have some way to go yet, I imagine… you and I…”
He narrowed his eyes and knelt down. “Do I have to come down for you?” He stretched out his arm, presenting demonically sharp claws.
She hesitated only a moment, knowing he was expecting her to cower. She reached out and let him grab her wrist. After a brief stinging sensation from getting yanked, suddenly she was caught, carried in his arms, one great hand locked around her neck. It was clear that any attempt to move would be promptly quelled.
She looked up at him, suddenly taken entirely by trying to comprehend the sensation of his touch. She sank into his fur, feeling that his belittling heat could have her thoughtless for all too long.
Before she knew it, she was thrown down and felt a rope wrapped around her throat. It was forcefully tightened, sending a gasp from her lips.
Rising, she reeled on the spot and gathered herself. She was tied to a pole buried deep in the ground. 
He kneeled before her and managed to make himself barely lower than her. “You smell even better up close,” he said, showing teeth.
She stood with limp arms at her side. She eyed his erection, full-fledged as usual. The only thing she could think to do was grab the remaining fiki nuts in her pouch and fill her mouth. She started chewing at a panicked pace. Whatever was about to happen, it was likely to hurt.
He seemed thoroughly confused by the action. He shook his head. “You have plans, I take it…” He angled his head in a patronizing manner. “You’ve pictured this moment. Don’t be naïve to think I’d accommodate your imagination.”
The nuts strangely had her confidence on the return. “Right, you have to do the whole murderer act.”
He laughed. “It’s not an act, Light-Paws. You could drop dead any moment.”
“But you won’t hurt me, yet. You want to try me. Bend me. Break me.”
“I will admit…” he said flatly. “That your apparent submission makes me spiteful. If I can’t take your pride, why not just have it done with?”
“Then do it!” she said, glaring. “All this mulling about, one would think I actually let a dumb, little, useless mutt get the better of me. I wouldn’t believe it.”
He snarled, reaching to grab her by the neck and pulled her to the ground. The collision only rattled her, the pain was but a numb sound in the back of her head. The noose tightened further, and she had to breathe faster not to get dizzy.
He ran a claw over her chest, down her crotch, and her bindings were stripped effortlessly. Though the line he drew lit up in her mind, she saw no blood. At the sight of his swelling cock approaching, she slowly spread her legs.
“Careful…” she laughed. “I’m a virgin.”
He froze. “You’re kidding.”
She smirked. “What? A little jackalope saving herself for the big bad wolf seem too good to be true?”
He barked, seemingly shaking off his hesitation. He placed himself against her, and before she had properly savoured the sensation of their sexes touching, heat against heat, he pushed and her body made way for him. He couldn’t enter her fully, though he tried. She sensed that her body wanted to squeal, but overshadowed by her coursing blood and the persistent heat inside her, the sound that escaped her was an ear-deafening salute to pleasure.
Above her, he was already panting, drool escaping his teeth, dripping on her face. It smelled like home. He had let go of her throat, seeming to finally accept she wouldn’t attempt to run. As he threw himself at her, hungrily taking what was left of depth, she felt that he had already stretched her body as far as it would go.
The pain finally registered, but even if her gasps suddenly turned to hissing, she held onto his shoulders, leaning against him, as if wanting him to know that she was ready for whatever else he could imagine taking from her. 
His teeth hovered before her face, then against her ear. The furnace of his breath was testimony to the fact that he was holding back. That if he slipped a single moment, he could accidentally split her open, leaving her a forgotten, useless toy. His teeth locked around an antler, and she was held in place, powerless. She came once, then twice, at the booming sensation of her body being broken down. Steadily, the pace slowed.
After what seemed much too soon, he howled, making the trees around them tremble. She felt his seed flood what little space was left, lacing her inside, spilling down between the cheeks of her rear, soon staining the ground beneath them. He pulled out and aimed for her body, coating the better part of her fur. He moved up and deliberately splattered her face.
She opened her mouth for him, the waves coming on for several impossibly long moments. She felt as if drowning, but soon there were only drops from the pulsating member, now spent. He tasted better than the ferret, without a doubt.
She lay, breathing, pondering. Feeling the dull soreness. Almost laughing at the seed she was submerged in, feeling it sliding off her.
She blinked. He sat above her, looking her into her eyes. For a moment, she felt like an idiot, trying to speak with a mouth full. She swallowed and felt the bulk of his seed sink to her stomach. “You didn’t hurt me?”
He snorted. “I definitely hurt you.”
“Nothing I won’t recover from.” She looked down and found that she was indeed bleeding, though it seemed surreal, unrelated to the sensations in her mind. Was she disappointed? They stared at each other for a long moment. If he was going to eat her now, he would have long begun. “About that truce.”
“So now you want the truce.” There was coy flicker in his tone, lacing the sharp words in irony. “Now that I am inches from relieving you of your spine.”
“Hear me out.” She sat up, and had forgotten the rope around her neck, suddenly digging sharply into her. He reached to loosen it slightly, before she spoke with a confidence disregarding that his seed clearly painted her as his loyal subject. “I will submit. I will tell you that I am nothing but shit on the ground next to you and your beastly cock. You are my chieftain, and I… I am your slave. Even if that means the end of me.”
“But…?”
She knew she couldn’t keep it up forever. The thought had crossed her, but naivety wasn’t her strong side. “But if you keep your promise… of keeping me alive as long as your will allows… I will sell you my tribe. I will touch myself, keening in pleasure, as you and your kind rape them and eat them, however slow you’re in the mood for.” 
A low rumble, like a strained laugh left him. “I am not displeased by the offer… But nevertheless, I must ask again. Why…?”
She blinked again, then spat to the side. “I hate them. I hate what they make of themselves and what they make of me by association. And if I could go along with you. Melt with you and your passions. I could feel greatness. If only briefly.”
“Go along with me?” He rolled his head ponderously. “My passions are bittersweet. When I tear up my prey, when I see its pain. I am set alight. But at the same time, it reminds me… that my soul is barren. That I need to sever it to even feel that it’s there.”
“Then we’re the same. I feel the need to be severed, all the same.” She deliberately mirrored his choice of words. She knew that his twisted mind would find arousal in her willingness.
Indeed, she saw him drool. “While I am not sure you know what you’re asking, I will humour you. If nothing else, to see how far you can bend…. Before you break.”
She nodded. “I am to be wed to Jol of the Redantlers in three weeks to the day. It will be on neutral ground. A hilltop, sheltered by cliffs, where the brook bends prominently. When the moon is at its highest, we’ll be there. A banquet. For your taking.”
He frowned. “Will your entire tribe be there? In the middle of the night? Seems… Ill-considered.”
She had said her entire tribe, hadn’t she? “No… it’ll be a small fraction of us… If that is not satisfactory… I can go further.” Could she sabotage the walls from the inside? Usher out their young?
“It is perfect,” he said, and though his grin was terrifying, she felt pride. “I would have no interest in cleaning out your tribe entirely. Who would breed for us?”
As she had always suspected… Her village. It was little more than a pen holding livestock. “There will be guards. Even if their spears are likely to break against your hide… I believe I can drug them, dulling their senses.”
“Light-Paws,” he said. “You are precious. It makes me almost not want to make prey of you.”
“Almost,” she repeated, eying his returning erection. 
“Your betrothed, Jol…” he said. “You want me to trounce him. Make nothing of him.”
She moaned in an overplayed manner. “Nothing would make me happier. By the moon... Make nothing of me. Make me feel you again.” She ran a finger over one of her antlers, dripping with seed and brought some ruefully to her tongue. “The way you seem inches from not being able to hold back your deeper instincts. It is… intoxicating.”
He didn’t answer. He merely put his palm to her throat, and once more she was shoved towards the ground, a whimper escaping her lips, but the fur on her back rippling in joy.