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  1. ShadeofRae

    060120 v.2 - Sydney

    Finished commission for https://www.furaffinity.net/user/sydneypuppers Sydney (c) https://www.furaffinity.net/user/sydneypuppers Art (c) Rae
  2. ShadeofRae

    060120 v1 - Sydney

    Finished commission for https://www.furaffinity.net/user/sydneypuppers Sydney (c) https://www.furaffinity.net/user/sydneypuppers Sprinkles (c) https://www.furaffinity.net/user/sprinklesthecute art (c) Rae
  3. Eight: The Burdens We Carry (I heeded what my mother and Clement told me. The only thing that I could do was keep on living. Over that summer, I was still isolated all the more, thinking that I could die tomorrow and nobody would care. I felt like only I cared that Gaston had been killed. The only thing that I could do to live as if I were to die tomorrow, was steal. Crime was the only way I and others could manage, though barely. There were still Sundays when Clement would come home, looking injured but, for some reason, content. (So, I kept up with what I did, even though they knew I still stole, more so when I was out of school. One day, I found myself in the worst trouble from picking a pocket. (The clouds covered the sky, but it was the middle of the day, threatening to rain. My target for stealing was another wolf, whose clothes looked as shabby as mine. I had taken to wearing what men wear. Not being able to run in dresses made me hate them. Wearing a work shirt and work pants, I scurried to this wolf in a dusty-looking business suit. I thought that I could get away with the crime. I did not just lift the watch on his belt, but I also picked his left pocket, from which I found a pouch of money. (The second I turned around with my loot, I heard a voice shout from right behind me, “OI!” I ran like hell with the loot in my fists. I barely passed the building we were in front of when I felt a large hand grab me by the shoulder. I could not run anymore as I was forced to turn around. (The wolf, peculiarly looking green, barked, “Thought you could steal from me, didn’t yeh?” He snatched back his watch and then his money. Fear paralysed me. The wolf added, “Lemme show what happens when yeh liff the wrong wolf’s bits an’ bobs.” (Where he took me, managing to hold me with only one hand, was to where he lived, and he didn’t live alone. There were two other wolves, one of them a female, but wearing no more than a corset and she held a cane. It was the female who spoke nonchalantly, “Another troublemaker for us.” (The wolf keeping me in place stated, “I thought that you would like the honour of teaching this one discipline.” (I did not like the way that female wolf looked. Whoever she was, she could have been far from a mother. I tried keeping my feet firm with the ground, but to no avail, for I was lifted again, which had me flail in protest, and still to no avail. (By the time I was in the other male wolf’s arms, I could not dare find out what being smacked with a cane was like. I ended up digging my fangs into that wolf’s right arm, and he yowled in pain, making him lose his grip. Then, I started running again. The other two were quick to catch up with me, I could hear. So, I stopped abruptly in the middle of the road. (They wouldn’t give up. The she-wolf ran my way, carrying her cane, and I led her along the sidewalk. It all happened so fast. That she-wolf with the cane reminded me of Gaston’s father. I ended up jumping to her, and I punched her muzzle repeatedly. The she-wolf barked, “Get this little bitch off me!” (Before long, the wolf that brought me to his family caught up as well, grabbing me by my arms, but I heard a gun shoot. The grip holding me became nothing, and I turned around— (He had been killed. My saviour was none other than Clement. Still pointing his gun, he warned, “Let ‘er alone, bitch.” The she-wolf ran. Suddenly, I became afraid of my step-father. He approached me, and stated, “We’re going ‘ome.”) I explore the storage of the sanctuary. It could be an armoury, my share of it, for that is where I leave souvenirs from my trips. Once I reach my section, memories are brought back. The oldest one of them comes from a particular sword in its sheath. Beneath the black coating is a curved guillotine-like blade. The long hilt has white stripes. I keep that sword on hooks on the wall. In a chest is my clothes as well as a stack of handkerchiefs. Looking in that chest, I wonder what other clothes I could use. I consider taking my violet jacket, which closes completely and has a gold branch-like pattern over the shoulder and back. I think, I’ll get to that later. I then look at a serrated dagger with an ivory hilt, which I have taken from a bloodthirsty killer, and it reminds me of a coward, using his men, cultists, to fend me off. Another treasure that I eye is a silver watch, which has stopped working from its battery running out. In the centre of the watch face is a peridot. This is something that I have considered selling off. Though I despise guns, I keep a bullet, this one Jack has explained to me. It is no ordinary piece of lead; it is made of iron and nickel alloy in a full metal jacket. I still do not understand it, but it sounds like something special as the ammunition has been popular on the black market. To add to these treasures of the past is a barbed whip that has tasted blood of its victims. The whole lash has sharp barbs on two sides that I dare not touch. I place it in the only other container, which has all these memory sources. When I turn around, I find a silver cat. Not just any young cat, but the silver cat with black spots and big emerald eyes, just like her dear mother. She wears a simple beige dress. “Ghaliya”, I whisper. “'Ana saeid liruyatik maratan 'ukhraa, al'ukht alkubraa”, she tells me joyously. I open my arms and she approaches, leaping up to me, so she can hug me. She purrs as I hold her, even when I put her back on the ground. I then reply, “Great to see you, too.” She says, “It was the time Father brought me here.” She speaks with a Symphonian accent like I do, but she has a musical voice like her mother. “Mother has told me where your journey has taken you now.” Eyeing her gold pendant with an emerald, her locket, reminds me of my loyalty to her. I comment, “I still bring money fer the sanctuary, collecting funds by any means.” She cannot possibly understand this. She is only twelve years old. She is all too familiar with crime, poverty, diseases, and death, but she cannot understand what this journey of mine means. “You do what you need to”, she replies. Ghaliya is a kind cat, but she can be too sweet. Maybe she just reminds me too much of her mother. Ghaliya continues, “I know that you obtain your money from killing bad people.” I add, “And now by turning wanted criminals to the police. I still need getting used to that.” I follow Ghaliya out to the field and to where other cubs and pups play. As we watch the few of them tussle, race, or just waffle on whatever, she states, “I know how this country works, Big Sister. I know the conditions of Highcond: the pollution, the wars of the classes, and the corruption. I have believed you to be a solution since I have known you.” Even now, I find it hard to believe that the High Priestess had her daughter after years of running the sanctuary and leading her own sect. I object, “But I am no god. I am not supernatural.” Ghaliya rebuts, “And yet I still see you as gifted, like Mother does.” I cannot fault that. The High Priestess taught me to love again after I convinced myself that I lost it. I know that my journey is not only about me. And I am thankful that Ghaliya reminds me such. I place a hand on her shoulder as she is perched on the fence, and I rub her back, which prompts her to purr again. ----- My recent failure still leaves me sorrowful. I considered calling Jack, to ask him what he knew of the Terrecon house, but I think that I should not be informed. It will only make me feel worse. Instead, I consider something else about David’s letter, but that is to wait. I spend time recuperating in the sanctuary while connecting with Ghaliya as I know which targets I will pursue. On my fourth and final day before my departure for Solmil, I have Ghaliya and the other cubs together, so I can tell them of a story of my favourite god from lore. Ghaliya, like the rest, leans forward with excitement as I speak: “Kumhep has been revered as the judge of the souls. Every soul of those who die is in a void between the mortal realm and the realm of the dead before the heart is weighed with a feather, to determine the purity or impurity of the soul. Kumhep has carried out this duty, passing judgment upon the souls before allowing them to pass to the afterlife. Only he knows what is to happen to the soul before it happens. “After year of being the judge of the souls, Kumhep becomes curious of what has become of the kingdom that he knows in the mortal realm. So, he creates a portal that he passes, bringing him instantly to a desert at night. Where he heads by foot is eastward, where he finds a fair civilisation. “Kumhep watches the sun rise by the time he enters the village. In looking around, being reminded of his past, he realises how much he misses the pleasures of mortals. It is from watching the villagers go about their business he also realises how he stands out, having a completely black pelt and ice-blue eyes. Even the jackal that he is, is taller than average. “Because of what he has been before, he heads to the vegetation of the oasis near the village, a safe haven for vagabond merchants. He observes the farm tasks of a family, tending to a vast herd of goats and even vaster vine field of grapes. He sees that this pair of mates and their siblings get along well during their tasks while their children played. “After a while of watching them from afar, he heads back in the village, where the small markets bustle, and he listens to talk about the vast farm, and the same question echoes from all: how can they still be in one of the smallest oases from having a vast livestock? Kumhep wanted to know the answer himself. Among the items bought by the oldest member of the family from that farm in the afternoon, Kumhep saw that man carrying a large and heavy jug of beer. “To make himself come off as a beaten traveller, he hid away his belt with Khopesh and his shroud. Clad in only his loincloth, he headed to an inn, where he selected the most bloodthirsty brute and engaged him. The leopard that he fights is indeed tough. Though Kumhep could break an entire arm in one pull, he lets the brute win. Kumhep then heads to the farm, claiming to the lady of the house that he has nowhere to go, that he was assaulted and robbed by bandits. The lady of the house lets Kumhep in with open arms, and they have food to spare for Kumhep. “Over a family dinner, Kumhep learns how hard the man and lady of the house, and their six siblings work hard to feed others, but even with what good amount of gold they have earned, they have not enough to take their business to a city, to Kumhep’s suspicion. The four children of the house heads tend to Kumhep, and in the process, explain to him about sharing the dream of being in the city and carrying on a legacy, but their large amounts of earnings seem to disappear. “For the time of Kumhep’s stay, he snoops on the man of the house, who he sees goes out late, and sees him offer gold and beer to travelling bandits. Shortly after watching that horrible scene, Kumhep goes to retrieve his shroud, belt, and Khopesh. However, he still wears only his loincloth on the next day, which he declares to the family is his last. “Late that same night, he learns of the same bandits that he saw, setting a market on fire and slaughtering families. Kumhep reminds himself of his duties, but he slays the bandits. After his action, Kumhep summons the man of the house, to the rocks near the water of the oasis, and the man heeds the call. It is then that he is recognised as the lord of the dead. Kumhep interrogates the man of the house what business he had with the bandits, and attacks him when hearing a lie. The pain is so unbearable that he confesses immediately. The man of the house has been using his family all along. He was once a bandit. After falling for his wife and reuniting with his family, he has been using the family farm to fund the misdeeds of the bandits. Kumhep says to the man of the house, ‘You sold your soul long ago. Your heart is so heavy with sin that it is irredeemable.’ He summons his golden Ankh and it barely touches the man’s head when he cries out in pain. Kumhep stabs him with his Khopesh, so he can claim what is left of his soul. “Kumhep knows that he did justice, but he realises that… he cannot save every innocent, or slay every black heart. He resumes his duty, judging every soul fairly.” The cubs take the story in with sadness and with anger, but are very quick to clamour about what happens next. They want to know the next story about my favourite character of the lore. Ghaliya reasons, “We have already listened to one story tonight and it is late now.” “Pray that my next return is soon”, I speak. “For I intend to speak the story of Kumhep protecting the land of the dead.” Ghaliya replies cheerfully, “I hope to be here then.” There are still cubs claiming that they are not sleepy yet. So, I announce, “You cannot afford to stay awake so late. Your body cannot take it. Believe me, I know.” Ghaliya reasons as well, and they all eventually settle in their beds. Only now, I realise that these cubs sleeping in this kind of construct depresses me. They are all orphans, but I know not whether any of these cubs have seen the inside of a house or have been fortunate enough to remember their parents. Upon exiting the cabin where the cubs sleep, I find Themba awaiting me, and he is shirtless despite the nip in the air. He comments, “You always had a way with cubs.” I reply, “I just happen to have bigger growth spurts than cats. I do not understand, though, why the large felines revered me.” As we walk together to the cabin for security and agents, he responds, “You always had a quality; dat’s all. After oll, I share your belief of wolf having… off-colour eyes to be special in some way.” I state, “Everyone is special in their own way. Every parent thinks that a child is special simply for them being theirs.” “True.” Themba nods. “It just takes perspective.” We enter his cabin when I tell him, “Themba, you were always special to me for your pattern.” “You may still find other special animals along your journey.” That is true. I nod quietly as I head to the bed where my luggage is and I undress, preparing for the night. ----- (“You still fail to understand the rule: do not attract unwanted attention!” my mother scolded. “You could have died today. You could have been defiled.” My mother was both angry and afraid, being informed by Clement of my escapade. “I have tried reasoning with you for so long, and yet you still do not heed the warning.” She paced around the kitchen, Clement trying now to calm her. I could have sworn that I heard her heart racing. When she seemed to regain her composure, she peered to me. “I cannot let you get in trouble”, she said. “Understand that you are all I have. You are forbidden to leave this house tomorrow.” It was all for the best. I was actually afraid to run into another dangerous criminal. (There was a major damper on things over dinner. I did not dare speak to even my mother. She and Clement did not engage in conversation between themselves either. However, it was when turning in, I snapped. I sobbed softly in my ragged pillow that night, fearing encountering another wolf such as him. It only made me wonder horrible things about Clement, to boot.) I examine the picture that I have been keeping, which has been folded twice, and I notice it having faded a little more. I just cannot part with it. This is all I have left to remember my old life, the first wolf to ever love me. That is how I pass much of my time on the train ride to my next destination: the Artists’ Land. Solmil. “Lauren and Rhonda Tirrell. Wild Rabbits. Stage performers. Their profession is in theatre, where they have been lucky enough to demonstrate their talent of acting and dancing. They are as close any pair of sisters. They also take to the streets, and are known all the more for their habit of bragging. Giffard’s friends have them as contacts, tricking people into taking contracts for money they will never see and are the heart of his cartel’s trafficking network. You can find them performing at Solmil East Theatre. Name a play shown there; they have very likely been in it.” I take Jack’s word for it, having read his note several times prior. I am quick to find an inn to my standards after exiting the train station. Shortly after getting settled in a nice inn, which has been made completely of bricks, the rooms having wooden boards and vine-patterned wallpaper to cover the walls, I am too restless to take in the rest of the room. I am fortunate to have found this inn. Everything else around it seems to have more flaws than just a few chips or cracks. I begin my exploration— When I feel a hand graze me and lift off. I dig into my side pocket of my slacks, to realise that I have been robbed. I turn around, finding a rabbit running. I shout, “OI!” I run after the young rabbit, adding, “Gimme back me money!” I continue sprinting, seeming to catch up with the young rabbit, only for her to make a sharp turn. I end up climbing a keg and leaping from beams of the walls of a few constructs to keep up with her. Eventually— I stop in my tracks, my hand upon her shoulder, tightly. I tell the rabbit, “You stole my money. Give it back.” I still have my grip on her as I watch her lift the pouch from under the top of her dress and present it. With my free hand, I take the pouch. I then release her. An instant later, the rabbit turns around. Her pelt seems to completely be completely golden-brown, her eyes dark brown. She wears a maroon dress with black buttons down its top. She says, “My apologies, Ma’am. I thought it was the only way to get your attention.” I follow the rabbit as I reply, “I wouldn’t ‘ave gained attention of others by calling fer you, but ‘twas instinct.” We stop in an opening in a line of buildings. I fold my arms as she tells me, “I was sent ta this borough to contact you. I’m Leigh-Anne Burgess. I work for Mister Dolan.” She is not quite free of my judgment. “Now why would that dog send a young’un?” I query. “I know many other rabbits and young’uns who work for ‘im. I lead ‘is spy network.” I look down sternly, my visible left eye standing out in the darkness like a flame. “Words are not always enough, kitten. Cubs can say anything and whether ‘tis to be believed only seems up to other cubs.” “It is true!” she snapped. “Mister Dolan ordered me to follow you to the train station back in Ashcrown. He told me to expect you here in Solmil as he told me that you next sought the Tirrell sisters.” “And what proof have you that the Tirrell sisters have not ordered you to use me?” She squealed, “Because I despise them!” She paused to take a breath. “I am not the only rabbit from a large family. I am from my parents’ first litter; there were seven of us. My parents fell for the most common lie: taking me under the roof of the Tirrell family. They put me to work along with other kittens, who they were close to breaking if they hadn’t already… Mister Dolan… raided the workshop where we had the tedious task of shelling bullets… and I was among the many that ‘is men saved…” Her eyes well up as she adds, “And he offered me a better life… I did not believe ‘im at first, but I knew ‘twould be better than life in the slums, starving like my siblings, and better than building weapons…” She holds a hand to her nose upon finishing. I place a hand on her shoulder and say, “Now I must apologise fer not trustin’ yeh.” She takes a deep breath and lowers her arm before answering, “Apology accepted, Ma’am.” She continues, “I waited four days for you. Now that you have come, we kin settle this business.” I follow her along the streets of flat-roofed stone buildings along with houses of planks and shingles, its inhabitants having tried too hard to make those houses colourful as paint has been splattered on the walls. All these inhabitants are dressed fairly, and here I am in a business suit, unlike all the other females wearing dresses. Where the rabbit named Leigh-Anne guides me is to a construct that is supposedly desolate, but it clearly has smoke coming out of the one chimney in the flat roof. Upon entering, I see that it looks a lot better inside, for the stone walls have been smoothed and the wooden floor is clean. The rabbit speaks, “’Tis nothing like me spy headquarters in Ashcrown, but this hideout ‘as bin made ‘ome to other kittens on the streets.” “It is brilliant”, I comment. My sight following Leigh-Anne, I speak, “Before I pursue the Tirrell sisters, I plan to fulfil bounty ‘unts. All con artists, based on crimes for which they are wanted.” Leigh-Anne turns around, to say cheerily, “All the more ‘elp, Ma’am. The Artists’ Land is practically an ‘aven fer all the con artists and ‘usslers.” She re-approaches me, to inform me, “You should still stay alert; even me friends know that those deceptive, beastly buggers ‘ave mercenaries fer protection.” “Do the con artists not put up a fight?” I query. “Only if their opponent is an old man needing a cane”, she snorts. I hear a tapping on the window behind me. I tell Leigh-Anne, “Contact me when you’ve suggestions on where to be for the Tirrell sisters.” She answers, “I’ll ‘ave me spies keep in touch.” I head out of the hideout, and upon closing the door behind me, my raven friend greets me, and I have my arm up the second I hear his wings flap. I just stand there, stroking the raven’s head with one finger. I can assure him that he will not leave here without tasting meat of a criminal here.
  4. Uluri

    Fluff of Terror 2

    From the album: Fluff of Terror

    Newgrounds ✧ FurAffinity ✧ DeviantArt ✧ Inkbunny Ko-fi ✧ Patreon ✧ Paypal ✧ YCHs ✧ Commission Prices ✧ Prints & Shirts Feel free to suggest tags/Keywords to my artwork. It is very much appreciated! Read on Tapas: https://tapas.io/episode/1769225 Previous / Cover / Next Page 2 of "Fluff of Terror" has come out. We've raised a good amount of fluff so far, but uluri can get EVEN FLUFFIER! Fill the room, Flood the Hallways, We're going to bring fear into everyone's hearts with this floofage.(originally created 2018) Support the Series Kofi: https://ko-fi.com/UluriFox Paypal: https://ulurifox.wixsite.com/uluri/post/paypal-subscribe Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/Uluri Uluri © Uluri Posted using PostyBirb
  5. Uluri

    Fluff of Terror 3

    From the album: Fluff of Terror

    Newgrounds ✧ FurAffinity ✧ DeviantArt ✧ Inkbunny Ko-fi ✧ Patreon ✧ Paypal ✧ YCHs ✧ Commission Prices ✧ Prints & Shirts Feel free to suggest tags/Keywords to my artwork. It is very much appreciated! Read on Tapas: https://tapas.io/episode/1769228 Previous / Cover / Next Wriggling and Writhing floof engulfs the area. It rushes out from the room and continues to swallow the place up. Trace must run! This page is the first page after the long... looong break I had with making this. The series will be continued from here. Support the Series Kofi: https://ko-fi.com/UluriFox Paypal: https://ulurifox.wixsite.com/uluri/post/paypal-subscribe Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/Uluri Uluri © Uluri Posted using PostyBirb

    © Uluri

  6. Uluri

    Fluff of Terror 1

    From the album: Fluff of Terror

    Newgrounds ✧ FurAffinity ✧ DeviantArt ✧ Inkbunny Ko-fi ✧ Patreon ✧ Paypal ✧ YCHs ✧ Commission Prices ✧ Prints & Shirts Feel free to suggest tags/Keywords to my artwork. It is very much appreciated! Read on Tapas: https://tapas.io/episode/1769224 Cover / Next Here we are in Uluri's Appartment shared with Trace the Rabbit. Today Kindling and Sin are visiting, too, and Uluri's found some trouble in a box they found in Trace's room. It just so happens that mixing Potions can cause some terrifying side effects. (originally created 2018) Support the Series Kofi: https://ko-fi.com/UluriFox Paypal: https://ulurifox.wixsite.com/uluri/post/paypal-subscribe Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/Uluri Uluri © Uluri Posted using PostyBirb
  7. Pink

    OC Heads 4

    From the album: My art

    Characters: Jairus, Enzo, Harley, Brandon, Oswald
  8. Springtrap


    From the album: My OCs

  9. PlushGvtz

    Taffy Ref 2019

    From the album: Adopts and Designs

    AYE Redesigned this boy for RoboPom HAPPY BIRTH I HOPE YOU LIKE HIS NEW DESIGN <3 he is bb enjoy! Character belongs to RoboPom on DA! Art by me Please do not use or reference in anyway! Thank you! Posted using PostyBirb
  10. A commission for Nadur_anam I do not often draw night scenes but it was a lot of fun to paint! If you want to see the process of this painting you can watch this video: https://youtu.be/VaG9wkdH9o0 Open YCHs: https://www.furaffinity.net/gallery/blacktiger5/folder/333490/Open-YCH Commission Info: https://www.furaffinity.net/commissions/blacktiger5/ You can contact me on Furaffinity or on Twitter (@Blacktiger5_) Posted using PostyBirb
  11. A commission for Kazuko.Northlight. Thanks a lot for the opportunity! It's always difficult for me to work with white fur, but I thing I managed to pull it off pretty well :3 Open YCHs: https://www.furaffinity.net/gallery/blacktiger5/folder/333490/Open-YCH Commission Info: https://www.furaffinity.net/commissions/blacktiger5/ You can contact me on Furaffinity or on Twitter (@Blacktiger5_) Posted using PostyBirb
  12. PoodlePoofs


    From the album: For others

    chibi comm
  13. From the album: Sketch Commissions

    Commission for Huntr of their doggo, Christian
  14. Seven: The Hunter’s Heart (The day spent at Tenebra Angela Concert Hall was one of the best days of my life. I had the music sink in and hummed what I could remember of what was the symphony written by a man whose personal tragedy was the motivation. Despite the story behind it, and the emotion of the melodies, it was something that I wanted to listen to again. I hummed lowly as I walked with my mother and Clement back to the house. Unlike them, I still wore the decorative mask along the tread back in the slums. (Before long, we were just metres from our house when I caught the stench of blood. It wasn’t just due to a wolf’s keen sense of smell; it was very close. And I dreaded the situation that could have led to blood being spilt. (Instead of our house, I hurried to the house next to it, the one a lot shabbier than ours. I heard my mother call for me, but it was too late. I entered the rotting house, and that was where the odour of blood was the strongest. Inside, I was at the kitchen, the counter broken, its pieces just left on the floor. The stove was rusted. The walls were covered in cobwebs, and I could see the spiders even from the doorway. (I headed past the fragmented counter, and saw the thing to make this the worst day of my life. There on the floor made of only dirt, lay the brown pup that talked to me when nobody else would. He had his eyes open, but he was not breathing as he lay sprawled, blood caking on his fur, staining his shirt. My heart went heavy and I dropped to my knees, suddenly in tears. “No…” That was all I could say. I took off my mask and discarded it before I buried his face into his, the tears falling. (Before long, I raised my head, knowing just who was cruel enough to kill a pup, and he sat on a ragged and dirty couch, seeming lost in a trance, butcher knife in hand. I howled angrily as I ran up to the monster, a dull-brown wolf, wearing only a pair of ragged trousers with suspenders. I yowled when I tackled him, “YOU FUCKIN’ BASTARD!” I began to punch his face repeatedly. “YOU KILLED HIM! YOU FUCKIN’ KILLED GASTON! YOU KILLED MY ONLY FRIEND!” I didn’t even pause as I punched him again and again. I could have attempted to tear his throat out with my fangs, like any wolf would, but I was just so furious that I thought about only causing him pain. (“NO!” I was grabbed from behind by a pair of arms. “Lemme at ‘im! HE’S A FUCKIN’ MONSTER! HE KILLED ‘IS SON! HIS OWN FLESH AN’ BLOOD!” No matter how much I thrashed I was taken out of the house and brought back in ours. Before I knew it, I was in front of my mother, holding my arms against my sides. “I WANNA KILL THAT BASTARD!” (“Listen to me!” my mother howled. I looked into her bright-amber eyes. Sounding calm, she spoke, “There was nothing you could do for the pup. And that wolf could have killed you if he was not like a statue. Please, don’t do anything so reckless. You will have something to make you angry, but you need to control your temper.” (I sobbed again, tears falling down my face like rain. “It’s my fault. He must’ve known that I gave Gaston money fer food… I’d hear the beatings, and I did nothing even then…” (Still holding my arms at my sides, my mother told me, “There was still nothing you could have done. And you did not kill the pup. There is a lot that y-want to do, but you cannot afford to be reckless.” I buried myself in her chest and neck, and it would be a while before that wound would heal.) ----- “Charleston, Ferndale, and Pineton. Hares. Charleston favours the Viria Marketplace, which is outside the borough’s train station. Ferndale likes to frequent near the westside tracks. Pineton stalks outside of the borough’s slums.” That is the note that Dolan has given me. I head back toward the slums after I’ve had my rest at the inn, after I’ve had my breakfast. I have Michi seek out the hare that is my next target. These agents of Samuels, I am certain, would want revenge on who has killed him. So, here I am, seeking the one that may be nearest the factory, now overtaken by Dolan’s men. I tread on the rooftops, looking down from the edges, to seek the one of the hares that have tricked and hurt many parents despite that they had their hands proverbially full. It doesn’t feel long before I hear the familiar caw, and I follow the sound of my friend, who I find making small circles in the air, I follow down, to find a hare, which I can tell by a tall and slender figure despite the business suit, and he stands in pause, disturbed by the sight of a crow circling above him. I climb down the stone construct that was atop, and upon seeing me, the hare reaches beneath his blazer— But Michi dives toward him, not needing to be commanded to distract him, and I run toward the hare. I draw my left Khopesh with my left hand and pin him to the wall with my right hand, keeping his arm against his chest as well, and he struggles as I have my Khopesh pressed against his throat. I tell him coldly, “You must be Samuels’s agent, Pineton.” He doesn’t answer; he just keeps struggling, just to point his pistol at me. I add, “Time you join ‘im.” With that, I slash his throat, and I release my grip on him. The hare stumbles aside, choking. As I make sure that he will not get up, Michi rests upon my shoulder, cawing. I sheathe my Khopesh before I raise my hand and let him peck lightly. I see a moment pass, and I kneel down, to press a finger against his wrist. No pulse. One hare that no one will miss. After a short lunch, in the form of a sardine sandwich, I head to the area of the train tracks. The area is none too shabby, as I observe these houses erected of stone, the small patches of grass being lush, and the sounds of various mammals grunting or groaning are nothing to calm me. However, it is just like every place as I always expect someone to jump me. I remain calm, seeking a hare that should stand out like a single red rose in a bright-green meadow. I slowly climb down from a rooftop of one of the houses making its own residential block. When I reach the ground, I hear Michi caw, circling just above the metal-roofed gazebo in the centre. From behind a tree in one of the corner grass patches, I look carefully to the small shelter, and I find nothing. So, I move to the left, and I find two figures laying down. The figure with the back facing me, is clearly a female, a cat, based on the ears. I get a better look taking a few steps forward, and I finally make out a slender male, one of the hares. Peculiarly, his pelt is completely silvery white. I know that because he and his female companion are completely naked, their clothes scattered, and there are two rabbits at the opening, clearly bodyguards. I approach with a stride, and with one hand, I grab each rabbit by their throats and lift them off the ground. I listen to them choke until they go limp, but I lessen my grip on them. After placing the rabbits back down carefully, I head inside the small shelter, and draw my stiletto. The cat just looks up— When I plunge the stiletto in the hare’s throat, the cat instinctively rolling aside, apparently thinking that she was the target. As I wipe the blood off the stiletto with the discarded shirt, the horrified cat tells me, “Wh-what d-you want?” I look down at her, sheathing my stiletto. “I came here only to kill Ferndale. I suggest you take all his money along with his weapons.” I pause, before correcting myself. “In fact, I order you to. You will need them.” My raven friend alights upon the lifeless hare, but he stares at me instead of beginning his meal. So, I tell him, “I can find my own way to the market. Best you take your meat now.” Understanding that, Michi begins pecking at where I stabbed the hare’s throat. If I am not mistaken, those who live near the Viria Marketplace are those who hear the sounds of the train whistling at the strongest. This is also not so drab, the market. Understandable as buildings in the industrial areas need to be well intact. I enter the market, and I am greeted by fumes with a smell that is anything but pleasant. The walls of beige bricks have been in good care. Rows of canopies as well as stacks of crates and various mammals there to buy their next meals fill the space, and I see limited space. So, I wonder if I can find a single hare by myself. In addition, the voices overlapping are no help in seeking a conversation that sounds like criminal activity. It is not the hanging carcasses that disgust me, but the blood stains that I can make out on the floor of this place. Blood has splotched on the pavement of this market. I walk casually in the long strip that is the Viria Marketplace, looking carefully for something that may lead me to my target. Before long, I have a clue. I find a short crate stack that is labelled “Malleo”. I kneel down and lift a crate. I cannot smell what is inside, but I have another idea: I throw the crate on the ground. On impact, the boards, along with glass that is apparently inside, break. That is when I pick up the pungent odour. That is just what I need. I hurry past, wanting it to not even touch my feet. The time then comes. I hear a voice express outrage. “Who sabotaged me fuckin’ bits an’ bobs?!” I turn around, finding just the animal that I seek: a hare. He is brown like cocoa and wears a blue suit, its hues not unlike mine. He continues to rage about the broken crate and spilt contents as I approach him, harassing a squirrel, who drops his purchases upon being grabbed and squealed at. I draw my Khopesh with my left hand. He barely reacts when I run the blade past him, and all too easily, he goes down from me retracting my arm, running the blade across his throat. The squirrel tries composing himself as he sees the hare stumble, choking. Suddenly, I hear a gun clicking. As if he knows about the mask making for my protection, the barrel is pressed against my back. There are no words from the hare behind me. However, I hear the same squirrel, still there, squeal, and he runs toward the hare. Hearing the thudding as well as wooden boards breaking and no sound of a shot, I turn around to see that he’s managed to tackle the hare to the floor. This hare has cocoa-hued fur and a blue suit as well. I need only step toward the scuffling hare. With the hook of my Khopesh, I gash up his forearm, making him lose grip of his pistol. I seize the chance and slash the hare’s throat. To the panting squirrel, I state, “That was brave of you. Thanks for that.” ----- There is another place that I wanted to go to, and that is where I choose to have my dinner: Bright Nancy’s. Shortly after I finish what they have the luxury of cooking—a chop, boiled potatoes, and green beans—I notice the cat named David on the stage, playing the harpsichord, and he is not alone. There is a female cat at the front of the stage, and she sings: “I was happy here, Unfettered and free, Living a life- of contentment and luxury Licking smooth bones, swigging fine wine A remarkable beast, proud and divine… “She seeks adventure, But she knows it means trouble Nine lives is ace, if you use them wisely Just look at this place, Where the joy ‘as all crumbled Now she is here, To see death with ‘er eyes…” I wonder if she might be referring to me, for this speaks to me in a way. In fact, it reminds me of the life led by the cat I call Pasht. The cat continues singing: “Most learn to read But all fall for lies She wants to live But only for others When I follow her Will I cheer, or will I cry “She needs adventure Though she knows it means trouble Nine lives is ace, if you use them wisely Just look at this place, Where all joy is crumbled Now she has come, To see death and desire…” The cat then repeats a whisper, before she gets back to the tune that I know. “She needs adventure Though she knows it means trouble Nine lives is ace, if you use them wise Just look at this place, Where all joy is crumbled Now she has come, To see death with ‘er eyes…” When the song is brought to an end, I am with the many to applaud the singer as well as the harpsichord player. Heading back with the crowd, David catches sight of the wolf with the eyepatch, and stops to say, “Well, welcome back.” I comment, “What a truthful song.” David replies, “Glad you like. I assume you came for another session with me.” “I did. I hope you’re not too busy serving meals for that.” “I will inform the Madame of it”, he tells me, suddenly not confident in what is to follow. ----- The two of us lay in his bed, spent, as I have made sure. I want something worth remembering of this cat. So, here we are, me holding him in my arms, and I wonder if he likes my caress on his back as he does not purr. I feel something for this cat. I ask him, “Are you happy?” Shifting backwards to look up, he asks back, “Whot?” I repeat, “Are you happy, David?” Looking quizzical, he replies, “I do not understand…” “It is a simple question.” The hesitation to answer, I comprehend. He then says plainly, “Yes.” However, I know the truth. I scowl at him, and that brings something out of him. He adds, “I came to this brothel of all places because I’d nowhere else to go… And it only made me lonely…” Steering off the subject, I inquire, “Does the Madame care how long you are with a client?” “We ‘ave time”, he answers, sounding dejected. “You’re the first man I met who…” I just cannot decide the correct term. “Can you elaborate?” David pushes away, to get up, and reach into the drawer of his nightstand. What he pulls out is a pipe and a clump of a concoction, with which he fills the pipe. Talking through his teeth and taking a flint, he explains, “I’m one of many to smoke after intercourse. I’ve ‘ad only two men court me the time I’ve worked ‘ere.” I hear the scraping of the flint. “You’re right that this place is not utilised for some drug operation, but with my wages I’ve bought drugs fer meself.” I see a puff of smoke, before he turns back around to face me, but does not use the blankets to cover his naked body again. “I’ve ‘ad an ‘abit o’ utilising this when I got sad. I tried thinking of me two past male clients after they’d paid me.” I look down sombrely, realising how deep into the abyss he has fallen. David continued, “I believe this stuff t-be of use to face me demons.” Sitting up as that interests me, I inquire, “What kind of demons?” As a pause, David inhales the fumes from his pipe, and exhales that smoke with a sigh. “I cannot explain… But I have a past, and I ‘ope to face it through this.” “You can’t change the past, Cat. I would know. No matter ‘ow you view yer uses o’ that shit, ‘tis not healthy.” The cat just absently smokes his pipe, and looks ahead, me barely in the corner of his eye. I ask, “Does your boss ‘ave a telephone?” “In her office”, he answers. “But I reckon she’ll mind.” That doesn’t stop me, for I get out of the bed, to get dressed in my grey suit and leave the cat his pay, along with a tip. I have an idea. Knock, knock. I hear a female voice speak, “Enter.” I open the wooden door, seeing a neat office with walls and a floor of polished wood. At the desk, a Shephard in a grey business dress sits and she looks up at me, asking, “What brings you t-me office, Ma’am?” “I wish to use yer telephone.” She scowls at me, but she points to the machine behind her, though I wonder if it is begrudging. Nevertheless, I dial the number of the building that has my interest, and then aggressively turn the crank with my good hand while the earpiece is in my other hand. After turning the crank enough, I move the earpiece to my good hand. A moment later, I hear a man speak, “Ahoy, Sputure Station.” “Lieutenant Wickerson.” “Hang on.” There’s another moment of silence before I hear the baritone voice speak, “Wickerson here.” “’Tis the vigilante”, I whisper. While waiting for an answer, I pull out pages that I keep on me. “Well, that dinna take yeh so long.” “This is business, Lieutenant.” “Typical”, he sighs. “Name your request.” “I want ta know of which criminals there are bounties on in Ashcrown.” “If you could hold again, Miss…” “I do not mind.” While waiting for something, I hold the microphone, and turn to the canine, asking, “Have you a pen to spare?” She opens a drawer, from which she takes a fountain pen, and a small ink pot. I still have to wait on the bear, and the silence is actually comfortable—until the bear tells me, “I’ve the records of wanted criminals.” “Ashcrown.” The bear goes into detail about one criminal big enough to have a bounty for his capture. His name, his species, his image, and where he likes to frequent. I know that he is to be no problem, knowing that he is a drug dealer wanted for peace disturbance as well as frequent assault. After writing the useful detail, I say, “I must add as I may not have another chance: what criminals are wanted on bounties in Solmil?” The bear comments, “The Artists’ Land? Jus’ lemme find the big con artists there.” It is no jest; he tells me about three criminals wanted on scams in that borough, and I write down enough detail about them. I still write about the third criminal as he adds, “Bringing all these felons in alive sounds like a lot of ambition fer someone callin’ ‘erself Death.” “I don’t do it fer you”—I pause before adding in a hushed tone, “I do it fer the reward.” Wickerson responds, “I’m not surprised.” “Well, I should go. Much planning. I may see yehr again.” “I look forward to it, Vigilante.” “Ta-ta.” I then hang up. Awkwardly, I head out, the canine not questioning me about the conversation. ----- Because of the scene that I’ve made at the Viria Marketplace, I find the wanted criminal, an otter, harassing a mouse just outside of the train station, but near the edge of a crevice that was made for the track. My raven friend caws and pretends to be dead, as I order him to. In doing so, one of the friends of that otter is distracted. The other, I slash his throat before he knows that I am there. Michi flies away, for I hear a gun fire, which distracts the otter, and I kick him hard, making him pummel to the pavement. The remaining expendable enemy is also an otter, but I am on him fast, and I stab him in the lungs. The one that is my target, I pick him up by the throat and butt his head against mine, knocking him out before he can fire his pistol. It makes no dent in my mask. When I watch the otter shoved inside the carriage, I call to him, “Tell Wickerson, the vigilante sends her regards.” To my surprise, that baritone voice speaks, “He already knows.” Leave it to that police lieutenant to finish that part of the job. As I watch that carriage head away from the station house, another officer hands me a stack of notes. I count them up, to know that the reward is as said. That officer comments, “One less speck of scum off the streets.” All I hear as an answer to a request that I’ve given bizarrely, is a throaty cackle from the rottweiler. When the laughter dies down, he comments, “D-yeh really think there are no same-sex lovers in the world?” “I met one, actually”, I clarify. “A man. At the borough’s honest brothel.” “Finding one is easy, actually. He’s at this pub right now.” I state bitterly, “I do not believe you.” “Ah, but he is”, Dolan explains. “Quite a few o’ me followers trust me to know of the so-called crime against nature. Finnis. He is a greyhound. One o’ me top lieutenants. Ask him if y-don’t believe me.” I head out of the office, and into the pub’s dining chamber. There, I see standing out among the rest of the canines, a black greyhound, distinguished by his long muzzle making his head look flat, and he wears a tweed suit. I sit down in front of him, saying, “Finnis?” “Here t-say it’s my time?” he asks irritably. I lean forward, to tell him lowly, “Yer boss let me in on your… personal secret.” He scoffs, “The mouth on that dog!” “Simply for his sake, I wish to offer you a parting gift.” “When did you become kind to criminals?” I choose not to answer that. So, he adds, “What is it?” “A cat. At a brothel. I wonder if he would find you attractive.” Another pause. “Bright Nancy’s. One hour. A she-wolf in a grey suit and with an eyepatch will cover it.” ----- I have checked out of the inn where I stayed when I wait outside the brothel with my suitcases, and dressed in my grey pinstripe suit and having my eyepatch on. I eventually see the black greyhound approach me, seeming to grin. He asks, “So, where’s this cat I was told about?” I answer nonchalantly, “Follow me”, and lead him inside, carrying my luggage— And I am intercepted by the female Shephard, who seems like she has been crying. She utters, “Good. David told me to expect you.” I look around, seeing that the dining chamber is empty, and the only sound in the building is from upstairs, which I can hear only faintly, from feet tapping the floorboards to the distinct creaking of beds. The only other individual on this floor was the barwoman. “What’s this about?” I ask the Shephard, looking at her again. “Just follow me”, she answers. I leave my luggage near the bar, knowing that no one will steal it. The greyhound follows as well. Noticing the greyhound, the Shephard asks, “Wait. Whot business has he?” I answer bluntly, “I promised ‘im David. He deserves this urgent information.” The Madame sighs at that, looking even sadder, as if that were not possible, before continuing to guide us. The madame opens the door to David’s apartment— And I see the grey cat lay upon his bed, dressed in a ragged black suit, eyes closed, his left hand on his chest. He is not breathing. I can barely take in the sight, for the greyhound turns me, holding me by a shoulder, and snarls, “What fuckin’ bollocks is this, Munter!?” I reply calmly, “I assure you, I knew nothing of this.” The madame weighs in, “He died just today. This morning, he requested, ‘A black she-wolf with an eyepatch will come. When she does, let her know I expect her.’” She looks to David’s body, continuing solemnly, “I found ‘im like this two hours ago. I wondered why he had not eaten breakfast or was on the floor, and he was already dead.” I wrest the greyhound’s hand off of me, so I can look at the cat. I slowly tread around his bed— On the other side of the bed, I find an open tin box. I kneel, to pick it up, and cringe at the odour from it. “Opium”, I state. I also spot his pipe, the stem and spout broken apart. “I smelt that, too”, the madame replies. “He apparently ate it. All at once.” I look to the greyhound, upon standing up again, and he droops his muzzle as if he wishes to deny the image. I speak, “I deeply apologise, Finnis. If I knew, I would have… At least, let me compensate.” He grumbles, “Keep yer bloody money.” He then storms out. After a long moment of silence, the Shephard, not all curious about the “promise” that I made to the greyhound, explains, “David has been like family to me and the girls. It is why all the girls are in their apartments, and why I plan a funeral right now.” She presents an envelope, adding, “He left this, also telling me to give it to you.” I head to the Shephard, to take the envelope, labelled, “To the black she-wolf with the eyepatch.” I wonder why he wanted me to read whatever his final thoughts were that he wrote on paper. I look back, to the lifeless smoke-grey cat, his eyes closed, never to open again. I look down again, noting some kind of symbol. It is only small shapes. On all sides of what should be a gem, is smaller shapes. I look up, seeing that the madame is still here. I ask, “Are you familiar with this symbol?” “Too familiar”, she replies, irritated. “That is from the crest of the house of Terrecon. Horrible people. He claimed to me to have denounced his family name. Now I know why.” I step forward, to get close to the madame. “Sorry to say, I will not attend the funeral. I have my own business, and I want no more delays.” I head out the door, but look back, adding, “I am sorry for your loss. This saddens me as well, but I see no time to grieve.” With that, I head back downstairs, to retrieve my luggage, and head out of the building’s pub, never to return to this whorehouse. ----- Almost immediately after the southbound train from Knightsedge begins to accelerate, I open the envelope left only for me. I unfold the pages and scan them, to know that David has written front and back. And I know that the ink is fresh just by the smell of it. I get right to reading it. “My name is David Langdon. I write this now as I see my hours numbered. I have met only one individual who may care about my story. It is a luxury that I have bought my own pen, ink, and parchment. I am still saddened by so much of the population not knowing how to read. “Where should I start? My family is really from Knightsedge, one of the revered houses, or so it was centuries ago. I am really the second-born of my family, but I am the only son of Lucia Terrecon. Though my father has a status as high, my mother was insistent upon raising me and my sister in Terrecon Manor, and he agreed. My sister was horrible to me, which she got from my mother. My father was almost never around, leaving only my mother to teach me the duties of the house that was to be led by me one day. As I am left-handed, my mother would discipline me by chaining my left wrist to my bedframe. As I never showed improvement on writing right-handed “like a real person” as she put it, she starved me every day. All that I would get to eat were the scraps of whatever they ate. “To add salt to the wounds, my sister would go berserk every time she looked at me. She would pin me to the floor and punch me until she wore her arms out. She would also rip up my clothes, which got me in more trouble with my mother. She once ripped up a book that I needed to read. All those acts of cruelty were out of envy that she would not have control of the house when she was of age. “School was no better. I was enrolled in the borough’s elite school. The classrooms were the only places I could be myself. Unfortunately, my sociality lacked terribly. For years, I spoke with a stutter and I would hunch over, afraid that others would call me names or crack my fragile bones. For that, I blame Lucia. The worst of the other children to assault me was a girl I met under the wrong circumstances when I was fourteen. Her name was Avery. She would regularly stalk me between classes and after school, to call me names—the worst one being Twee Cack—and to mash my face in mud or anything that could cling to my fur. She was worshipped by other girls for having the quickest wits, whatever her idea of that was. “What crossed the line is the day I my mother announced my betrothal. I was to marry the daughter of her best friend—assuming they are friends. That turned out to be none other than Avery. It was the moment I put my foot down. I shouted, ‘No! I’m not marrying this bitch! I had it with her and I had it with you!’ I broke into a rant. ‘All my life you’ve been controlling me, starving me, cuffing me, and calling me worthless just because I can’t keep up with school and because I’m fuckin’ left-handed!’ As she was about to speak, I added, ‘Not done. Don’t even think about claiming that I’m like the devil because you know it’s a load of bollocks. Maybe you’re so difficult because you’re jealous of father laying with whoever he finds at a bloody brothel, but Sister is difficult because she wants control of the house and you don’t care because you’re a bloody bitch. Well, I am done. I am done with your condescension, I am done with the abuse, I am done with being pushed hard, and unless you can respect what I want, I am done with you!’ “She answered me with a punch in my face. For that, I tackled her to the ground and punched her repeatedly, whilst her ‘friend’ and Avery just stood by. I took whatever things I could, along with as much gold as I could lift from my parents’ bed chamber, and a kitchen knife that I kept under my pillow. I used it to threaten, to keep all those bitches away from me. “Living in the slums was actually the best thing to happen to me. Being destitute and having little to eat was nothing I couldn’t handle. To make a living, I sold my body to strangers, which led to my realisation of my sexuality. Unfortunately, that was when things went downhill. As I sold myself more and more, I became lonelier and lonelier. That was until the day I found myself working at a brothel. “Even still, I was hard to make happy. I never opened up to the women of the brothel where I’ve been living for the past four years. I am only twenty-four years old as I write this. Even though I would interact with the women and slowly became social with them, I haven’t been as happy for as long as I can remember. I believe that as no one can accept a leftie, no one can accept a man who loves men. I do not believe in it, but Lucia, Garret—my father—and my sister Patricia can all rot in hell. Over the time of working at this brothel, I met them again through the use of a hallucinogenic, hoping to face them in that form, but I cannot remember anymore how those fights against those forms end. “To you, my reader: I want you to know that I love you. This has been from the heart. This is who I am. Yet, I plan to part with this world.” ----- Here I am again in Ventine, now to recuperate from my adventure. The serval at the gate is surprised again by my arrival, but lets me through. As I tread the sand-covered landscape, I hear the speech of various voices as well as the sounds of amusement from children playing and the guards grunting as they spar or perform a series of stretches or from weightlifting. It is the grounds frequented by guards, recruits, and operatives that I pass and they all pause—I can tell—from seeing the she-wolf with the violet eye again. When I have my luggage left in the cabin that I can sleep in, I head back into the exercise grounds as I still have time, this whole area covered with sand and taken up by benches with pulleys or weights, wooden tables, and racks of weapons from swords to guns to clubs. I stand out among all these people for how I dress. I wear my grey suit whereas all these men and women are only half-dressed. I find the one that I seek, observing a specific spar between two jackals. The Savannah Wolf wears only black trousers with a sash. When I walk up to him, he tells me, “Your visits should get more frequent, I presume.” I reply, “You are right to.” I watch the spar with him. As I see nothing to talk about, I note that Themba folds his arms and watches sternly, but he knows that there is a reason I am in the sanctuary now. There always is. Upon seeing the fight brought to its end, Themba commands them to do a series of stretches and then get something to eat. Themba then turns to me, telling me, “This is no social call, I presume as well.” I take a long inhale and exhale before I look at him tenderly. I say lowly, “You told me: in this journey of mine, there will be casualties… You were right, Themba…” He shifts to me, to wrap his arms around me. He says, “No battle is without losses on both sides. It is some-ting you cannot control.” I pull away, to look into his eyes, and I respond, “I thought I could make someone having nothing to with my missions happy. But he was miserable, too far gone to be pulled out of the abyss.” To make another point, Themba states, “Dare ‘ave been many instances when I needed to risk a life to take a life. You will find dat as well.” I sigh and turn aside, remembering what happened before I restarted that fight with Samuels before beheading him, but I dare not tell my dear friend about it. I speak, “I have turned to other criminals—those working for Jack—to ‘elp with a child liberation. Surely, you’re no stranger to child labour and slavery.” Themba nods. So, I continue, “It is not just police from whom I require assistance. After all”—I pull out a pouch carrying money—“how else d-you think I get all this money?” Themba objects, “You sound like it’s a bad thing, but I know why you do this.” The pouch in my pocket again, I speak, “I still think that such people deserve to be dead and not having a bloody tombstone.” We start walking together when Themba tells me, “I am familiar with the saying of you Symphonites, and I believe that to be where you are, Sister.” (“Come on, Love. At least a bite”, Clement told me. “You know you need to eat.” After finding Gaston dead, I was so depressed that I hadn’t eaten for two days. It was just as well that I didn’t eat the porridge in front of me. I always hated it, but we had to make do. This time, it wasn’t the taste that prevented me. I sensed Clement next to me. I wasn’t even tempted to get up and walk away from him. He said, “I know you’re sad about that boy, but life goes on. He wouldn’t want you to be this way if he knew.” I still acted as if I was frozen. So, Clement continued, “It is a part of life. You can’t let this get you down. All that you can do is move forward. I know you blame yourself, but it’s that wolf’s fault.” At that moment, I started to cry again. I was too distant from my emotions to cry but I did now. (I asked through my sobs, “Why did he do it?” (Clement rubbed my back, telling me, “That wolf was too far gone. It wos something the life of crime and poverty that changed ‘im if he was not always that way. He must ‘ave been a coward, for only a bloody coward would hurt his own pup… Whotever the reason, he killed ‘is son. The police met ‘im and he admitted to the act. Justice is served. When the authorities are aware of who the killer is, that killer gets arrested and a sentence is passed down. With all that done, they close that case, and move on to the next one.” He still rubbed my back, but I felt no better. (Before long, I heard my mother speak, following the door opening, “Is everything okay?” (I nodded quickly, and my mother quickly came to me, to hug me from behind. I had two people who loved me very much. That is all that a child could have that they ask for.) I am in the Great Temple of Mau-Re, on one knee and facing the floor, awaiting the call of the cat that I hold above all. The familiar voice says, “Rise, my child.” I look up, showing my face. I have my blazer on the bench to my left. “High Priestess”, I say sombrely. “I came to speak of a failure of mine.” She tells me, “You may.” I rise, but I do not stand, out of politeness to have my eyes near-level with her emerald eyes. “I met another cat. He lived and worked at a brothel that was not also home to a drug operation. However, he kept his own, claiming to be how he faces his demons. He was like me, left-handed. He also loved men the way he should have loved women. I wanted to help him… but I was too late… He took his own life…” The High Priestess approached me, clad in her white robes and blue sashes, but also with a pendant on her. She placed her hands upon my shoulders, telling me, “I know what is in your heart, my child. You wish to help others in time of need. What you must remember is that you cannot protect everyone from danger, even their own.” “You are right, High Priestess”, I admit, feeling like I could cry. She takes her hands off of me, and backs up. So, I stand up. She tells me, “De cat named Holly: she told us you sent her. She has been isolated as she was treated for her… addiction, but she has not been well… so I was told, and she cried for hours on end each day, calling for death, which I assume means you…” “I will see her”, I state. “I understand that she has not been de only prostitute addicted to opiates, but treatment will not be enough if you bring more of dem here.” I nod, understanding what she means. Shortly after having dinner with the rest, I unwind at the bathhouse, and place my arms on the edges of the massive tub, just soaking in the hot water, the steam being as relaxing. In minutes, I am joined by a familiar cat. The grey and black cat with a green eye and a blue eye. She is as naked as I am. I comment, “You knew I would come to this place.” “I hoped to see my saviour again”, Holly replies. I lower an arm and tell her, “Come ‘ere.” She shifts near me, and I wrap my arms around her. “You missed me immediately?” “The doctor reckoned that I wanted to die. So, everyone was confused about what I wanted.” I admit sadly, “I tried to help another courtesan, but I failed…” “You shouldn’t give up on that”, Holly whines. “There will always be failures; even I know that.” I then become serious, stating, “You wanted more than to thank me fer yer freedom.” She pulls away, to lift an arm, showing a burn mark on her arm, where I saw the house crest. Now it is burnt out. “I want to repay you, Death, with more than sexual pleasure.” I object lowly, “No, Holly, it is too soon. You might have expertise, but it is too dangerous fer you at this time.” She sighs, looking down. “I must be ahead of meself.” She then moves close to me again, to feel my embrace. “I still wish t-be of assistance. If I am ever deemed fit to join the spy network.” I rub her back, and she starts to purr as I respond, “It is still a goal to enjoy.” My hunt is still ongoing, but for now, giving comfort to someone who’s been helpless is something that I love to do.
  15. Pink

    OC Heads (3)

    From the album: My art

    Characters: Davina, Gregory, Syd, LSD, Alaric Art by me Characters belong to me!
  16. ShadeofRae

    052420 - Sydney

    Finished commission for https://www.furaffinity.net/user/sydneypuppers Sydney (c) https://www.furaffinity.net/user/sydneypuppers Art (c) Rae
  17. jaxzoi


    From the album: m i n e

  18. jaxzoi


    From the album: m i n e

  19. jaxzoi

    those lonely nights

    From the album: m i n e

  20. jaxzoi

    ooo shiny

    From the album: m i n e

  21. jaxzoi

    happy sheep noises

    From the album: m i n e

  22. jaxzoi


    From the album: m i n e

  23. jaxzoi

    soft screaming

    From the album: m i n e

  24. jaxzoi


    From the album: m i n e

  25. jaxzoi

    troy doodles

    From the album: m i n e

    even newer sona, who dis?? https://toyhou.se/5301396.-troy-
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