Hunger and fatigue returned to me over the weeks I traveled inland from Khulum Pal. Whatever power Ksenaëe had filled me with had been depleted, and I was once again forced to survive. But I had ample experience, and now, with Ur-Anu in hand, I could properly hunt. I ate small creatures and slept in the boughs of the strange trees on my journey.

What direction was it? Hard to say, for the sun was never constant in the sky. It rose and set, yes, though the length of days seemed to vary. It had a smoky and diffuse quality, the fingers of its light never quite making it to the soil. The perpetual fog threw the world into a perpetual twilight.

The farther I went from Storm's Rest, the stranger the sky grew. I know now that this is the same reason the isle of Adrax vanishes from time to time: Hollows are neither static nor consistent in their location. And yes, Adrax was a Hollow like Storm's Rest, except it was one into the Third Strata rather than the First.

As the sky grew stranger, the terrain grew more familiar. The day I saw what I would recognize as a tree was a joyous one. I stared at it in mute incomprehension, a memory that had no business intruding upon my current existence. It was a scraggly, sad little thing beside the rocky trail leading from the valley in which I had unknowingly been trapped. It was so mundane, and yet I had not seen a tree in so long, a true tree with green leaves and grasping roots, I was amazed. I do not know how long I stared slack jawed, and when I started to move, it was with eager wonder.

As I continued to climb, I saw more of these trees, each one taller and thicker than the last. The air grew sultry, a great heavy cloak upon my back. The dense mist that had been hanging high in the sky descended upon me. The ground leveled out. The jungle grew thicker, trees of both kinds crowding in upon each other as I walked through the dreary, gray morning.

The mist parted and I came to another amazed stop. Sitting atop a short, rocky hill in a clearing was a narrow and tilting hut. If the size of the door was any indication, the structure was built for something human-sized, though the interior would be uncomfortably cramped. The crooked chimney snaking along the side implied a hearth, but I could not imagine the structure was spacious enough for such accommodations.

I gripped Ur-Anu, ready to do battle. I thought perhaps this would be the abode of a hobgoblin, and I had never met one of them who was not ready to cut my throat. I waited at the edge of the clearing, considering how I would approach.

"What do you see?" whispered a voice by my ear.

I whirled, gripping Fate, ready for battle. A young woman stood before me. Clad in a simple gown, the hem was gathered at her hips, revealing long, shapely legs. Her figure was an hourglass, with heavy breasts, a narrow waist, and softly rounded hips. Her ears were elegantly pointed like those of an elf, though when she showed her teeth, they were sharp like those of a ghoul. Her complexion was sun-kissed, freckles across her cheeks and her snub nose. Her hair was a bright coppery red. She watched me with bright topaz eyes. I could not tell if she was human, elf, or ghoul, as she had features of all three.

I could not recall the language she spoke, only that I understood her. I fumbled my words, and when I spoke, it was in Abbih. "Who are you?"

"You are outside my home. I should ask you."

"I am the one with the spear."

She raised an elegant eyebrow and regarded my nudity. "So you are."

"Iura? What have you found?" came another voice. Cracked and aged, it was a grandmother's voice straining with many years atop it. The door to the hut opened, and the speaker stepped out.

She too had a melding of features. She was bald, her ears round and as mine, yet her complexion was a soft lavender, though wrinkled like a prune. Her breasts were small, her hips wide, and she had a fine nest of wrinkles about her still luminous blue eyes. She leaned heavily on a gnarled walking stick.

"A man, Chala," the young woman said.

"I can see that. What is he doing here?"

"We haven't gotten that far."

"So get there," said a third voice. This one was full and lush, carrying years but not so many she bowed under their weight. She stepped out from behind the small hill where the hut sat. She was middle-aged, her grayish skin marked with the first wrinkles about her eyes and mouth. Long, silver-platinum hair hung to her waist, braided with silver rings. Her eyes were pure black, like those of a ghoul, and she had the lithe figure of an elf, though it came with the hardness of age.

"Don't kill him, Xogra," pleaded Iura.

"Whyever not? I am hungry, and he looks like he has some lean meat on him."

"Come for me and I'll kill her" I said, indicating the young woman by my side.

"Don't be foolish," scolded Chala. "She's the one defending you. Threaten me instead."

I turned to Chala, my resolve faltering in the face of their clear lack of concern.

"No," said Xogra. "This one has the smell on him. Tell us your name."

I swallowed. "Ashuz."

"He lies with the truth," Chala said absently.

"It will do," Xogra said.

"You must be hungry and tired," Iura said.

"Yes," said Xogra, approaching me. She held up one fine-boned hand. "You should sleep."

Exhaustion flew over me like a heavy cloak. My world went black as I fell into a sweetly restful slumber.

I awoke in a bed. The first bed I had been in for what felt like forever. I lay there, for a moment unable to do nothing but marinate in the unthinkable luxury of it. The mattress and pillow were stuffed with fragrant moss, soft furs covering me. A golden light bled in from another room, enough to see by but leaving behind deep shadows.

I threw back the fur over and found the rope still tied about my waist, the sweetwater goblet hanging from it. One treasure accounted for, and Diotenah's ring still wound about my finger. Ur-Anu leaned against the wall next to me. I lay back, the fear receding. I craned my head, finding a doorway. The room beyond was bathed in the flickering golden light of a roaring fire, revealing an expansive chamber hung with overflowing shelves and dark tapestries.

A shadow eclipsed the doorway. "You're awake." The voice was familiar, but deeper and richer than I recalled. It was Iura.

She knelt by the bed, and I saw to my horror that she had aged at least two decades. Her face was rounder, she had put on considerable weight. Wrinkles had made a home at the corners of her eyes. Even her teeth had become somewhat blunted.

"How long was I asleep?" I asked in horror.

"A little more than a day," she said mildly. "You must be hungry. I made stew."

I almost protested, but my stomach growled. "Please," I said.

"Good manners. Far better than the last man who held me at spearpoint."

"Is he in the stew?"

She laughed. "No." Then stopped, a frown. "I don't think so."

"Iura?" Again, a voice that was familiar, but different. Iura stepped aside to make way for the new arrival. It took me a second to recognize Chala. She was young now, her back straight, her skin smooth. Her figure was slender, even graceful. She held a clay bowl in one hand, a piece of brown bread sticking from the end.

Iura moved aside and Chala knelt now, handing me the bowl and bread. It was at that moment that I remembered I was nude. I pulled the furs up to cover my staff.

"You don't need to do that," Iura said. "You have a lovely wand."

Chala rolled her eyes. "Settle yourself. This one bears a stink on him."

"A stink?" I asked.

Chala moved, and now a third figure shuffled in. This time I was not surprised to see Xogra that aged as well. Now she was elderly. What had once been the hard slenderness of middle age became the skeletal emaciation of the elderly. Her hair was now far more silver than platinum, and her grayish complexion darker and dustier. Her wrinkles were deep trenches over her face. She handed me a mug. "Drink this."

I thanked her. The stew was delicious, though it was a combination of tastes that I had never experienced, a combination of spices from across Thür. The bread was thick and hearty, and spooned up the stew admirably. The mug was filled with a thick mead that went right to my head. As I ate, Iura watched me from a nearby chair. The other two returned to the central chamber.

"You were hungry," Iura observed.

"I have not eaten like this in..." my mind tumbled back through my time at Storm's Rest and even into my years in Axichis. There were, perhaps a few nights during the war where I had a comparable amount of food, though nothing that filled me with strength like this.

"A long time?" she finished.

"Yes." Perhaps it was the nourishment, but a question occurred to me. "You speak Abbih?"

"If you wish," she said.

"No, we are speaking Abbih now."

"Are we? I hadn't noticed."

I let the matter drop. "How did you come to be in this place?"

"We came through the woods," she said. "Do you like the mead?"

"Very much," I said, and merely mentioning it made me take a gulp. My mind was already light.

"Xogra brews it. I said you would prefer to drink from your goblet." She raised the fur, revealing not only the goblet, but my staff. Her gaze lingered longer than innocence allowed and I pulled the fur down.

"I have been drinking from it since my shipwreck."

"A shipwreck. Yes, we were wondering how one of your kind found his way here. Your goblet is a powerful object. Where did you find it?"

"It was a gift. From...from a paramour." Although the word in Abbih wasn't quite right, referring to one with a standing commitment, but it was the closest word I knew that conveyed the love and gratitude I still felt for Thalalei.

"Quite a gift."

"She was quite a woman."

"I like the way your voice sounds when you speak of her."

We were quiet then, with me finishing my food. It filled me with warmth and made my limbs heavy. I made to rise, but she held out a hand. "Stay here," she said, taking my empty bowl and mug. My mind buzzed with the mead.

I looked up, and there was Xogra, suddenly next to me like a shadow. She put out her hand, her long fingers splayed. "Sleep," she said, and I did.

I awoke, and somehow I knew it was deep in the night. Perhaps it was the chill in the air, or the blessed stillness. I rose from the bed with strong limbs and clear eyes. After a moment of indecision, I took Ur-Anu. The spear was warm in my hand. I made my way into the other room, finding more doorways leading deeper into the house.

I opened the front door into the dark of night over the jungle. The night was heavy outside, the cool air refreshing on my bare skin. I made my way down the smooth rocks into the clearing. The tiny hut waited atop the hill, showing no sign of the vast space within.

I found my way to the edge of the clearing. A garden had been planted here. I would not have recognized it had I not become so familiar with these wilds. Now, I could see an intelligent hand behind the planting. As with everything in this place, it was a mixture of what I saw in Storm's Rest with plants whose type at least I could recognize. A fruit-bearing vine grew along a high copse of tubular flowers, while dustbushes enclosed an area of sprouting tubers. Each plant twined about one another in a chaotic-seeming yet exceedingly pleasing way.

I touched the leaves of the plants and realized that it had been many long months since I had felt a leaf. I do not know how long I stayed there in simple wonder.

"You like our garden?"

Xogra stood a short distance from me, having approached silently. I was unsurprised to see that now she was now a maiden, her grayish skin tight against her elven figure. Her long, platinum hair shone brightly in the darkness, the silver rings in her braids glinting in the moonlight. Her pure black eyes made it hard to see where precisely she was looking, but I felt her attention upon me. Her gown was gathered at her hips, displaying her long legs.

"I haven't seen a garden in some time."

"You are no gardener."

"No, I'm not."

She cocked her head. "A wizard, perhaps. A king. A great sorrow."

"No," I said. "I am no wizard."

"I did not say that," she said. "There is a pool behind me. Wash yourself. And remove that silly rope."

"I need to keep my goblet with me."

"We are not thieves." She pursed her lips. "Besides, were I to steal something, it would be that ring about your finger. A stunning piece that, do you know what it is?"

"The concentrated power of a necromancer. She tried to sacrifice me to her dark god with a succubus gambit, but I bested her."

Xogra was silent, looking me up and down. Her gaze lingered upon my staff. "That is fascinating. Wash yourself. The sun will soon be up, and we eat with the dawn."

I went around the side of the house and found a pond fed by narrow stream. After a moment of hesitation, I undid the rope and put it aside. I set Ur-Anu by the pool and slid in. The water was cool and refreshing against my skin. I leaned back against the rocky bank. At the other end of the pool, a fat red salamander watched me with faint interest.

I rested for what felt like hours. As the air began to lighten, I heard a sound behind me. I turned and found Iura. She was old and stooped, her once hourglass figure now lumpy with fat. She smiled, and though she was ancient now, I saw youth in that winsome grin. "A bath. What a lovely idea."

"Xogra asked that I clean myself."

"Did she. I believe I shall join you."

I was about to protest, but as she doffed her robe, I watched flesh, once loose, tighten. I watched fat melt away. I watched white hair darken to coppery red. Then, once again a maiden in her flower, Iura stood before me, nude. My gaze fell to her heavy breasts, topped with pink nipples, to an orchid utterly free of hair. She dropped the gnarled walking stick she'd been leaning on. "Chala will be needing that," she remarked, sliding into the water.

"What are you?" I asked.

"I am a woman. I should think that would be obvious. You were a wizard. I can smell it on you, like a cleansing rain."

"Yes. I was."

"A wizard, an explorer, and a lover. You filled your days with memories."

"That's what I have now."

"Memories are how we learn. Do you know how to cook?"

"I can brown a coney over a campfire."

She laughed, her sharp teeth flashing. "You will learn. Come." She stood, the water cascading off her nudity. I found myself fighting the urge to grab her, pull her down onto my staff. She looked at me expectantly, and for a moment, I believed I saw a reflection of my desire in her topaz eyes. Then it was gone. "Come."

"I..."

"Do not be ashamed at your arousal," she said. I hesitated, but then finally, I stood. She smiled at me. "You are a lover, are you not?"

"I suppose I am."

"Good." She climbed from the pool, picking up her gown and walking stick. I followed, gathering my things. We went inside to find that table now sat in the middle of the room. Chala and Xogra sat there, waiting at the table, Xogra with a book in front of her, Chala sharpening a blade. Chala was in the grips of old age and Xogra was of hearty middle age, the same configurations as when I arrived.

"You wasted no time with this one," Chala said.

"Oh, hush," Iura scolded, "unless you want to go hungry this morn."

Iura handed the stick to Chala and donned her gown once again. I found myself saddened that I could no longer gaze upon her unclothed loveliness. She beckoned me to the hearth. "Now, come here."

Iura's method of teaching was clear, each step explained and demonstrated. We took what bread and stew remained from the previous night, added seasoning and a few fresh eggs from a source I never learned. This was the art of salvaging what had been done, creating a new meal from the memory of the old. Though she explained the use of each spice, I would not remember them without more practice. Fortunately, I would have this.

When the meal was ready, we sat down to eat. It was delicious, the best meal I'd had since the last time I ate in Castellandria, years ago.

"He will need clothing," Chala said. "Can't have his wand waving about."

"I will make him something," Xogra said.

"As will I," said Iura.

As morning turned to day, Iura aged into her middle age, Chala rejuvenated into lovely youth, and Xogra shriveled to dotage. While Iura tended the hearth, Chala took me outside. "What know you of plants?"

"Some."

"You will learn more." We went into the woods. We collected fungus and seeds, and with each, she explained the purpose. She kept handing me more and more.

"I'm out of hands," I protested.

"Your weapon is impressive," Chala allowed. "I see why you would not want to leave it behind. It is a recent acquisition."

"Yes."

"A powerful weapon. It has been lost for uncounted years."

"I know."

"Good. You should know your weapon." She looked it over. "I will make a sheath that you will not always spend both hands to carry it."

"Thank you."

"Do not thank me. You will track and kill the animal I will use. It will not have power otherwise."

"As you wish."

"No. As you wish." She shook her head. "You will understand eventually."

We returned to the hut as afternoon turned to twilight and once again, the three changed. Iura was old, Chala middle-aged, and Xogra was once again young. Xogra took me through one of the doorways into a cramped room, filled with herbs, pieces of plants, and a few strange living creatures.

"Know you the craft of potions?" she asked.

"No."

"Then you shall learn" she said. "It is one part of cooking, one part of nature lore, and one part inspiration. Let us begin."

This was my life for the space of what felt like months. Time was difficult to reckon as days bled away into memory and my three companions cycled between their ages. I learned the art of cooking from Iura, the secrets of nature from Chala, and potioncraft from Xogra.

Only a few days into my strange apprenticeship, Xogra presented me with a loincloth that hid my nudity. I could wear it as a simple kilt, which was my custom most of the time, but I could also gird it into a smaller garment, ideal for strenuous activity like battle or the hunt. I would find later that it was the equal of my old elven robes, remaining clean, comfortable, and light no matter the conditions. Not for the first time did I regret taking them off, but the loincloth made a good substitute, especially in the oppressive heat of the jungle.

"I will need my rope," I said. "For my goblet."

"No," she said. Xogra, wearing the form of beauty, stepped to me. Her breath tickled my throat as she took my goblet from me. She moved aside one of the many folds that made up the garment and tucked the goblet between the thin layers of cloth. When she smoothed it back, it was like the cup was not there at all, the garment lying flat against my skin. I peeked into the fold, and there was the cup. I would peek in there compulsively periodically before I finally accepted that the goblet was safe.

"Incredible."

"You are too kind."

Not long after, Iura presented me with a pair of boots. They were of supple leather, reaching to the middle of my calf, and as soft as a cloud inside. They fit like a second skin, and after all my time barefoot, it was a relief to no longer be troubled by sharp rocks in the soil. I would find that they kept my feet warm and dry and allow the numerous cuts and scrapes that had bedeviled me for these long months to finally heal.

"Thank you," I said.

"It will be reward enough to see your feet untroubled by wounds," she said.

It was Iura who first seduced me, and this was not surprising. She was the most outwardly affectionate of the three, and had expressed an interest that, in the past, I might have swiftly acted upon, but it had been a long time since I had this dance. Yes, I'd lain with Ksenaëe and the three First People, but that was not seduction. They were far too alien for such matters. Though Iura was plainly not human, she was close to it, and elements of her, from her sweet freckles to the curves of her body, were wonderfully familiar. Ksenaëe and the First People had lain with me for purposes beyond love, and now, such a simple connection was strange.

I awoke in the deep dark of morning to feel a warm shape climbing into bed with me. She was nude, her silky skin running over mine as she found the heat of my body beneath the furs.

"Be not afraid, lover," she murmured. "It is Iura."

I felt myself growing hard, but I did not do anything other than make way for her upon the narrow bed. She cuddled up next to me and pillowed her head on my shoulder. Her breath was soft on my neck.

"Iura, what are you doing?"

"You rise soon most mornings. I wanted to feel while sleep was still partly on you. This part of the day is glorious. Flowering." She moved against me, a shift in her body, her nipples hardening with the kiss of her flesh.

"I have not thought of it"

"Most do not." She paused, and I felt her inhale by the pulse in my neck. I became acutely aware of her razor-sharp teeth, mere inches from my throat. "You were born by the sea."

"I do not know where I was born."

"You were. You spent much time there."

"I grew up on the coast of the Gray Ocean," I said. "Upon cliffs."

"Yes. And then you went underground. You were an adventurer."

"How could you know that?"

I felt her hands running down my arm, finding my hand, caressing my fingers. She was as soft as her breath. "It is in your smell...in your skin. You went to the dark places in the world. Do you miss the dark places or do you miss the sea?"

"Yes."

"And yet you left for the sun. But the sun was red."

"I had to fight."

Her mouth went to my neck, her tongue running along the line of my jugular vein. "I taste that on you like ashes."

I rolled onto my side to face her. I was acutely aware that my staff was hard between us, pointing at her womb, if she had such a thing. Her face was lovely in the dark, her bright topaz eyes luminous. Her lips parted, and her sharp teeth glittered. I wanted her, and knew them that I would have her.

"Do you have night tea?" I asked.

"Night tea? You are presumptuous."

"Perhaps, but I do no think so. I would not want consequences to our loveplay."

"You fear siring another child?"

I saw Theophilia in my mind, telling me she was with child. "I have had one, and it was not my wish."

"One? You have had more than a single child, lover."

My eyes widened. "What?"

She smiled. "Did you not believe a lover would leave a trail?"

"How many?" I asked, breathlessly.

She gave an airy laugh. "Know only you will not put another in me. My sisters and I will never bear children, even by a lover."

She leaned in, her soft, pillowy lips meeting mine. I parted them, my tongue sliding over her teeth. I thought of Allegeth. It was she that had given me a taste for such dangerous kisses. The thought of my staff sliding between such treacherous gates inflamed me. Her kiss was like a the end of a blissful dream, gentle and bright. My hands roamed over her curves, finding her narrow waist.

"I confess, I am interested to know what it means to lay with you," Iura said.

"You don't already know?"

"I would need to taste more," her voice came in a hiss as her lips returned to my neck. She felt like she wanted to consume me, and I felt the same. She was a meal, and I was starving. I explored down her throat, finding her breasts. They were full, with a pleasing pout and thick, pink nipples. She hissed in pleasure as I took them into my mouth, sucked and lashed. She cradled my head, moaning softly.

"What do you know of me now?" she whispered.

A taste, sweet like sunlight, touched my tongue. I pulled my mouth away and found that her nipples gleamed, not only with my saliva, but beads of liquid. Not milk, but clear and amber. I covered them with my mouth, and sucked. I thought the taste merely sweet. No, it was floral. Not the sun itself, but the sun on flowers, of flowers opening their petals to greet the day. I gripped her, teasing her nipples to aching hardness as I sucked, my tongue collecting every drop she gave me. When one breast was reluctant, I switched to the other to find a collection of this liquor already seeping from her.

She was undulating now, the pleasure of this act crashing over her. She threw her head back, her sharp teeth glittering, held her breath for a moment, and then broke into shudders. I continued to suckle while she recovered.

Then, her topaz eyes alight, she pushed me down onto my back. Her teeth flashed in a grin, and she moved about until she crouched at the head of the bed, looking at me upside down. She kissed me then, our lips fitting together in this new way. "I said I would taste you," she said.

Now her mouth began to explore me, and as she moved, I gained more access to her body. First her neck, and the freckles clustered about the tops of her breasts. Then her nipples, red and swollen from my attention. Her lips encircled mine as well, and I felt a trill of pleasure as her sharp teeth passed over the sensitive flesh. I have always loved the danger of such an encounter.

I caressed the sides of her as her orchid drew closer. Her scent touched me now, like morning dew on fresh moss, kissed by the first rays of the sun. I needed to taste her. She was just as eager, journeying down, her teeth lightly scraping over my flesh, a delicious stinging tickle reminding me of her danger.

I felt her lips on the tip of my staff. The kiss was soft, but then, her mouth opened, her breath washing over the turgid head of me. I felt her teeth brushing over my silky flesh. At any point, she could easily unman me, and this drove my ardor. This is perhaps my most foolish proclivity, but neither Allegeth nor Maireili seems to mind. But we are not speaking of them. This is the first time I lay with the dawn herself.

Now her thick thighs were on either side of my head, her sex above me, the bare slit drooling more of that intoxicating nectar. I brought her to my lips, my hands forcefully on her round buttocks. I licked along her slit. The taste was earthier than her aroma, a powerful sense of promise. I took her, eating her like a succulent fruit, delving deep inside.

At the same time, she was taking me in her mouth. The maddening kiss of her teeth followed by the caress of her tongue built the pleasure inside me. She swallowed me easily. I did not realize I was at the hilt until I felt her tongue running over my coin purse. Her throat clenched around me once, pulling at me, then she released, sliding back.

"Oh, yes. Now I understand," she breathed, shivering. Her hips came down on my face, hard, and she moaned. A moan that became muffled as she once again took my staff to the hilt. I held her buttocks, caressing the smooth flesh as I ate her delectable sex.

The two of us relentlessly attacked the other with our mouths. Her orchid was incredible, a recursive collection of folds. Every time I parted one, I found more, and each one had a silghtly different flavor, produced a slightly different moan. All were bright, refreshing, filling me with strength and snapping my mind to clarity.

She was just as focused, sucking me deep inside her. She had brewed a wonderful storm within me, and I knew I had an answering one in her. Her nectar flowed more freely, her hips pressed her sex against my lips, and her moans tickled my staff in a pounding rhythm. Finally, I could resist no more, and I emptied myself into her. I felt her swallowing, and that sparked her. A sudden gush came into my mouth and I swallowed frantically. She shivered over me, the quakes in her body taking a long time to subside.

The forest was in me then, the pure strength of sunrise. I was a man possessed. We disengaged, but not for long. She gave a yelp and a happy laugh as I flipped her onto her back and drove into her again. This time, when we found our bliss, we were looking into one another's eyes.

"And now I know," she said afterwards.

"Yes," I said, stroking her coppery hair. "You are lovely."

"Come," she said. "Get up. We are late preparing breakfast and my sisters will not appreciate that we wasted the morning."

She rose, and I was gifted the view of her perfect, round buttocks. I followed, and we prepared breakfast without dressing. When Chala and Xogra made their way into the front room, they shared a look.

"Took longer than I thought," Xogra observed.

"How was he?" Chala asked.

Iura flashed them a grin. "Find out yourself. Now eat your breakfast."

Iura and I lay together every morning, bringing one another to full wakefulness with the greeting of love. Our ardor was not quenched by frequency, and I found myself craving her touch, but she refused at any other time. After loveplay, we returned to cooking, and I developed some skill there. I have since grown proud of my abilities there, as cooking is in some way a form of magic.

Days I spent with Chala in the woods. She was utterly silent, walking barefoot in the mixed terrain. When she stood still in the dappled sunlight, she was nearly invisible, only calling attention to herself when she moved. Though Iura had the teeth of a carnivore, it was Chala who was truly the predator.

"Choose," she told me at the outset of every hunt, nodding to the woods. At first, I thought she meant the meat for our meal. It was that, but the longer I spend with her, the more I saw the layers of her meaning. Choose the animal, choose the path, choose the day. I went from hunting for unspoken convictions to choosing my own.

We did not hunt every day. Some days were devoted to gathering, first from the garden in the clearing, and then in the depts of the jungle. As we found collections of mushrooms or a bed of tubers or a copse of sweet cane, she would explain what each was, its purpose both magical and mundane.

The longer I spent in this jungle, the more I saw how complete the blending was between the ancient ecology of Storm's Rest and the modern wilds. There was, of course, the mix of flora, the strange plantlike structures I first encountered in the wetlands below that I called trees as well as trees that, while not perfectly familiar to me, were recognizable as trees.

There was not merely a blending of types, but also a blending in the same body. This was my first encounter with obvious chimerae. I found blends of the two kinds of trees, strange, soft stalks with the emerald foliage of the jungle. I saw bright purple flowers with mobile, meaty innards. I saw dustbushes with long, grasping root structures.

Such hybridization was not limited merely to plants. Thankfully, the frog-lions had not made it to these highlands, as it was far too dry, but other creatures had. The tentacled flyers and tusked plant-eaters made their way through the trees, hunted by great cats with dappled coats and watched over by tiny sap-eating drakes. Hybrids bridged these creatures, each form more bizarre than the last.

I came to the conclusion that we were atop a plateau, though I never saw the boundaries beyond the path I entered through and the one I would eventually leave through. The mists in this place were far too thick and the forest too dense to glimpse a horizon. I could only tell that in one direction the ground began to gradually slope down and in the other up. I had come from the downward slope, and thought that when I inevitably left it would be via the upper, a supposition that would turn out to be true.

It was perhaps a month into my dwelling with the three sisters before I set eyes on the creature that would become my obsession. I glimpsed him through the trees while I was stalking the tusked plant-eaters, dreaming of their flesh in the night's stew. A herd had come to a watering hole deep in the woods, and I stayed back, wary of a frog-lion ambush. True, I had yet to see one, but I would not be surprised again. I did not escape Old Heacharus only to fall prey to his highland cousin.

The plant-eaters dipped their heads to drink, always one with its head up, watching the jungle. Then, in the blink of an eye, a shape swept down from the branches. The plant-eater who was on alert was slammed into the shallows, the black shape's momentum carrying it into the water. The rest of its herd bolted into the trees. I did not get a good glimpse of the predator, except for hairless, glabrous stretches of skin punctuated by swatches of dark fur. With a crack of bone, the water about the plant-eater turned crimson.

The beast then dragged the unfortunate plant-eater from the pool and into one of the trees, where it started a hideous feast. Blood and viscera rained into the jungle floor, attracting scavengers who in turn ate their fill.

I was finally able to see this thing as it ate. It was an unholy cross of frog, drake, and jaguar. Its mouth was enormous, lined with hooked teeth. Its eyes were reptilian, and its forelegs were heavy with muscle. Its hind legs were far smaller, and sported curved claws for climbing. Its fur was spotted, and thanks to the strange outline, it was easy to lose in the treetops. It got around by gliding with wide flaps of skin that stretched from wrist to ankle, but were invisible when not extended.

I named the beast Khashayar, for a creature Zhahllaia had told me of. I shall attempt to relate the story with apologies to my beloved wazira for any errors. Know that they are mine, and she gave me one of her long-suffering looks.

Of all the sultans of Old Qammuz, Borzou III was known as a cruel and vicious tyrant, a fool who had gained the throne thanks to an accident of birth. He flaunted his power and intellect, and though he had much of the first, he had none of the second. He was hated by his subjects and his court, but his extravagant brutality cowed any attempts at insurrection.

One day, a creature came in from the desert. This beast was a strange amalgamation of animals, but it could talk and think like a man. It called itself Khashayar. It strode into the sultan's throne room and challenged Borzou to a duel of riddles. Khashayar promised a golden age upon Qammuz if he was defeated. But if he won, he demanded the sultan's firstborn child.

Borzou was a fool whose creativity he devoted only to torments. He accepted the beast's wager, confident he would win and would thus be known as the greatest sultan in the greatest empire the world had ever known.

Khashayar defeated Borzou soundly, but the sultan was not a man of honor. He ordered his personal bodyguard to kill the beast. The monster slew them and absconded with his prize, the prince Maziar, disappearing into the great desert.

Borzou was not overly troubled. Maziar was his heir and only son, but he could always produce another. He lay with first his wives, and then his concubines, but could not put a child in any of them. He grew desperate, purchasing slaves from Kharsoom, but they too were barren. He launched wars of conquest to take brides from far lands. None would give him an heir. He emptied the bottomless treasury of Qammuz in his fruitless quest.

When he had exhausted every resource at his fingertips in but ten short years, Khashayar returned from the desert. To the sultan's surprise, the prince rode upon the creature's back, bright-eyed and hale. Khashayar had treated Maziar as a son, making him strong while filling his mind with the lessons of ages.

The sultan saw this as weakness. He begged the creature for mercy, believing he could lull Khashayar, kill him, and take back his son. The beast agreed, and as Borzou readied his scorpion blade, the beast devoured him.

The prince became the sultan, and soon he was known as Maziar the Wise. If you know anything of Old Qammuz, you know his name. Because Khashayar's greatest riddle was this: he would give the sultan everything he promised for the price he named, but the sultan was too blind to see it. The golden age's true price was a ruler worthy of it, and a beast like Borzou could never raise a champion like the man Maziar became.

When Maziar was crowned sultan of Qammuz, he placed Khashayar upon the standard of the great nation, and ushered in the promised golden age. Maziar died one hundred years later, surrounded by children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, having secured the future of Qammuz for another millennium.

Why did I think of Khashayar when I saw this thing? Simple. I missed Zhahllaia. I had been without her for years now. Her absence was an ache I could never tend until she was with me again. Foolishness? Of course, but Zhahllaia always brought out the fool in me.

The story of Maziar, from the moment of the riddle to his death, was a story Zhahllaia told me often. She meant it as an object lesson. A model of the kind of man it was in me to believe. In some ways, I believe Zhahllaia thought of herself as my Khashayar, though she would never admit it. As I write this, she is not far, and I find myself overcome with love for her, a longing ache that only her presence can assuage.

As I said, I am a fool.

In the jungle outside of Storm's Rest, I began to hunt Khashayar. He was the beast I would need to slay. There was not a question in my mind. Only he would do. At first, I picked my trail at random. Sometimes I would see my quarry, sometimes not. As the weeks wore on, I began to develop a sense, a pull. I knew where Khashayar would be.

"You are a hunter," Chala said, faint approval in her voice.

"I am merely a survivor."

"You are that, but you have chosen a path. You seek things."

"I seek food."

"One need. Good. You hunt a hunter. A dangerous path, but one with potential."

"Why?"

"Because if you risk nothing, you gain nothing. You are not some fat noble. You have nothing but what you can hunt."

"No. I have allies. Friends. Loves."

"Another form of hunting."

As the weeks wore on, Chala showed me some fleeting affection. She was not as demonstrative as Iura nor as inviting as Xogra. Chala would give a lingering glance, a touch only a heartbeat too long to be inadvertent. She showed her interest in the subtle dance between predator and prey, though I knew not which I was.

My hunt for Khashayar was a dance of another kind. I believe the monster knew he was being hunted. At times, he felt like a mere beast, but there were times I sensed a keen intelligence behind his reptilian eyes. I could go days without seeing him, but I could always feel him. Sometimes I would smell him in the air, sometimes it was a tickle upon the nape of my neck. He was hunting me as well.

Whatever illusions I had about valor had been burned away by the Turquoise Conquest, but this was something else. This was primal and good. I held no hatred for Khashayar, and in fact, in my way I held a deep respect for the beast.

I finally caught him one late afternoon many weeks into the hunt. The beast liked to hunt at a fork in the trail that ran around the sides of a large hill. Thick foliage obscured views and gave him a choice of where he wanted to perch for his ambush. While approaching while he was in the midst of his hunt was impossible, getting there first was not.

That morning, before dawn, I left my bed where Iura lay in the aftermath of our loveplay and made my way into the dark woods without an escort. Chala would be elderly until the bright light of day rejuvenated her, and I could not wait. I jogged along trails that I had come to carve their own pathways though my memory.

I scaled the tree I picked the previous day, finding the handholds easily. I crouched in the branches, with Fate held in hand. The weapon should have unbalanced me but it never did. Ur-Anu has always felt like an extension of my own body, light and airy, ever-ready to strike enemy or prey. And then, I waited.

Khashayar appeared in the blue light of predawn, stalking along the pathway. He opened his cavernous mouth, displaying the rows upon rows of teeth in a yawn. The most disconcerting thing about him was his eating habits. Like a frog or serpent, he did not chew. His bite would incapacitate and often kill, and the teeth were there to keep struggling prey from freeing themselves. Oftentimes his struggling food would disembowel itself in its struggles. Then he swallowed the often still-living prey whole.

He made a kill every few days and a significant part of my hunt had been teasing out his schedule. It was an incredible amount of food, more than I would have expected, but Khashayar was no normal creature. Since my studies of the Hollows progressed, I placed him in a classification of beasts, the chimerae, who display aspects of fauna across two Strata, usually the Fifth, the one in which I was born, and whichever one the Hollow had retained.

Khashayar spread his skin flaps and leapt, landing on the tree below me. Then just as quickly leapt from that to another, up and up, until he was in his chosen ambush spot. I waited, completely motionless, while he put himself in position.

Now both of us were statues. My eyes were on him, his on the trail below. If my gaze wavered even slightly, he would be invisible, so effective was his camouflage. Though he was such a bizarre amalgamation of features, he was beautiful in his way. A perfect predator for this place.

I tensed as the herd of plant-eaters wandered up the path. I heard their bluntly-clawed feet scratching through the dirt, followed by the soft, echoing lowing they uttered to keep track of one another. Their long necks dipped to feed on the plants, then bobbed up to scan the surrounding forest. They did this in shifts, so some were always looking up while others were feeding.

I knew in an instant which would be Khashayar's prey. One of the plant-eaters was limping. Its flesh had the gray hue of age and a single tusk was broken in half. My eyes flicked from it to Khashayar. He moved so subtly it was like a breeze through the trees. He gathered himself for a leap.

It happened in the space between heartbeats. Khashayar swooped from the tree to land on the wounded plant-eater. It honked in terror, quickly silenced with the crunch of his jaws. The herd panicked, scattering into the trees, perhaps to be prey for another enterprising hunter. Not so me. The lines of Fate, connected through me from the spear, ran through my mind. I saw the minute differences in descent, in the place I would strike.

I too leapt.

The time I had spent in the wilds of Storm's Rest, and now here, had forged me into a creature of the wild. I moved with a newfound grace and undeniable power, raising Ur-Anu over my head as I soared through the air. I drove it through the beast's skull and into the earth, landing in a fluid crouch.

Khashayar and his unfortunate prey twitched, but both were dead. I pulled Fate from the Khashayar's head, Ur-Anu passing through bone as easily as silk. I looked down at the wondrous thing, and thought, for the first time, that Khashayar might be the only example of his species. The only beast of his incredible type.

I wept. It was not out of guilt, nor of shame. I had hunted and triumphed. This was right. And it was not quite grief or regret for an extinction. No, I wept because I had slain a perfect creature in this place and I might never find his equal.

"You understand," Chala said as she strode from the forest. Her gown had been pulled back, secured at her waist, revealing her long, lavender-tinted legs. She held a pot in one hand, and carried a woven basket on her back.

"We will never see his like."

"Perhaps. This is a strange world in which we live. Many corners." She pulled a knife from her belt and squatted by the corpse, setting down both pot and basket. She caught up some blood in her hand, holding out to me. "Drink. The hunter's price."

I took her hand to my mouth and swallowed the draught. I was surprised at how good it tasted, putting strength into my limbs instantly.

"Good," she said with a smile. "Now assist me."

She rolled Khashayar on his side and slit him up his belly. Steaming entrails fell over the earth. She went to the hard work of skinning and butchering him, which she did with ruthless efficiency, dropping pieces into the containers. Her arms from her fingernails to her elbows were soon crimson with gore.

I followed her instructions, though she did by far the dragon's share of the work. Though the work was a red business, it was calming, and in the disassembling of the magnificent creature, I felt a newfound respect. Khashayar would always be a part of me.

She looked up, her eyes meeting mine. They were her most human feature, wide and blue. They would almost be guileless, but the wisdom lurking within could not be hidden. I kissed her, hard, and her hand came to my face, leaving behind streaks of crimson.

"Be quick, hunter," she murmured.

The command inflamed me, and I turned her roughly about, pushing her onto all fours. She went willingly, sucking in a happy breath. I pulled up the back of her gown, finding her deliciously rounded flanks. I gave her a slap, and she looked over her shoulder with cold desire. I freed myself from my loincloth easily, wondering perhaps if some of the magic Iura had imbued upon it was for that purpose.

I found her entrance, warm and wet. I prepared to tease, but she uttered a deep growl in her throat, and pushed back, sheathing me within her in a single stroke. Her body went rigid for a moment, enjoying the sensation of the two of us locked together. It was heavenly, bright and warm. I felt the sun on my shoulder, the pleasant fatigue of a day well spent.

I gripped her haunches and found the depth of her. Her growl became a whimper whenever I slammed into the end of her. Her bald head shone in the sunlight. Her bloody fingers gripped the earth. She was no passive recipient in our loveplay. She was an active participant, driving her hips back into me, swirling them along my length. In this moment, we were both hunters, and our mutual bliss our quarry. I stabbed her with a spear, she skinned me with her sex, an ecstatic pursuit that could end no other way.

My thrusts were brutal, each one from crown to root in a single stroke. She was just as furious, holding onto me with powerful lips, wringing the pleasure from me. The bliss was as a speartip breaking through a stubborn bone, and I found it now, the weak point that would take it through. I picked up my rhythm, desperately driving to finish myself.

She cried out, balling her fists in the dirt as the bliss took her. She quaked, her cries guttural and animalistic. I lost myself at the sound, the pleasure crashing from me. I bucked inside her, thrusting myself to the very back wall of her sex, seed pulsing from me in hot, sticky threads.

When my vision returned, I was on my knees still holding her hips, my staff slowly softening inside her. She was a mess, pearly globs dripping from her. She seemed to regain her senses at the same time, and she crawled forward, letting me fall out, then stood, brushing her robes over her legs. She sighed, and though her complexion was bright lavender with exertion, she recovered well.

"There you are, hunter. You have taken your prey."

"I would take you again," I said. Though that was bravado. I was exhausted, as though at the end of a long and fruitful day. I wanted only the relaxation of the evening to be upon me. Tomorrow perhaps, then I could take her again.

"Prey can only be taken once."

"You were prey?"

"As were you," she said. "All things are both, and those who understand this are those who span the measure of years." She picked up the basket and pot. "You should return before you succumb to fatigue. Remain here and you're liable to be prey once again, to a far crueler hunter."

With that, she vanished into the trees back the way she came. I took longer to follow, and the jungle had begun to come alive before I collected my spear and loincloth. As I slipped back into the trees, the scavengers had just begun to descend on the dead plant-eater that we had ignored in the butchering of Khashayar. It would be a feast for the denizens of the jungle.

That night I slept well, and the following morning, when Iura came to me, I took her in brutal fashion. She enjoyed it, bracing herself against the wall while I impaled her from behind, visions of my time with Chala dancing in my mind.

Chala came to me later the day. "Here," she said, offering a parcel. "A sheath for your weapon."

It was a small sleeve of spotted fur from Khashayar's mane, lined in the flesh of his flanks. A strap would secure it to my torso. I donned it, and tested, finding that it would accept Ur-Anu easily, and release the weapon into my hand just as swiftly. It was a sheath born for a single weapon and a single user.

"Thank you," I said.

"You hunted. This was your prey."

I reached for her face. "Chala, I meant what I said."

"Hunters move forward," she said. "Never forget that." She left me.

Though I continued to spend my days in the jungle, hunting and stalking, Chala never came with me. We never lay together again.

As my mornings were spent in bed or the kitchen with Iura and my days in the jungle with Chala, my evenings belonged to Xogra. The most enigmatic of the three sisters, Xogra taught me the arts of potions and herbology. I do not claim to be an expert in either, but I know my way around an apothecary's shop. Xogra is the reason why.

Xogra was the one of the three I found most beautiful. Perhaps it was her pure black eyes, or her long, platinum hair she wore in complicated braids interwoven with silver rings. Her features were angular, with the high cheekbones and narrow chin of an elf. She had an air of elegance and mystery that I found alluring.

I learned that my initial impression was correct, and the hut on top of the hill was indeed endless. I never explored the corridors thoroughly, but I had been down enough of them to satisfy that impression to my satisfaction. Every time I thought I had reached the end of the hut, I would find a new doorway, a new shadowed corridor leading off into a place where the darkness hung thick like cobwebs.

My lessons with Xogra were down one of these corridors. Xogra taught me in a chamber fragrant with a thousand different herbs and extracts. Every wall was covered in shelves, crates, and chests with innumerable doors. Living things squealed and squeaked from cages and the depths of glass bottles. A modest hearth burned with a green flame, a pot over it, the contents perpetually simmering.

"Tell me lord, what know you of the healing arts?"

"Little. One of my closest companions was a witch. She handled the healing."

"Then we are going to begin with the simplest of healing draughts."

"Why do you call me lord?"

"That is the proper term."

"Iura calls me lover and Chala hunter."

"They have their ways of seeing and I have mine. Now watch closely. You will find that the worse a thing tastes, the better it heals. A simple way to know if you've the proportions right."

She taught me recipes for healing, one that would transform my flesh to overlapping iron scales for a time, another that would render me nearly invisible. My mind reeled with the methods, and we practiced each one until I knew it on instinct. I did not know where I would find the ingredients, for some of the objects I put in the brew were exotic, but I knew them. Now, as I write this, my laboratory is stocked with oddities from all over the world. And, of course a lock to keep the children out.

As I learned from Xogra I had no such thoughts. I was still set on the idea that I would never truly return home, and whatever children I'd had would remain strangers. I should make clear that to me home was not a place, but people. Home was Zhahllaia and Sarakiel. I could not be with them in my diminished state.

I also did not think of such things overmuch. I was busy in this strange place. Learning takes much, and I was learning three different disciplines. I found peace in a way that I had not since the war. Days could go by and I would not think of what I had done to Einoë and Kallea or the hateful words Xeiliope had spit at me. I could exist in the endless days, a student of three beautiful teachers.

When working with Xogra, the darkness and quiet of the night enfolded us. I stayed with her, listening to lessons, mixing powders, stirring potions, until sleep could no longer be denied, and she would send me to bed, where I would rest until Iura woke me with her love.

Xogra was a gentle teacher, imparting with whispers what Iura would show by example and Chala would state plainly. I recall quite clearly, one day many years from this time, in far Kharsoom. It was not long after my wedding, and for the first time I was given access to ink and vellum, an unthinkable luxury in the Red Wasteland. That was when I was finally able to write all of my recipes down. I lost a few, and regaining them took a great many years and much experimentation.

"One builds a potion as one builds a nation. Such places need a variety, or they grow stagnant and die."

"The Heacharids want such a place."

"Are the Heacharids a people?" I found it comforting that a place existed where the Heacharids were unknown.

"A great empire." She could not miss the derision I dripped over the world great.

"Then they will fall. One kind of people is good at solving one kind of problem. A land of soldiers will try to solve every problem with a spear, and the first thing they face that does not solve that way will destroy them."

"It does not happen soon enough."

"Soon is a relative thing. It is thus with potions as well, a different solution for every problem. Do not use essence of silver when dragon's bane is called for."

I listened to her lesson, but my mind was already spinning. I wondered what problem I could present to the Heacharids that could not be solved by their spears. Those reading this know my solution. A savage, barbaric one, but I can live with it. For it meant the Heacharids never made it across the Turquoise. I could not spare Axichis, but I could save Chassudor, and, I suppose Obai and Uazica and every other land.

The price was nothing more than scars upon the surface of Thür that persist even now, and scars within myself that I have long since learned to embrace.

She punctuated the potions with other concoctions. Demon powder, sun's blood, even quicknight. It was not until the day we created frogflesh that things changed. Crafting the viscous stuff was difficult, and she taught me ways to tinker with the scent. The batch we mixed had a pleasing bouquet, like night-blooming flowers.

"Movement by itself is but a bandage upon a wound," she said, the grease thickening with sluggish bubbles.

"Chala told me movement is vital."

"Yes. For a hunter, it is. For a lord, there must be a consideration of destination. Of purpose."

"I am no lord."

"Are you not? You rule nothing?"

"I have a household."

"There."

"That is hardly a lord."

"That is every lord. It is only a matter of degree. And what the lord may take."

"Take?"

"When you wish something, do you not take it?"

"I am no thief."

"The difference lies in what comes after. A thief has direction, like a hunter. But a lord creates a reason for the taking. A good one will make it benefit others. Evil ones will merely fool others or cow them."

"I don't understand."

"You took the ring upon your finger."

I looked at it, and Diotenah's whispers thickened in my ears. "I slew her and I took it."

"Precisely, and it became not only yours, but you."

"If I wish something, I should take it."

Her black eyes were on mine. "Yes." I stepped to her, wrapping a hand about her waist.

"Whatever I want."

"Yes." Her breath tickled my lips.

I pulled her to me in a kiss. Her mouth was soft on mine, her hands on my chest. "I suppose I should," I murmured to her lips.

"When you take thus, you accept what is freely given," she said, nibbling my lips.

She ran her hand through my hair, gentle, the black eyes afire. Her touch was not as eager as Iura, nor as animalistic as Chala. In Xogra, I found the care of romance. I kissed her again, and she bit my lip, grinning as she saw my reaction. I pressed her harder into the table, lifting her hips to sit her down among the herbs.

She shrugged out of her gown, the material catching on her upturned breasts. I brushed it away, letting it drop down to her hips. Her breasts were bare now, her slate-gray nipples hardening. I took one soft breast in hand, kneading her flesh, teasing her nipple, brushing over the gooseflesh. I bent, sucking it into my mouth. She moaned, rolling her hips as I took her. I returned to her mouth, then back to her breasts, back and forth.

I began to smell another scent, mysterious and lush. I could contain myself no longer, and pulled her gown. She lifted her hips long enough to free the garment, where it pooled on the floor. Now she revealed the triangle of platinum blonde hair between her legs, shining brightly against her gray skin. Her lips were pouting, beads of moisture clinging to the curly hairs. She smelled like a cemetery at night, when the flowers bloom, transforming decay into something beautiful.

I felt something then in my breast that I had not felt for the other two. It was love that bloomed in my heart, and when I looked into her black-in-black eyes, I thought I saw the same thing reflected. I kissed her again, her tongue sliding into my mouth and I tasted the sweetness of night.

I felt her hands at my loincloth, pulling it from my body. Then her velvety hands stroked my length, collecting the nectar at the tip, massaging it into the flesh. I groaned, the bliss awakening like a sticky dream within me.

I fell to my knees, pulling her violently to the edge of the table. Her orchid was before me, the lips darker inside, shades of slate and cobalt, like a flower of stone, all set within the platinum hair, like the glow of the moon. I ran my tongue up her inner thigh, enjoying the shivers I pulled from her. I pressed my lips to the fur over her slit. The taste clung to my lips, that enigmatic flavor.

I parted her then, exploring her sex. She moaned, thrusting up to meet my lips. I pushed my tongue inside her where deepest flavor awaited, but I couldn't get all of it. In frustration, I pulled her off the table and spun her about. My hand closed over her throat, and she leaned back into me, writhing beneath my touch. I was shivering with need as I ran my hand over her waist, up her ribs, over her breasts. Her mouth found mine, and I felt her taste herself upon my tongue.

I descended again, my breath hot against her spine. I kissed the dimples over her buttocks, caressing the twin hemispheres. I spread them, finding her rosebud waiting for me, as dark and mysterious as the rest of heer. I slid my finger, the one that held my ring, between the petals of her orchid. She shivered as the cool digit penetrated her depths.

"Oh!" the tone was surprised, her body pushing back against the intrusion.

I held her, adding a second finger, this one warm. In, out, a swirl, a tease, and then repeated over again. I stroked her as the sweat sprang from her body, like dew upon stone, and her breath came faster.

"Is the frogflesh finished?" I asked breathlessly.

"Take it," she gasped. "You'll find it cool."

I stood, pressing myself against her. She moved, capturing me between the globes of her buttocks, sliding herself up and down, stoking the fire within me. I nearly lost myself then and there, but I needed to be inside her before I lost control. I dipped the ladle into the pot, and though it smoked, I trusted her and touched the turgid liquid.

She was right. It felt like a mountain stream in the light of the moon. I poured it in the arch of her lower back, just over the cleft of her. Setting the ladle aside, I covered my finger in the slick substance and pressed against her rosebud.

She pushed against me, needing me as much as I needed her, and a squeal escaped her lips as she allowed me in. She uttered a ragged moan, spiraling her hips, greedily taking me deeper. I held her, warm finger in her rosebud, the cold one between her legs, running up inside her, circling her pearl.

"Lord, I would tell you that this is a problem you can solve with your spear," she pleaded.

I gathered more grease from where it had pooled, and ran it along my spear, from crown to root and back again. I glistened in the witchlight of the fire, then placed myself at her entrance.

"You are so beautiful," I said, and pressed.

As I entered her, the sigh turned to a moan and ended in a scream. She took me greedily, her body holding me tightly. The grease dripped from her lower back, into the cleft of her buttocks, around the edge of me as I thrust into her. I gripped her hips now, concentrating on my task. She matched my rhythm, tossing her head. Her platinum blonde waves caressed my chest, the silver rings tinkling with each thrust.

She braced herself on the wall over the table where little shelves and drawers held her ingredients. A bottle of purple dust fell, followed by a collection of bright feathers. Her black eyes were shut tight, her face a mask of pleasure. I took her hard in this decadent way, pressing deep inside her.

Both of us were covered in quakes. The sticky dream that held me in its mysterious grip bloomed out of me. It shuddered from my body in endless waves, the dream never ending as it took me in its blissful grasp. She gave a final cry as I filled her with hot jets of me, and she too surrendered to the dream. We held each other in this pleasure before finally, we could take no more, and fell limp against the table.

"I suppose that was one kind of lesson," she said with a smile, one hand reaching up to caress my cheek.

I moved her hair aside to kiss her neck. "I look forward to more."

Xogra and I would lay together many times. Even as loveplay with Iura ceased without explanation, Xogra and I continued. She was the sweetest of the three of them, and our loveplay the most pleasing.

"Your sisters tire of me," I said one night, as the two of us put our clothing back on after a particularly tiring bout.

"You will leave soon," she said. A simple statement, and I felt the truth of it.

"I wish I could stay."

"A lord will not."

"You know I was a wizard."

"You are a wizard."

"My familiar..." I choked, then forced the words out. "My familiar is dead."

"This I know as well. Yet this is not the end of that road. A lord takes what he wants."

I did not know what to make of her words, but they sparked an inescapable desire in me. A desire to leave this place and continue my journey. I would not return home, but I could go somewhere, and as Iura and Chala had cooled on me, I could not live with the thought that Xogra would inevitably do the same.

One morning, I knew that it was time. I placed Ur-Anu in its sheath, donned boots and loincloth, and ensured my goblet was tucked within the folds. The three of them were waiting in the central room, apparently already aware of what I had planned. Iura was young, Chala elderly, and Xogra between. Iura embraced me with a warmth she had not shown in many days. "Forget not who brought you here, lover."

Chala nodded to me, her voice cracked with age. "Travel forward, hunter. Never backward."

Xogra kissed me, love in her black eyes. "Take what you want, lord."

I went out front, and down to the edge of the clearing. A great clattering, like an avalanche of stones came from behind me. I turned. The hill upon which the hut sat uncoiled, revealing itself to be a great insect, covered in rocky plates. The sinuous creature, the hut still balanced upon its carapace, slithered off into the jungle. The garden the sisters had planted was now part of the wood, distinguishable only by a trained eye.

I saluted where they had gone, then turned, and made my way up the path, leaving the last vestiges of the Hollow behind.