《Fantasy Farm Fantastic!》


 1.1 Farthest From Nowhere

    1.1 Farthest From Nowhere


    Sometimes the world is too long for tired feet.


    Stopped in a field of sparse grain, a figure stared towards binary sunsets, realized she lost too much blood and couldn¡¯t walk further. Not that there was anywhere else left to go. She had chased the suns west for a lifetime across Evma and found only rock and sand here at the end. Forward was nothing, but on her right stood a broad farmstead. An anomaly surviving in otherwise desolation hidden in a valley of mesaed plateaus, this cultivated oasis features slightly less rock and sand with a few trees and patches of grass. A spring from the northern end streaming lazily into a muddy pond, inviting more wild foliage before succumbing back to the prevailing rock and dirt. A respectable farmstead, or what might have been a respectable farm, now in disrepair. Most fields left fallow or scattering withered plants, half a dozen buildings empty and quiet in the dusk breeze. Another few years weathering harsh conditions and the land would reclaim it, leaving nothing but hollow husks and forgotten toil.


    ¡°I reckon this is where I die,¡± the traveler said, shuffling towards the largest timber barn and creaked the old threshold open. A hundred yards (92 m) of livestock, equipment and feed greeted the intruder while dusk faded into twilight. Animals rustled and woke, then quieted when the traveler hunched and scrunched into the space. Stumbling at the end to collapse onto straw and dirt, she coughed blood gently while clutching a round object close and tenderly to her chest. No tears remained to weep. Only regret filled her eyes as she accepted fate, her life about to set with the suns.


    ¡°Evenin¡¯.¡±


    The traveler failed to perceive the wizened and leathery old man hunched over a cane earlier, slowly limping into the barn under her cautious glare. Falussan in coloring and features, forty years ago likely a towering and healthy specimen of human male, distantly full of life and vigor and the strange energy humans possessed despite supposed shortcomings. Today, his body hunched like a bundle of tough reeds dried in the suns, any moment a breeze likely to tip him over. Garbed in frayed and worn burlap tunic and hose, the cane a twisted root as gnarled as he, baby blue eyes sparkled metaphorically under wisps of white hair belying an intense energy. No amount of physical age dampened the fire of his spirit.


    The traveler raised her head from the straw, coughing more blood but resolute. Pride remained her only defiance thrown towards unfair Pantheons and petty godlings, surreptitiously setting her treasure behind and facing whatever would come in this barn. One advantage, the deep shadows hid her from limited Falussan vision and if there was one thing this traveler retained in spades, it was intimidation. Eyes ignited immolating citrine from the blackness and hinted into dangers not witnessed on the continent of Bronelle for eons forgotten. She said nothing, yet her obfuscated bearing became regal as a queen in court.


    ¡°Now now, none of that,¡± the man said, smiling with more gap than teeth, holding out a sack as he shuffled further into the dark barn. ¡°Saw ya comin¡¯ hours ago, obvious you was hurtin¡¯. Have some herbs here I use when the animals get abscessed hoof, might do ya some good. Might not. Can¡¯t do any worse, I figure.¡±


    The traveler hesitated, recent betrayals still fresh and unsure how much to trust this old human. She eventually realized there was nothing to lose, taking the bag of pungent medicines and spreading them into the gaping wound that nearly cut her in half. She hissed, the shock of the remedy burning through her infection enough to roar agony, only a whimper escaping before she slumped into the straw, breath heaving wet rasps.


    The human nudged a stool forward and creaked onto it, his joints arthritic crackling knobs as he took a moment to catch his own laborious halations. ¡°Seein¡¯ as ya look ready to sleep in my barn, polite introduction seems the right turn. Name¡¯s Plone Lewfich. Been a fair time since any visitors come round. My wife, Asavn - rest her soul - followed me to Nowhere sixty odd years ago and we built this farm with our own hands. Always thought I¡¯d leave something for our children, but, well, lost three to bad birthin¡¯s and the twins died during the flood. All we had after was each other. Eventually got old, but we muddled through anyway. Now I hardly move in the mornings and I don¡¯t have the energy for nothin¡¯ in the evenin¡¯s.¡± He paused, leaning forward with a grin on his face, searching through his barn to spy something of his guest in the gloam. ¡°Sorry for jawin¡¯, been so long by myself on the farm my mouth is recouping for lost opportunity, heha!¡±


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    ¡°Qastael,¡± said the traveler, part of the name jumbled inside a fit of coughing. ¡°My name is Qastael.¡±


    ¡°Odd name for these parts, but I already guessed you weren¡¯t from ¡®round nearby.¡±


    Qastael chuckled, scaring some of the animals as she attempted to stop laughing with a grimace, her body cramping up. ¡°I was hatched in a land so far east you probably never heard of it. Kuri¡¯vlaat¡¯mehn is barely a legend in Faluss. Been centuries since I last witnessed Magmation Fields or the Mountains of Glass.¡±


    ¡°Hard to leave home, sometimes harder to stay.¡± Plone nodded sagely, reminiscing his own youth. ¡°Not much else of anythin¡¯ west from here, though Libertania keeps petitioning land rights while northern devils send regular raids from the Cliffs. The fat cats in New Yerm back east hardly remember anyone this far west is Falussan, ¡®cept maybe the occasional tax man, heha!¡±


    Both laughed painfully, sharing company and a common dislike for authority. Animals acclimated to the new and frightening presence of Qastael while twilight transitioned into true night. The lowing of livestock became a calming ambiance when laughter faded, silence a familiar friend to both. After the lull, Plone leaned to his side and picked up an old lantern, flint from a belt pouch sparking from a small knife to coax flame on the wick. ¡°Asavn always wanted those fancy magic lamps, like they have down in Yrlmuh. Only the best magic comes out of Yrlmuh,she kept telling me. Have one back in the house, but it arrived too late. Never saw the need, my own fool self, lantern¡¯s plenty bright.¡± He raised the light with a trembling hand, getting his first good look at his guest. What he saw widened his eyes and dropped his mouth a mite.


    Lumination prismed through mother of pearl, rainbowed scales sprouting fine silk hairs saturating between black and gray and white fur. A perfect blend of delicate mane and hardened serpentine plating, flowing in different and elegant ratios: heavier fur along pawed feet and her back, less fur and more exposed scales along her abdomen. From nose to tail, she stretched through half the length of the barn, laying on her right side to keep her injury out of the dirt. Plone was no expert on the various races, thinking his guest possessed the body of a long snake or alligator, the feet and hands of a wolf, the floppy ears of a hound and a long and narrowed snout on a head atop a neck stretching as long as her tail; she blended disparate features seamlessly and not in a hodgepodge manner. Hands shaped from paws reached behind and clutched a large egg made entirely of gold, tightly pressing it into her chest. Six malachite green feathered wings draped along her back, though the bottom two on her left size were badly burned and limp. A scathing jagged line starting under her ribs and slithered behind where he couldn¡¯t see, dried blood caking the edges and most of her side. Yet despite the alienness - exposing his limited racial experience living in Faluss all his life - there was no mistaking the breasts and hips of a voluptuous woman. A voluptuous, gargantuan, nakedwoman.


    ¡°Figure the first thing we¡¯ll need to fetch is clothing,¡± he said, gentlemanly turning in his stool to face away. To keep busy, Plone pulled out a bundle of pages kept in loose leather binding with a charcoal nub, using the light to scribble notes. ¡°Falussans aren¡¯t as fussy as them stuck up Breenans, but if¡¯n you¡¯ll be workin¡¯ as a farmhand here, some modesty will be expected and accounted polite manners.¡±


    ¡°Pardon, what?¡± Qastael asked, not following entirely. Didn¡¯t help her eyes were so heavy and her maw didn¡¯t form words proper, the poultice either healing or killing her.


    ¡°Well, if ya wanna, I don¡¯t see anythin¡¯ wrong with it.¡± He paused to squint and sum figures on the page. ¡°I¡¯m gettin¡¯ on in years and all my kin done gone on ahead to heaven. Would ease me a whit to leave the farm with someone when I¡¯m gone. I¡¯ll give ya what ya need to know and what to farm, all my tricks and tips, then whatever is mine is yours. Just be sure to let me help now and then, so I get enough exercise, heha!¡± He paused, nodding when the numbers added up, at least for the coming months. ¡°Still have a fair bit stored in the root cellar, should be enough to keep a healthy gal like you fed until harvest.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know the first thing about farming,¡± Qastael muttered, thinking and speaking equally difficult as she snuggled her head into the hay. ¡°What would you want with a failure like me?¡±


    ¡°Oh, you poor child,¡± Plone said, hobbling the distance to her face, running his hand along her neck and through her fur. ¡°Failures are where we start, not where we end. All farming is a collection of failures until you succeed. It is simple arithmetic: two plus two equals something better. Sometimes a negative four rolls into town like a drought and you have to push up your sleeves to plow other numbers, sometimes it isn¡¯t enough and the whole crop fails. Still worth it, because you try again. Plant a seed, raise a calf, nourish them, care for them, the harvest will be abundant and sweet because every crop is a promise realized.¡±


    ¡°That sounds like bliss,¡± Qastael said, or might have said, her mind fading. The last she glimpsed was the smile of a kind old man. Her first kindness in a long, long time.

 1.2 Farthest From Nowhere

    1.2 Farthest From Nowhere


    *ckldoooooooo!*


    Qastael blinked on hearing the rooster, blurry dawnlights enough for her to reach and scratch the sand out of her eyes. Her throat was dry and her side ached fierce, but altogether she no longer scorched with infectious fever. Weak and hungry, the memories of where and what happened returned, lending a soft smile that tasted of hope for a future she had given up on.


    ¡°Maybe we¡¯ll be able to get you enough thaum to hatch soon, Little Mouse,¡± Qastael said, rocking the egg in her arms while lifting her neck out of the hay to look around. What she found gave her pause and turned hope into ash.


    Plone lay propped against her shoulder, seated as if to take a nap. The lantern lay smoldering next to him with his cane in easy reach, his head slumped as both thin hands rested atop the leather ledger. Another person might have thought him simply sleeping, but Qastael heard no breathing nor feel any heat, an emptied shell that only yesterday inspired new reason for Qastael to live.


    It didn¡¯t take long to find the small garden behind the main home, eight unmarked stones designating graves. One had wild flowers gently laid on the dirt from yesterday. The space next to it held a shallow incomplete hole and discarded shovel. Even injured, it took little time for the giant woman to claw out the rest of the grave and lay Plone next to his wife. Tears fell down Qastael¡¯s face and onto packed dirt as she bent her head close.


    ¡°What grace I still retain, pass to him that he may safely dwell with those waiting.¡± Qastael Breathed lightly over the graves and invoked the Pantheons, will o wisps dancing in stretched shadows of the dawns. This spot was sanctified now, protected from all. It was the last of that particular Breath she possessed, horded since the day she left Kuri¡¯vlaat¡¯mehn behind forever. It was supposed to have been used on the golden egg resting next to her as a last resort. The effort caused the giant woman to stumbled onto weary haunches, which in turn shot pain up through her side and she roared, a mix of grief and regret and loss, all cascading through the valley. Primal, it spoke of ancient times before the land was born, stampeding across the land and beyond into the wastes.


    Eventually echoes faded, will o wisps dissipated, animals in the barn calmed down and tears dried. Pain remained, but the realization that she would keep on living settled onto Qastael¡¯s shoulders. A cold breeze picked up and she turned her neck to gaze over the valley with fields and barns and the harsh wilderness surrounding all sides.


    ¡°What now, Little Mouse?¡± Qastael asked her egg, searching buildings and fields to see if they yielded answers. Only empty wind replied, reminding her of an empty stomach. ¡°Need to eat if I¡¯m going to make this work. I think I remember Plone saying he had a storage of some kind.¡±


    The search took a few hours, as she lacked reference knowledge for Falussan buildings. Really any buildings of the common races. She understood they lived inside and kept¡­things in them? She knew the large building was called a barn and animals resided there, but that was as far as experience garnered. Qastael was more used to flying over cities and leveling aerial bombardment than understanding how tiny people slept. Poking her snout into all the buildings discovered a large library mostly filled with notes and numbers in the home, other builds including a smoke house, a unfinished bath house, a tool shed, a minimalistic smithy and workshop, a second smaller barn, the massive barn and finally an empty dilapidated building. At each juncture she was delicately careful not to damage anything, only peaking in and using the tips of her claws to open latches before trudging in exhausting hobbles to the next structure, the wound in her side seeping despite the care she took. Qastael preferred walking on all fours like a normal person, but her wound made that impossible, affecting an upright lopsided gait because otherwise the would would tear open, two of her wings limply dragging in the dirt while tucking the other four behind her back.


    When she found the food, she almost stepped on the raised mound of grass and twisted in time when she noticed the sunken door. The angle of the depression and the size of her snout prevented seeing inside and the portal was too stooped to get her hand through. Hunger urged her to rip the ground apart and purloin the food, but the cellar appeared large enough for significant storage and she didn¡¯t want what might feed her for months exposed to the elements. Spinning around and looping her neck for an upside down perspective, she slithered her serpentine tail inside the tight hole and fished carefully around by feel. Apparently well stocked, with some blind effort she brought out three barrels of grain and a smoked lamb.


    Recent years had been lean: difficult to keep to a diet when six hundred pounds (273 kg) a day was a nutritional minimum. Never mind any time she fought or used a Breath she consumed double or triple. Being on the run limited her hunting options so most meals for longer than she cared to remember had been trees and grass. Not an exciting victual selection, and not at all satisfactory. A hundred and eighty tons (164 mt) sounds like a large and terrifying monster to the common races, but among others hatched with her clutch she was emaciated, stunted from famine.


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    ¡°Three hundred pounds (182 kg) of these little yellow grains per barrel,¡± Qastael said as she hefted a barrel in the air, gently popping the casking open and dipping a dainty tongue to taste. ¡°Crunchy. Less weight minus the barrels, which do not look appetizing. Been ages since I had lamb, and this is a large specimen. Even smoked I¡¯d guess two hundred pounds (91 kg).¡±


    Talking to herself helped her think, trying to wrap her head around how long she could make this food last. She needed more data, steering towards the large farm and reverently picked up the leather notebook before limping back to the graves and Little Mouse. A stream looped nearby, allowing Qastael to wash and drink her fill before easing her tired bulk to the ground and eating the best meal she¡¯d had in decades.


    ¡°Little Mouse, you are going to love meat,¡± Qastael said, crunching and tearing the lamb in half, her mouth bursting with flavor as she sighed and finished the carcass off. ¡°Fresh is fine, but I¡¯ve become a deviant so far from home and I like to have a meal instead of just eat food.¡± After a stream of water to drink, three barrels of grain and delicious smoked lamb, Qastael felt full and flopped heavily to the grass around the garden, drooping eyes fixed on midbell suns and squinting beyond towards heaven. Her thoughts drifted, the persistent cries of battles fading from inside memories as she lazily worked through the next steps.


    Lifting up the leather bound parchment, she unfolded it and carefully held a sheet on the end of her snout, straining to read teensy text. She could only make out one of every third word or equation, her eyes not designed for minuscule script. Qastael was patient, though, struggling to interpret his words and figures, gaining a new appreciation for the meticulous work Plone recorded. As far as she could tell, pinching page after page between her claws, the old farmer tracked and predicted every seed, every pound of food livestock ate, actuating yields into time and cost tables to determine net based on previous harvest trends. A small novel¡¯s worth of data, all blastedly too small for large hunter eyes to read proper!


    ¡°Gah! Why¡¯d you have to be so tiny, Plone?!¡± she asked the grave, wanting to toss the pages in frustration but instead huffing a breath and rebound them into leather. ¡°You are really flipping my ears, you know that, right? Whatever, I¡¯ll find out what binoculars cost in my size at that town you mentioned.¡± She paused, finished with her siesta and nibbling her tongue with fangs, flexing wings and not getting movement from the lame two, a hard fact of life rearing up. ¡°Not flying any time soon. I came from the south and didn¡¯t see any town. I don¡¯t think I can even climb any of those plateaus right now to gain higher perspective. Which direction do I travel to get to town?¡±


    This was important. With her injury she could wander in wastelands for weeks or lose her way entirely. The livestock would expire in that time, the crops possibly destroyed. If she stayed and did nothing, the animals and crops would still wither and die as she ignorantly killed her only chance at a life here. All the information she needed and more to turn this farm into a place for herself and Little Mouse was on scraps of paper she couldn¡¯t read. Even something as simple as determining how much food was in the root cellar was all dependent on how quickly she could reach this supposed frontier settlement and return with a magnifier of glass!


    A memory wormed out of her head, causing her to roll up on her haunches with a painful groan. Slower, she slithered her head up to the window of the second floor of the house, just an opening with small shutters and lacking glass like all the windows did in the farm. She peered into the library again, now realizing most of the books were dozens of these leathered collections of notes. An amazing wealth of knowledge, Plone¡¯s life broken down into tracking the successes and failures on this farm for decades. However, more immediate, on a raised table to one corner were two large sheets of paper resting in a place of honor: two maps.


    Extracting the maps proved challenging. The windows were too restrictive for either Qastael¡¯s hands or much tail. Breaking the house was also something she was unwilling to do. Not just because she felt obligated to preserve it for Plone¡¯s sake, but for the practical reason that the house protected the library. Those hundreds of pages were likely the most valuable treasure on the farm, and Qastael instinctively wanted to horde that treasure. She could learn in days what it took a dedicated farmer to learn in a lifetime. So breaking the home was out of the question, which is when she got inventive.


    Afternoon suns were getting closing towards dusk when she smoothed both maps onto a patch of smooth sand. The interior of the library was a mess but the windows were mostly undamaged. Taking two young and straight maples, uprooting them and using her teeth to saw smooth the branches until she had two sticks proved more time consuming than she wanted. Fiddling them in her paw like she remembered seeing common races eat food in the Potentate was even more difficult. Hours manipulating her sticks extracted the maps from the room, teasing out some elation at her success. She planned on fixing the table sometime later, somehow.


    ¡°This one shows the farm, which I guess Plone named Nowhere,¡± Qastael said, the placement of buildings and the fields made it clear this was how he tracked the whole valley. ¡°This will be more important when I need to organize crops. Found gold with this other one, though. Details for hundreds of miles, clearly shows the farm, a bunch of other settlements and an outline for a town. Almost a straight shot north east. Ha! Bet I can make it there in a day¡­¡± her wings twitched with a sharp spasm in her side, ¡°¡­two days. Four days away from the farm, five at most.¡±


    Lowing animals reminded her they probably needed food, which reminded her crops needed water. Grimacing at the setting suns, Qastael girded herself for a long night of caretaking and an even longer journey ahead. Her first day as a farmer proved more complicated than she originally thought it to be.

 1.3 Farthest From Nowhere

    <strong style="text-decoration: underline">1.3 Farthest From Nowhere


    It took three days and part of the fourth to reach the town. Technically still only three whole days, laboring through that first night and cracking through the morning preparing for the trek. There were dozens of animals in the barn, some not in the cleanest of stalls. For the first time, Qastael touched the poop of another animal and did not care for the experience. Her large size was the best advantage as she picked up animals in her hand - wincing as they screamed and struggled - then scooped everything out with her other. At little straw from the bales and everyone was happy again. Milking animals fortunately had young to suckle, allowing the flustered giant monster time to figure out how she was going to tackle that particular problem. There was a barrel of feed in the corner, which she overflowed into all the troughs and hoped for the best, doing the same with a pump outside and the water troughs, hefting long metal boats to the pump and then carefully bringing them back. The crops were easier in some ways, the pumps simple to use and canal gates for the irrigation flat stones she lifted out of the way for the water to flow into dry fields. She also dug a deep hole in the garden and gently deposited Little Mouse inside before filling it up and hiding any evidence of the hole. Nervous to be separated from Little Mouse, she didn¡¯t trust a town of strangers discovering she cared for an eight foot tall (244 cm) egg that appeared to be made of solid gold. Suns already past morning into the next day, she dug out another eight barrels of grain and two lambs and a whole cow, then got to work on her final task.


    Clothing.


    ¡°How do common races deal with matted fur?¡± Qastael asked for the thousandth time, picking at the crude tarps she bound her breasts and sex with. She found the rough brown fabric in the barn, each sheet covering many bales of hay to keep them dry. It had taken some work to tie them together with knots and then loop them around intimates to provide enough support her breasts remained secured. It wasn¡¯t enough fabric, though, so everything was tight and pinching in places that should remain unpinched. ¡°I feel like a succubus slut in these things. Stupid Falussans and their stupid ideas that everyone requires clothing! Thank all the Pantheons I can finally see the town.¡±


    Town was both apt and misleading. It might have been a nameless town when Plone originally passed through on his way to settle Nowhere, but it was showing signs of almost becoming a proper city. A sturdy lumber wall encircled the town and she spied over it to find a good amount of timber erections and homes next to sparse stone structures lined along straight and wide dirt streets. Tiny Falussans aimed crossbows and a few cannons in her direction from the wall, which she pointedly ignored and kept shuffling along.


    ¡°Welcome to Farthest From, pop. 34,XXX,¡± Qastael read on the weather-worn sign in front of the large gate that small men were hurrying to close before she arrived. The last three numbers were so scratched it was impossible to know the current number of people, but it didn¡¯t matter. The only thing that mattered was the burning ache in her side and hind paws not made for walking upright limping her way across wasteland, forest and more wasteland. She wasn¡¯t designed to use only two feet, and flying came more naturally than crawling over hill and dale. Too painful to walk on all fours, she bipeded awkwardly for hundreds of miles in an effort to keep from opening the wound. It was inflamed again and likely needed care, which is why she rationed her food and restrained from gobbling two barrels of the grain as well as the smoked cow, most of her sustenance a stray bush or young tree.


    Injured, she figured she would have covered two hundred and fifty miles (403 km) in two days easily, but the terrain was unkind and rough, even with a trail to follow. Healthy and at a full gallop, she would have breezed it in a few hours, or less than an hour if she flew. Her steps may be larger than any common race could stride, but it was humiliating to stagger into a city, crawling on the dirt like some degenerate tumbleweed.


    ¡°Hail the stranger!¡±


    A man with a wide brimmed hat stepped with the clink of spurs on his boots through the gate and stood in front of the city, looping thumbs into his belt while the gate boomed close behind him. A long coat and vest hid well-worn chainmail, his tan face displaying the most magnificent brown mustache while a tall wizard staff very casually did not point in her direction. The polished brass six pointed star on his lapel made it clear he was an official of sorts.


    Qastael choked on a grimace, smoothing her face and snout so she didn¡¯t bare too many fangs. Doddering the last bit of trail, she flopped to her haunches- careful to set the large bundled sack to her side without breaking anything - and wheezed out a panting breath while she adjusted to her burning injury and tried to appear nonthreatening. All the common races were varied and different and fascinating and she knew many fine people, but first meetings were all the same with pointed weapons and fleeing in terror. ¡°Hail the town! Is this going to take long? I¡¯m just here for trading then back to the farm.¡±


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    ¡°If¡¯n that¡¯s all, I reckon we¡¯ll be square in a jiff.¡± The man smiled under his lip mane and brought up a hand to tip his hat. ¡°Name¡¯s Earler Wapp and I¡¯m sheriff ¡®round these parts. My deputies typically handle greetin¡¯s and such, but they figured when they saw you coming up the road I needed to skip lunch and let a perfectly cooked meat pie grow disapointin¡¯ly cold in my office.¡±


    ¡°I haven¡¯t had a meat pie in ages!¡± grinning wide with a lot of brazen fang for the dozens of armed men along the wall, trying a different tact. The sheriff seemed a reasonable fellow as she slithered her head more down to his level. Maybe a little charm was in order. ¡°I think I was in Aoir - or maybe McCroann before all the dryads got killed - I can¡¯t remember. This old biddy insisted I try her pies, so she made a hundred of them and I still dream over how the crust flaked apart in my mouth. I wish I had asked her for the recipe. Do you mind sharing your pie recipe?¡±


    ¡°Haha! I can¡¯t even boil water, but Mrs. Egalatina makes a wonderful pie,¡± Sheriff Wapp said, gesturing vaguely behind him past the closed gate. ¡°Cooks out behind her husband¡¯s barbershop, the whitewashed building down yon street. You¡¯d have to ask her about recipes.¡± He shifted one hand subtly closer to his staff, the other slipping into his coat, looking pointedly at the large sack. ¡°Can I ask for some personal information about yourself and your intentions in Farthest?¡±


    I hope this doesn¡¯t blow up and I have to raze another town of bigots, she thought, keeping a charming smile along her snout while monitoring her words. ¡°My name is Qastael. I was passing through recently and stopped at the farmstead west of here named Nowhere. Plone Lewfich offered to take me in and train me in the running of the farm, his intentions to leave it to me while he retired. Unfortunately, he died unexpectedly from natural causes earlier this week from which I had no untoward involvement. I¡¯ve determined I want to honor his memory and keep the farm going, but as you can see I¡¯m recovering from an injury I gained prior to meeting Mr. Lewfich on an unrelated matter. I journeyed here to obtain a few supplies and brought a couple barrels of grain and a smoked cattle to offer in trade. Once I am finished I¡¯ll depart and return to Nowhere, where I imagine anyone looking for me will be able to make acquaintance.¡±


    Sheriff Wapp blew out his mustache, realizing how she phrased her responses meant she knew what he was doing. Pulling out the truthstone from his pocket, still glowing an honest blue without any hint of red lies lighting it up he shook his head ruefully. ¡°Shame to hear about Plone, a good man. Farthest is the country seat, so you¡¯ll need to get the deed settled in the next month, but seein¡¯ as I know he has no kin left alive I¡¯ll vouch for you.¡± He stepped back and put the stone back in pocket, rapping his staff against the gate. Men behind it working to shift the bar while crossbows lowered and everything changed from tense to moderate wariness. ¡°Old Man Choggir runs a dry goods store near center of town, can¡¯t miss it. Bit of a walk but he¡¯ll do you right and has contacts to order anything special.¡± Wapp gave her whole body an appreciative look, then clicked his tongue as he furrowed brows under his hat. ¡°I did a stint in the army up north, so I know us Falussans are a little stuffy about modesty, but seein¡¯ as you plan on sticking around, I recommend seeing a seamstress as well and having proper outfits made. Problem is, not many women in town are going to be capable of covering your¡­bountiful acreage, pardon my language.¡±


    Qastael couldn¡¯t help herself, subtly shifting her arms together and pressing her breasts out, the old burlap straining near disintegration as she leaned down closer so the wizard law man got a face full of cleavage taller than he stood. ¡°Yes, I¡¯m terribly worried about all the fields I¡¯ll need to attend back at the farm. Might look for someone to get me good and plowed until I gain experience.¡±


    The sheriff coughed into his hand, looking away as he reddened and pointed to the right down a smaller street heading east. ¡°Only lady that can cover such a tall order is Ms. Zeshyrrith. I personally think she runs an upstanding establishment, but you won¡¯t make many friends in town if you head that way. Bunch of gossips, the whole town is. She¡¯s at the end of this street, large house with the green sign, and she probably has some potions on hand for your wound.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Sheriff.¡± Qastael staggered to hind feet while hefting her sack, standing taller than their walls and spotting a line of traffic waiting to leave through the now open gate, delayed because of her arrival by deputies directing traffic. On her hind legs, she looped her neck behind her out of old habit so her head was nearly level with her shoulders, placing her arbitrary head height only sixty-nine feet (21 m) off the ground instead of much higher. Still gigantic compared to most common races, but it gave the illusion she was smaller, more accessible. For a moment the crowd paused in silence, then woke up in a loud chatter as they collectively got about their business while sneaking peaks her way. Close to midbell, Qastael stepped carefully at a snails pace, merging into the main avenue and keeping to the center of wide packed dirt.


    ¡°Oh, one more thing, Ms. Qastael,¡± Sheriff Wapp called out, looking as if he absently remembered something standing to the side of the gate. ¡°I didn¡¯t catch your race.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right, you didn¡¯t,¡± Qastael replied without turning, focused on not stepping on anyone or lashing her tail into a building by accident. Not an easy task as she worked towards the dry goods store in a crowded city of containing thousands of tiny people all scurrying about.

 1.4 Farthest From Nowhere

    1.4 Farthest From Nowhere


    ¡°Five hundred and sixty-three pounds (255.3 kg) of sweet corn kernels. Plone always brought the best produce and other farms have been slacking in quality this season. I can give you a silver per pound, but come back in early summer and I¡¯ll probably do double that. Add in one thousand, nine hundred and sixteen pounds of smoked Piedmontese. Would have been better if you brought a live bull, a few restaurants pay premium for organ meat, but I can smell hickory and it looks like good quality. Three silvers a pound, but understand the price of cattle goes down drastically when ranches herd through here later in the year. That equals¡­¡±


    ¡°Six thousand, three hundred and eleven silver,¡± Qastael said, excited for her first sale and making sure the math added up in her head. ¡°How much is that in tung?¡±


    Old Man Choggir patiently flicked his abacus, making a few notes in his ledger before nodding agreement and removing his spectacles. An aelf of advanced years, his clothing was the old style of green robes over a tunic that even Qastael thought was out of fashion. Stooped at his desk, his ears drooped atop large puffs of white hair, head bald on top but braided white locks down his back, hands shaking whenever he stopped moving. Dark gray eyes remained sharp and his smile belonged on a younger man. ¡°Guessin¡¯ you haven¡¯t been in Faluss long, we don¡¯t handle much of that southern money. Gold is the standard, and fifty silver equals a medium gold coin, the most common denomination we use in these parts for large sales.¡±


    ¡°A hundred and twenty-six medium gold with eleven silver, then.¡± Qastael licked her lips, not wanting to appear as some kind of unlettered rube, but she honestly never dealt with any coinage, only asking about the rectangular tungsten coins of Yrlmuh because she was trying to sound savvy. They were around back of Choggir¡¯s shop where he stored stock and kept the large scales. At least, Qastael¡¯s head was snaked inside the warehouse, the rest of her crouched uncomfortably outside in the open loading lot while three of Choggir¡¯s grandsons moved the final barrel off the scales, making quick work to empty the grain and return the barrel into Qastael¡¯s sack. Realizing her mistake, she huffed a bit and shyly asked, ¡°Is that a lot?¡±


    ¡°Its a goodly sum, but I wouldn¡¯t call it a lot,¡± Choggir chuckled, stepping lightly around his desk to a lockbox and opening it, counting out coins. ¡°Plenty of families in town could live easily off that much for a few months, but farms are greedy masters and you¡¯ll put in a lot to get a little bit more back. I also imagine feeding yourself is a titch more costly than feeding a Falussan family. Gold used to be worth more years ago, too, but the war ¡®tween the Cliffs has inflated costs severely. Never you mind those spectacles you want ordered will amount eighty medium gold, and the closest place I can get them made is Stoborn on the east coast. I reckon you¡¯ll have them by the end of the year or early next, depending.¡±


    Really needed those spectacles right now, the irritable woman thought, tallying up other costs in her head and not liking her sums, though all she had to go on was guesswork at the moment. Trying with difficulty not to growl, Qastael should have kept to eating more trees and bushes, realizing the six empty barrels of corn and even the lambs could have increased her profits exponentially. It hurt her physically in her gullet understanding her appetite would be the biggest cost for anything she did moving forward. How can she feed herself, or more vital, feed Little Mouse when she hatches?


    ¡°Well, I don¡¯t know much about farming, but if you like I can offer some advice.¡±


    With a start - a careful start, not wanting to break the old man¡¯s warehouse - Qastael realized she must have spoken out loud, her scales reddening a tinge as she blinked moisture out of her eyes. ¡°Yes please.¡±


    ¡°As I understand it, farming is all about growing the right crops and selling them for a profit or folding them into livestock to increase those yields.¡± Choggir finished counting eleven silver and forty-six medium gold, stacking them into a simple leather valise with a sales receipt for the spectacles. ¡°A kernel can grow into enough corn to almost sell for a silver in one season, but it takes constant work, fertilizer, maybe a few thaumatic chants if needed. Either you sell that corn for the silver, or you replant it for a thousand stalks that get you a thousand silver next season, or you feed it to a cow and that same silver of food turns into five silvers of quality beef. So the goal of farming is like any other business: learning the best use of resources to find a product that will derive the most net profit from your gross effort.


    ¡°Your biggest disadvantage is your size. Everyone¡¯s got to eat, and I imaging you eat a lot. But it is also what makes you valuable. I¡¯ve heard tell farmers spending months driving oxen to plow their fields in preparation to plant in the spring, only able to get an acre prepared in a day. With claws like you have, I imagine it would only take a few minutes to do the same. Whole farms have been wiped out when a bad metareality storm rides up from Wylo, but you likely have little to worry about from something all other farmers would fear. So don¡¯t worry too much, just realize what you have and use it.¡±


    Qastael turned silent as she slid her head outside, Old Man Choggir following and handing the valise over with a young and appreciative smile, his eyes not a bit ashamed snagging an ogle of scaled and furred feminine. The large woman was flattered, but she was also more appreciative of the advice. ¡°Thank you. I didn¡¯t realize how hard this would be, but I think it is more manageable now.¡±


    ¡°Advice doesn¡¯t cost coin, no worries,¡± Choggir said, waving his hands in front of his face. ¡°You be sure to bring all your goods to me from now on, you hear. I won¡¯t promise you the best prices, but I¡¯ll always give you honest ones. Can¡¯t say as many others in town would do the same for you.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll remember that,¡± Qastael said, looping her neck in a tight corkscrew and sharply cracking sixteen vertebrae like a small rockslide, her floppy ears picking up a few startled shrieks from surrounding populous. Sighing in relief, she stood slowly onto her hind legs and nodded, looking over roofs to see if she could navigate through the city of dollhouses towards her next stop.


    It took a few hours under the hot suns, not that weather affected Qastael much. The vast majority of the Falussans were from Breenan stock, otherwise known as humans. In all her travels, by far the most common of races, but with Dark Cliff demonics living up north, the mixed coalitions out of Libertania to the west and Yrlmuh in the south, even the vast caverns underground of Heheim, Qastael thought the continent of Bronelle would be different than Yerm or the unending empire of the Potentate. Not everyone ran away screaming when she hunched down to politely ask directions, but many either ignored her or said things that were impolite or crass.


    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    Qastael took it in stride, used to this kind of response, straightening herself after a group of young boys more intent on leering than being afraid pointed her down a narrow alley. She tried dusting the incessant sand grinding between her scales and mucking up her fur, but the effort remained futile as another breeze gusted up dirt from the road into her nostrils and along her body, making her want to sneeze and scream in equal measure. It got worse when the sneeze never came.


    ¡°I remember a big crater out near the farm,¡± Qastael said to herself, sidling between building while holding her tail up to squeeze through the alley. ¡°I wonder how hard it would be to dig into the aquifer and make my own personal swimming lake.¡± Gazing again at all the people around on the streets, she noticed most wore long leather coats or cloaks and broad rimmed hats, realizing the fashion wasn¡¯t just because they were cold. ¡°Maybe a coat and hat?¡± Clothing was still a foreign concept to her even if she knew what many of the coverings were named.


    ¡°Come on out, ya loose bunter! Get yer scabbed butter boat inta the street so everyone can have a go!¡±


    For a moment, Qastael was miffed townsfolk were still calling her names, then realized as she stepped near a cramped cul-de-sac that for the first time today someone wasn¡¯t directing vitriol her way. She was still in the alleyway and thought herself unobtrusive so long as nobody glanced upward. The houses were closer and taller in this part of town and built with lower quality, but to her acute nose the air smelled cleaner of odor. Mostly. The crowd of twenty-odd human men clustered in the street stank of spirits and were generally unwashed. Most held loaded crossbows or other weapons, the leader shaking a sword at a large mansion styled house painted red with a green sign reading in a lurid script The Silken Embrace.


    Front double doors of the mansion slammed open, a dark skinned arachne woman with poofy black hair wearing white corset and nothing else over orange and crimson furred carapace skittered into the street, four sets of dark eyes on an otherwise human shaped face glaring into the harsh suns, thrusting prodigious bosoms like she meant to bludgeon the whole lot of befuddled males out of town. ¡°Blow it out yer limp pecker, Gowk Miksoli! Everyone from here to the Boiling Salts knows you cheated on Thexi. The fact you accused your innocent wife of sleeping around town before you threw her sideways with signed divorce papers just shows your small character! How else was a girl with nothing supposed to feed herself if not at my house?¡±


    The man in front backed up but didn¡¯t back down, keeping his sword steady like he knew how to use it. Qastael noted he wore clothing of a higher quality than those she had seen in town, more at home in one of the courts back east with lace, velvets, a thick mane of blond hair and no hat. From her angle she couldn¡¯t see his face, but he sounded indignant and nasally. ¡°How dare ya accuse me of anythin¡¯, insect! I own this town! My mines are the only reason desperate cucks pay to custom any of yer monster dollies in the first place. So either ya fetch my wife out here where we enact a bit o¡¯ justice fer treatin¡¯ me wrong, or we board up yer doors an¡¯ burn yer sin factory to the ground!¡±


    The arachne woman hesitated, not moving but neither replying. Qastael noted women of various common races peeking and peering through windows or further inside the entryway. A tension was in the air, ratcheting as the mob steadied hands on weapons, a few taking aim. Dry winds stirred the dry dirt, heralding a kind of silence no one wanted to break. Until, that is, the lips on the arachne woman firmed in a hard line and she glared eight eyes down on the belligerent man, her voice a loud whisper.


    ¡°Thexi ain¡¯t your wife anymore,¡± she said, her mouth grinning abnormally wide as fangs descended into place and pumped full of dark venom. ¡°Now I suggest¡­¡±


    ¡°Stop! Wait! Don¡¯t hurt them, Gowk!¡±


    A girl not much past puberty ran out of the house, panting as she held up burlesque styled white-laced dancing skirts hiding nothing of the black-laced undergarments. Skirts matched with a black and white striped corset, though the younger girl didn¡¯t fill it nearly as much or as well as the arachne she halted next to in the street, gasping for air from a short run. Qastael wasn¡¯t much of an expert in the common races, but the girl appeared shorter and more plump than many of the women observed throughout town, especially in the hips and posterior. Also, not human, which surprised Qastael if this was the girl in the center of all this drama. One of the rabbit or hare races, from the tips of her long ears, past legomorph nose and whiskers, down to oversized pawed feet meant for hopping rather than walking, she was covered in a splotchy mix of plush fur either pastel green or pastel pink. Overall, her melodic soprano voice fit nicely with the rest of her into an adorable bundle of cute trying very hard to intimate lacking lusciousness.


    Better than a theatre troop, Qastael thought, wanting to know what happens next.


    ¡°Glad ya decided ta show yer gutless, faithless whore face, Thexi,¡± Gowk said, gesturing grandly to the mob around him, a few of the sycophants chuckling. ¡°Bad enough ya spread yer legs when ya lived under my roof, now ya clap uglies fer a few silvers in a shack.¡±


    ¡°You cheated on me and left me with nothing!¡± Thexi said, showing a bit of backbone even as the rest of her body quivered. ¡°You divorced me when I did nothing wrong! What else was I¡ª¡±


    *slap!*


    ¡°Liar!¡± Gowk screeched, shaking his open hand from backhanding Thexi¡¯s cheek, the other hand raising his sword high faster than either the arachne or stumbling Thexi could react. ¡°Nobody does this to me! Nobo¡ª¡±


    *SLAP!!*


    Qastael¡¯s tail whipped around, sending the irritating dandy tumbling thirty feet into the air, flailing wildly until he smashed serendipitously through a saloon¡¯s window further down the street. His sword - spinning straight into the air - fell and landed point first, quivering in the dirt before the towering Qastael placing herself between mob and women. Unfurling four working wings and flapping them sharply directly into the cowering men, many fell off their boots in pure terror. One managed to fire a crossbow bolt, bouncing uselessly off her uninjured side as she stretched her head overtop of them all.


    ¡°Ya see, in this world there are two kinds of people,¡± Qastael growled, affecting the local vernacular while searching for the right Breath inside her body, blue flames licking up and out the sides of her maw. Huffing out a cloud of conflagration, heat washed over the cul-de-sac like an airborne inferno as she lowered onto her haunches and bared all her fangs, intentions clear. ¡°Those who breath fire, and those who get eaten.¡±


    ¡°D-d-d-dragon!¡± one of the men squealed, falling over himself as he and the rest scrambled and screamed in their efforts to flee certain calamity.


    Qastael¡¯s eye twitched, breaking the tableau as she lost her cool. ¡°Not a dragon!¡± Qastael insisted irritably, snapping down on the idiot who stuttered the slur but too slow (not to kill him, just nip off an arm or something), loosing him in the scattered rush. The hazard from using her Breath simultaneously choked her throat with blood, a hard strain for her to keep from spilling carnage while suppressing coughs unsuccessfully. ¡°¡­cgh!¡­stupid inbred termites, do I look like a fat, brainless lizard flapping¡­cgh! hhhck!¡­I am clearly a Kuri¡¯ma, from the divine ancestry of¡­ggrrgh!¡­come back, ya gutless yokel¡­!¡±


    Glugulating past her uvula, Qastael hacked out a glob of blood despite efforts otherwise, slumping as her arms shook to keep upright. Her side burned more than earlier that day, infection sapping the rest of her strength when citrine eyes rolled up and she crashed to the ground, unconscious.

 1.5 Farthest From Nowhere

    1.5 Farthest From Nowhere


    Qastael woke up to spurred boots and a wizard¡¯s staff chiming on packed dirt. ¡°Good morning, Sheriff,¡± she said, or tried saying slowly while keeping the bright sunshines out of sensitive eyes. Burns bubbling inside her maw and along her lips stung enough to make rapid vernacular a game of agony she wanted to avoid.


    ¡°Yer gonna be trouble, aren¡¯t ya?¡± Sheriff Wapp mourned, stopping near her head to loose a dramatic, put-upon sigh, his accent thickening. ¡°Could¡¯ve saved me a lot of headache if¡¯n ya killed Gowk outright instead of breakin¡¯ a few bones. He rustled plenty trouble before, now I¡¯ll need to make nice with the mayor an¡¯ dance a jig to keep from arrestin¡¯ an¡¯ hangin¡¯ all y¡¯all. Also, midbell rang from the church hours ago durin¡¯ yer nap.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m guessing you want me out of town this afternoon,¡± Qastael quipped, wincing and squinting eyes around to see a lot of blurs. What she made out of the sheriff was a casual man undecided on whether to be angry or thankful.


    ¡°I want ya out of Faluss, make my life a lot simpler.¡± Sheriff Wapp tugged his mustache while his other hand idly drilled his staff into the ground.


    ¡°You¡¯ll stop with the threats now, Earler, unless you want to be hogtied and taught proper manners in my parlor.¡±


    Qastael blinked rapidly to clear her vision, finding herself unsurprisingly on the street still. What was surprising were the dozens of girls wearing underwear - or otherwise explicit clothing - crawling up and around her body with buckets and towels. Notably, though all common raced, it was a menagerie of different races and cultures collected here. They even managed to roll her bulk onto an assortment of blankets and linen to keep her out of the dirt, washing and brushing out her fur. The air was heady with pleasant floral scents, soaps and conditioners luxuriating her body as Qastael became clean for the first time in months.


    She was also, she realized, completely naked. And, with a blush creeping through her scales, thoroughly washed. Not that anyone noticed, the sheriff busy shaking a finger up at the dark skinned arachne woman looming herself down upon him. It amused Qastael that the good sheriff had his head turned firmly away from her direction.


    ¡°I¡¯m not threatin¡¯ nobody, Zesh, just tellin¡¯ how it is! Gowk employs half the town in the mines. Me an¡¯ my deputies will do what is right an¡¯ proper, but if a posse decides ta come ¡®round fer Thexi again I can¡¯t be everywhere at the same time!¡±


    ¡°Then what good are you?¡± the arachne asked, whom Qastael gathered was Ms. Zeshyrrith, madame of The Silken Embrace.


    ¡°Thank you.¡±


    Qastael swiveled her head away from the argument between sheriff and madame, finding Thexi standing nervously close by holding a bonnet. She had changed into more modest daisy yellow skirts with matching traveling cloak and a pair of steamer trunks waiting on the street. The squat and plump bunny girl¡¯s pink and green ears dropped in worry while bouncing her feet. Now that Qastael could see her proper, Thexi had the largest, pale blue eyes. Qastael felt like she was looking up at the sky again, remembering the freedom of flying staring into the young rabbit¡¯s face.


    ¡°Any time,¡± Qastael replied eventually, a stupid grin tugging at her lips before she hissed in pain from dag-darnation burns!


    ¡°Can I ask why¡­um, how you got inured?¡± Thexi clearly wanting to ask about something else, instead changed subjects while gesturing towards the wound.


    Which Qastael didn¡¯t feel any pain from. Lifting her head up and slithering across the ground to get a proper look, she found her side sewn completely up in a complex weave stitching her body together. Swampy gunk lined the wound, smelling strongly of medicine and the absence of ache and fire brought a relief she had given up receiving. For too long, ever since she ran into the wrong people and fled into Wylo, she was so sure the wound would kick her bucket. Now, the stitching zigzagged from the center of her abdomen and looping up along her rubs, coming down ragged into the middle of her back through the muscles that controlled two of her wings.


    ¡°The cleric had no idea what caused it,¡± Thexi kept talking, hopping over to join Qastael¡¯s head as her patter sped up. ¡°Like a bolt of lightning shaped in a jagged saw blade and angled downward to cut you in half. Only nothing burned, so your body bled gallons while it tried to heal. He also kept mumbling that none of his spells worked, like you weren¡¯t actually alive. Which you clearly are. Alive, I mean. Ms. Zeshyrrith did the needlework herself and her daughters are inside making some clothing to replace what you wore.¡±


    ¡°You have a pretty voice,¡± Qastael said, then realized she must have lost too much blood if she mumbled nonsense.


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    ¡°I-I-I¡­?¡±


    ¡°Thexi, are you ready to leave?¡± Zeshyrrith asked, skittering along side with hands on hips as if ready to berate a child. ¡°The coach will be around any minute.¡±


    Working girls finished their ministrations, sliding off and allowing Qastael to carefully sit up. Sheriff Wapp was discussing something heatedly with a pair of deputies. The Madame of the house eyed critically at the stitches in Qastael¡¯s side, nodding in satisfaction.


    ¡°Thank you kindly for helping me out,¡± Qastael said slowly to avoid aggravating the burns, absently crossing her legs and using one arm to cover her breasts. Modestly was going to take getting used to.


    ¡°Please, you did me more favors today than you realize,¡± Zeshyrrith said, smiling inhumanly wide and poking a thumb towards the boarded up window of the saloon recently defenestrated. ¡°Gowk walks about like nothing can touch him, now he¡¯ll think twice about abusing one of my girls. You borrowed a mountain of trouble, though. Least I can do is get you some decent attire. Broke both my hearts seeing a woman wearing rags like to did. Dressing a woman is a civic duty.¡±


    ¡°I actually came to see you about that,¡± Qastael said, realizing her still had the valise clutches in her hand and showing it to the arachne madame. ¡°I need some clothing made, maybe a coat and hat¡­?¡±


    Zeshyrrith waved her hands as her front pedipalps chittered, emphatically pushing the hand away. ¡°Nope, your money is no good here. I know where Plone¡¯s farm is, I¡¯ll bring my daughters down and get you squared away proper in a few days. All the habiliment you¡¯ll need and more. Spinning silk is hungry work, though, so you can pay us in food.¡±


    Qastael wanted to wince and worry, but instead nodded in agreement. More mouths to feed, she hoped Plone¡¯s stored food would last. All these problems kept getting more complicated. If only she could read Plone¡¯s notes she might be able to make plans, but her spectacles wouldn¡¯t arrive for months. She needed a solution right now!


    An epiphany hit Qastael, pieces of the puzzle snapping together, clearing her exasperated mind as she snaked her head around and glared intently upon Thexi. ¡°You, cute bunny girl. You¡¯re being forced to leave because Gowk wants to kill you?¡±


    ¡°What? Yes, um, what?¡± Thexi was so flustered her nose turned beet red and she looked as if trying to hide her face under her ears. ¡°I mean, I don¡¯t want to go back to Yrlmuh, but I don¡¯t have anywhere else to go. Wait, cute?¡±


    ¡°Can you read?¡± Qastael asked, already making excited plans in her head and wanting to cackle.


    ¡°Of course I can read!¡± Thexi said, frustration overriding embarrassment. ¡°I can also cook and know how to teach music. What does any of this have to do with anything?¡±


    ¡°Excellent idea!¡± Zeshyrrith said, faster on the uptake and clapping hands resolutely. ¡°Sounds like it solves a lot of problems for everyone. I¡¯ll go help my daughters finish and both ya can get out of dodge while there¡¯s still daylights.¡±


    When Zeshyrrith swept into the bordello the rest of the prostitutes herded inside. Sheriff Wapp and his men were gone as well, leaving a confused Thexi with a grinning Qastael, who didn¡¯t mind the burns any longer.


    ¡°I find myself needing a farmhand,¡± Qastael said now the cul-de-sac was intimate, isolated from the bustle of the rest of the city. She shifted herself to ease the pressure off her good wings and forgot how all this might look to a common race. ¡°I can¡¯t pay much and frankly, I don¡¯t know anything about farming. I want to do it, and I want to do it right. I think you can help me out. Want to live on a farm?¡±


    Thexi¡¯s mouth dropped open, but her whiskers twitched excitedly at a fresh beginning. Her current prospect dismal, didn¡¯t take much to convince the young bunny this was an opportunity she wanted to pounce on.


    It took an hour to settle up. Zeshyrrith almost wouldn¡¯t let Qastael go, insisting the crimson bra now holding up Qastael¡¯s breasts were ¡±more an H cup¡± and too small for Qastael¡¯s proportions, but the madame just didn¡¯t have enough fabric. The matching mini skirt around her waist didn¡¯t include underwear either, so she would also need to remember not to walk where someone had opportunity to peek upwards. Other than that, the fabric was highest quality silk and felt divine on fur and scales.


    ¡°I was not expecting this,¡± Thexi said, perched awkwardly on Qastael as the larger woman limped through the gate of Farthest From into the wild.


    Qastael didn¡¯t respond immediately, weighing the empty barrels in one hand and the lady¡¯s luggage clutched in her other, shuffling in an easier, faster gait than she had walking into town. Still not a full stride, but it ate up the dusty trail faster than a horse cantered. It was a relief to move without pain, but she remained cautious of tearing the wound open again before it had chance to heal. Twin suns hung in late afternoon and the further the girls made it out of town before dark, the better.


    ¡°Lot of that going around,¡± Qastael finally replied, allowing a small smile. Her lips and mouth hurt something fierce from misuse of Breath, but pain was an old friend. ¡°I¡¯ve been fighting in wars for so long I forgot what it meant to be a person instead of a weapon. I was ready to die because I thought I was broken instead of injured. An old man taught me that hope is something you work for; maybe this is a bad idea, maybe this won¡¯t work, but I want it to. I desperately want to become a farmer.¡±


    ¡°Um, that¡¯s nice, I guess? I was more talking about this being an awkward way to travel.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± Qastael had the wherewithal to blush, but she didn¡¯t stop or make other comment, twisting her neck to proper face her new farmhand.


    Armpits deep, nestled up against Qastael¡¯s sternum, Thexi was securely wedged into plush cleavage. The bunny in question flopped green and pink ears over her face and desperately clung to Qastael¡¯s unsaturated fur, her nose so bright red it could serve as a lantern. The new bra was a bit tight, only serving to push breasts the size of wagons up together in an altogether lewd display. Honest, Qastael had only been thinking rational, practical thoughts when earlier she picked up the protesting bunny girl and deposited her there. This was a long journey for a common race on foot and it wasn¡¯t like Qastael had a saddle handy. A very reasonable, even innovative solution to a problem, nothing more.


    Nothing more, Qastael thought, thinking the weather was altogether too warm and hoping a breeze would show up to cool them both off. Lots of work required doing on the farm and she didn¡¯t need distractions.

 2.1 Dirt Poor

    2.1 Dirt Poor


    Sunsrise over Nowhere brought the cockcrow and a crisp wind. Western Bronelle was an extreme land: arid and baking in the summer, frozen and barren in the winter. Inside the final days of Reiti - the third month of the year - there remained enough spring chill before summer cooked the Falussan wastelands in three weeks. A deadline looming over the restive head of the newly minted farmer.


    Qastael never paid much mind to changing seasons and weather. What was cold morning compared to flying into black space and clouds became memory far below? What was the heat when swimming in molten metals beneath Heheim¡¯s Abyss? What was a year to immortality? Today, time and seasons mattered anew when she didn¡¯t have enough of either. With more anxiety than Qastael experienced in centuries, she shook out fur and felt the tick then tock in an urgent countdown to her new life.


    ¡°Wasn¡¯t getting much sleep anyhoo,¡± Qastael muttered, slowly looping her neck around in a coiled spring, each vertebrae in her neck detonating with a loud *crck!* the volume of snapping trees.


    ¡°Ah! Help! Don¡¯t hurt me!¡±


    Blinking sleep away, Qastael discovered Thexi sprawled on the grass wearing only intimates, rolling out of a pile of blankets. The sudden rude awakening induced blind panic from the former housewife. Smirking, the lengthy Qastael curled her body around to enclose the smaller girl in the garden. ¡°I thought you were sleeping in the house?¡±


    Thexi, not entirely awake - mussed bright pastel fur and tall ears twitching madly in the air - peered around in early dimness, confronting burnished glow of citrine eyes above bare sharp teeth. ¡°Eep!¡± Thexi gasped, quickly nabbing a blanket and using it to cover herself, as if the comforter was a shield for more than modesty. ¡°I was, I did, I mean I¡­¡± She paused with mouth open, unsure what to say until shameful truth won out. ¡°I got lonely.¡±


    Thexi¡¯s reply sobered Qastael¡¯s mood. ¡°I can understand that,¡± she replied, Qastael¡¯s eyes resolutely fixed away from the otherwise unmarked patch of dirt on the side of the garden. It was one thing to bring a new farmhand into Nowhere, it was another to let a stranger know about the large golden egg buried in claw¡¯s reach.


    Leaving Farthest From two days previous, both women spent those days in awkward silence. Qastael wasn¡¯t sure what to say and Thexi sank into shock. Necessity forced some conversation, the newly hired farmhand understanding she needed to read through Plone¡¯s notes and help where she could. Maybe Thexi should have asked more questions, maybe Qastael should have done more talking. Silence stretched like taut hide in the sun, which became more reason for both to live inside their lonely heads until the sky darkened and the shadows of Nowhere stretched into sight.


    Exhaustion the final conversation, the pair parted near the main house. Qastael dunked herself in the lake to wash away travel stains then huddled comfortably into the grass around the graves of Plone and his family. Protective magics of the Breath warmed the air, enough that after the last week with all the emotional and physical ups and downs, Qastael fading quickly into peace. The weary and wounded giantess partially remembered Thexi hopping into the home, announcing a relief for bedding after traveling via cleavage and sleeping on cold dirt. For all Qastael recalled, it was more dream than real.


    Tick-tock, Qastael thought towards eastern rising suns, sitting up gingerly because of pulling stitches and looping her tail down the side of the house, wary of another infection in the wound. There wasn¡¯t any sharp or heated pain anymore, only a gentle ache. Another pain, however, pinched distractedly between her wings and tightly furrowed into ribs. Grimacing, she hefted the red silk constricting itself around a tender chest, compressing her bosom into twin hills nearly avalanching out of garmented restraint. ¡°I can¡¯t understand how common races wear clothing. Is it supposed to shrink? I thought spider silk was stretchy.¡±


    ¡°Um¡­¡± Thexi didn¡¯t know where to look with eyes the size of dinner plates, there was too much jiggling Qastael. Glancing frantic side to side, up into frightening predator eyes, down where the short skirt flipped completely open¡­ ¡°I don¡¯t know anything!¡±


    Qastael¡¯s smirk bloomed into snarky grin along her snout as she teased, finishing mammary adjustments so the brazier neither conflicted with black and white fur or rainbowed scales. ¡°I hope you at least remember how to read, because that is why I hired you. Reading and math. Probably put you in charge of milking, my claws won¡¯t do well with tiny udders.¡± Tilting her head towards the barn and lowing animals, Qastael nodded and stood on her hind legs. ¡°Good idea to take care of those animals right now. Should have done that last night, though I was plumb tuckered enough. As likely eaten them as fed them.¡±


    Thexi blitzed into the house without a word, emerging soon after lacing a dark emerald dress with black ruffles that complimented her lighter green and pink fur. Though Qastael admitted no experience in these kind of matters, the design was far more enticing than Thexi presented moments before nearly naked, the dress clearly cut for her previous profession. Likely not practical on a farm, but either woman lacked practical options as the suns peaked the horizon and true dawns emerged. Qastael scratched a floppy ear and led the way towards the massive wooden edifice, contemplating if clothing really was something either of them needed all alone out here.


    Looking down at Thexi and imaging the bunny naked, Qastael¡¯s scales blushed and she hastily discarded the notion of casual nudity as unwanted distraction. Or, rather, unneeded distraction.


    ¡°What kind of animals do you have?¡± Thexi asked, hopping a half-skipping jog to keep up with the slow shuffle of the much larger woman, her breath labored. She also fixed her hair, which Qastael hadn¡¯t noticed before, the short uneven locks only a slight shade darker than her pink fur. It wasn¡¯t something Qastael noticed much anyway, trying to differentiate between fur and hair. Nevertheless, so many common races put stock into the care and style of head fur that she wanted to make an effort as part of her desire to conform.


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    ¡°That is a good question,¡± Qastael said, surreptitiously adjusting her skirt lower to comply with modesty. ¡°I remember cows. A nice aelf gentleman in Farthest called one of the carcasses Piedmontese. There was also¡­small birds? Sheep? I¡¯m afraid I won¡¯t be helpful, I have a better idea what they taste and smell like.¡±


    A whiff in the air tickled Qastael¡¯s nostrils, a familiar scent. Not a welcome odor, panic gripping her chest. Digging claws into the dirt and holding her side, she rushed ahead to to barn, throwing the doors open amid a cloud of flies and decay.


    ¡°¡­hph¡­hph¡­why did you rush¡­ahead?¡± Thexi huffed, skirts hiked up as she hopped next to the door and leaned against the post. She looked like she wanted to say more but stopped when she squinched her face at the smell and sight.


    ¡°Fiddlesticks,¡± Qastael sighed, her shoulders slumping while she shuffled into the barn, the stalls in front filled with dead sheep as the other animals protested loudly against the stink of death. ¡°I had sheep.¡± Qastael buried her claws into her hands, stabbing into her palm tight enough to draw blood, the pain a penance she deserved. ¡°Some farmer I¡¯m turning out to be.¡±


    Though normally dark inside the building, the large doors opened to the east and dawnslight flooded the space easily. Fourteen large sheep and five smaller lambs. One couldn¡¯t be older than a month, it was so tiny, sickening black globs of black blood and chunks of lung splattered onto the ground. The loss of the older sheep was a blow, but seeing such young creatures bloated and unbreathing made Qast want to turn her back and run away. These were children, dead, and her fault. She should have been here, she was responsible. Qastael couldn¡¯t breath properly, she needed to go to the garden and dig up Little Mouse, worried she might find another lifeless child. Her child!


    Thexi pushed through her own ick and steeled her back, slowly studying the rest of the immense structure as a distraction. To Qastael, Thexi was seeking to find optimism within despair. ¡°It¡¯s like a castle, so much room.¡± She walked past sheep pens towards the cows. ¡°You could fit thousands of animals in here, only a fraction of the pens have any animals, and they go up three levels on each side. I think those are chickens on the second level. Ramps near the doors, a few pulley lifts for feed, the back third divided into tall silos. I lived on a farm when I was young, before my mother married and we moved to Yrlmuh. It was nothing like this. This isn¡¯t some country farm, this could feed all of Farthest, just from this barn.¡±


    The bunny farmhand rambled and when she stopped, lack of words muted the other other animals ambient sounds. Qastael figured the barn was large enough she could stretch her neck upward and not touch the rafters, the stretch her entire body inside from tip to tail and with room to spare. Turning thoughts away from distractions, Thexi¡¯s words galvanized Qastael towards a realization: if she wanted to keep her own child alive, she needed to learn how to be a proper farmer and fast. ¡°I¡¯m smelling death, but there is sweet purifications in the blood. This was an infection.¡± She glanced towards the center of the barn, where an old empty sack lay and tsked her teeth. ¡°Might have saved some if I figured out they were sick early enough, separating them. Plone probably used his entire supply of herbs for infections on me six days ago.¡± Qastael leaned her neck around the other animals, inspecting them and sniffing the air. ¡°Those sheep have been dead for days but it doesn¡¯t look like the rest of the animals are sick. Don¡¯t want to make any assumptions, so we need to get to work.¡±


    ¡°What do we do?¡± Thexi asked, her mien projecting she had no idea where to start.


    ¡°Everything comes down to food,¡± Qastael replied, having put a lot of thought into Nowhere¡¯s priorities. ¡°How much we eat, how much the livestock eat, how much food is stored away and how much we¡¯ll get from the crops. Looking at the troughs, both the cows and birds were fine eating grass and potatoes, so I¡¯ll put in enough for another day or two then refill the water. I¡¯m starving, so I reckon you are as well. Look through the house and see what you can find then head to the food basement - the mound of grassy dirt west of the house - and separate three barrels for me. Doesn¡¯t matter what, I eat most anything. I don¡¯t want to catch anything from the sheep, though, so can¡¯t eat the bodies. I¡¯ll drag them south of the farm and dig a hole because we also can¡¯t risk whatever disease spreading and don¡¯t want other animals stopping by. While I¡¯m working on that we need information.¡±


    ¡°I saw the library you mentioned, last night. It was well organized.¡± Thexi appeared distracted, leaning over the posts to glare intently at one of the cows being suckled by a calf. ¡°Didn¡¯t read much, but the few I cracked open had detailed indexes. This Plone could have given lessons to the Brainery librarians in Yrlmuh.¡± Holding her hand on top of her head, Thexi moved it steadily out towards the cow, trying to gauge the height of the cattle. ¡°Are you sure these are cows? They seem really big for cows, like twice as large. I don¡¯t think external bone plates along the back and knees is normal. And are those fangs?¡± She quickly snatched her hand back and shuffled away from the fence.


    Qastael peered close at the cows, but didn¡¯t know enough about breeds and such to know what to look for. All the bovine had a mix of red and white fur, cropped horns. They looked meaty, as in they sported more muscled bulk than the usual cattle she ate during past raids. Maybe bigger than typical? Qastael shrugged. ¡°Not important now. From what I gathered in the notes I read, Plone has those answers somewhere. You¡¯re going to do a lot of reading, hope you find that soon. More important, what do they eat and how much they eat. Add in the nine hundred pounds (408 kg) of food I eat a day and whatever your diet is, we need to understand if we have enough to last until harvest. Plone seemed to think so when I talked to him before he died, and he even did some of those calculations in his latest notebook far as I read.¡±


    ¡°Should I milk the cows? Gather eggs?¡± Thexi looked equal parts overwhelmed and earnest, both tugging her in different directions. ¡°On my pawpaw¡¯s farm, I remember doing that every day.¡±


    ¡°We can¡¯t assume at this point. Could be the eggs of these birds explode or the milk is actually acid. This close to Wylo, any bizarre metareality craziness is possible.¡± Qastael moved to the other side of the barn, gathering up a few of the remaining large tarps neatly covering dried hay, ambling towards the dead animals. ¡°I¡¯ll take care of the sheep, feed the animals, then I¡¯ll water and inspect all the crops and fields. My goal is to try measuring how much we yield from each crop when harvest happens. You work the numbers. Meet up later at the house and see if we keep going on or try to think of something else to do.¡±

 2.2 Dirt Poor

    2.2 Dirt Poor


    Thexi was in over her ears.


    ¡°Big Sis Juby warned me Gowk was trouble,¡± Thexi muttered, large incisors nibbling on her lip as she hopped back to the house, the morning already growing warm. ¡°Big Sis proclaimed him faithless trash, spent too much time dropping tung on women. He promised he¡¯d changed and I loved him - thriceblinded fool that I am - and look where that dropped me?¡± Thexi kept hopping along with skirts up to her bustle, against all propriety with scandalous unmentionables exposed to the entire wasteland, because mama taught her proper manners and a lady Calepori should never hop (or bare her short fur). Hopping also encouraged racial stereotypes and mama hated being classified as something other than a lady. Only, mama wasn¡¯t here. ¡°Big Sis said it was dumb to save myself for marriage, but I stuck to it! Not half a year later I¡¯m on the streets without anything. What good did my years at the music conservatory do then? Can¡¯t eat opera and none of the saloons were hiring singing girls. Took three hungry days to swallow my pride and turn tricks. Swallowed plenty of things I don¡¯t like since.¡±


    ¡°No going back, though,¡± Thexi insisted, though maybe also convincing herself. ¡°Mama would be very happy and I¡¯d love to see Big Sis again, but I won¡¯t be the Pretty Perfect Daughter anymore. I won¡¯t!¡± Her ears twitched backwards, picking up Qastael closing the barn and dragging the sheep away. Thexi wasn¡¯t speaking loudly, but she mumbled even lower, unsure how keen those massive floppy dog ears were on the giantess dragon. ¡°Not a dragon! She nearly bit Benster Phallips in half when he called her that. Still think I¡¯m half a growl away from soiling my knickers anytime she bares those teeth. Mouth the size of a carriage. Keeps looking at me like I¡¯m the next snack, licking her snout with that long forked tongue. Nine hundred pounds eating a day? That¡¯s six of me!¡±


    Thexi reached the front door to the main farmhouse, pausing to grab at her paunch and pinch flab in her buttocks, sighing. ¡°Alright, five of me.¡± The plump girl grimaced, pushing the door open and stomping inside. ¡°Four at most. See? I can do math proper and be honest! Stupid Calepori genetics.¡± She fumbled around in the dark, trying to find a candle or something, all the shutters closed and leaving the main room in dimness. ¡°One thing I miss from Yrlmuh is thaumlamps. Like living in the backward end of hickville, flint and steeling open flame that can burn the house down if I sneeze wrong. Miss chanting a light on and off. Why are enchantments so expensive out here?¡±


    The nervous girl shut her mouth and brushed her chopped ruin of her once long hair out of her eyes, babbling to herself a bad habit from being alone in Yrlmuh. Or being alone in Farthest From. Not wanting to dwell on nineteen years spent alone in one capacity or another, Thexi found a lamp and lit it, moving upstairs into the large study packed in every wall with handwritten notes.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t realize it was such a mess.¡± Setting the lamp down, she tiptoed around spilled leather binders and loose parchment, opening the shutters and letting light inside. The room was utilitarian, an upraised desk in one corner with larger sheets for maps and architecture, a more cozy and worn desk with ink, blotting sand and a stack of quills sitting next to freshly crafted charcoal sticks. Everything else was shelves stuffed past capacity with parchment and leather. The smell of the room was intoxicating, heady with history and knowledge. ¡°Ok, not so bad, just a few spilled binders. One window needs fixing because her dragon arm couldn¡¯t fit in a tight hole.¡± Thexi immediately covered her mouth, for some reason tasting the alchemical burn in her throat of all the spermicidal potions she guzzled the past months. Madame Zeshyrrith always provided top quality thaumian recipes to keep her girls healthy and working, but those potions tasted bad enough to leave lasting rancid memory and that taste gurgled up her throat when she was nervous.


    After the scaly lady in question didn¡¯t suddenly materialize and crisp her into oven-roasted rabbit breakfast, Thexi relaxed and admonished herself silently to stay on target, picking up spilled notes and attempting to put the room back into pristine order.


    ¡°Crop Rotations are on this shelf. Fertilizer Management, notations reference Harvest Yields going back fifty years.¡± Each leather binder had small neat handwriting labeling what it tracked, the order it was cataloged and the years it covered. ¡°Who was this Plone? I don¡¯t think there is a detail of a single grain that isn¡¯t tracked minute by minute, from seed to market, since he started this farm. Was he just this passionate, or was there something else?¡±


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    Neat and tidy now, Thexi took the booklet Daily Accounting for Reiti in the current year - the one Qastael mentioned Plone made notes in to account for her largess appetite - to the smaller desk and flipped through, arranging a blank sheet for notes and thumbing a charcoal stick in one paw. Felt like old times in the conservatory to the young musician, skimming through the entries in the last pages while humming a complex ditty. It read like part journal, giving Thexi a feel for the man who spent his life working this land. The final important pages were more personal than previous entries filled with cramped facts and figures.


    Reiti 21, Year 7881


    The skies finally calmed down enough to look over the damage. Probably going to lose a quarter of the harvest, those rains haven¡¯t come down this hard in thirty years. Lucky I didn¡¯t lose everything. Good long term for the aquifer, but I won¡¯t live that long. Suns are hotter than typical for mid spring, everything is going to be dust by tomorrow. Biggest loss is the orchards. Mudslide uprooted most of the trees. Worst loss I¡¯ve seen since me and Asavn made claim. The hands lost faith, most of them taking the gold and the rest taking the goats for their wages. I want to be angry, but who can blame them? Nowhere is finished.


    Reiti 22, Year 7881


    Really missing the hands, difficult for me to milk my own cows. Ten years ago it¡¯d be nothing to care for so little livestock, the farm feels so empty right now. I¡¯ve come to terms that I don¡¯t have any reason to keep going. Asavn would tell me tomorrow would be better, but she isn¡¯t here. Always wanted to create something larger than myself, give something to a son or daughter, leave them with a bit of myself and Asavn. Now I don¡¯t even have someone to help dig my own grave. Well, nothing doing, gonna have to do it myself like always. After I finish up I¡¯ll head to the barn and let the animals out. Bitter taste in my mouth, knowing everything I tried to accomplish failed.


    Reiti 23, Year 7881


    Guess I really am a coward. Couldn¡¯t finish my own grave, joints too old to use a shovel. Went to the barn earlier and did as much milking as I could, gathered some eggs, just couldn¡¯t open the stalls. Why can¡¯t I accept what the Pantheons dealt me? I miss Avasn something sore, yet I cling to life, I cling to Nowhere. I can hardly walk, yet I pruned the tomatoes as if I would just haunt this land. Some shambling, lifeless creature forever. Why can¡¯t I accept death?


    Reiti 23, Year 7881 cont


    Something is coming up from Wylo real slow. Might get to the house before dusk, might not. Standing upright, so it might be someone, can¡¯t be sure. Big, whatever it is. Guess this is it.


    Reiti 23, Year 7881 cont


    Heha! Can¡¯t believe the Pantheons actually listened for once! Her name is Qastael, and if¡¯n she isn¡¯t a real dragon I¡¯ll eat my boot. Hurt bad, gave her all the herbs for infection but I haven¡¯t felt this good about the future in years. Decades! Even has an egg, so this could be everything I ever wanted, a legacy. When the twins died, always felt hollow. Like I was counting down instead of wanting something more. I haven¡¯t tasted happiness since Avasn passed, and it is so sweet. Just have to muddle through a bit longer and then I¡¯ll give her everything.


    Let me see if I can feed her until harvest, first. Gonna need to tighten the belt, that is for sure. Got the stores logged in one of these pages, I¡¯ll do that first then work on calculating the harvests in the morning when I can ask her what she usually eats.


    Living suddenly matters again.


    Thexi was not ashamed to admit she stared and reread the numbers over and over again ten times, trying to make sense of anything. She knew some of those words, but ultimately her frustrations summed up with an exasperated question:


    ¡°What¡¯s a bushel?¡±


    Whistling unladylike through her incisors, this was only the basics of Plone¡¯s inventory. She still had to find out what the livestock ate and how much, then later that day go over estimates for the eventual harvest. After that, gather as much information on cultivating dozens of different crops and determining when and how they were harvested. The inventory was the simplest part, and it felt impossible.


    ¡°I¡¯m in way over my ears,¡± Thexi muttered, standing and squinting her way down each and every booklet in the library. ¡°Best start somewhere, like figure what a bushel is.¡±

 2.3 Dirt Poor

    2.3 Dirt Poor


    ¡°Reckon there¡¯ll be no potatoes this year,¡± Qastael grumbled, a scoop of dirt mixed with chewed leaves and missing bulbs falling between claws. Standing, she wobbled out of balance, irritably adjusting her bra and skirt back into place. Her other hand delicately held the map of Nowhere, flipping it over to notes listing crops by field. Squinting, her eyes barely discerning one letter for every ten, she thought the bottom two fields read potatoes.


    Those fields were large and once held thousands of plants. Past tense. Not yet an expert in farming, Qastael had centuries of experience devastating countrysides. A group of somethings charged through and dig up all the nascent crops recently. Big somethings. She remembered battlefields less torn up, dirt broken and flung in massive heaps to extract as many roots as possible. Qastael noticed the fresh tracks stomping up out of Wylo earlier when she hauled and buried the sheep. Now her fears were confirmed and she wondered if these creatures followed her when she stumbled north half a week ago, mostly dead.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to have to do something about this, or there won¡¯t be any crops in a month.¡± Qastael turned her head south, seeing only the brown and red plateaus of Faluss but in her mind hearing the black thunder and enduring the wild thaum of Wylo only a few dozen miles away. Nightmares warped into insanity, no person living knew what devastated the majority of the Bronelle continent millennia ago, ending the great demonic nation and driving their pitiful descendants north into the Cliffs. Inside the heart of that forsaken land, Qastael experienced fear for the first time in her life, and she relived that fear now. She did not want to return to that place.


    ¡°Yer bounty said dead or alive. Guess ya ain¡¯t gonna come in alive¡­¡±


    Closing her eyes, Qastael paused to gather herself. It was another setback, yet the setbacks kept happening and the weight kept growing. No matter how much larger she towered over other common races, a mountain could still crush her. It buried her resolve and awoke old instincts. Even in her weakened and emaciated condition, she had no doubt if she stormed into Farthest From mantled in her power, she could conquer half the town and decimate all others. She would be a queen and the lesser races would know their place. She wasn¡¯t some mortal mote to squalor in dirt! She¡­


    ¡°AAAAAYYYYYRRRR!!¡±


    After stretching her neck into the air and howling loud enough to fill the valley, Qastael returned to herself and remembered the vows she took when abandoning the Kuri¡¯ma, her kin. Like compressing an explosion and stuffing it into a bottle, the woman became herself again and stood resolute. Crying over missing potatoes wasn¡¯t going to feed her child. Itching her chest, she trudged to the irrigation pumps and watered the fields, hoping some of the potatoes could be saved.


    ¡°I should probably dig down and find out how much water is sitting there,¡± Qastael muttered, scooping another large clod of dirt out of the channels in the ruined orchard. Her wings were cramping as she made sure not to unfurl around the tall branches, also keeping her tail held up to avoid disturbing roots. She was likely safe from damaging the roots while walking the wide path, but nearly two hundred tons (164 mt) could do unknown damage to the systems she didn¡¯t quite understand how trees worked. Better safe than lose more of the orchard. Altogether, a long day morning already, the suns arching high and hot, her efforts inspecting the crops devouring hours, mostly spent clearing channels so water flowed evenly in the fields. ¡°Everything needs water around here, won¡¯t do much good if this is the last of it.¡±


    Qastael mentally made a note, going back to the pumps and watering the trees. Or what was left of them. Hundreds of trees were either uprooted, broken in half or completely buried, this section of the farm suffering from a recent mudslide off the nearby plateau. It was going to take days for her to clear it out, but for now there were about a hundred trees still in good condition and likely thirsty. In reality most of the fields needed careful digging, a recent storm pounding the entire valley into mud slurry, then twin suns drying mud into hard clay.


    ¡°Will have Thex help with the delicate stuff, maybe save some of the crops.¡± Qastael was trying for optimistic, but the farm was in a tight spot. Based on what she saw and visual estimates, maybe a third of everything could grow to harvest. ¡°If I knew it was this much work to raise a bit of food, I¡¯d never have taken those contracts against the farms.¡±


    ¡°¡­we beg of you, do not kill us. We are not soldiers! This isn¡¯t our war!¡±


    Holding her breath, she pushed memories aside. Placing the stone gates into the canals to stop the water, Qastael sighed and cracked her joints, mostly in her neck from stretching it so low to the ground most of the day, then reaching with her hands back to twitch unworking wings. Her body wasn¡¯t used to being upright, this wound keeping her bipedal if she didn¡¯t want another infection. It throbbed, but pain was a good mortal feeling. Worst injury she¡¯d ever suffered, even with centuries fighting armies. Might take fifty years before she was back to herself again. Walking back to the house, her pace stretched more regular than earlier in the week. Only a slight hobble as she tried to prevent stitches from tearing.


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    ¡°¡­frack-basted merkin-corkin son-of-a-venereal wang-slapped crusty¡­¡±


    Qastael smirked, sauntering towards the cold storage mound of grass. What she found was the most adorable tableau, hunching on haunches as quietly as possible to bask.


    Thexi was midway up the ramp leading down to the cellar, feet dug into clay and back against a barrel, entire body straining to heave the next few inches. Her pretty emerald dress was stained and torn, a testament to the difficulty of rolling two other barrels onto the dirt outside. The little bunny girl must have gained mystical strength chanting a constant stream of evocative profanity, screaming and gasping in rage against the offending container that likely weighed twice as much as her.


    Rabbit feet, though, are better at hopping than pushing barrels. Thexi¡¯s foot slipped in the clay, sliding her down to the bottom of the ramp with a wild scream. Covering her head and expecting to be crushed, when it didn¡¯t happen she peaked around her ears and stood, seeing a grinning toothy maw looming, Qastael holding the barrel in one hand.


    ¡°I could have gotten it,¡± Thexi said, quickly smoothing her corset and unsuccessfully getting the dust out of her fur. ¡°Calepori can be tough, I don¡¯t need help.¡±


    ¡°Well, happy to help anyway.¡± Qastael was carefully looking over the three barrels and weighing them in her hands - lighter than the corn barrels - shaking them a bit and then carefully running her claws around the edge. ¡°I know I need your help, so don¡¯t worry about proving anything.¡± Qastael popped the lid open, sniffing the smoked seeds and wondering what they were. ¡°Can I politely ask about Calepori?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re almonds,¡± Thexi said dourly in deflection, hopping back inside and coming out with a prybar, going to the barrels and popping them off without ruining the lids. ¡°Have a lot of smoked almonds in here, probably more barrels of almonds than any other food by weight. Hope you like them because they are going to be part of your meals for the next year. All three of these are almonds, figured that will be easy today until you decide how to divvy up the food.¡±


    Qastael understood what wasn¡¯t being said, wisely realizing trust went both ways. Lot of secrets in a woman¡¯s race. ¡°Fair enough. My race is known as the Kuri¡¯ma. Older than the System, the Kuri¡¯ma live exclusively in the pure realms of Kuri¡¯vlaat¡¯mehn, first to take up the vacant Lower Pantheons when the Crafterions abandoned all creation. In practical terms I¡¯m closer to what you would call an elemental than one of the common races. As far as I know, I am the only one of my kind in the mortality of Evma.¡±


    ¡°Does that mean you¡¯re a goddess?¡± Thexi asked, justifiable fear in her voice.


    ¡°No, immortality just means I¡¯ll live a long time until something kills me, no actual divinity here. I don¡¯t have the right Racial or Class Features, and there hasn¡¯t been a Herald on Evma for thousands of years, so unlikely to happen at all.¡± Qastael noticed Thexi¡¯s blank stare and chuckled, dumping the open barrel into her mouth and chomping away. ¡°Oh, I like these! How many almonds did you say we had? Anyway, I¡¯m related to a number of gods and goddesses, but I¡¯m not actually one. If you want, I can help you navigate your own Status through the System whenever you like, see if you can become a proper monster.¡±


    ¡°I, um¡­¡± Thexi sighed, nibbling her lower lip with prominent incisors. ¡°Calepori isn¡¯t really a race. I mean, it is my race, but we were manufactured through thaumian experiments hundreds of years ago. Slave labor for the Geoleum far south of Yrlmuh. Didn¡¯t actually think pastel pink and green is natural, did ya?¡± The colorful bunny in question forced a laugh and tossed her short hair out of her eyes, though she was now hopping nervously in a circle. ¡°We¡¯re an overly adaptable race. Sounds fantastic until your body decides to adapt the wrong way. Every adaption is random and permanent and cumulative. Say I fall off a horse and break my ankle. Either my body decides I need stronger bones to prevent future breaks, or I need softer bones to break easier. I could go either way. This isn¡¯t a supposition, I have a great aunt with bones like tissue paper. Had. Not a lot of Calepori live past forty.¡±


    Thexi babbled now, words streaming out faster and faster as all the panic and stress spilled into the open. ¡°From the moment I could remember, my mother told me I was broken. That at any moment, I do the wrong thing or eat the wrong food or stand in the wrong place, my entire life could be ruined. I spent two months in a whore house: every moment I¡¯m awake I¡¯m aroused now. This is what it means to be me. I¡¯ll spend the rest of my life horny for no other reason than I was hungry and needed a job. I work here long enough, I¡¯ll probably turn into a radish. I--¡±


    The girl stopped hopping, frozen in place as she spun and collided with Qastael¡¯s snout. The massive Kuri¡¯ma was sprawled on the grass, snaking her body around the knoll as if to protect the diminutive farmhand from herself. Gulping, Thexi stretched around to glimpse into glowing citrine eyes, so deep and filled with mysteries some dumb bunny could never hope to understand. Yet they were compassionate, as if they knew more about suffering than simple transience fathomed. Minutes stretched, both of them caught together, their breathing matching the crisp breeze of the wastes.


    ¡°I don¡¯t believe you are broken,¡± Qastael eventually said, lifting her head back into the air and grabbing the next barrel, emptying it whole and crunching the tiny seeds with distinct pleasure.


    Thexi blinked pale blue, unsure about herself and trying to slow her respiration. ¡°I have some of the numbers you wanted, over at the house.¡± Without waiting, the bunny double-hopped towards the main building, skirts hiked up to give her legs more freedom.


    Qastael watched her scamper, grabbing the third barrel and finishing it off, feeling pleasantly full for the first time in decades. Licking her lips, she kept her eyes fixed on Thexi. Still hungry, Qastael was patient. And like her farmhand, she could adapt.

 2.4 Dirt Poor

    2.4 Dirt Poor


    Stop it stop it stop it! Thexi shouted into her head, rushing inside the house and snagging piles of notations and numbers she worked on all morning. This is your job now! I¡¯m not a slut like Gowk thinks I am when he chopped my hair! I did what I had to so I could survive. I¡¯m done with that, my legs are closed for business forever. Stupid Calepori genetics! Being a farmhand is good, honest, WHOLESOME work. Don¡¯t screw this up, Thexi, because you can¡¯t stop¡­can¡¯t¡­ooooh, that tongue¡­


    Thexi hauled off and slapped herself in the snout. Not a love tap, but not as hard as Gowk would have hit her before the divorce. Stupid Calepori genetics probably made her like getting slapped on top of everything else. It shook her out of the funk and put her right, descending the stairs and back outside in a jiff. ¡°Did you know a bushel is determined by how much of a thing fits into a bushel basket? The whole farm system is cataloged that way because a bushel is the standard increment materials are shipped. At first I thought that would make it easy, but one bushel of oats weights less than a bushel of wheat. Absolutely maddening until I found his notes on average bushel weights for all the produce.¡±


    ¡°Fascinating,¡± Qastael said, entirely too close and her breath smelled of almonds. The wind stirred Qastael¡¯s black and white fur, teasing out a myriad of colorful scales underneath, though her bra and skirt splashed crimson while dark green feathered wings haloed off her back. The massive woman¡¯s long and serpent body coiled back around on itself, casually languid even with a long line of white stitches running down her middle.


    She¡¯s so big! Thexi thought, trying very hard to keep her mind away from sensuality, shuffling parchment and stepping towards an open patch of flat dirt, setting them on the ground to organize her presentation. ¡°Yes, um, I went over everything on the farm and I think there is good news. I¡¯m relying on Mr. Lewfich¡¯s notes - though I already found a few discrepancies, then fixed things after I counted all the livestock - but the initial numbers are promising.¡± Thexi held up a bundle of pages triumphant, immensely pleased with herself over finishing these figures so quickly. ¡°I have it here on these charts.¡±


    Qastael nodded, peering around until she stepped over near the creek and picked up a long and straight piece of deadwood. Nodding, she walked over towards some dirt and motioned towards Thexi. ¡°Alright, read them off.¡±


    Thexi also nodded, desperately praying to the Pantheons that she didn¡¯t screw up somewhere.


    ¡°Whale what?¡± Qastael asked, pausing and spinning her neck around to glare incredulously at Thexi, who blushed and waved her hands in the air.


    ¡°You heard me! I even found the barrels, it isn¡¯t misspelled or nothing!¡± Thexi wanted to crawl into a hole and die, but what did she know? ¡°Maybe it was some kind of delicacy and Plone had weird tastes. Maybe it is the secret ingredient for all the cheese. I don¡¯t know!¡±


    ¡°Hmm¡­¡± Qastael muttered, going back to scratching out figures into the clay, careful not to step on any of her work. When Thexi finished, Qastael proved a great head for numbers, quickly and accurately adding up the totals without abacus or equations. ¡°Going to leave off the Dairy for now. I¡¯ve never had cheese, but this looks like an impressive amount for just one man to eat. All that cheese could be valuable, which might help us long term. How is cheese made? Does it use the eggs or milk?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, but I found his booklets for cheese. Dozens of recipes, so some might use eggs, didn¡¯t look closely. Milk is the main ingredient, though. There are other ingredients listed that I didn¡¯t bother for now, like starters and rennets, which I don¡¯t know what those are but they didn¡¯t sound edible. I couldn¡¯t find where he keeps all this dairy, though, only designating it in a cold room.¡± Thexi shuffled through the papers, nervous and sweating through her fur, plucking her corset and wishing it wasn¡¯t so hot today. ¡°This is all based on averages out of Mr. Lewfich¡¯s observations and decades of work, I haven¡¯t actually counted up everything as some of it is in the cellar, some in the barn silos, only fixing a few things I saw, like the barrels of almonds you ate today, also a few of the smoked meats are missing and I noticed some barrels were broken and I found bugs on the floor and maybe the other food is all bad¡­¡±


    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    ¡°It¡¯s ok, this is good work, gives us a place to start.¡± Qastael flapped a calming wing towards the harried bunny then finished her equations, looking over the numbers. ¡°I¡¯ll add the eggs. Gonna hold off on Spices, Processed Goods, Magical Goods and Non-Edibles. Hope we don¡¯t get desperate enough to eat feathers, but I¡¯ve honestly eaten worse. All those could be goods we turn into coins that could garner more food or more stock. I don¡¯t know enough, and that¡¯s my biggest hangup.¡± Scratching out a final number, she sat back on her haunches and motioned Thexi over. ¡°Does 479,634 pounds (217,557.2 kg) look right to you?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s what I came up with, more or less, though we might eat those feathers eventually.¡± Thexi held up the next page and ran down the lines absently, speaking with half a mind to Qastael as she rambled through everything. ¡°Lot of this is guesswork and averages, and the next part is more the same. I counted the livestock, found their feed recipes in the booklets, added myself and you, then worked the numbers purely from weight. I don¡¯t know if you understand how days and months work in Faluss, but today is Tenday, last day of the week, thirtieth of the month of Reiti, meaning Vette starts tomorrow. Thirty days left in spring, another two months after that for summer. I have no idea when all the food will be harvested, but I reckon we need to, minimum, store food lasting ninety days and the start of fall. I¡¯ll look through the books and mark out when everything should be harvested later. For right now, I mathed feed quantities for the animals and the two of us will just have to make do with whatever is left.¡±


    ¡°These are just ideal diets according to Plone, and they include a fifteen percent waste overage because I guess animals are messy eaters,¡± Thexi quickly assured, hopping around and gathering all the papers when the breeze blustered a stronger gust. ¡°Substitutions can be made, but all things being perfect this is what he recommended. Soybeans, for instance, were primarily for the sheep, but with them all dead that feed can go to both cows and chickens. And of course we aren¡¯t eating feed, but it was so you could get an idea of how much need to last until harvest.¡± The bunny girl stomped on the last errant page, huffing as anxiety drained out of her. ¡°I¡¯ll work super hard and make sure these numbers are more accurate later, after I figure out what we need to do with the crops. I¡¯ll also add in livestock output and see how much of things like cheese and meat we can produce by then.¡±


    ¡°Fantastic, absolutely lovely. 410,805 pounds (186,337.9 kg) of food in ninety days leaves us with plenty of buffer in case we have to hustle for our grub,¡± Qastael said, grinning a wide set of teeth and rubbing claws together before going back to adding up more numbers in the dirt. ¡°Good thing, because I think we are going to lose about half the harvest this year, whatever we do. Something ate most of the potatoes, which I¡¯ll deal with later. Also, while I can go as long as a week without food and water, ideally I should be drinking sixty gallons of water a day. Yeesh, milking cows drink¡­two hundred and thirty gallons a day? I need to head over to the barn and refill those water troughs.¡± Itching her chest, Qastael cocked her head and flipped her ears around towards the east.


    Thexi¡¯s ears weren¡¯t just for show, she heard it too, clutching papers to her chest when panic bloomed. Wagons, lots of them, moving in the direction of the house at a fast clip.


    ¡°Crap, forgot all about her,¡± Qastael muttered while angling her neck over low trees, tossing her branch aside and standing. Stretching out her wings, she hobbling downstream towards the center of the valley.


    ¡°Her? Her who?¡± Thexi asked, hopping at nearly a sprint to keep up with gargantuan strides, though she hid behind Qastael in case of vagrants or vandals or¡­whatever.


    Needn¡¯t have worried, though. More than a dozen wagons filled with all manner of fabrics and materials, they were drawn by arachne rather than horses. And leading the way, waving her hands excitedly, was the matriarch herself, dressed in a tan dust cloak, both distance and the cloth obscuring her immediate identity. However, there was no hiding that magnificent afro.


    ¡°Howdy, y¡¯all!¡± Ms. Zeshyrrith shouted, her caravan rounding the other side of the pond near a large and deep crevasse. Her smile could be seen from across the valley. Behind her, a brood of spidergirls followed along, each a different blend of clothing styles, hair styles and carapaces as could be imagined. Thexi figured she knew half of them, but she hadn¡¯t worked at the bordello long enough to meet the entire family, all six of the madame¡¯s daughters out in force.


    ¡°They¡¯re here to make me clothing, completely dropped the carriage on that one. Said they¡¯d take food for payment. Reckon your numbers are gonna need revising in a few days,¡± Qastael said, waving back, though it was clear a weight settled upon her shoulders.


    Realizing the implications, Thexi¡¯s panic returned tenfold as all her perfectly balanced numbers became outdated before her very eyes. ¡°How much do arachne eat a day?¡± Thexi asked.


    She was about to find out.

 2.5 Dirt Poor

    2.5 Dirt Poor


    ¡°Really, this is not a lick of trouble for me,¡± Zeshyrrith said, gripping onto Qastael¡¯s back and adjusting the fit of the tight brassiere. ¡°Rather, you made my entire life easier by drawing Gowk¡¯s attention away from me and mine. Ever since his uncle died and he inherited all the mines last year, Gowk has gone plum cuckoo throwin¡¯ his codpiece around town. So I don¡¯t envy you when Gowk brings a posse your way or tries makin¡¯ your life miserable elsehow. As dumb and useless as a ingrown pube, the pisspot¡¯s been known to clever when he gets mean.¡±


    ¡°Wasn¡¯t trying to start anything. He leaves well enough alone, I won¡¯t call him out. Perfectly happy on my farm.¡± Qastael itched her chest, wondering why the black bra was so tight.


    The two were behind the house, Thexi and the other arachne laying things out in the barn to finish the fittings. Left the two in the garden, the giant woman enjoyed a bit of privacy while Zeshyrrith adjusting the intimates. The act of clothing created a growing, unfamiliar feeling of modesty in Qastael. This amused the bordello madame to no end, yet Qastael insisted on privacy and continued resolutely not caring about Gowk, already thinking more about walking the valley and seeing if she could track what ruined her potatoes.


    ¡°Already your farm, eh?¡± Zeshyrrith said, deftly pinning her work in place then threading a needle. ¡°Won¡¯t get any arguments from me, but you will not enjoy getting the deed transferred to your name. Government is like genital warts: rubbing up against them only covers you in blood and puss and more warts. Then wait until the tax man swings around! At least when I screw someone, I have the decency to say thank you and swallow.¡±


    Qastael didn¡¯t reply, though she wanted to scrub vivid explicitudes out of her mind. The sable and fuzzy arachne woman was a gab and didn¡¯t need prompting to keep talking, mostly in lurid details. Worth it, though, as Qastael ran claws down the side of the snug and caressful matching black panties, the garment including a strap looping over the base of her tail to keep them in place.


    Who knew clothing felt so good? Qastael thought, air easing out of her lungs as the bra finally loosened and she experienced proper support.


    ¡°Swore I had your measurements dead to tits back at the Embrace.¡± Zeshyrrith snipped thread with her teeth, quickly scaling down Mount Qast and skittering around to view her handiwork. ¡°Was off by two whole cups. I¡¯ll leave some towels you can use if it¡¯s your time of the month. ¡®Fore I go, me and the girls¡¯ll make sure to fix the tops so you can adjust in case your pumpkins ripen larger.¡± All eight dark eyes scanned up and down Qastael, Zeshyrrith replacing pins into her seamstress corset and replacing other tools inside a pouch riding her black and orange furred carapace. ¡°Anyhoo, lets mosey to the barn and finish your fitting.¡±


    The litany tickled something in Qastael¡¯s brain, otherwise gently poking around her chest distractedly while standing and limping her way towards the barn. Kuri¡¯ma were not like common races and didn¡¯t fluctuate physically in fertility cycles. There was another possibility, but it was decades too early and she didn¡¯t want any hopes up, instead laying bosomly changes at the feet of recent healthy eating. Compared to her kin, she was a withered and famined specimen, made sense she would fill out again with proper diet. Didn¡¯t matter. Qastael pursed her lips, determined to keep moving forward and not dwell on her past or future.


    *krckcoom!*


    ¡°Reckon we made it to your stead in the nick of time,¡± Zeshyrrith said, whistling at the vermilion clouds rising up from the south thick enough to block the suns, black lightning striking the ground and the wind quickly progressing from a stiff breeze into a gale. ¡°That metareal storm out of Wylo doesn¡¯t look too bad, but don¡¯t want to be caught outside in it. Wouldn¡¯t have come if¡¯n I knew it was brewing, Wylo is a bundle of chaos and no one can ever predict these things, clouds coalescing out of the ground or falling from the aether. Should blow over in a day, two at most.¡±


    ¡­darkness¡­unlight, flashing¡­


    ...galloping hooves, somewhere close¡­need to keep Little Mouse safe¡­


    ...didn¡¯t expect so many, all of them out for blood¡­


    ...tired, hungry¡­can taste thaum, so thick in the air¡­


    ...not enough Breath¡­must save Little Mouse, she is all¡­all¡­


    They found her.


    *KRCKCKCOOOM!!*


    Qastael jumped, wings lifting her thirty feet (9.2 m) before landing with a THWUMP onto the dirt, winds churning everything into a cloud outside the barn around her. The giant Kuri¡¯ma was no lightweight, her jump left craters and rocked panels of the barn from the shockwave. Zeshyrrith skittered around to keep her feet, animals and people inside shouting, wondering what happened.


    It hurts! Qastael thought, digging claws into her side, half her body experiencing the same echoes of the injury. Panting, she gulped to get enough air, choking on dust and still needing more. This wasn¡¯t normal for her, she had been afflicted before, hard to be a soldier and not expect the enemy to fight back. Yet for a moment, hearing cracks of black lightning, she was back in Wylo and surrounded. Not a moment, she was still there. Qastael focused hard on the concerned eyes of Zeshyrrith to convince herself she was now and not then.


    ¡°Careful there, don¡¯t want to pop stitching,¡± Zeshyrrith said softly, resting pedipalps against Qastael¡¯s shin. ¡°Not the only soldier I¡¯ve seen jump at thunder. Lets get you inside and don¡¯t you worry, no shame.¡±


    Qastael flinched at her touch, but years wandering Evma taught the giantess that common races were fragile, subduing her reactions. A rueful chuckle spilled out, looking down at the double-taller-than-Thexi arachne woman and noticing she only came up to Qastael¡¯s knee. ¡°Not saying I don¡¯t have mental hangups, this one is new to me. How do I bear new nightmares when I have all the old ones hanging around?¡±


    ¡°Everyone has problems. Problems don¡¯t define a woman, only how you deal with life despite them.¡± Zeshyrrith reached her arms around Qastael¡¯s leg, giving a hug that warmed all the way to the long woman¡¯s heart.


    The barn door flew open, assisted by increasing winds. After a squeak when it slammed open, Thexi hopped out and quickly braved her way into the weather wearing a white bra and matching shorts hugging her hips. ¡°Qast? Is everything alright?¡± Despite previous experience, Thexi showed not a lick of embarrassment over her current state of dress, only concern. A few of the younger arachne peeked out of the barn but kept their distances.


    ¡°Just me jumping at shadows,¡± Qastael said, motioning everyone back inside and closing the door tight, rain and thaum splattering down into the dust. The interior was well lit despite unnatural darkness outside, a dozen lamps hanging around the barn lit and make the room cheery and bright.


    ¡°Thought I was the only scaredy cat here, amiright? Jehaha!¡±


    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    It took a titch for Qastael to pick out the speaker. The barn was occupied with six - now seven, Zeshyrrith inside now - busy arachne, most stepping lightly around fabric and tools spread across the ground. Two were hanging from higher levels, spreading out simple webs to cradle themselves while they worked. Passing her gaze across the room again, Qastael found the loudmouth as the only one not working, peering through the stalls at cows with a hungry gleam. For their own part, the livestock were subdued, likely instinctual understanding the level of predators nearby.


    ¡°Allow me to introduce you to the family,¡± Zeshyrrith said, her tone exasperated as she waved towards a tall and lanky girl with pale skin and light yellow carapace, dressed in a simple white smock. ¡°Roweb is the oldest, helps in the kitchen at the Embrace.¡± The next hung the highest, near the rafters and over Qastael¡¯s head. A bulbous black carapace, her dark skin matched her mother, though her clothing was decidedly more¡­leather straps and chains, with a sadistic smile to match. ¡°Ackoow is my top girl at the bordello. She¡¯s aggressive, so make sure to establish a safe word if she corners ya.¡± The next had a veritable web tunnel in the far corner near the silos, black and furry carapace with stubby legs, her skin brown and a large dust cloak over most of herself. ¡°Fuun needed bribery to leave the city - she doesn¡¯t like outdoors much - but she¡¯s the best seamstress in Farthest.¡± Purple striped, both on her dark carapace and up along tanned skin, her clothing and manner displayed and austere stoicism and preciseness, despite clearly being younger than Thexi. ¡°Ornaat may look ornery as a goose, but she secretly loves to show off. She helps Fuun in town.¡± Yellow and white carapace, the next girl possessed a head proportionally larger than human normal and a mouth with far too many teeth, the gangly awkward of early teens clearly not any more pleasant with arachne than other tween girls. ¡°Ceemelle is too young for silk work, but her capacity for getting into trouble knows no ends, so better to bring her along and keep her busy.¡±


    ¡°Forgetting someone?¡± the last girl asked, stomping angrily away from the cows and towards her mother, thrusting her chest out like a challenge. Different from the rest, her carapace was a black and yellow striped scorpion rather than spider, the bulbous tail a bright red. Her other half was also not human, rather a female tiger as heavily muscled as a minotaur, not even her yellow and black striped fur able to disguise rippling muscles thicker than the barn¡¯s timber beams. She was also proportionally larger than her mother and sisters, standing double in height and easily weighing ten times as much as the others. Her only other obvious trait - aside from boisterous - was a bosom of unusual size. Qastael had concerns the girl couldn¡¯t physically wrap her arm around them, yards of white vest suspending the celestial orbs with straining effort.


    Zeshyrrith rolled all her eyes and went over to the long coat, inspecting stitching and mostly ignoring her last daughter. ¡°I¡¯m still mad with you, Indrura, but I suppose you are doing your best. Indrura, Qastael. Qastael, Indrura. She isn¡¯t much of a seamstress, but she hauled half the wagons here by herself.¡±


    ¡°Darn shootin¡¯ I hauled all those wagons, ya saggy honkytonk!¡± Indrura said, snorting and spitting into the dirt hard enough to kick up a small cloud of dust.


    ¡°You show Ma respect, Indy!¡± Ceemelle shouted, dropping the blue bra sized for Thexi and crawling up into Indrura¡¯s face, her pedipalps dripping viscous green acid to sizzle onto the ground while platinum blond hair flew about her face, large teeth gnashing. ¡°This whole mess is your fault, with what ya done up in the mines!¡±


    Indrura looked ready to respond, her tail twitching over her shoulder when she suddenly bit fang down into her lip and turned around, rushing to the door and leaving the barn in a huff and bluster, the storm raging inside for a moment before she had the decency to close the door behind herself.


    Through the entire exchange Qastael kept still and quiet. None of her business, but in an odd way it was comforting, which didn¡¯t make a lick of sense. Her own relationship with her family was complicated and far enough distant as to be faint memories. This was real, and it felt nice to see it, the closeness of a family. An intimacy, and Qastael wondered if she would ever recapture those kinds of closeness with her own life.


    Zeshyrrith finished inspecting the stitching, sighing and giving her youngest daughter a glaring look. ¡°I don¡¯t take kindly to what Indrura said, but that doesn¡¯t excuse yourself, Ceemelle. We are guests and need to act bona fide.¡± The matronly arachne fixed her corset and studied Qastael and Thexi critically. ¡°Enough gabbin¡¯, need to take care of both y¡¯all first and get this clothing fitted.¡±


    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am,¡± Qastael replied, looking over the outfits and wondering how some of them would fit around her body, though in the back of her mind she pondered the wayward Indrura.


    Fitting didn¡¯t take long as most of the word had been done during the journey to Nowhere, all the girls capable of acrobatics and using webs to drape and efficiently make minute adjustments. Spider silk was surprisingly versatile, able to allow Qastael to pull her pants on past overly awkward hind digitigrade legs and sharp claws. Not pants, the girls were quick to remind her: capris. Four pairs total, each giving her legs the look of a coat of paint. They rode low on her hips and when the loops of her panties stuck up above them, Zeshyrrith informed Qastael that look was in right now. Half a dozen vests fitting snug over her chest in various plain and complex patterns, more than a dozen bras and panties with each a wonder in design and engineering. Three corsets for variety, one so shamefully lewd Qastael was unable to put it on in present company.


    Other pieces were more costly and used metal and leather to hold them together. Fuun mumbled a complex chant on each to bind enchantments of protection, each more sturdy than bits of clothing had a right to be. The first was a belt, a thick leather strap and a round brass buckle with the silhouette of a draconic in flight inside. Not that any of the capris needed belting, they were tailored against her scales and fur perfectly, but it was for style and carrying weapons or tools. Qastael knew nothing about either, but better to have something and not need it. The next was a hat, a simple low profile affair with a wide brim and a loop to keep it on her oddly shaped head. It was dyed dark leather and well made, but simple in design. Qastael rather liked it, thinking smugly it was bigger than Sherriff Wapp¡¯s hat, something she envied the smaller man before.


    The last was the magnum opus: a long black coat the girls called a duster. It was similar in design from others Qastael had seen at Farthest, immediately springing a grin along her snout as she realized she wouldn¡¯t get nearly as much dust caught in her fur now. Clever seams and buckles in the back allowed her four wings to slide through while Ackoow strapped a harness to tuck in the lame two wings against her back and under the coat.


    ¡°Is it normal to feel this good in clothing?¡± Qastael asked, stretching her arms around to make sure the fit wasn¡¯t too tight along the shoulders. ¡°Like¡­whole?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know about you, but some of us could use a bit more cloth in our clothing,¡± Thexi mumbled, eliciting a chuckle from the girls helping her fitting. Not receiving as many outfits, the girls managed to whip up a few shirts, shorts and overalls for the blushing bunny. As was explained patiently, Thexi wasn¡¯t a working girl anymore and needed to dress the part of a farmer, or at least what a bunch of prostitutes thought a farmer should wear. ¡°These shorts barely cover more than a pair of panties, and I¡¯ve sneezed into handkerchiefs larger than this shirt!¡±


    ¡°Oh hush,¡± Zeshyrrith said, pulling a pin out of her mouth and stabbing a red and white checkered shirt into place on Thexi to hold the sleeve in place. ¡°Nothing wrong with showing a bit of short fur. Farming is hot work, you¡¯ll be thanking me when you¡¯re pouring waterfalls out in the dirt. Not much use for dresses on a farm.¡±


    Qastael enjoyed the view, very little left to the imagination, yet that little bit enticed as her tongue snaked along lips and wanted to taste a bit of rabbit tonight. Might have acted on those impulses, as well, when the barn doors flew open again and Indrura burst inside, soaked from the rain and panic lighting her lime green eyes.


    ¡°There¡¯s something out there, in the fields!¡± Indrura shouted, heaving from a run and frantically looking behind her into the dark as if worried she was followed. ¡°Big suckers! Came up from the south, couldn¡¯t make out what they were in the storm. One of them looked as big as the barn!¡±


    No one said anything, unsure what to make of the news. Qastael wasn¡¯t sure what to make of it herself, only knowing this was probably her potato thieves back for seconds. Standing, her tail grabbed the hat off the ground and put it in place, shuffling her way towards the door with a grim visage.


    ¡°Wait, Qast! It isn¡¯t safe!¡± Thexi said, grabbing hold on the hem of Qastael¡¯s new coat, her eyes wide and scared.


    The larger woman paused, another strike of black thunder rattling past the door and into the barn. Flashes of her past struggled to stop her hearts, break her at the knees, but she shook it off and looped her neck down close. ¡°Nobody is ever safe, only free.¡± Gently dipping down, Qastael kissed the top of the diminutive bunny as tenderly as she was capable, quickly stepping into the hard rain thrumming with thaum. ¡°I¡¯ll be back in two shakes.¡±


    Qastael didn¡¯t look back, but if she did, she might have noticed tears in the rain falling down pink and green fur.

 Saying Goodbye To Everyone

    Sometimes people leave you


    Halfway through the wood


    Do not let it grieve you


    No one leaves for good


    You are not alone


    No one is alone


    You''re not alone


    There''s no doubt


    Your gift isn''t futile to be


    If we''ll be united


    We''re stronger together


    We always have the high hope


    Not all for one but one for all


    Take my hand


    And lead me to salvation


    Take my love


    For love is everlasting


    And remember


    The truth that once was spoken:


    To love another person is to see the face of God


    * * * * * * *


    How does anyone write a final goodbye? I''ve done this a few times now, so it should be easy because I have experience. I wrote one years ago as a teenager, I had one prepared for Spouse before I did dangerous work in Asia, I wrote a few while spending months in the hospital. Parts of those are here, making this more of a goodbye medley than anything.


    I keep coming back to music. It is a major part of my life. At one point, I was on track to become a professional singer, receiving a lot of training while I was young. Things happened, I moved in a different direction. And while I might not have stayed with music, music stayed with me. Whenever I couldn''t find the right words - which was often - I tried to find the right song. An emotional connection expanding on linguistical scope. I picked a few songs above, and I think they bring together what I am feeling, or what makes me...me.


    I hope people are able to follow this. Anyway, buck down, because this isn''t easy for me.


    Hi! I''m Ai Love. Love Love in the Queen¡¯s English, because I promise I am not a robot bent upon world subjugation through smut. Just Ai is fine. At least, that is what I am calling myself. And maybe I AM Ai, right now. Ai is a persona, a freedom I never explored before. At the core, Ai is every part of me without the restraints. She doesn''t have to worry about upsetting people, about hiding behind another persona I now accept I have. Because who I really am isn''t what people IRL see either. If I am honest with myself, maybe less than ten people know me. Some of those know me IRL, some know me as Ai. Ai is bombastically lewd, IRL me is quiet and reclusive. Who I am is somewhere in the middle, and only recently am I discovering who that person is.


    Probably someone I''d like to meet before I die!


    ...too soon?


    Yeah, I am going to crack jokes. As I said, this isn''t easy for me, and we are all going to be a lot better off if I shove the gloomy out.


    If you are reading this, it means I have died. I knew this was coming for a long time, though I haven''t always accepted it. I have a condition, and it is a ticking clock. When I was hospitalized over a year ago, it became apparent to me that time was running out. I made arrangements with family and close friends, and that is the reason you are reading this right now.


    Which leaves me with a conundrum: what exactly do I say? This is the crux of it, and I am struggling to find the right thread. If the following seems jumbled, well, then at least it will be familiar territory. Bite my overly complicated exposition, Dumas!


    Thank you, everyone. I found a way to connect to people, to present a part of me unseen, not even by myself. In a way, it was healing. I have tried to live a good life, but my addictions control me. They cost me two promising careers, they nearly cost me my marriage, they strangle me, they overshadow everything I have done or do. And then I wrote a book and let it all out. I put on a mask as Ai and confessed my perversions. At times it felt like I was vomiting the filth of my life for the world to see. This freedom gave me amazing relief. I hungered to hear what people thought about my writing, I wanted to know their own secret lewdness.


    I am not perfect, and I''ll admit my faults. Like a listing boat, I went from one extreme to the other. There are those I made uncomfortable, and I ask that they forgive me. My problems are my own, not another''s. For a time, I delved into that perverse side of myself and reveled in it.


    At the same time, I enjoy writing. I have written a lot over the years, sometimes as an author, sometimes as an editor. I published books, exposes, articles, scripts and professional outlines used for other publications. Yet when I wrote as Ai, there was a sense of giddiness I never experienced from anything else. A tickling that penetrated deep inside. The ability to say what I really thought. Which was a lot of bad jokes and explicit crudeness. And maybe a bit more. I''ll give an example.


    I am a suicide survivor. I have scars from the experience, both physical and mental. It is a hard thing to put into words. I have had trouble talking about it for decades, even to therapists, even to Spouse. There is a lot of baggage attached, my reasons and feelings about it. Then it became easier. Not because I said anything, but because Honoka did. Like lancing a pustule, when I wrote in fiction I eased the pressure of my own infection. I think, given more time, I might have become a complete person, merging Ai and IRL to become myself.


    This is a roundabout way of getting to the point, but the point is discovering I was not alone. Yes, I have God and Christ with me since I was a teen. I found and married Spouse. I have the nieces and nephews, I have a few close friends (though not many, and many less today than years ago). However, have you ever stood in a crowded room and felt alone? Who I am left me feeling alone, depressingly so. How can God love someone who is constantly thinking of explicit material? How can Spouse love someone who is constantly thinking unclean thoughts? Who can possibly love someone so filthy?


    Which is why I am grateful for all of you. You reminded me that I wasn''t alone. And so I will leave you with the same lesson:


    You are not alone. No one is alone, not in the way we perceive. If you see no one nearby, then search for God because He is holding out His hand to you, never demanding, only waiting. And in life, people are the same. You might not see their hands, but everyone - friend or stranger - are also reaching to connect. All you need to do is give instead of expect. The only way to connect with anyone is by giving without anticipated reciprocation. Just give, and then you will be holding someone''s hand. Or Someone''s.


    Ultimately, I wrote it out for all the world to see. I didn''t name the series by accident. Honoka could only become more when she gave, a process I called Harmonizing. Yes, explicitly crude, but the metaphor is there underneath REALLY bad jokes. Becoming Monsters isn''t just a title. What exactly was Honoka becoming? Monsters are those around us all who feel filthy, who feel depressed, who feel alone. Like me. Only by giving to everyday monsters around us do we become better, not by taking. Honoka Harmonized with those she loved. She took upon herself the monsters she loved by giving herself. She became an empathetic monster. The monster Honoka became helped her grow into someone more (yes, literally: I said it was a metaphor!) Or, in other words, loving those around you will help you realize that, in fact, you are not alone.


    I want to do more, I want to write more. I have so many ideas in my head it hurts, yet my weakness is stamina (ha!). Too many ideas, not enough hours. I want to finish Becoming Monsters, but I guess I never will ((NOTE: delete if finish BM)). Oh well, I''ll finish it in Heaven, if God will let me. I bitterly regret never being capable of having any children while alive, but hopefully I''ll have them in the next life. If not, I''ll see if there are any job openings at the Celestial Daycare. Look for me where the baby angels are, I''ll be squishing cheeks for eternity.


    I love y''all. I have a few other personal messages I am writing out to others, but not everyone is getting one of those so don''t feel bad if you missed out. I truly do love each and every one of you. When y''all get to the Kingdoms of Heaven, I''ll show you around, maybe sit down and play a game of WH40K or MTG. It''ll be fun!


    I love you, Spouse. I know I am a mess, I know I am a hassle and a half. I am grateful that you love me despite me being me. I''ll see you soon (though hopefully not too soon!).


    Keep Harmonizing!


    Goodbye.