“You are so sad,” he said, gasping for air. He opened his eyes, looking up to me, and tears fell from them. “One day, maybe.” he said, almost whispering. I stared down at the masculine creature’s face in my lap, rubbing a hand along the horn and then through his hair. He exhaled heavily, his eyes closed, and rested his head on my leg. He did not pull away as I ran a finger along it. I reached out to touch one of his dark black horns, and his eyes followed my hand. “Will it hurt, cutting your horns? We can numb them like we do for goats.” I leaned back against the side of the oxcart, close to him. His ears, furry and broad, were cocked towards me, and he took another deep breath as though taking in my scent. In the dim light, I could see a curious expression on his face. Kind.” He inched up closer to me in the hay. “Anthony’s cruel to everyone.” I glanced to the side and saw Anthony clumsily trying to strike a fire in a circle of stones. I try to say good, good that he is not cruel husband to you.” “Good,” he said, then opened his eyes, seemingly embarrassed at what he’d just said. Monachikos snorted and smiled for just a moment. “Your mate is correct,” Monachikos said, closing his eyes. “He wants to … forgive me … take your horns. “Anthony says we’ll be back in the village by tomorrow afternoon,” I said. His nostrils flared and he took a deep breath in, then nodded, but said nothing. The faun was studying me more closely now. One of them named me when I was born, the story goes.” I realized my hand was still on his back and I pulled it away, brushing his tail. “My mother was a healer in Icho,” I said, “back when the city was a crossroads between the Wildlands and the Mortal Reach. “Monachikos,” I said, my hand lingering on his back. I stole a glimpse at his perfect round ass before he relaxed his rippling muscles and muttered, “Monachikos.” He grunted, straining against the pain of my touch as the cut on his back healed.
I dropped more of the healing fluid onto my palm, and pressed it against the back wound. As he turned away, I could see there was another cut on his back. “Nice! Human nice,” the faun scowled, turning away from me.
“Do you wish for answer? Or for someone to pose same question to you?” After his silence all day, I didn’t think he understood. “Why ask this,” the faun said, startling me. The glow traced a line across his muscular chest as the bloody wound closed and vanished. The red drops on my thumb connected with the cut in his chest and he emitted a soft snort, grimaced, and then looked down to see the glow of the healing liquid heal the abrasion on his skin. The faun didn’t move, so I edged closer until I could make contact with his skin. I released a few more drops onto my thumb and reached out with my hand. It glowed red on my flesh, then evaporated. Relax.” I unstoppered the vial, and released a few drops onto my thumb, then pulled open my shirt and rubbed it on my chest. “I’m sorry – let me help.” I removed a vial of red liquid, and the faun’s eyes widened, his nostrils flared. “Oh no,” I said, reaching for my pack of provisions. The leather strap around his arms and chest had cut into him, and he had a red abrasion on his torso that had started to bleed. I tried not to stare between his legs, where soft, shorter hair framed a thick cock.īut he was also injured, I could see. His chest was larger than any I’d ever seen. His shoulders were wide, his arms bulky and strong.
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His body was thick and muscular, broad, like that of a manual laborer. The horns of a faun, he said, would make us rich.Īs I moved closer to the faun, he jolted back, nearly falling off the back of the cart. I wanted to set him free, but Anthony insisted we bring him home. The faun had been snared by one of the rope traps that we’d set to catch bears. “Can you speak?” I said, though I’d already asked and received no response when we first came upon him that morning. Lying on his side, he scowled at me, and said nothing.Īs Anthony gathered stones and kindling for a campfire, I climbed into the back of the cart. Two large ears framed his bearded face, tall black horns jutting from his forehead. His legs, also bound by a strap, were covered in a shaggy brown fur that nearly obscured his hooves.
His arms were bound behind his back with a leather strap, pinned in place on either side of his furry brown tail. I turned to look at the figure lying in the hay on the back of the cart. We were heading back to the village with our precious cargo, but the old ox was tired and slow and there was no hope of completing the journey before night fell. It was nearly dusk, though the heavy canopy of the forest had plunged us into near-dark for most of the day. “Keep an eye on the faun,” Anthony said, clambering down from the oxcart.