Azarian Stories - Teaser Chapter + PDF (Patreon)

Hellooooo everyone!

It is with the utmost pleasure that I am posting this - at long last after two months of nonstop work - the first peek to the remastered version of Azarian Stories - Sleight of Hand!

I am so so proud of this! I am in the process of rewriting the whole story, but I wanted to show you this chapter in advance as I will soon be printing this, and bring it to the upcoming Lucca Comics con as a teaser for the full book!

Each chapter of the book will have detailed illustrations like the one shown here, and I'm hoping to include a few extra illustrations within the pages as well. You can see this chapter's illustrations in the PDF file that I attached below!

But for now, enjoy the revamped Chapter Twelve, and don't forget to share your thoughts! <3 The book is still in production, so any feedback is appreciated!

Thank you enormously for your support, and let's get reading! :D

Chapter12 - Homeward

Azaroth.

Aznor could feel the blood pounding in his ears as the beast approached, closer and closer.

Azaroth, Azaroth.

Nostrils flaring, eyes ablaze, fangs of steel. Razer was upon him.

Azaroth.

Without hesitation, the boy abandoned Urbeth’s side and backed away into the busy marketplace crowd. With commoners walking in all directions, attracted to this or that stall, Aznor found it hard to take even a few steps forward. He desperately shoved his way through the commotion, anxious to find a safe nook to crawl into. 

Azaroth, Azaroth. Hide, hide!

His fright turned into panic when he felt the beast’s sharp fangs around his neck.

Too slow. She has you now.

Caught off guard, Aznor writhed and twisted, attempting to escape. However, the Azaroth was far too strong. The boy could feel the lock tightening around his throat, quickly drawing the breath from his lungs.

“Help!” he found himself screaming at the ongoing crowd. “Vara! Vara!”

A few passersby turned to stare at him with a quizzical look, while others seemed amused. No one was stopping.

How can you be so heartless!? Thought Aznor desperately, feeling himself passing out. I’m going to die, I’m going to die!

In one last, hopeless attempt to survive, the young human fell on his back and turned to look at his attacker, ready to fight.

Urbeth!

The silver Azara had been trying to grab him by the scruff of his neck like he would one of his pups. He looked confused and disgruntled that it hadn’t quite worked the way he’d planned. The tall creature crouched to Aznor’s level, his long canine snout inches from the boy’s face.

“Are you done making a fool out of me, orrèsh? What kind of behavior is this?”

“But I saw… but I saw an— Azaroth!”

That last word came out as a howl of terror as Aznor eyed the beast again. It was still walking in his direction with a hungry look in its eyes, huge head bobbing with each heavy step, its broad shoulders a mountain of muscle. The boy quickly realized how loud he was yelling, because Urbeth’s grip slackened around his neck as the Azara covered his sensitive ears.

This was his chance.

He jumped up again, ready to sprint off into the crowd, but Urbeth ultimately pinned him down, using his weight to hold him in place and clasping his hands behind his back.

“No, no, no, let go! Why do you want me dead?” cried the human as he hopelessly watched the Azaroth prowl upon him, ready to strike.

To his surprise, the creature stopped and sat a few feet from him, tipping its head at the unusual scene, sharp claws sliding tentatively in and out of its giant paws. 

Alright, it wasn’t Razer. The beast’s fur was blue-grey instead of pure black, and it had a large mane around its face, which meant it was a male. Still, he looked just as ravenous as Razer, clearly sniffing out the boy’s fear and waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.

“Don’t let it eat me,” bawled Aznor desperately at Urbeth, wriggling one arm free and pointing a trembling finger at the Azaroth. “Please, I don’t want to die!”

The Azara soldier quickly grabbed his free hand and pinned it to his back again. Aznor could see his silver fur standing on end, his once-grey ears flushing red with embarrassment.

“Forgive him,” he heard him mutter in the Azaroth’s direction. “He’s, err, very, very ill. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

The Azaroth replied with an amused sniff, its long tail swishing entertainingly behind it. 

“Oh no, it’s all good,” he growled, with a voice even deeper and raspier than Urbeth’s. “I’d be surprised if he wasn’t scared.”

Aznor could hear a low mrrr of laughter coming from the beast’s throat before he sat up and resumed his placid stroll, like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just given him the fright of his life.

Urbeth waited until the beast was out of earshot before whacking Aznor solidly on the head.

“Disgusting mangy monkey!” He hissed in his ear as he lifted him from the ground. Urbeth dragged the boy along with him, his tail lashing angrily, while his horse, Kaphar, trotted behind them.

“…high ranking Captain of the Queen…” Urbeth was muttering under his breath, Aznor could hear him over his head’s painful throbbing. “…never signed up for herding this sack of bones all over Sh’errk’uttā…”

Hurt by those words, the boy fell into a jog in order to keep up with Urbeth’s fast pace.

“I thought I’d seen Razer!” he defended himself. “It was an Azaroth, what if—”

“What if what? The guy was just minding his own business! Not all Ashàrrosh are as wild as Rāsh’err,” growled the Azara, on a lower tone now that they’d abandoned the thick of the crowd. “The Dwellers—that’s the Ashàrrosh who make their dens in the city—are perfectly tame and will only hunt in the areas where it is allowed. They’re not going to kill a human needlessly, let alone a slave.”

“But I’m not—”

“I know, for S’ishirr’s sake. I’m just getting my point across. The fact of the matter is, they are still your superiors and you must treat them with the utmost respect. No more yelling or pointing fingers, understood?”

Aznor nodded shyly as the two finally came to a stop near the center of the marketplace. 

“You’d better have, or that’s gonna be your last stop.”

Urbeth was pointing at a tall pole that rose from the center of the square, above the heads of the curious bystanders gathered all around it. Aznor had a nagging suspicion he knew exactly what it was, but didn’t want to give Urbeth the satisfaction of asking about it. The Azara, however, didn’t even need him to. With a bossy tug, he led Aznor toward the edge of the excited crowd.

The square was much wider here, surrounded by portico on all four sides, each with a large gaping arch as its entrance. In the shade of the arcade columns, even more stalls bustled with activity, as well as all kinds of merchandise displayed for everyone to behold. 

Aznor eyed a booth selling amphorae, dishes and cauldrons of all shapes and sizes, while the metal of elegant-looking display weapons glinted in the dappled sunlight of another. The next stall had armed guards surrounding it, keeping a close eye on the golden trinkets and precious gemstones that it sold. Even further, pigeons and turkeys fluttered and scratched about in small wooden cages, while large baskets full of dead mice and lizards sat at the edge of the booth, attracting hungry customers eager for a quick snack.

All around, the square was alive with yaps and caterwauls of skillful merchants looking to attract new customers:

“T’ashy’arr!”

“Fresh meat, orrp’ashm’arr!”

“Shū b’arrìsh!”

But the call that sounded the loudest came from the tall pole where he and Urbeth were headed.

“K’orrèsh!”

Aznor knew it. His gut had been right the whole time. The booth at the center of the square was selling human slaves.

The pole rose from the top of a tall wooden platform, lined by railing on all sides and surrounded by heavily armed Azara guards. The merchant was a tall and scrawny looking female Azara with a heavy underbite, who looked like she had more than one skin disease. Aznor saw her reach for a human girl tethered to the pole, and ungracefully shove her forward, toward the railing for everyone to see. The girl’s hands were tied behind her back, her hair was cut and her only clothing was a skirt of rags. She was looking down at the crowd of customers before her, shivering pitifully.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” barked the merchant in a very fake connoisseur tone. “A female specimen, young adult, from the Western Chasm Field in Arròshā. Orrèsh in that region are renowned for their resilience to the elements and heavy build, not to mention their acclaimed gourmet meat.”

To Aznor, the poor girl looked nowhere near as resilient or heavy built as she was being described. She did, however, look very concerned by the merchant’s last comment… especially as a few of the customers among the crowd started showing their interest, tails wagging excitedly.

“Are you really going to let an opportunity like this slip through your claws?” insisted the merchant, her tone more imperative now. “I think not! This is the worker of your dreams, and she’s yours starting at l’okshū b’arrìsh!”

“Fifty,” translated Urbeth nonchalantly behind Aznor. “For that scarecrow? Shameless ripoff.”

His must have been an unpopular opinion, however, because the crowd was now alive with Azaras raising their clawed hands to place their offer.

“L’okshūr’ak!”

“L’okshūj’uk!”

“Ch’okshū!”

Aznor backed away from the excited commotion.

“This is disgusting,” he whined as he reached Urbeth’s side. “That’s a person they’re auctioning.”

“That’s a human,” the silver Azara corrected him. “And that will be you if you step out of line again, remember?”

The boy’s heart sank.

“The Queen said—“

“The Queen said that you need a home,” he hissed cruelly, cutting him off. “It just so happens that slavery is a very effective way of finding you one.”

His terrified face must have been really funny, Aznor thought, because the Azara sniffed amusedly before clasping his arm and dragging him off.

“You were warned. Now behave.”

As they walked away from the center of the square, Aznor turned to look at the merchant, who was now yapping excitedly.

“Sold!” she boomed, throwing the girl into the arms of her buyer and lunging forward to grab a pair of heavy-looking bags of coins, counting them greedily as she climbed back onto the platform. She wasn’t on stage for more than a minute, that she already had another human up for auction.

  Aznor was relieved when they walked through the eastern arch of the square and left the slave market behind them, only to resume traveling onto the main streets of Azca, where the crowd was much thinner and no loony merchants were treating humans like garbage. Urbeth led him through the quieter streets, where he briefly stopped at a lonely booth that sold herbs, plants and flowers. He lingered thoughtfully for a short while before calling for the booth owner.

“L’ashk’urr,” he instructed the merchant, who promptly presented him with a bouquet of lovely white lilies, wrapped in velvety leather. The soldier handed him two silver coins, latched the flowers onto his belt and the group resumed walking. 

They were soon on the path that led them through the great Eastern gate and out of the city, where Urbeth finally mounted on his horse Kaphar before reaching out his hand toward Aznor, so he could mount too. 

“I’d rather walk,” stammered the boy, intimidated by the huge animal.

“You’d rather walk,” Urbeth stared at him as if he’d sprouted a second head. “My hometown D’ekk’utt is miles away. It’s going to be dusk by the time we get there if we ride. On foot, it will take until morning.”

“It’s just that… the horse… I really don’t like horses.”

“That’s fair enough,” yapped Urbeth with his usual amused sniff. “They don’t like you, either.”

Seeing his good mood, Aznor gave a nervous laugh too.

“Does that mean I can walk?”

“Absolutely not!” yipped Urbeth before lunging for him and clasping one clawed hand around his arm. Aznor felt himself tugged upward, his feet no longer touching the ground as the world spun under him. Next thing he knew he was astride on the horse’s back, and Urbeth was already spurring the animal into a trot.

“Whoa, what?” the boy was incredulous. Had the Azara just lifted him onto the horse out of brute force? Just how strong were the blasted creatures anyway?

He didn’t linger on the question for long. A few strides in, Aznor already felt himself slip off the horse as its back bobbed up and down. The boy held on to Kaphar’s neck while Urbeth tugged at his robes, helping him back up.

“You’re hopeless,” huffed the silver Azara with a dejected groan. “Humans really need to grow a neck scruff. It would be so much easier to carry you then.”

Aznor wanted to argue about how uncomfortable that would be, but then reasoned that it really mustn’t be for Azara pups. He had often seen mother Azaras carry their pups like that. It was eerily adorable. He suddenly got an image of baby Urbeth being carried around by the scruff of his neck, and barely stifled a laugh.

Kaphar’s brisk trot soon devolved into a monotonous walk as the sun slowly sunk under the horizon. The horse mustn’t be in the best of shapes, Aznor thought, because Urbeth wasn’t even trying to spur him on. Kaphar just took his sweet time, his hooves dragging lazily in the dusty road. Around them, the last few rural houses of Azca gave way to fields upon fields as far as the eye could see. Bathed in the golden glow of sunset, Aznor saw the silhouettes of many herd animals grazing on the short grass. The slender necks and stubby crowned heads of several pronghorns caught his eye. Those were wild animals, and he reckoned the Azaras hunted them when they needed food. He wondered how they established who was allowed to hunt what, as there were no physical boundaries between the settlements and the animals, and anyone could have claimed them as their own.

Aside from the pronghorns in the distance, the country road was deserted. There were no other horses, carriages or travelers along it at all. Behind him, Urbeth had fallen silent, intent as he was in steering Kaphar the right way, taking the right turn at this or that fork in the road, and occasionally sniffing the ever-cooling air, almost as if to catch a whiff of his hometown. 

Aznor felt exhausted, and the boring trip had made him drowsy. The urge to rest his eyes was strong, but he couldn’t brush off the awkwardness of the Azara’s hot breath behind him or his spiky mane stinging the back of his neck and making him all itchy. Besides, he didn’t want to fall off the horse if he did drift off to sleep. Instead, he worked hard to find a position in which he and the silver soldier made as little body contact as possible.

Urbeth hadn’t lied: it was dusk by the time the silhouette of a small town was visible on the horizon, already wreathed in the shadow of the tall hill at the foot of which it rose. Aznor eyed a stronghold at the top of the hill, with a road leading down toward the village below and then forking in two as it led away from it.

Oh, that’s right, ‘Decut’. ‘The Twin Roads’.

The boy was struggling to keep his eyes open at this point, but the lively lights coming from the small homes caught his interest. The constructions were still built on two floors like those in Azca, but weren’t nearly half as big and looked more rudimentary, made out of less stone and more wood. Most of them were roughly conical in shape, or were built using the nearby hill as part of the wall, which reminded Aznor of the huge dens of cave bears. 

As Kaphar strode tiredly on the main dirt road, which was blanketed in near darkness, Aznor could make out the silhouettes of a few town residents hurrying back to their homes after a long day of work. One of them, who looked like it was carrying a pole with game hanging on it, seemed to recognize Urbeth and chuffed in his direction, to which the soldier responded with an affectionate chirp. 

“G’err r’eshos, S’ishw’err?” Inquired the silver soldier, calling out to the citizen. 

As the other Azara approached, Aznor eyed her patchy grey and white fur, and mane-free neck. 

“W’urrg’onn oa l’irrtū,” she replied in a snuffling grunt before reaching for one of the dead animals she was carrying and depositing it on Urbeth’s horse. The boy felt around with his hands and recognized the long tail feathers of a peacock. “Au, Isha’en!”

“R’ishyā,” yapped Urbeth gratefully, his tail wagging.

“Urrb’esh’ao g’err r’esh, oe?” yapped the huntress with a hesitant tone, turning to look at Aznor. The boy, who had been absent-mindedly listening to the exchange without understanding a word, was suddenly alert. Was she saying something about him?

“Au, oj,” Urbeth shook his head. “K’orrackoj eu orrèsh’ah.”

The huntress looked perplexed for a moment as if she wanted to ask more, but ultimately decided against it. With an understanding chuff, she said her goodbyes to the soldier and went on her merry way. The whack came just seconds later.

“I told you to stop misbehaving,” hissed Urbeth between gritted teeth.

“I didn’t— I didn’t do anything!” Aznor was more surprised than sorry. Where had he gone wrong this time?

“You were staring! What were you thinking!? That reads as a threat, and it’s just plain rude.”

“I wasn’t—“ started the boy, but quickly he realized that yes—he had been staring. “It’s just that I can’t see anything in this darkness. Why isn’t there even a torch? It’s pitch black and I was just trying to see…”

“Well, we don’t need torches,” explained Urbeth with a note of annoyance. “We can see just fine at night. You couldn’t see her, but she could clearly see you—staring. I swear this is the last straw…”

“I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean it!” pleaded Aznor, suddenly remembering the slave market. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“Yeah, yeah,” growled the silver Azara as the horse slowly abandoned the main town road to head even further into the countryside. The houses were very sparse now, Aznor could only make out the tall hill with the stronghold on one side, and a wide pine forest on the other. 

For a moment, he thought Urbeth had taken the wrong turn, because this looked nothing like Decut anymore. Then, silhouetted against the night sky, popped the figure of a house sitting in the field, all alone. The building was two stories high, like the rest of the village, surrounded by a low wooden fence with a small stable on one of its sides.

Kaphar’s hooves, which had been thumping dully on the dirt road up until that point, suddenly clopped and clacked on the stone paving that led to the entrance. The sound felt unusually loud and echoed all around them, making Aznor nervous.

This certainly wasn’t the place, he thought. Urbeth would soon be spurring the horse onward, past this wreck and toward an actual house worthy of a high ranking Captain of the Queen.

Naturally, though, the horse stopped right by the stable. The animal actually seemed to recognize the place, as he headed straight for his stall all by himself once Urbeth and Aznor had dismounted. His groin sore from riding on Kaphar all this time, the boy made some uneasy steps forward and noticed another horse sleeping in the next stall. From the open door, he could see the house, looming before him. 

The building looked bland and anonymous, lacking all the frivolous embellishments so typical of the houses in Azca. As a high officer, the boy had imagined Urbeth could afford a much better place, and possibly closer to his workplace in the Capital. Did he seriously take the trip from Decut to Azca every morning, then back each evening? That sounded like a lot of unnecessary travel when he could simply buy a house right by the Queen’s palace.

Aznor could see a terrace on the first floor, and the light of a fire flickered from one of the windows: someone was home.

Only then did he notice Urbeth pacing back and forth in front of Kaphar’s stall, fretfully grooming his bristling mane so it would lie flat, his tail giving short, nervous lashes, the peacock’s tail dangling awkwardly from his hand. The once-brave silver soldier was now restless on his feet, tensely offering his horse some hay to eat before whipping out the bouquet of white lilies he had bought earlier.

“Ke’en,” he murmured softly with a wide gesture of his hand, shoving the flowers under the horse’s nose. Kaphar sniffled curiously at them, visibly perplexed on what he should do with them. Naturally, he attempted to chew them moments later, to which the silver Azara yelped with alarm, reeling the bouquet away from his mouth and into Aznor’s hands.

The boy was seriously questioning Urbeth’s mental sanity at this point, and genuinely wondering whether the Azara had contracted Zenca, the Raging Disease.

“Ke’en,” said Urbeth again, repeating the same gesture empty-handed while facing Kaphar, this time enriched by a tentative wag of his tail.

He wasn’t crazy, Aznor thought. He was practicing. Then again, practicing for what?

Perhaps he was supposed to take part in it?

“Ken,” stammered the boy, holding out the flowers in the same gesture as Urbeth.

“Stop it!” the Azara cut him off, spinning around and tearing the bouquet from his hands. “And don’t spread your scent all over the flowers, you’ll ruin them!”

He kept pacing back and forth, unaware of Aznor’s baffled reaction to his mood swings, his padded feet thumping dully on the stable’s wooden planks. When the awkward silence became unbearable, Urbeth finally stopped pacing and let out a long, tired sigh.

“Look, it’s not your fault,” he mumbled without looking at him. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s not about you. It’s about my wife, Ishā. She… she doesn’t like humans.”

“I understand. From what I can tell, she’s not the only one.”

  “No, I mean,” Urbeth was suddenly staring intently at him. “She. Doesn’t. Like. Humans.”

“Why is that?”

The Azara did not answer, but simply held his concerned gaze.

Urbeth. 

Concerned.

 Despite how the soldier had been treating him up until now, Aznor couldn’t help but feel somewhat sorry for him, for having a monster of a wife who couldn’t handle basic social interactions.

“Arca,” the boy called out in respect, attempting to draw Urbeth’s attention now that he visibly looked lost in thought. “I don’t want you to get in trouble because of me. If your wife doesn’t want me in her house, I’ll spend the night here in the stable.”

He smiled encouragingly, realizing how good of an idea that was. He’d spend a hundred nights out rather than setting foot in that decrepit house.

“You want to sleep out here?” inquired Urbeth in disbelief. “Right by the Forest of D’ekk’utt?”

He must be referring to the large pine forest growing barely a mile from the house, casting long shadows over the barren courtyard. Swallowing, Aznor nodded.

“That’s where sabercats and pouched lions and bear-dogs make their dens. Are you sure about that?”

Aznor quickly shook his head. The house was suddenly so much more inviting for some reason. The Azara, however, was tensing up again, his mane bristling.

“Right then, listen carefully,” he warned with a low growl. “Ishā and the Queen may be friends, but they’re nothing alike. Ishā will attempt to get rid of you in every way that she knows, with every means available.”

“Get rid as in—”

“Tear you to pieces, probably. Now,” he paused, fumbling awkwardly with the bouquet of lilies. “We might have a window of opportunity. I will back you up, but you mustn’t give her a single reason to harm you. Tail between your legs and ears back—”

Confused, Aznor looked down at his backside.

“You know what I mean,” snapped Urbeth. “Show submission. If she addresses you, reply to her with due respect. Better yet, don’t speak at all. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes, Arca,” lied the boy, whose head had started spinning.”

The silver soldier heaved a long sigh and groomed his bristling mane flat one last time.

“Very well. Stay behind me, I’ll introduce you little by little.”

The two walked out of the stable and across the courtyard toward the house. The place was eerily quiet, only the crackling of a fire could be heard inside. Urbeth pulled a key from a pocket in his belt and it instantly fell from his shaky hands, landing on the porch.

“H’err orrèsh’am,” he hissed in frustration as he bent to look for it.

Here we go, thought Aznor, alarmed. We’re gonna have to knock.

He was relieved when Urbeth found the key again with surprising ease. The boy could barely see past his own nose… but he remembered the soldier’s words from earlier: We can see just fine at night. The door creaked open, and a warm orange glow welcomed them as they walked in, hinting to a fireplace further into the house. The entrance hall was dark and narrow, and immediately made Aznor feel claustrophobic.

Anxious to move to a wider room, the boy made a few steps forward and flinched when his bare feet stepped in cold water. Urbeth was by his side in the blink of an eye, already covering his mouth before he could yelp with surprise.

“Urrb’esh?”

A rough feminine growl sounded from behind the steam of a cauldron in the next room. 

Iza.

Urbeth threw Aznor a murderous glare that screamed don’t-you-dare-move-or-else, then forced a smile, whipped out his flowers and approached the end of the corridor.

“Honey, I’m home!” he yapped enthusiastically, his tail wagging. “Just, uh… washing my feet.”

Only then did the boy make out the rim of the square indentation on the floor, filled with ankle-deep water, in which he had fallen.

“P’errwā, dear!” Iza replied, but he couldn’t see her over the steam. However, judging by her voice alone, she sounded genuinely happy to see her husband.

“R’oshirr! Shūk’urr! Dad is back!” the female voice continued. Suddenly, the muffled thumps of multiple pawsteps sounded across the room and the high-pitched yaps of two Azara pups filled the house. Aznor could see their fuzzy shapes run around the room, brimming with energy.

“Wār’utt Chī!”

“Shūk’urr, wār’utt! Oa R’oshirr!” behind the haze of steam, Urbeth leaned down to kiss his children affectionately. Or rather lick them, or touch noses, or whatever it was that Azaras did to greet each other.

“Chī, wanna hear the names of all the regions of Ashā?” yapped one of the pups.

“Ugh, he’s been repeating them nonstop all day!” complained the other one.

“I’ve been practicing, R’oshirr. W’irrkā said it was our assignment to learn them by heart.”

“Nerd,” bayed Rothir mockingly.

“R’oshirr, behave. You could learn a thing or two from your brother,” scolded Urbeth. “Go on, Shūk’urr, I’d love to hear it.”

“There’s B’isht’orrā and Yāt’ashā up north, then Sh’errk’uttā – where we live, – Ishàrrā and Arròshā in the center, and… and…” 

Shucur made a suspenseful pause.

“I forget the rest.”

Aznor could hear both Urbeth and Iza cackle with laughter.

“I’m sure your cousins in R’ukàrrā down south would be sorry to hear that,” joked Iza with an amused purr.

“And I know we may not be on the best of terms with Aūk’attā, but that’s no reason to wipe them from the map entirely,” added Urbeth cheerfully.

The whole family was laughing.

A happy, healthy family.

Aznor was starting to think that this whole ordeal with Iza was being blown out of proportion.

“R’oshirr, why don’t you show Dad the sword that you made today?” she inquired.

“That’s right!” yapped Rothir excitedly. “I almost forgot!”

“Wait for me!” chirped Shucur behind his sibling.

The boy could hear the pups scuttling across the room, and off they went, further into the house.

“You really should see it,” cooed Iza gently to her husband now that they were alone. “He built it all by himself.” 

“He’s going to make an excellent smith one day,” agreed Urbeth, approaching her and nuzzling her affectionately. “He just needs to do his homework on time. By the way, S’ishw’err sends you this.”

He was handing Iza the peacock that the huntress had gifted him earlier.

“What a sweetheart! That’s so kind of her,” she purred. “It smells delicious!” 

Aznor dared a few steps forward as the two Azaras groomed each other affectionately and made small talk. Through the steam of the cauldron, he finally caught a glimpse of the wife.

Iza was petite and graceful, with a short snout and big, emerald doe eyes. She wore no clothes with the exception of a very simple loincloth hanging from a string around her waist. Her fur coat was entirely black with a single diamond of white on her chest, which reminded Aznor of a huge, cute kitten. Certainly not the monster that Urbeth had described her as.

The boy could hear her purr gently as she sat with her husband, fondly bumping her head to his chest and sniffing delightfully. 

“You’ve had your mane washed?” she yipped, noticing how well groomed Urbeth was.

“Oh, that,” the soldier’s mane quivered uneasily. “Yeah, I thought you’d like to see me in order every now and then…”

“It was about time,” chuffed his wife cheerfully, her mouth ajar to catch the scent of his musk and juniper perfume. “Quite about time!”

Aznor could smell the pungent odor all the way down the corridor. It was obnoxious to him, but now he realized it was a great way to conceal his own, human scent from Iza. 

“Only the best for my lady,” put in Urbeth chivalrously before reaching under his cape for the bouquet of white lilies. “Like these. Ke’en, love. Your favorite flowers.”

Iza looked ecstatic, her fluffy tail wagging delightfully as she held the plants to her chest, drawing in their scent.

“You’re gonna spoil me!” she cackled. “What’s the occasion?”

She lingered on those words for a second, letting that question sink in.

Then, suddenly, she was tense.

“Wait a moment. What is the occasion?” 

Urbeth did not respond, and his silence didn’t help: alarmed, Iza got up from her seat, her eyes wide and her ears perked, alert. Aznor could feel his heart start beating faster, his legs tingling and threatening to give way under his weight.

Her husband approached her, nudging her back toward him, but she wriggled free, her black fur on end and her whiskers quivering. 

With her hackles now raised, Aznor instantly realized how terrifying she really looked. Her neck fur puffed up to twice its size, she looked like a black cobra ready to strike, venomous fangs and all.

“Darling, hear me out…” Urbeth began, but Iza was no longer listening to him.

“You have a whip,” she cut him off, staring down at his belt. “Why would you have a whip?”

Aznor was sure she already knew the answer. There weren’t that many things Azaras used a whip on. Still, she downright struggled to wrap her head around it. With a chill, he watched her exchange a glare with her husband before sniffing the air again, carefully this time.

As pungent as Urbeth’s perfume was, Iza evidently caught a faint whiff of something else underneath, and her expression changed beyond recognition, becoming wild with alarm.

“Orrèsh,” she hissed under her breath. “You smell of human.”

Her husband backed off, his tail twitching nervously, before finally stepping away from the entrance hall and letting her peer past him.

Iza locked eyes with Aznor.

The boy could feel blood pounding in his ears, his heart beating so frantically that his whole chest hurt.

Move, move, move! His brain was screaming to his frozen legs. Bow down, run, do something!

To his relief, Iza hadn’t moved an inch, either. The Azara stood motionless by the entrance hall, her fur backlit by the glow of the cauldron fire. The boy could see the bouquet of lilies slip from her stiff hand and drop to the floor.

Aznor felt strangely dizzy at that sight, and only then realized he’d been holding his breath the whole time. 

He exhaled.

Next thing he knew, his ears were drumming with Iza’s terrifying roars. The Azara was a flurry of black, bristling fur and snapping fangs, charging back and forth across the room, lunging at him, at her husband, knocking objects off shelves and leaping over furniture.

“What are YOU doing here!?” she bellowed, taking some menacing steps toward Aznor. The boy’s legs finally obeyed and he was hightailing it back down the hallway and out the front door.

It didn’t budge.

The door was locked, he was locked in.

He spun around, terrified, only to see Iza snap her fangs fiercely in her husband’s face. 

“How dare you bring a human in my house!?”

The silver Azara had his ears flat on his head and his tail between his legs.

“Honey, let me explain, please—”

Iza didn’t wait for an answer. She stormed over to the fireplace and reached for the poker, raising it threateningly above Aznor’s head.

“I’ll kill you!” she spat with fierce disgust.

“I’LL KILL YOU!”