Anya Corazon: The Perfect Hunt (Part 2) (Patreon)

“Do you see now why you are like the fox?”

Again, I thought she was just about to kill me. That was the final taunt, then she would wish me farewell, and finish me off.

Instead, she brushed my bangs from my forehead, then reached back to lay her hand on my shoulders.

I wasn’t sure what she was doing right then. She dragged her palm around in slow circles, occasionally following the grooves of the soft muscles. Her fingers traced, stroking in lazy patterns, moving like they were carefully searching for something. She never found it, but kept feeling anyway, her hand moving back and forward, caressing.

“So nimble,” she murmured, “And so strong…”

Her fingers traced down the curve of my back, then back up again.

The numbness of the darts was continuing to spread through me, not so much that I couldn’t feel anything, but like it was happening to someone else. It was a relief and I’m not going to lie, so was the way she was stroking and massaging me. She was feeling my body, admiring and fascinated, like you might as a kid with something shiny you weren’t usually allowed to touch.

As if to prove my point, her hand moved lower, down the curve of my lower back, then up and over the bubble of my butt.

My suit was a glossy black with a white spider emblem that started on my chest, with long legs that stretched across the rest of my body. It stretched like spandex, but it was shiny and smooth like pvc. I didn’t know what it was made out of, it had sort of been a hand-me-down from Spider-Woman, but I knew it made me look good. I’d looked myself plenty in the mirror when I’d gotten it and, yeah, I’d checked out my butt too. I know what she was seeing.

The suit looked painted across the sides, shiny and round like marble, tight enough to show the little heart shape on the underside, but then stretched like a drum over the rest so it didn’t look like I was wearing nothing. Still, it didn’t hide too much, and didn’t offer much protection when Ana started feeling around.

In my own defense, I was beyond exhausted. My body was telling me that lying down wasn’t relaxed enough, it wanted me to sink into the floor and melt. It was the kind of tired that hurt even when I was staying still, that made me feel like I was literally drunk. Add that to having just gotten my ass handed to me, completely outsmarted, so outplayed I couldn’t even figure out what I’d done wrong.

So, yeah, I didn’t try to do anything when she started feeling me up. I won’t say I felt like she earned it, but… I mean, if she wanted my ass, she could have it.

Ana smoothed her hand around the outside of the one cheek, then came back, feeling along over the stretched spandex until she crossed the gap to the other cheek. The shapes moved and smooshed, the suit and my underwear not holding them firmly enough to keep them still. Her hand moved around, then under, then back again, never squeezing or pinching, just feeling, exploring the exact dimensions my bottom had to offer.

Leaning down again, she whispered something to me in Russian. They were several words, soft, gentle, almost playful. I didn’t have a clue what she was saying, but they made me feel a little better.

All I did was pant into the floor and listen to my heart pound.

Eventually, she cupped as much of my ass as she could and squeezed firmly, forcing it to mold to her palm. Lips still close to me, her breath against my hair, she whispered something else in Russian, hushed like she was telling me a secret. I still didn’t understand a single word, but I got the feeling it was important.

A second later, she translated.

“You are beaten, Spider-Girl.”

I was only half conscious and too tired to argue. I managed a faint mewl and that made her smile.

She kissed me on the head, ran my ponytail between her fingers and said something else I didn’t understand.

Gradually, and to my relief, my pulse slowed and my aches faded enough that I started to pass out. Ana was enjoying me now that she had me, feeling me over and whispering to me in Russian. It would have creeped me out any other day, but right then it was just soothing and honestly I didn’t want her to stop. Darkness closed around my vision, like the little tunnel at the end of a Loony Tunes cartoon.

I was only partially awoken when the stroking stopped and she rolled me onto my side. My muscles were so tight, even being moved by someone else hurt and it drew another whimper.

I just wanted to lie down. Couldn’t she just let me rest?

She whispered more Russian to me, sounding consoling, then drew my arms in front of me, wrapping a leather strap around my wrists.

Ana wrapping me up reminded me of one of those guys at Benihana that can dice up all the ingredients and mix them together in like two seconds. With a few crisp movements, she’d tied my wrists and ankles with the same strap, then yanked them together and wound a few more rotations around both. Before I knew what was going on, I was hogtied, hands and feet in front of me.

It wasn’t exactly comfortable and the position strained my already throbbing body. I didn’t realize I was whimpering until she put something else over my mouth and started buckling it behind my head. It was leather and it smothered the sounds I was making.

“No crying, lisista,” Ana whispered to me, “Just rest now. You are finished.”

She placed her fingers into precise places on the back of my neck, just at the base of my skull. I felt a firm grip, pinching the little muscles, then pressed firmly with a finger.

Pop.

It felt like a little jolt had gone through me. My eyes snapped wide for a second and I drew a sharp breath through my nose.

But then it was like I was a computer slowly powering down. The light faded and so did my thoughts and worries. I thought I’d been relaxed before, but now I practically melted, muscles I hadn’t even realized I were tense going slack and loose.

It felt good. I was so, so tired.

My eyelids sank down and the last sound I made wasn’t a protest, it was a sigh of relief.

I twirled down into a deep, dark hole and nestled in. She had flipped my off switch and I was out like a light.

------------

After I performed the Touch of Morpheus, the Spider was quiet. As spent as she already was, it would be some time before she awoke, even longer once I gave her the herbs I’d prepared. If I had my way (and I would), she would not regain her senses in their entirety until I had her safely in Russian, at the Kravinoff manor.

Now, muzzled and her paws tied, it was time to collect her.

The bonds I had tied her with wouldn’t last more than a few seconds if she woke at full strength; they were not to restrain her, simply to make her easier to carry. I hefted her up, laid her across my shoulders, and stood.

It was the exact same method I had used since I was a child to carry deer carcasses. Her bound hands and feet draped down my chest like a scarf, held tight so she wouldn’t slip off or her limbs bounce around as I walked. I could have gripped her wrists and ankles and held them for the same effect, but this was much easier. I also had my hands free.

She was much easier to carry than a deer, so much lighter and no sharp hooves and antlers. I gave one small bounce to position her where I wanted, and my beaten enemy settled nicely, her breasts pressing against my shoulder. She fit perfectly.

I squeezed the back of her thigh. She had such graceful, powerful legs. Of no use to her now, but still very pleasant to touch.

“Where you belong,” I told her, “As all my prey.”

Then I collected my crossbow and made my way to the roof, where my hunting carrier was waiting.

Police began filtering into the building as I made trotted up the steps. I saw glimpses of them and heard them, but they were moving cautiously and never saw me.

They didn’t have a prayer of catching me. The only one in proximity who could have given me a problem was unconscious over my shoulders.

It was blustery when I got to the roof, but I could still hear the sound of my carrier’s turbines. It had a reflective cloaking device, like the SHIELD helicarrier; no one on the ground would be able to see it without some sort of heat optics. The only thing someone could have seen was when a panel in its belly opened and lowered a metal platform.

Once the platform was at my knee, I stepped onto it, and it rose once more. It was the same sort as on a rescue helicopter, a metal line attached to each corner and being individually reeled in, making the ascent smooth and stable. I could have done a back flip and the platform wouldn’t have even swayed.

Regardless, I remained sharp as my prey and I were reeled back into the ship. As a hunter, I knew that this was the moment I was most vulnerable. Mostly stationary, burdened, moving on a fixed, easily predictable course, I would make a wonderful target. I crouched, lowering my silhouette and keeping my eyes peeled. It was unlikely someone was watching me, but I remained watchful nevertheless.

Once I rose through the open panel, into the belly of my ship, I called out a series of commands to the computer.

“Close retrieval hatch. Activate auto pilot and prep return sequence.”

The internal speakers replied with a chime then repeated the command and I stepped onto the deck. My boots clapped across the metal floor as I marched to the central chamber.

The carrier was largely a place for holding and treating my prey, with a cockpit in the fore and a small cabin in the back. I strode into the holding area, turned my back to a stainless-steel table in the center, then shrugged Spider-Girl back onto it.

She flopped onto the table like a sack of potatoes. It was all right to be a bit rough with her now; she wouldn’t feel it until later. I pulled a strap across her waist and cinched it down tight, securing her for takeoff, then left her to see to getting us underway.

The superchargers on the engines were already humming to life as I marched to the cockpit. The autopilot could have taken us on the precise course we needed, but I wasn’t taking any chances. I sat down, strapped myself in, then hit the thrusters that launched us away from the museum and into the clouds.

The chances anyone saw the carrier or were moving to intercept dwindled as we ascended higher. Regardless, I took the ship almost half a mile above the course of any passenger plane and towards the coast. I continually checked for radar pings, scanned common communication channels for any sightings of my craft, and followed an evasive flight path all the way to the ocean.

Only once we were in international waters, well on our way home, did I allow the autopilot to take over.

With everything as safe as I could make it, I unstrapped myself and strode to the central chamber, where my beaten prey waited patiently. She was lying exactly as I’d left her, resting on her side, taking deep, even breaths through her nose. There was no fussing or protesting; her body had accepted that she was prey.

All the care I’d taken to make sure we escaped unmolested was most likely unnecessary. Someone would have had to have been ready just as we left, with a vehicle capable of following into the stratosphere, in order to pursue us. In fact, I had prepared for many eventualities and created alternate plans that now were completely superfluous.

However, discipline is what makes someone the hunter, not the prey.

Take Spider-Girl. Stronger than a silver back gorilla, faster than a cheetah, as agile and quick as a monkey. She had the advantage of anonymity, unique weapons, precognition, superhuman endurance and recuperation, an inexplicable ability to cling to any surface, and being in her home territory.

I, on the other hand, had no superhuman abilities. All I had was my training, skill, planning, and patience.

Yet she was the one lying on my table, while I stood over her, victorious.

I took a well-deserved moment to enjoy that, brushing my fingers through the silly bangs that fell down over her mask. I combed them back, let them flutter back down then combed them again.

I had done what my siblings couldn’t: I had defeated my spider. Not only that, but I’d done it in the old way, the most honorable way, and without even killing her.

My family had the resources and the know-how to have made this hunt much, much easier. I could have paid for any number of expensive weapons, tracers, high tech restraints and optics, personal cloaking devices or robot helpers. Even something as simple as a rifle with tranquilizer darts would have ended it at least a day earlier. I had foregone it all. I had beaten her with only myself.

I smiled, lifting her ponytail from the table and letting it fall.

All of my armor, weapons, and hunting equipment had been made by my hand, even my crossbow. I had attuned myself to her scent, trained to go for days in constant motion without sleep, and had tracked her for the entire hunt without losing her a single time. Then, when the final moment had come, she’d fallen to the simplest tool and a pair of feathered darts I’d learned to make as a child.

It was my discipline that overcame her. Now it would be my will that tamed her.

“You will not rise from this defeat, Spider-Girl,” I whispered to her, “Your freedom has ended. Now you will take your place as my fallen foe and serve me in the old way.”

Of course, she was deeply unconscious and didn’t hear me, but it felt right to say. Almost ceremonial, in a way, like it was something that needed to be spoken.

I leaned down and anointed her with a kiss on the brow and with that I proclaimed her as mine. As of that moment, her time as my rival was over and her time as my pet had begun.

There were more ceremonies to come, of course. My father had taught me many rituals and drilled into me how important they were. They were necessary, right, had a power of their own, and I had practiced following them to the letter. I would see this done correctly, in the traditional manner, with the same discipline as I had the hunt. I would also enjoy it.

But first, there was the matter of posterity.

To the side of the table, a camera with a high shutter speed and scoped lens sat on a tripod that was bolted to the floor. I picked up the small remote control beside it and then returned to situate my captured prize. I removed the strap binding her to the table, rolled her over to face the camera, at an angle where it could see the feathered dart still sticking out of her shoulder. I made sure everything was set, checked behind the lens, then made my way behind the table again to pose.

The first shot I didn’t smile. I crossed my arms, tucking the remote control under my elbow, and tilted my chin high, stoic and serious. A press of a button and the camera chittered, taking several pictures in less than a second.

Only one of these would go in the Kravinoff trophy hall, but I wanted it to be the right one. My children’s children would see this photo and be reminded of their heritage and the great deeds of their ancestors.

I took another with a similar pose but holding up a dart like the one sticking out of the spider’s shoulder. Then I took another while I held up her head by her ponytail, turning her muzzled face towards the camera.

I liked that one. It felt very fitting.

I wasn’t serious in all of them. Only one would be put on the wall; the rest would go into my personal collection, so I saw no harm in some fun. I grinned, cocked my hip, pretended to pull at her mask, and gesticulated with two fingers in a V for victory.

After that, I undid her bonds and removed her muzzle so I could lie her flat on her back. I took pictures with similar poses, sometimes turning her face to the camera, other times leaving it looking up at me, her mouth gaped open as if in awe.

I rolled her onto her tummy next and I was quite fond of that set. From that angle, the camera picked up both the dart in her shoulder and the one in her leg, as well as her adorable bottom and her cheek smooshed into the table in an amusing way. They might have been too undignified for the prey, making it appear like I’d captured some comical drunk, but I would enjoy looking at them later.

That was the last set of pictures I took. I’d more than enough for now and I was in danger of being frivolous. I set the remote control to the side, rolled Spider-Girl onto her back where she could breathe easier, then began preparing for the first ritual.

The unmasking.

With a mortar and pestle, I ground up two sprouts of Golden Night, a rare nettle I’d collected in Mongolia. It was not something I could have prepared ahead of time; it had to be ground and consumed within a few minutes to produce its full effects. Once I’d created a golden, twinkling powder, almost like glitter, I added one of my own hairs.

“A taste,” I intoned, “So that the spider will always remember her hunter.”

I mixed it together, poured the golden powder into a claw cup, then added the juice of a flowering cactus from the Gobi Desert. I stirred to finish the unction, then brought it to my prey.

I cupped under her head, lifted it up, then brought the bowl to her lips. Slowly, carefully, I poured it in.

Knowing she wouldn’t swallow at first, I only poured a small amount into her mouth. She coughed and choked and I paused, letting her finish. I had no intention of drowning her. She just needed a few seconds for her instincts to tell her to swallow and I waited for her to do so before continuing her feeding.

Once she mewled faintly, like a baby disturbed from her sleep, I began pouring again. This time she drank much easier. The mixture was sweet and refreshing and she guzzled it down quite obediently. That pleased me.

“The prey drinks what she is given,” I continued, “Her spirit returns, to witness the moment of revelation.”

She drank all the potion down, then sighed as I lowered her head back to the table.

From fiery and smart mouthed to quiet and compliant. It’s wonderful what sheer exhaustion and defeat can do.

I petted her head, combing my fingers through her hair in a small reward for her good behavior, then set the bowl aside and proceeded with the other preparations.

Dimming the lights, I lit candles and burned incense that added gave the chamber a smoky hue. I couldn’t make the interior of a cutting-edge aircraft into a ritual tent on the Serengeti plains, but I could make a close approximation. I poured sand on the floor in a circle around the table, angled a light down onto Spider-Girl and prepared another camera, this one on an arm hanging over my prey.

As I worked, Spider-Girl moaned and sighed, squirming ever so slightly.

The Golden Night was both a stimulant and a cognition-inhibiting hallucinogen. To Shaman, it was a way to transcend the mortal world and go on a spirit journey, to discover hidden truths. The body would remain awake, but motor responses would be greatly weakened, allowing something like a waking dream that could last for hours or days.

She made a small, confused sound, “Unh… uhh?”

The spirit journey Spider-Girl would take was a short one. There were only a few truths I needed her to see, but more importantly I wanted her awake and somewhat comprehending of what was happening. Under the Golden Night her spirit would be aware, untethered by inhibitions, the veil of civility lifted from her eyes, but her body would be like a rock, helpless to stop what was to come.

“You will see the truth now,” I told her, “As will I. All veils will be lifted.”

She tried to turn her head toward me, but it rolled towards her shoulder, limp on her neck. Her mouth gaped. Who knows what she was seeing as she looked at me, but she appeared to be in awe.

That was good. This was important, even more so than her coming into my service. It was right that she be awed.

I settled back over her, my chin raised high in triumph, eyes staring down at her in disdain. I did not smile.

I felt no animosity towards her… well, perhaps a little, but it was equal in my fondness for her. A worthy enemy was a blessing, a way to challenge oneself and become stronger, which she had certainly done. Yet now was not the time for affection.

I cupped her face and turned it to look up at me. She made another small sound.

“whuh…?”

“Just as the lion takes the flesh of the gazelle,” I told her, “I now take from you.”

I placed my palm on her cheek, gently keeping her head in place in case she tried to move again.

“There is only one victor, the other is vanquished. The victor takes pride from the fallen and leaves shame. It is eternal and sacred. The sacred shame of the defeated.”

I leaned closer, letting anger harden my eyes. Thinking about her irreverent comments, juvenile insults, quips, and general mockery towards the sacred hunt, it was easy to do.

When I spoke again, I spoke in a low tone, carefully enunciating every word. I wanted her to understand exactly what was happening.

“Now. I take your mask, Spider. I take it from you. Your failure and my victory allows this. It is my right.”

I waited for a few seconds, watching her. Her mind was slowed, struggling to comprehend my words and I wanted them to sink in before I went further.

Her lips moved. When she began speaking, her words were clumsy, her tone and syllables muddled and somewhat sing-songy, like a toddler who was still learning how to talk.

“Um… bud ‘smy, my mask… I wanna… s’mine…”

A grin started to pull at the corner of my mouth, but I forced it down. I’m not famous for my sense of humor but hearing the sharp-tongued Spider-Girl baby talking made it difficult to maintain my decorum.

“No. It’s not,” I scooped beneath her head, propping it up towards me, “Not anymore. I’m taking it from you now, as I said I would. It’s mine and my family’s. Such is the way of the hunt.”

Spider-Girl’s lips moved again, like she was trying to formulate a response. She seemed baffled.

I didn’t wait for her. When she found her tongue again, I was already slipping my fingers under the bottom lip of her mask.

“Id… it is?” she tried to shake her head, “Bud… n-no, I don wanna be… u’masked…”

I ignored her. Inch by inch, the white-lensed mask slipped up, with the gradual pace of a religious rite. This was not to be rushed. It pushed up from her nose, slowly revealing her cheeks.

As drugged as she was, I don’t know if she felt it, but regardless she began to whine in protest.

“No… ‘toppit… s’mine…”

The mask crinkled as it went higher, stretched towards the side I was pulling it from. It rose over across her forehead, pushing up her bangs and when it cleared her eyes, she blinked up at me. The pupils were so dilated, her brown irises had been almost completely swallowed by black.

“Noooooo…” she moaned.

She blinked again. For a moment she looked confused, her eyes threatening to cross. Without my speaking to her, reminding her what was happening, she was forgetting what she was so upset about.

“S’mine…” she mumbled, “M’spidergirl… id… s’not yours…”

I propped her head up a bit more so I could slip the mask over the crown of her head. The eye holes of her mask now stared up from her scalp and were slowly shifting back further and further.

I never went faster or slower. This was my moment as much as hers. And I was enjoying it.

Spider-Girl began to blink more and more, her expression drooping with drowsiness. She continued to mumble, but her voice slowly grew softer, her words rambling.

“’Pider-Woman… Jerlia gave me it… had ‘nother one… glasses… ‘Pider-Man said… so too… he said… so…”

Perhaps part of her knew the cause was already lost. It’s also possible she simply forgot what she’d been talking about, and her unguided thoughts travelled down a different rabbit hole. But what I choose to believe is that the power of my ancestors caused her protests to drift away, just as I slipped the mask over her ponytail.

Whatever the case, when at last I pulled the Spider’s mask away and held it in my hand, there was a reverent silence. It was hallowed and powerful, even the thrum of the engines seeming quieter, hushed as my ancestors looked down on me and smiled.

Though my heart swelled with pride, I only allowed myself a small, satisfied smile as I lifted the crumpled fabric aloft so my forefathers could see. I held it high, looking down on my prey as I did, watching her face.

It was almost sad in a way. She was pretty, with full lips, shapely cheek bones and big, dark eyes. Yet she as cute as she was, she seemed somehow less extraordinary without the mask. Her features were soft and tired, eyes glazed, lips parted in a curious O as she wondered where she was. Appealing, but emptied as any other exhausted girl would be.

I held her other identity, that of the spider, above my head. On the table was only an athletic but spent girl in a spandex suit.

“It is done.” I said.

The camera flashed to capture the moment. It made my prey’s eyelashes flutter, but otherwise she didn’t react.

It would be a lovely picture.

That was it. The ritual was over.

I sighed, closing my eyes for a moment.

I’d done it. I’d done what none since my father had done, what all of my brothers and sisters had failed to do. I was the true heir to the name of Kraven the Hunter and I would be the matron of my family’s wealth. It would all be mine now.

When I opened my eyes again, I smiled down at my onetime rival, still looking drowsy and confused.

Not only had I solidified my status in the family, I’d secured a wonderful prize in the process, one that would give me endless hours of enjoyment.

“There will be no more smart remarks from you.” I stroked her cheek with the backs of my fingers.

She cooed, eyelids drooping faintly. That was very good; she was already submitting to my touch. Once tired and hopeless enough, all animals seek the refuge of a gentle touch. The sooner she learned to cherish my hand the better, and she was already well on her way.

I smiled to myself, imagining the insolent Spider, looking to me for attention, begging for scraps and approval. That time would come; I would make sure of it.

But first, there was still more work to be done.

I tucked the mask into my belt and got to it.

Scooping beneath her thighs and shoulders, I picked her up just enough to set her down on her side. After that, I rolled her onto her tummy.

She groaned, the movement probably setting her head spinning.

I laid a hand on her head, stroking her temple with my thumb.

“Shhhhh…” I cooed, “No fussing, my fox…”

She murmured and mewled, making small, fretful sounds, but they faded as I petted her. Gradually her eyes even drifted closed, and she let out a contented sigh.

I smiled. She was not so fiery anymore. In fact, I was certain she would be very trainable.

Once she’d quieted, I reached to my belt. In a scabbard at my hip was a knife with a squat, curved blade made of swirling Damascus steel. I withdrew it and tested the edge on my thumb. It was so sharp I felt it part the upper layer of skin just from the touch.

After game was brought down, the pelt must be removed quickly to keep it fresh. The prey needed to be treated and dressed before it was brought home.

Or in this case, undressed.

I lay the skinning knife at the very top of the spandex, just at the base of the spider’s neck. I drew it down two inches, just enough to open the black fabric without opening her skin, splitting it down the middle. Then I plucked up one side, stretched it away from her body and continued the cut down the center line with quick touches of the knife.

The blade didn’t make a sound as it slipped through the costume. I drew the blade downward and the fabric simply parted, exposing her bare shoulders and back, along with the straps of a white cotton bra, which stood out against her caramel skin. I split the costume along the center line of her back, occasionally pausing to take a grip further down to pull the fabric from her skin, but continuing in one long, single cut.

Once I rounded over her bottom, opening the suit to expose pink polka-dotted panties (how embarrassing!), I changed direction, following the length of her leg. My cut moved down to the thigh, her calf, then stopped just at her heel. Only then did I interrupt the cut, moving the blade to the other leg to repeat the procedure I’d performed with the first.

Next, I moved to the arms, cutting along the shoulders and down the arms, one at a time. The knife scraped over the webshooter on one wrist, which annoyed me, so I was more careful with the opposite. I sliced all the way down to the top of her palm, just between the two middle fingers.

After I was finished, her costume was more a carpet than a suit. Every seam sliced open, it lay spread out beneath her, smaller and slightly wrinkled as the spandex retracted. It was a perfect skinning, nothing torn, every cut clean and smooth, which is much easier to do with spandex than a lion skin, but nevertheless it showed skill.

On top of that, the “meat”, as it were, was unmarked, smooth and healthy. She probably didn’t even notice what had just happened.

I removed her bracelet webshooters next, unclipping them then slipping them down her hands. They would make fine trophies as well, though they would need more explanation. I tucked them into my belt, next to the mask.

After that it was simply clean up. Normally this would involve me wiping up blood and cleaning it off my tools, but in the spider’s case all I needed to do was sweep up some sand and douse the candles. I put out the incense, turned the lights back on, put everything away that needed to be, then returned to look down upon the last thing that needed to put in its place.

Without the mist from the candles and the dim light, the girl lying on the table in her bra and panties looked pedestrian, the bright light making the display somewhat clinical. She had passed out again at some point, or perhaps was just dozing under the effects of the Golden Night, eyes closed and lips slightly puckered.

She was my captive now, soon to be trained to obey my will, but as one girl to another, I couldn’t believe her choice in underwear. The cotton undergarment looked like it had been bought in a package at a convenience store, cheery and simple like they belonged on a much younger girl. No taste at all.
 “So unfortunate…” I couldn’t resist teasing, plucking the waistband of the pitiful garment.

I stretched it up, exposing the tightly pressed, caramel globes for a moment, then let the elastic snap back down, a bit lower than before.

It popped her skin and she blinked, making a confused mewl.

In apology, I gave her bottom a few pats. She mumbled something but didn’t seem too upset.

“It’s time for your crate, my fox,” I smiled, gathering her up, “You’ll find it cozy.”

After sitting her up, I let her slump over my shoulder. She hung limply, arms dangling down my back.

“We both need to rest now,” I told her as I carried her away, “We should be much more refreshed when we arrive in my country…”

I put my new pet away, locked the door on her kennel, then went to the cabin to lie down myself.

Plenty of time to sleep. And when I awoke, I had much to look forward to.