Crossroads, Part 2, Weight (Patreon)

Crym Olmscar watched the human man's body slump to the ground and lay there unmoving. She shouldered her sword and then sheathed it across her back, using the half-holster and hook she had attached to the back of her chest plate. She rolled her other knuckles, popping them loudly. His head had been harder than she had expected. Or did that just make too much sense?

She carefully rolled him over and retrieved the incredibly important leather satchel from his limp fingers. Undoing the clasp, she turned and sat down on the roots as she extricated the thick scroll, sealed with a wax symbol, from inside. She deposited the now-empty satchel atop its owner and broke the seal with a claw.

The Lesser-Royal woman settled in to read the flowing script on the page after she unrolled it. Her singular eye scanned over line after line, absorbing the message within. It had been written by a hand she was familiar with, although she had met this particular Royal only once but respected her endlessly even given how young she had been the last time they had seen one another. The tragic loss of her mother had weighed heavily on the proud girl's mind then, especially given how recently it had happened.

Even the joyous words now written on the page by that once vengeful and embittered hand did little to calm Crym as she weighed their implications. Her shoulders tightened as she finished reading and she glanced down at the man who had been willing to give his life for this bit of information. She rolled the scroll back up carefully and tucked it back into the satchel.

Only then did she rise from the root she had been using as a seat to inspect Anson's body.  Using her tail, she turned him over with the utmost gentleness, so that he wasn't laying face-down in the dirt. She leaned down close to his handsome, now bruised features, frilled ear twitching as she all but pressed his face against it. She felt more than heard his soft, senseless breathing warming the scales of her face.

She put him back down, laying him this time flat on his back. She nodded.  He indeed had a hard skull after all. She hadn't swung with her full strength but even so, she was relieved that all she had done only what she had intended. Knocking him out was far more appealing a notion than actually killing him.

Her mind raced as she pondered the implications of what she had just read. Now she knew why the man who had paid her upfront had been so insistent on her accomplishing this task. This letter would indeed change a lot of things, put a great many lives at risk should it fall into the wrong hands, even as simple a message as it was. She pondered her task, seeing the road up ahead of her stretching on. She followed that train of thought as if physically walking along the dirt path.

Crym arrived at a crossroads in her mind. On one fork, she saw herself walking to the agreed-upon meeting place with her contact. She handed over the letter to him and received the rest of her payment. After that, she would wash her claws forever of dealing with Humans. She hadn't cared where the money came from so long as it helped her buy more of the sweet, mind-blurring drink the Humans called beer. Anthros did not have beer where they came from. The stabbing pain that always followed her drinking episodes were not amusing but the nights without having to relive her painful memories kept her going back to it. She had no use for money otherwise, able to hunt and forage like all her kind, being as entuned with the natural world as they were.

On the other side of her mental road, she saw...a far different fate. She pondered its unknown depths and implications, not sure where it might lead her. She had always been a pragmatist, never taking risks when she didn't need to. It had led her well thus far, back during her time serving the Royals and then even later after self-exiling herself from them. She thought of herself and no one else, especially since she had no one else left to care for. She took danger in stride, reveled in it, for death no longer frightened her.

Her eye blinked, dismissing those thoughts from her as she looked back down at the unconscious Anson. He looked troubled, brows furrowed as he was no doubt trapped in some sort of dream or nightmare. His worries were obvious; he had failed after all. Even so, even while being trapped in a hopeless situation as this one had been for him, he had stood true to his convictions and not faltered, even when outclassed and bereft of other options. There was something to be admired about that.  A truly Anthro way of thinking.

She sighed and thunked her horned head back against the tree behind her. What was she going to do...?

***

Anson awoke slowly. His head ached more horribly than it ever had before, worse than any hangover in his life. He wasn't even that much of a drinker; the few times he had indulged had been around festivals or harvest time celebrations.  He attempted to sit up but found he couldn't.  His limbs wouldn't respond to his commands, and everything was dark.  Even when his eyes opened, he couldn't see. The texture of a blindfold came to him then, a dark, heavy wrapping over most of his face. He struggled weakly as he realized too that he was bound.

"Hey!" he cried, voice hoarse and making his splitting skull ache all the worse. Nonetheless, he persevered. "Hey! Someone untie me! I know you're there, you scaly, trickster, fiery-eyed, resentful...!"

There was a sudden rustling and something heavy thwacked him in the chest, driving the breath from his longs. He groaned and doubled over, or tried to, before he flopped back flat onto the earth. His head swam.

"Well, well," came that same, sultry, growling, almost amused voice from somewhere nearby. "Awake already I see?  And so verbose too, even after that little lovetap I gave you.  Impressive." She laughed then, voice rolling in her throat with a rumble. A hiss and crackle of a nearby fire came to his ears then, as well as the muted, creaking turn of some kind of spit. "Just about hot enough..." she noted out loud. There was a rasp of something sharp and he felt her tremendous footfalls begin to draw closer to him.

He tried to worm his way back but instead found he was soon trapped against what could only be the same roots he had unwisely chosen to take his nap between earlier. So he was still in the same place, at least. He felt her drawing closer and he struggled as much as he could but to no avail. Her well-knotted bindings were far more solid than he had hope to get out of without some assistance.  There weren't even any sharp rocks to assist him in perhaps cutting himself free.  He could feel her kneeling in front of him and he tried to kick out at her.

"Untie me!" he demanded. "I don't know what game you're playing, but I won't be bound up like this!"

"So angry," she chortled overhead. He stiffened as he felt something reaching toward him. All at once, the blindfold was torn away from his face, allowing him to see. He looked up. The Anthro woman towered over him, a black scrap of cloth hanging from a claw as she kneeled in front of him. Her one visible eye shone from behind her curtain of indigo-midnight hair, the light of a small campfire behind her making the tresses shine with hints of scarlet, blue, and purple. "There, now I can see those lovely green eyes again." She grinned wider. "Sleep well?"

He glared up at her, again struggling. "You know very well I did not!" he declared. "Untie me! You have no right to bind me like this! What even is the meaning of this? Weren't you going to kill me?"

Her eye flickered and she snorted once. "Is that what you would prefer, Handsome Anson?" she asked, voice lilting in a teasing tone. She again had used that strange nickname, which only served to infuriate and confuse him more. "As far as by whether or not I'm in the right, I simply wanted to tie you up."

"What on earth for?" he demanded, again trying to find some way to wriggle out of the impossibly well-done knots.

Her tail thunked down against his chest, again stunning him briefly before she was suddenly directly above him. Her clawed feet planted themselves on either side of his bound form. She squatted down, body no longer clad in the heavy plated and chainmail armor.  The Anthro now kneeled directly over him, almost straddling him with barely an inch of distance between them with utterly perfect flexibility and balance. Her no-longer contained assets performed all sorts of, admittedly, wonderful motions as they swayed back to a standstill on her full-figured and well-endowed frame.

"Because..." she growled cheekily at his startled reaction to her new position above him. "I kind of like you all tied up. You look...tastier that way." Her teeth flashed.

All the fight went out of him and he looked slowly behind her to the blazing fire, where he thought he saw an iron spit mounted above it, mostly blocked from sight by her bulk, and then back up at her singular eye. She could not possibly mean what it sounded like she meant... In all his travels and dealings with Anthros, limited as those were, he had never heard that they ate the flesh of Humans. A shiver went down his spine as she noticeably grinned all the wider at his now panicked expression.

Then she laughed. "Oh calm down," she chortled. "Wow, I didn't think you could get cuter than you were already, but you looking so scared is actually kind of its own thrill." She stayed squatting over him but she was now leaning her scaly cheek against a big paw's knuckles, its elbow propped up upon one knee. "I could happily keep you around just for the amusement of it."

Just like that, the tension of fear went out of him to again be replaced by irritation. "Save your jokes," he snapped. "Now, if you're not actually planning on killing me, undo these ropes and allow me to go.  I've a mission to complete and no time to spent idly laying here as your plaything." His eyes widened then and he looked all around. He didn't see the satchel anywhere. Had she somehow handed it off to someone else while he had been unconscious?!

Something leather bumped down against his nose just then and he blinked. The Anthro woman held the satchel by its strap, dangling it from the tip of her tail. "Looking for this?" she asked, waving it back and forth.

A wave of relief washed through him before it was replaced with hesitation and uncertainty. "...What do you want from me?" he demanded. "You have the message. So what's the point of all these games of yours? Or do you just delight in tormenting those weaker than you?"

She hummed. "Not many men who will openly admit being weaker," she teased. "It's an attractive quality, really, for someone to know their place and be perfectly comfortable with it. As far as teasing you..." she chuckled again. "It's fun, I suppose. Gives a thrill that I haven't felt in a long time. Did you know your brow does this adorable little furrow whenever you're angry?" She leaned down and poked him right in the center of his forehead with a claw tip.

His eyes crossed for a second looking up at that single, rough, scaly digit, and then he shook his head, dislodging the prodding finger. She took it back, grinning still. "I never said I was comfortable with our current situation," he retorted, not sure why that specifically, in comparison to everything else she had subjected him to, was making him so mad. "If our situations were reversed, I'd..." He hesitated then, unsure what he meant by that or what he had been about to say.

Her eye gleamed more and she leaned down even further, bending at the waist while still maintaining a perfect balance. "Ooh, how devilish of you," she growled. "Wanting to imagine me being the one tied up instead of you? One might shudder to imagine the depravities going through that little head of yours." She held a paw against her forehead. "The horrors one might inflict on a bound Anthro woman, so frail and helpless before the rugged, strong, handsome Human..." She winked down at him with her blind eye from where he could see it through her heavy bangs.

Anson felt a heat growing in his face that had nothing to do with the rather alarming body temperature her scaly form put off, nor the nearby glow of the fire. He tore his eyes away from her angrily, cheeks flushed. "I would imagine yours is the far more depraved mind between the two of us," he muttered.

"You'd probably be right," she retorted cheekily. "Leaving you the chaste and unspoiled one between the two of us, eh Handsome Anson?"

"Stop calling me that!" he snapped, ignoring her last comment.

"Don't like it?" she challenged. "Don't want to imagine that a Godless, unnatural, oversized Anthro could label you as such? Or are you just not used to being called what you are, Handsome Anson?" She seemed to draw a distinct pleasure in trying to taunt him like this.

His cheeks colored again. "You are neither Godless, unnatural, or oversized! It's...just..." he floundered, trying to find the words to say. He settled on nothing else but a simple fact that did indeed bother him. "It's not that...I mind you saying it. In any other situation, it would be quite flattering."

"Even from an Anthro?" Her voice was full of mirth.

"Even so," he responded sheepishly. That made her pause, blinking in surprise. He looked away from her again. "In truth, you're quite striking yourself, by both form and character, to say the least. I've always found Anthros to possess a...light about them that no human ever has but it wasn't ever anything that I thought too deeply on. I've always respected your kind, even before now, and even despite our predicament, my only issue with you is...much less material than it is personal. My main concern is that I don't even know your name, so it seems...unfair to have you be the only one with that advantage, even in our precarious situation." His cheeks burned as he finished speaking.

There was a long silence, uncomfortable and heavy. He forced himself eventually to glance back up at her, squirming a bit from a root that was pressing into his spine. He blinked in shock to see her big eyes were wide as she stared down at him as if lost for words, for once. Her tail quivered alongside him, tapping out a gentle rhythm on the dirt as if she were pondering something.

"Crym," she eventually said, curling one side of her muzzle. She crossed her muscular arms over her chest and actually glared down at him and then away. Her tail continued to tap on the ground next to him. She still remained crouched over him, balancing perfectly on her big, four-toed feet on either side of his hips. It caused the muscles beneath the scaly skin to bulge noticeably now, trailing, uncovered, all the way to the loincloth that alone hung over her groin and waist.

He could even see the side of her hip where it connected to the thigh, thick and rounded. Her belly was surprisingly plump looking too, although it didn't take away from her overall musculature. In fact, her softer curves only added to her bulk, completing her somehow. It kept her proportional alongside her heavily-endowed feminine parts, as well as the heavily muscled arms and legs, wide shoulders, thick neck, and big paws.

His eyes swept up back to the rest of her. Only now did he realize that, underneath her usual armor, the only thing that Crym wore over her front was a similar covering as to the one below, a sleeveless tunic that billowed at the sides, showing off her scaly flank while keeping her womanly assets covered. There were even the visible leather straps of chest wrappings there. Her modesty was contained but she seemed utterly comfortable with wearing as little as possible, when not clad in her protective suit of armor. All Anthros seemed that way, from what he now remembered. Then again, when you were covered in fur, scales, or feathers, maybe nudity was not as big of an issue.

Their eyes met and Crym seemed slightly mollified, as she had no doubt noticed his wandering gaze across her body. He flushed but saw no point as to play the innocent. She was an intriguing, very unique woman. Certainly, he'd never seen any Human women that came close to her brusqueness, her forward mannerisms, nor especially her physical charms. He didn't even feel guilty that she wasn't Human at all. Sure, God had made Man in his image, but who wasn't to say that whatever Deity the Anthros believed in, supposedly the Spirits, hadn't made them by its, or their, own design? And was it so wrong to appreciate that design when it was admittedly so pleasing to look at?

Probably. He could just hear the mocking remarks that he had often heard some Humans bandy about before. Most of them were far too crude or vulgar for any kind of decent conversation, equating any person who looked at Anthros in such a way was the same kind of person who might go into the forest and fornicate with a literal wild animal. He'd kept his mouth shut around those people, for arguing with people like them was tantamount to announcing things that even he had no idea were true about himself. Not the wild animal part though.

He couldn't help but wonder, however, as one's mind does tend to wander so quickly and erratically, if Anthros looked at Humans the same way, even despite everything they had done to one another. Anthros apparently mated amongst themselves with little regard as to individual Breed, but did tend to stay closest to the type of animal they themselves were when seeking a partner, or 'Mate' as he had heard the term be explained as. This appearance had, admittedly, more ingrained it into xenophobic or discriminating minds that they were base, lawless creatures who mated openly like the animals they so resembled.  These sort of close-minded thoughts completely ignored the family bonds and deep emotional ties that were so blatantly obvious to people like him, rare as they were.

Were Humans, then, just another kind of Animal to them, just another Breed? He had never thought to ask any of the few Anthros he'd spoken to about it, mainly because of the awkward connotations that any thinking, sentient being might read into when questioned about such things.  Plus, he rarely got to speak to any Anthro for longer than a passing word or two, especially given recent hostilities only now beginning to mend towards casual indifference rather than open animosity.

Crym finally huffed and made to stand up from above Anson. Her legs adjusted easily and without hitching or any cramping at all as she once again towered up above him. "Well, enough of that," she announced. She turned on a claw and stalked back over to the fire, where he now saw was frying several pieces of meat. She tested one of them and plucked the spit from the flames to cool. "Nice and hot," she growled, sounding pleased.

The smell of the cooking meat came to Anson's nose then and he squirmed again, clenching his stomach hard to not let his apparent hunger show. His lunch of travel rations earlier was no grand meal, and he'd not supped well on actual cooked, fresh meat in quite a while. Oh well. Prisoners didn't get their choice of food.

Sensing his discomfort somehow, Crym glanced back at him with her one eye. She sighed and then stalked back over. Her tail reached out, once within reach, and easily flipped him over.  The serpentine limb maneuvered itself with the utmost ease and dexterity almost as if it possessed a mind of its own.

She then bent down and began fumbling at the knots directly behind his back. In moments, his arms felt the bindings loosening and she stood back, allowing him to right himself with his hands now freed and plant his back against the tree behind him. The wrapping around his legs came off after a few more pulls as well, making his limbs tingle all over as blood rushed back into them.

He eyed her suspiciously, to which she just shrugged, crossed to the fire, and retrieved a still sizzling piece of meat on a stick. She held it out in her tail to him. "Eat while it's hot," she ordered. "You're skinny enough as it is."

He glowered but took the proffered meal, trying hard not to let his enthusiasm show. "Thank you," he managed to say, blowing on the several cuts of cooked flesh before he took a wary bite. It was bland but cooked all the way through, and immediately he set to delicately but happily devouring it.

As he ate, he noticed that Crym, while doing likewise with big, chomping bites of her fanged maw, despite the heat of the food, continued to stare at him with a strange weight to her gaze now. It was rapidly making him uncomfortable. Once his skewer of meat was cleaned of all pieces on it, he handed it back, blunt end first. She took it wordlessly and planted it in the ground beside her as she was just then finishing devouring her third.

The silence was rapidly becoming awkward. He made to open his mouth, to say something at all, but he found no words. Sighing, he started to stand back up. Her growl cut him off before he even got his feet underneath him. He met her eye again. She didn't respond otherwise and he slumped back grumpily against the tree, crossing his arms.

"Going somewhere?" she asked, depositing her most recently cleaned spit of meat in the ground with the others.

He frowned. "Well, yes," he told her pointedly. "As lovely as this captive meal has been, that doesn't change my mission. I cannot fathom why you haven't left me behind yet, nor killed me when you continued to say you were going to, in order to get the message I was sworn to deliver.   However, if you're not actually going to, for whatever reason, my task remains the same."

She rolled her eyes. "Wordy little man, aren't you?"

"A courier is trained to be eloquent, yes," he responded curtly. "When you cannot rely on skill at arms or great speed, sometimes it's the only tool I have to use.   I've no horse to carry me given the road I travel, no ability to bring along heavy arms or armor, and am forced to travel alone to avoid suspicion.  I lack proper fighting skills in a world often prone to violence, as you're very well aware.  The only protection left to me, other than obscurity, is my ability to try and talk my way out of confrontations when otherwise forced into them."

"Well talking isn't going to always be enough" she retorted. Their eyes glanced toward the satchel now lying within arm's reach of her. "Do you even know what it was you were carrying?" she asked suddenly.

"A letter from your Royals," he began to say, then flinched as she snarled again.  "The...Royals, of the Anthro people," he amended before continuing.  "To my King back home in the land of Wales."

Appearing only slightly mollified, she arched a scaly brow.  "And you didn't think to read it?"

He frowned deeper. "It's not a courier's job to read the messages of his assignment. I carry the documents, letters, and packages only."

"And what happens if you lose the satchel?" she asked. "Are you expected to return empty-handed? Lot of messengers I imagine get killed that way for the simple inconvenience on the part of their commanders, owners, whatever you want to call the people you work for.  And why would you not at least read the message in case you have to later relay it verbatim, in the instance that the document is damaged and you alone were the sole one to know its contents?"

"My King," Anson emphasized with a slight growl to his own voice now. "Would never execute a messenger for such an inane reason. Truth be told, I've never failed a task given to me. This one, admittedly, however, has been my most important one to date. And I don't intend to fail him, especially with so much on the line."

"More than you know..." she growled softly. He arched an eyebrow.  Crym settled down, sitting crosslegged and facing him from across the fire. "I see that you've attempted to dodge the last question about reading." He glowered at her as she reached the obvious conclusion. "Unless you can't read." She seemed about to chuckle but instead just shrugged. "I guess that's a safe way of ensuring your letter carriers can't double-cross you as easily; send couriers who can't read what they've been given.   Plenty of workarounds still, but not bad that."

He bristled. "I would never betray my King!" he declared.

Crym's eye glittered. "So passionate..." she growled out in that teasing tone of voice. "I used to be like you; devout and loyal and all that. Then my Royals lost my loyalty and now I look out for only myself.  A lesson you could stand to learn for yourself...Anson."

"I'd rather think of my people first before myself," he challenged. "I respect and seek to emulate the Anthro ideology of that kind of code of conduct."

"Next you'll tell me you also worship the Spirits," she grunted, sounding amused.

"Not...worship, per se," he admitted, looking down at the ground and then the sky up above, dotted with stars beyond counting. "I was born of a Christian household, as my entire village was. We were taught that God is the only God in existence, but the arrival of Anthros so long ago has shaken that absolute into what many now question to be only one possible version of the truth. It is not like the conversion of Pagans of polytheistic religions. The few Anthros that agreed to speak with me on the matter of your racial sense of faith talk about the Spirits, not as some divine force, but the memories and veneration of the past." He smiled. "Like the stars, each one a burning, bright memory of a soul that watches over those still living, guiding them.  Your prayers to them are not for self-gain...but for their own sake. That kind of selfless action is beautiful to me..."

He met Crym's gaze again and she actually appeared taken aback by his words. She folded her arms more over her chest and looked into the fire. Her expression softened somewhat. "You're...not wrong..." she said eventually. "We pray to the Spirits to bless us with lessons from the past and keep us strong, sure, and kind. We would not want to dishonor them by abandoning their hardwon truths.  Even so...I do not pray anymore. When my sister, Vexa, died, I felt like that part of me was cut off. If the living could not save her, the dead have even less comfort to offer me. I only hope that, if she is with them, that she does not suffer any more than she has in life." She bowed her head, hair obscuring her face.

He too looked down at the flames. "I'd...like to think that she's watching over you, even now," he told Crym. "If she loved you nearly as much as you obviously love her, then she wouldn't want you to be so alone and unhappy.  Hiding away from everyone, even your own kind, and disguising your pain and loss with humor..."

"What would you know about pain and loss?" Crym snapped suddenly. She had risen from her seated position and stepped over the flame, disregarding its heat, to loom above him again. Her claw lashed out and again grabbed him by the front of his tunic, hauling him slightly up off the ground from his seated position.  Her expression was angry and bitter. "Who have you lost to possibly offer anyone any comfort? You know nothing about me, Human."

The constant, shifting, almost storm-like moods that struck Crym once again startled Anson into silence for a few seconds before, instead of rising to her anger, he looked away from her. "No one," he admitted. "I thought I'd lost my older brother when he was captured by Anthros, but when he was returned I saw that your people were more honorable, kind, and compassionate than any of my own kind have ever been towards even one another.  My parents are both still alive, and the only member of my entire family that is no longer with us is my grandfather. He died a very old man, surrounded by his loved ones. I was barely a babe at the time and remember very little of him. I have no idea what it's like to lose someone you care about so much and in such a violent and horrible way. I'm sorry if I sounded as if I were dismissing your feelings or trying to act like I knew how you felt."

Anson looked up into her eyes again, expression earnest. "But I do know that your sister wouldn't want you to be so lonely and miserable. She would want you to be happy. I may never have known her, but every sibling wants the best for one another, even if we don't always get along. Did you and her fight often?"

Crym flinched at his question and looked away from him. Her paw lowered him just slightly back down and she looked out over the darkened, grassy fields. The moon hung low on the horizon in that direction. "Almost...constantly," she admitted. "I was against her working so closely with Humans. The captives she was helping return...they weren't even taken by us. They were rescued from another Human castle, along with several of our own kind who had been slaves there." Her expression was shadowed by her hair and the gloom. "I should have been there...but my pride...my dislike and distrust of your people, kept me away. I didn't want those prisoners' gratitude. I wanted to continue serving my Royals in my own capacity, as a warrior, a soldier, a Legionnaire. Lesser-Royals like me, like Vexa, we weren't born to rule, but we are still the closest born to our leaders. We knew our place, our gifts...Mine was my strength and passion.  Vexa's was kindness and true selflessness..."

Anson felt the ground touch his back again as she fully lowered him once again. She stood back up to her full height.  Her shoulders remained bowed, as if the weight of her loss still pressed solidly down on them. They trembled every now and then, her jaw set in a grim line. He thought he saw a single tear glistening on her scaly cheek beneath all that hair. He wished he could do more for her but knew it wasn't his place. He simply waited.

"And her kindness..." Crym continued a few seconds later, voice having grown tight and angry agian. "Was what got her killed. Her constantly thinking of others, of not paying attention to her own safety. She was so committed to helping others that she didn't even stop to think that she might have been walking into a trap. That it didn't matter if those Humans were going to die...but they mattered to her."

She turned her gaze back onto him, flinty and hot. Her tail flicked out and dug through the satchel before drawing out the document within. She transferred it to her claw and leaned over toward him again, nearly shoving the opened seal at his face. "She died, because she didn't know when to cut and run when things were too dangerous for her. She cared too much. Just like you care too much. Do you realize what even is in this letter you were so prepared to die for without ever being able to read it for yourself?"

He met her eyes, unsure whether he was more upset about her opening the letter or that he hated to see her cry. It was a strange well of emotions churning inside of him as she stood back up, unrolling the message and turning it around to read it.

"To the King of the land of Wales, Angharad, Son of Cynan," she snarled out. "I, daughter of the Royals, Charix and the late Queen Dawnica, last true children in leadership of the proud people of Ahn, declare the war between our people to be finally at its end." His stomach dropped and his mouth fell open. She ignored him. "On midsummer's eve, one month ago, we announce the joyous news that has lifted our hearts out of the darkness of these last few decades. I speak of the success of the Four Royals Alliance, and thus the very first political marriage between our people and yours, to be held at the end of the Autumn season at the Summer Palace where all will be welcome underneath safe harbor and protection. The Germanic Princess, Amelia Lud, and the Welsh Prince, your son, Evan Anglesey, are to be bound to my brother, Rhogar, and myself, Aura.  These events shall be witnessed underneath the eyes of all remaining Clan leaders and several of your people's esteemed and most trustworthy royal cadre. I would invite you to come join us on this most joyous of days to celebrate the ending of a dark age of misery, strife, and oppression, and usher in one of enlightenment, peace, and Cohabitation.

Aura, Daughter of Charix and Dawnica, Princess-Royal"

Crym lowered the letter, rerolling it tightly in her big scaly paw. She glanced down at it spitefully, looking from it to the blazing fire.   For a second, Anson was worried that she was about to torch the letter that would finally bring an end to all the fighting and constant strife. Instead, she rolled it back up tightly and then used it to point right down at him.

"Do you realize what this letter means?" she asked, voice hot and bubbling in her throat with a growl.

"It means...peace..." he breathed. A smile began to spread across his face. Coupled with his starry-eyed stare, this however only seemed to frustrate her more.

"No!" she snapped, leaning in close to him again with her muzzle barely a few feet from his face. "It means that whoever gets a hold of this letter holds the entire continent's fate in their hands!  My people's, yours!  You're transporting one of the most important bits of parchment probably ever written upon and all you can think is, oh joy now we can stop killing each other?!" She flung the scroll into his lap and stood back up. Her fists were balled and her tail lashed from side to side, knocking over the cooking spit. He jumped as a cloud of sparks and smoke exploded behind her but she seemed not to notice, nor care. "It doesn't bring back all those who died!" she howled. "And it means that you'll probably die too if anyone gets their hands on you before you make it back!"

He blinked in surprise at her emotional outburst, her most volatile thus far. He had since plucked up the scroll and was holding it against his chest as if it were made of glass. He could not understand why she was abruptly so angry. The scent of her Aggression was heavy in the air, even more than before.

"If you had any sense at all between your round little ears," she kept on almost shouting, teeth bared. "You'd chuck that letter in the fire and run as fast as you could in any random direction. Things like this are way too big for someone like you, as innocent and well-meaning. You think the war's over? It's just getting started!"

He shook his head, expression growing steely. "You're wrong," he stated. "People don't want this war, not anymore. They're scared, everyone is, on both sides, and they're tired of hating one another for no reason."

"Just because you're finally waking up to the fact that Anthros have become the monsters you feared we were doesn't change that you've been killing, enslaving, and skinning us like animals for almost over a hundred years!" bellowed Crym. "You may not want to keep fighting this war that you started, but we have all the reason in the world to hate you! All of you! Your own kind hates people like you who don't think to benefit from chaos like this. I've seen them. I was hired by Humans like that!"

She whirled behind her and hefted up her sword from her belongings, twirling it in her hand before she slashed it through the air down at him. It took every ounce of his self-control not to flinch or try and fling himself out of the way. He instead sat there and watched the blade hover to rest, pointing right at his face.

"If I wanted to show you even a shred of mercy, I'd have actually killed you before. Spared you from waking up to this foul, rotten world of yours where weaklings like you prey on the strong but benevolent like me because we're too soft-hearted.   I'll never forgive my Royals for allowing my sister to believe that even one of you was worth saving, and I'll never forgive you for taking her from me. I hate you, Human. For all I care, my people and yours can keep killing each other until this world rots from the inside and drowns in blood!"

Anson waited for her to finish, panting heavily and sword still hovering in front of his face before he took a deep breath. "It won't bring her back," he said softly.

Crym's eyes widened before they turned to bare, blazing slits. White and fiery-red orbs glared down at him with such vehemence that he almost felt like he should have burst into flames. "What did you say...?" she hissed.

He sat up more, putting the letter down firmly in his lap. He looked directly up at the towering Dragoness, so tall above him. "It won't bring your sister back," he intoned. His voice was soft but stoic, gentle but without showing any hesitation. "She's gone. But that doesn't have to be the legacy she leaves behind."

"What legacy are you talking about?" spat the Anthro woman.

"Your legacy," he countered softly. "You are still alive, Crym. You have the choice. You can help your people, even if you no longer feel like you are one of them. You said you were a warrior. I guessed that means that you left them all after what happened to your sister. You gave up, not on them, but on yourself."

Her gaze turned icy. The tears in the corner of her one working eye might have frozen solid as they gleamed there in the dimming light of the disturbed campfire. He'd never seen someone so angry, so bitter, so sad, and so beautiful before.  It nearly broke his heart.

"I'm sorry for what happened to her. It's a tragedy that I'd give anything to undo. I don't know what I'd do if I lost my brother the same way you lost your sister. But you have a choice, Crym. You can wallow in your misery, doom everyone who wants and yearns to find a new path forward.  Like me.  You can choose to abandon everyone, or you can try and change the world you've grown to hate, to not let your sister have died for nothing."

Anson looked up into her eyes again.  "It doesn't have to be this way, Crym.  Your sister's sacrifice will have meant something if you do what's right.  Help me deliver this message, end the fighting, and hope, like I do, for a new age of peace between our peoples.  Maybe I'm just a silly, naive boy.  Maybe I don't know the pain of really losing someone and thus losing faith in myself.  But until my dying breath, I'm going to keep trying to make this world a better place.  But...if this is what you really want, go ahead." He held out the letter. "Burn it. But you might as well kill me too like you said you should have. Because I'll never stop trying to bring people the truth. I'll never stop believing in it myself."

Warily, Anson rose once again. His legs trembled just a bit as he watched her sword lift to remain level with his face. Rather than stand up, though, he instead kneeled in front of her, placing the scroll delicately on the ground beside him. He spread his arms out wide and slowly bowed his head forward, baring his neck.

There was a short silence. Then, "What are you doing?" she demanded.

He stayed with his eyes fixed on the earth. "Do it, if you hate me so much, hate what I represent in your eyes, then go ahead.  Kill me," he said, voice trembling only a little. He heard nothing save for the crackling pop of the dying embers of their campfire. "My people took nearly everything from yours, turned them into slaves or worse for the most part. You're right. All the good intentions in the world don't make up for the evil that my kind had done to yours.  And even if we do achieve peace, it won't bring her or any of your people back."

There was a soft rustling and tamping sound of her paws drawing nearer, followed by the soft brush of cold steel that grazed his neck.  Crym had come up alongside him.  He could see her clawed feet planted firmly just within his field of downwards-facing vision.  He flinched as she rested the weapon there against the back of his throat. He tried hard not to shudder as he couldn't help but imagine her cleaving his head off his shoulders as she was no doubt preparing herself to do.

"I only hope," he said, voice soft and gentle. "That maybe by doing this, you can forgive yourself for what my people took away from you, for you feeling like you might have made a difference if you had been there.   If my life could have been traded for hers, knowing you even half as much as I barely do now, I'd still have happily taken that exchange. The world deserves people like her, not simple, messenger boys, like me."

The blade weighed heavier on his neck as she applied more pressure. He grimaced at the pain of it, the sharp sting as the tiniest movement caused the weapon to cut his skin just barely. Hot droplets of blood oozed down his neck.  It hurt a lot and he couldn't help how afraid he was right now.

"...Why?" Crym asked then just as he was trying not to cry from how scared he was. "Why would you be willing to die so pointlessly? Isn't your life worth something to you? Don't you have a family too? Wouldn't they miss you?"

"They would," he agreed, eyes fixed on the earth between his knees. He saw them all standing at the village gates as he turned to wave one last time at them before crossing over the hill that kept his home out of sight of the wide road beyond. He saw the rippling forest on the horizon where he had run and played as a child.  His first kiss with a village girl, Raine, before she and her family had moved to be with relatives in Frankia. He saw the lake where he fished, the fields he ran in with his brothers. He saw all their faces so clearly. "But my life...isn't worth more than anyone else's. I became a courier so that maybe I could help make a difference. To do some good. And...if letting you kill me does you any, brings you any peace...then it's worth it in the end."  He took one last deep breath of the cool night air and murmured a small prayer.

He was ready.

"Just...please don't make it hurt?" he asked up at her.  "I've never been good with pain."

The weight of her blade left the back of his neck.  He saw, reflected in the gleam of the moonlight on the metal plates of her armor nearby, her standing above him, sword held aloft in both paws.  He closed his eyes tight, not willing or able to watch her strike.  Just like before, his only comfort was that it would at least be over quickly.

There was a rush of air as the sword sliced downward toward its target.  All the world seemed to hold its breath, time slowing to a crawl, as the vengeful, grief-stricken Anthro woman aimed directly for the exposed nape of the Human willingly kneeling before her.  One strike and that would be all.  The fate of all Humans and Anthros weighed upon the back of that sword as it howled through the night air ever downwards.

"Crym..." he whispered at the last.  It was a rather beautiful name.

There was a chime of metal and a heavy thud as the blade struck into the earth at the completion of its arc.  The world held its breath evermore, the wind dying away, and even the nighttime calls of birds and insects fell away into a hushed silence.  All the stars in the night sky seemed to lean in closer to see the outcome of that fateful choice.

The world is short of many bright, earnest, selfless souls whose lives had been cut short before their time.  Too many, beyond counting, who sacrificed of themselves for the betterment of all.  Their like is not seen often enough, each one's death a tragedy, each one's story's ending a bitter and too shortened read.

But this story is not yet over.

***TBC***