Master moves about the inn room, the faint creak of the floorboards beneath him whenever he comes close enough. Healing has been slow, far slower than it should be, the deep gashes in my leg and side knitting together with stubborn reluctance despite the herbalist’s care and the constant stream of remedies he brings me. Yet every moment of weakness only makes my possessiveness burn hotter, I refuse to let him stray far, my clawed hand always reaching for him, pulling him back to the double bed with needy insistence.

He returns again with embercrack tea steaming gently in a clay mug, its spicy warmth chasing the lingering ache from my bones as I sip it slowly, blue eyes fixed unblinkingly on his face. The local tropical meats follow soon after, rich and savoury, paired with thick slices of cattail bread still warm from the settlement’s ovens and hearty portions of capybara cattle, tender, slightly gamey cuts roasted simply with herbs that fill the room with mouthwatering scent. I eat what he offers with slow, deliberate bites, my tail swishing contentedly across his lap as he tends the bandages, applying fresh herbal poultices that ease the deep throb in my leg and side.

I shift closer on the bed, armoured pieces long discarded, blonde hair spilling across the pillows while my cat ears flick toward every sound outside the inn. My body presses flush against his whenever he sits, claws lightly kneading his thigh in restless claim as the bonded soul thrums with dark, lovestruck gratitude.

He services me so perfectly, never leaving me wanting and the thought of any rival even glancing his way sends a low, unstable growl rumbling in my throat. Mine. Always mine. I nuzzle into his neck.

The strength floods back into my limbs after those long days of forced rest, the last traces of blunt trauma finally fading beneath healed skin and muscle. The steel of my armour had done its work well, taking the worst of those crushing bites and the local craftsmen Master found had mended every dent and scratch to gleaming perfection.

I rise from the double bed with fluid grace, tail lashing once in satisfaction as I stretch, claws flexing and steel plate settling perfectly against my body once more. No pain lingers, only the familiar coiled power thrums through me as I take my first full steps, spear in hand and heater shield strapped close.

My tail immediately coils possessively around Master's waist, pulling him flush against my side while my cat ears twitch toward the sounds of the inn below. He never babied me too much, pushing me to walk and move even when the wounds still burned and that steady demand only deepened my twisted devotion. Now that I am whole again, my blue eyes gleam. The room feels too small, the inn too confining, it is time to leave this place and reclaim the world outside these walls. 

I move with deliberate feline grace toward the door, body pressed tight to his, claws lightly pricking his side through the leathers in restless ownership while my tail never once loosens its grip. 

We descend the creaking wooden stairs of the inn. The common room is warm and lively with the low murmur of locals, the scent of roasting meats and fresh cattail bread thick in the air but my blue eyes flick only briefly over them before fixing back on him with unblinking intensity. We claim a sturdy table near the wall and I slide into the seat beside him, armoured thigh pressed tight to his as my clawed hand rests on his leg beneath the table, kneading lightly in restless claim.

For once I am allowed to look over the menu properly, my gaze scanning the offerings with feline curiosity, tropical stews heavy with capybara and local game, grilled meats drizzled in herbal sauces, thick slices of cattail bread still warm from the ovens, embercrack tea, and simple platters of forest fruits and roasted roots. 

My ears perk up instantly at Master's words, "you decide, i've been deciding for you these past few days. So this time decide for me my dear kitten" I say. He is letting me choose for him, giving me this small but delicious piece of power after days of his steady care and the thrill of it sends a low unstable purr rumbling through my chest. I scan the menu with sharp focus, ears twitching at the innkeeper’s distant calls, before deciding with absolute certainty.

I flag down the serving girl with a sharp flick of my wrist and order for both of us in a voice laced with sly authority, two generous platters of roasted capybara cattle steaks, seared crisp on the outside and still juicy within, drizzled in the local herbal sauce, thick slabs of warm cattail bread slathered with forest herbs, a shared bowl of rich tropical stew heavy with game meat and root vegetables and two steaming mugs of embercrack tea to wash it all down. 

My ears swivel forward at the first strum of the bard’s lute, the lively melody cutting through the warm chatter of the inn’s common room like a fresh breeze through the tropical canopy outside. I shift closer to Master on the sturdy wooden bench. The bard’s voice rises smooth and rhythmic, a local ballad of Saltspire’s wilds and the brave souls who carved order from the marsh and forest and soon enough the patrons are clapping along, a few couples rising to dance in the cleared space near the hearth. Laughter and stomping boots fill the air, the atmosphere light and celebratory.

“They dance like they have not a care, Master, but none of them know what it means to truly belong to someone the way I belong to you… the way you belong to me.” My cat ears twitch at every burst of applause, tail swishing slowly across his lap in rhythmic contentment while the bonded soul pulses warmly between us.

The serving girl returns shortly with our platters. The roasted capybara steaks sit steaming and aromatic, their edges perfectly seared, juices pooling beside generous portions of tropical stew rich with chunks of game meat, sweet roots, and fragrant leaves. Two mugs of embercrack tea complete the meal, their spicy steam curling upward and chasing away the last phantom aches in my healed body.

I cut a generous piece of the capybara steak with my claws and spear it on the end of my knife, lifting it directly to Master’s lips with a sly, expectant smile that shows just a hint of fang. “Eat, Master. I chose this for you… every bite you take is because I decided it would nourish you.” My voice is thick with possessive pride as the bard launches into a faster, more upbeat verse and the dancers spin and clap with increasing energy.

My free hand occasionally tears off a piece of the herb dusted cattail bread and presses it to his mouth as well, ensuring he is fed properly while I take smaller, deliberate bites for myself, savouring the flavours but always returning my attention to him.

The music swells, the clapping grows louder, and a few of the locals cast curious looks toward our table,recognising us, no doubt, from the old tales of the Vanguard’s fall and Clan Bogclutch’s shadow over these lands.

My ears flatten slightly at their attention, a low growl building in my throat that I swallow back only because Master is here and safe beside me. “No one else gets to decide anything for you while I am here,” I whisper fiercely.

The moment we step out of the inn’s warm doorway into the open marketplace, the sudden tropical downpour catching me completely off guard despite the heavy heat that still clings to the air like a damp blanket. Rain sluices down in steady sheets, pattering loudly against the stall roofs and turning the packed earth into slick mud.

My tail, so proudly swishing moments before droops instantly as water soaks through the blonde fur, the dark blue leather collar around my neck growing heavier and the familiar wet fur stench rising sharp and unpleasant from my drenched ears and tail. I let out a loud, miserable yowl that cuts through the marketplace noise, shaking my head and upper body violently in a futile attempt to fling the water off, my steel armour clanking with the motion while my claws dig into Master’s arm for balance.

The scent is horrible, damp, animal, everything I hate and it only fuels my unstable temper as I press harder against him, tail wrapping around his leg in a desperate, soggy coil despite the mess it makes of his own clothes.

The small marketplace bustles even in the rain, four sturdy stalls clustered around a central stone well where Master moves to fill our canteens with fresh water. I follow like a shadow, body glued to his side, one clawed hand never leaving his waist as I glare at the falling rain with pure feline disgust.

To the north the raised motte and keep loom behind their blocked gates, silent and imposing, to the south the cattle pens are visible inside the bailey walls, the capybara beasts lowing softly under makeshift shelters, west and east the simple houses huddle with smoke curling from chimneys and further south lies the gate leading back into the tropical forest. The food stall offers bundles of dried meats and fresh roots, the leather and hunter equipment stall displays basic hardened hides, bone tools, short bows, and a few traded metal knife blades and buckles that gleam wetly under the awning. The herbal stall is heavy with bundles of drying leaves and jars of salves that remind me of my recent recovery, while the clothing stall holds simple tunics, cloaks, and woven belts suited for the humid climate.

I yowl again, lower and more aggrieved this time, shaking my ears so droplets fly everywhere as the wet fur smell intensifies around us. “This rain… it clings and stinks and ruins everything,” I growl against Master’s shoulder. My tail lashes once, spraying more water.The bonded soul pulses my discomfort and fierce love straight into his mind, demanding he feel every bit of my unhappiness so he might fix it, might shield me from this wretched water.

Yet I do not pull away. Instead I remain plastered to his side as he finishes with the well. One ear flicks toward the leather stall where a few metal items catch what little light filters through the clouds, perhaps a new buckle or reinforced strap that could be useful. My free hand reaches out to tug at Master’s sleeve, claws pricking lightly as I guide him toward the herbal stall first, voice a low, unstable murmur. “We should take more of their salves… in case anything tries to hurt you again. I will not allow weakness to slow us.” The rain continues its assault, soaking my blonde hair until it clings to my face and neck.

The marketplace folk give us a wide berth, recognising the pair who once brought chaos to the Vanguard and now walk among them under truce. Good. Let them stare. I shake again, a full body tremor that sends water flying from my ears and tail, then press my forehead to Master’s chest with a needy whine, claws kneading his side through his clothes. “Master… make it stop or take me somewhere dry. I hate this smell on me, but I hate being away from you more.” 

"fine," Master says, the word sending a thrill of satisfaction racing through me. I shake once more in irritation, flinging the last stubborn droplets from my blonde hair and cat ears, but the discomfort eases the instant he starts walking toward the raised motte. The guards at the base of the stairs halt us with spears lowered, their eyes wary beneath rain soaked hoods, but Master speaks. “The rain falls on the just and the unjust alike but only fools bar the path of those who have already paid the blood price for these walls.” The words hang heavy with cynical authority and the guards exchange uneasy glances before stepping aside.

The climb is swift, my feline agility carrying me up with fluid grace despite the lingering dampness. We push through the heavy door into the first room of the wooden keep and the sight of the roaring fireplace hits me like salvation. Warmth floods the space immediately, golden light dancing across rough timber walls and simple furnishings, chasing away the tropical chill that had settled into my bones. I practically drag Master closer to the hearth, body trembling as the heat begins to work its magic on my drenched fur.

Strangely, as the last of the moisture leaves my fur and I stand fully dry and warm beside the crackling fire, the rain outside stops as abruptly as it began. The clouds part, tropical sunlight filtering through the keep’s narrow windows, turning the marketplace below into a glistening, steaming tableau. I tilt my head, ears twitching in suspicion at the timing, but my focus quickly returns entirely to Master. “You always know how to fix what troubles me,” I murmur.

My ears shoot straight up at the sound of approaching footsteps, tail lashing sharply behind me as the well dressed man strides into the room flanked by his militia guards, their short swords drawn and expressions hard. The fireplace’s warmth is forgotten in an instant, I step forward with fluid, aggressive grace, positioning my armoured body directly between Master and the intruders, steel spear gripped tight in one clawed hand and heater shield raised. My blue eyes narrow to dangerous slits, fangs bared in a low, unstable snarl. Master stands calm, turning to face them with that shadowed authority I adore, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade in the dark. “You know if there is one thing I can’t stand, it’s a rich bastard that believes they can do whatever they want.” He emphasises the word bastard with perfect enforcer weight and the man’s face twists in anger, signalling his guards forward.

They flank us quickly, short swords flashing but they are nothing compared to my devotion. I explode into motion with a feral yowl, tail whipping violently as Protective Fury surges through every muscle. My spear thrusts forward in a brutal arc, catching the first guard in the shoulder and sending him stumbling back with a cry of pain. The second lunges at Master and I intercept with my shield, the impact jarring up my arm before I slam the rim into his jaw with a sickening crack. Claws rake across another’s chest, tearing through leather and drawing blood as I move with deadly feline speed, body a blur of steel and fury between Master and any threat. They put up a brief, desperate fight, swords clanging against my armour and shield but they go down easy enough under my onslaught, bodies hitting the wooden floor one after another while I stand panting, ears pinned flat and tail lashing in aggressive triumph. No one touches what is mine. No one.

The well dressed man rages, face red as he spits accusations about us walking into his keep uninvited, but Master simply shakes his head with that calm, cynical demeanour. “No. You once intruded into MY KINGDOM.” The words send a dark thrill racing through me, the bonded soul flooding with shared intensity as I press back against Master, tail coiling possessively around his waist and claws flexing at my sides. My heart pounds with twisted love and the urge to tear the man apart myself but before I can spring forward the unexpected happens.

A man of the working class bursts in from a side door, plain clothes and determined eyes, and drives a hidden blade straight into the leader’s back. The well dressed man falls with a gurgling choke, eyes wide in shock, and the newcomer turns to us with a nod. He sees our behaviour as an intrusion, yes but thanks us for the distraction all the same, waving us toward the exit as if the entire bloody scene were nothing more than a minor inconvenience. “Forest Point will be a republic in truth now,” he declares, voice rising with purpose as he heads down toward the marketplace flanked by the remaining militia, speaking loudly of corruption, the end of military dictatorship, and the real will of the people.

I stand there for a moment, spear still dripping, body trembling with leftover adrenaline and possessive need, before turning fully to Master and burying my face against his chest. My tail squeezes him tight, ears twitching madly as I nuzzle harder, fangs grazing his collarbone in a claiming bite that soothes the chaos inside me. The bonded soul carries his thought clearly “the fuck we walk into” and I let out a low, unstable laugh against his skin, the sound thick with dark amusement and devotion. “Whatever storm we step into, Master, I will be your fang and your shadow. Let them fight their little wars over republics and power, none of it matters as long as you are safe and mine.

The air outside feels fresher after the rain, the stalls still open and the central well gleaming under returning sunlight. 

My ears flatten slightly at the distant rallying cries from the marketplace but the moment Master declares “I’m not listening to this crap” and turns back toward the inn, a surge of possessive satisfaction floods through me. I follow without hesitation, tail lashing once in agreement. The common room is still warm and lively, the bard now playing a slower tune in the corner.

Master orders a local spirit, something strong and amber that the innkeeper pours with a knowing nod, and I slide onto the stool beside him, body angled so my thigh presses firmly against his. “Good choice, Master. Let them prattle on about republics and corruption out there. Their little power games mean nothing compared to you.”

The spirit’s sharp scent cuts through the room’s aromas of roasted meat and woodsmoke and I inhale it alongside him, content to simply be here in his presence. The inn feels safer than the keep or the rain soaked market, the fire still crackling in the hearth and the bard’s melody wrapping around us like a private world.