Summer 85, 511 A.V.
Cuga walked with his long easy stride. There was no particular urgency to be seen in his steps which were even now bringing him to the bottom of the stairs that led upwards to the healing clinic. But his outward steady manner belied what was going on in his head, and his heart. The situation did not seem to be dire, he insisted to himself - merely perplexing. But the Kelvic – well, his Kelvic – he corrected himself as he was thinking, seemed to be in a decline of sorts. That, on top of her persistence in keeping to her animal form, had caused Cuga’s father, Elantok, to say more then once in the past few days, Take her to the healer. She is a very skilled young woman. Perhaps she can assist you in bringing your girl around. Elantok had spoken in his quiet, grave voice. Cuga had heard past his father’s words, knowing the concern lay more with his son than the apparently sick Kelvic. With his son, and his prospective grandson – or lack thereof. The Kelvic had been purchased recently expressly for the purpose of trying to beget such a grandson, and Elantok had breathed a quiet sigh of relief. His son was so stubborn, so deliberate. For a hunter who every day of his life had to make split second life or death decisions, Cugacon could certainly dig in his heels and take an excruciatingly long time to make up his mind on other issues in his life. Though Elantok knew that his son was well aware of his duty, and was committed to seeing it carried out, he had become a little impatient with Cugacon. More than several times, he had quietly spoken at length with his only son, trying to light a fire under him. Cuga was now forty-five – it was high time to . . . do something. Acquire a female from somewhere, somehow, and begin what might be an extremely long process of trying to sire a child. Elantok himself subtly tried to push the idea of a contract – to bind a female to Cuga by law – a Konti in particular, he thought, was a good choice. They fared so much better than the others, generally speaking.
But in the end, Elantok was pleased enough when Cugacon had finally announced that he would seek out a Kelvic. He didn’t question his son’s choice, but was more than relieved that at last a decision had been made. That had been several months ago. He had left the selection up to Cuga, the Kelvic had been acquired through a dealer, and the young woman brought into their home up by the top of the falls. Without being overly nosy, Elantok was still able to assure himself that both his son and the Kelvic were fulfilling their obligations, though from Cuga’s demeanor, you might never have known it. This puzzled Elantok a bit, for he himself had always found the fringe benefit of sharing a female’s company to be most welcome, beyond looking upon it as an obligation. But he didn’t pry. He was satisfied that, at last, thins were moving in the right direction.
But about two weeks ago, father and son were a bit nonplussed when the girl, who was allowed to shift if she chose – as long as she was available in human form when needed – remained in her animal form for a day, and a night, and then the next day. First Cugacon and then his father tried to talk to the little animal, to coax her back to her human form. Neither was inclined to be harsh – they weren’t those type of men. But when three days had gone by and still no change, Cugacon had told his Kelvic point blank that she had better be obedient or he would take her back to the market and make sure he got his money back. Of course, he didn’t follow through with his mild threat – he had in fact grown attached to the little thing. And despite his father’s take on things, Cuga had been enjoying his Kelvic’s company immensely. There was just some part of him that cautioned his heart not to take things too seriously. It was business as well as pleasure – and more the former than the latter. Besides, he was a busy man – he had little time to moon over some pretty girl. But – though he had tired to keep her, and his feelings, at arm’s length – when he looked at her in her animal form, and thought about how she had felt in his arms, well . . . no. He did to take her back to the market.
So father and son had waited to see what would happen. And after a week, the Kelvic was eating barely anything. Cuga would sit with her in his lap, stroking her soft fur and trying to coax her into taking the morsels of fish he offered. Finally, she stopped eating altogether, and the night before, she had lain unmoving, totally listless, and limp like a little rag doll. Unable to believe that she would pull out of this on her own, Cuga had made up his mind. And thus, he was now climbing the stairs, intent upon seeking help for her, and trying not to consider the chance that this healer might not have any solution to offer.
Entering through the doors into the front room, he stopped, waiting for the staff person behind a counter of sorts to look up. He stepped closer, then, and reached carefully into the leather pack slung over his shoulder. Gently pulling forth his sick girl, he cradled her in his arms, saying, “We need to see the healer. She is sick.” Stroking the soft, glossy fur of the small otter with his fingers, he tried to think beyond what her soft skin had felt like when his fingers had caressed her human form. This was business, he told himself. The business of his dying race.
“Her name is Itsa.”
Cuga walked with his long easy stride. There was no particular urgency to be seen in his steps which were even now bringing him to the bottom of the stairs that led upwards to the healing clinic. But his outward steady manner belied what was going on in his head, and his heart. The situation did not seem to be dire, he insisted to himself - merely perplexing. But the Kelvic – well, his Kelvic – he corrected himself as he was thinking, seemed to be in a decline of sorts. That, on top of her persistence in keeping to her animal form, had caused Cuga’s father, Elantok, to say more then once in the past few days, Take her to the healer. She is a very skilled young woman. Perhaps she can assist you in bringing your girl around. Elantok had spoken in his quiet, grave voice. Cuga had heard past his father’s words, knowing the concern lay more with his son than the apparently sick Kelvic. With his son, and his prospective grandson – or lack thereof. The Kelvic had been purchased recently expressly for the purpose of trying to beget such a grandson, and Elantok had breathed a quiet sigh of relief. His son was so stubborn, so deliberate. For a hunter who every day of his life had to make split second life or death decisions, Cugacon could certainly dig in his heels and take an excruciatingly long time to make up his mind on other issues in his life. Though Elantok knew that his son was well aware of his duty, and was committed to seeing it carried out, he had become a little impatient with Cugacon. More than several times, he had quietly spoken at length with his only son, trying to light a fire under him. Cuga was now forty-five – it was high time to . . . do something. Acquire a female from somewhere, somehow, and begin what might be an extremely long process of trying to sire a child. Elantok himself subtly tried to push the idea of a contract – to bind a female to Cuga by law – a Konti in particular, he thought, was a good choice. They fared so much better than the others, generally speaking.
But in the end, Elantok was pleased enough when Cugacon had finally announced that he would seek out a Kelvic. He didn’t question his son’s choice, but was more than relieved that at last a decision had been made. That had been several months ago. He had left the selection up to Cuga, the Kelvic had been acquired through a dealer, and the young woman brought into their home up by the top of the falls. Without being overly nosy, Elantok was still able to assure himself that both his son and the Kelvic were fulfilling their obligations, though from Cuga’s demeanor, you might never have known it. This puzzled Elantok a bit, for he himself had always found the fringe benefit of sharing a female’s company to be most welcome, beyond looking upon it as an obligation. But he didn’t pry. He was satisfied that, at last, thins were moving in the right direction.
But about two weeks ago, father and son were a bit nonplussed when the girl, who was allowed to shift if she chose – as long as she was available in human form when needed – remained in her animal form for a day, and a night, and then the next day. First Cugacon and then his father tried to talk to the little animal, to coax her back to her human form. Neither was inclined to be harsh – they weren’t those type of men. But when three days had gone by and still no change, Cugacon had told his Kelvic point blank that she had better be obedient or he would take her back to the market and make sure he got his money back. Of course, he didn’t follow through with his mild threat – he had in fact grown attached to the little thing. And despite his father’s take on things, Cuga had been enjoying his Kelvic’s company immensely. There was just some part of him that cautioned his heart not to take things too seriously. It was business as well as pleasure – and more the former than the latter. Besides, he was a busy man – he had little time to moon over some pretty girl. But – though he had tired to keep her, and his feelings, at arm’s length – when he looked at her in her animal form, and thought about how she had felt in his arms, well . . . no. He did to take her back to the market.
So father and son had waited to see what would happen. And after a week, the Kelvic was eating barely anything. Cuga would sit with her in his lap, stroking her soft fur and trying to coax her into taking the morsels of fish he offered. Finally, she stopped eating altogether, and the night before, she had lain unmoving, totally listless, and limp like a little rag doll. Unable to believe that she would pull out of this on her own, Cuga had made up his mind. And thus, he was now climbing the stairs, intent upon seeking help for her, and trying not to consider the chance that this healer might not have any solution to offer.
Entering through the doors into the front room, he stopped, waiting for the staff person behind a counter of sorts to look up. He stepped closer, then, and reached carefully into the leather pack slung over his shoulder. Gently pulling forth his sick girl, he cradled her in his arms, saying, “We need to see the healer. She is sick.” Stroking the soft, glossy fur of the small otter with his fingers, he tried to think beyond what her soft skin had felt like when his fingers had caressed her human form. This was business, he told himself. The business of his dying race.
“Her name is Itsa.”