Author's Note: This takes place in the same 'anthro world' as Of Foxes & Dragons, but the characters and events are unrelated. This story contains elements of violence and domination.
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Komiere's every footfall resounded with a litany of metallic clinks and clanks. For the pilgrims, adventurers, and merchants that frequented the continent's major thoroughfares every day, it was quite the ominous soundtrack to precede her. To see Komiere would have done little to assuage the apprehension that most felt at her approach.
A fine specimen of a wolftaur, she cut an imposing figure. Her long frame was layered with corded muscles that flexed easily in the manner of one trained intensively in the art of combat. Komiere's coat was a luxurious silver hue that bore much the same sheen as the polished armor she wore. A plate cuirass and rounded pauldrons adorned her torso, covering a modest bust, while her arms and four legs were equipped with matching vambraces and greaves. Woven skirts of ringmail hung around those areas that needed to remain flexible and was draped over her hindquarters as well.
Her helmet, custom fit and intricately wrought with the story of her noble lineage, was the badge of her station. It was also the only piece of equipment that she could afford to remove in the summer heat. The fluffy mane of Komiere's hair seemed impervious to dishevelment, no matter how much she sweated. A thick lock of it hung in front, artfully complimenting the angular planes of her lupine face.
The Knights of Aukanna were the esteemed police force of the Lenoan continent. As one of their number, Komiere was sworn by duty to remain in armor while traveling as a measure of her vigilance. Among the lesser families whose tongues were less discreet, it was sometimes considered a burden. The wolftaur silently agreed; she was roasting alive under the noon sun.
It would have been even worse had she chosen to take the most direct route to her goal. The Great Central Road that ran northwesterly through the continent was almost a straight line, passing through both the Aukanna castle town and the market-city of Vafoso. Ultimately, it became the only trustworthy path through the vast Moriac Desert. Komiere's destination lay beyond even that, well into the Unclaimed Northlands.
She decided early on that the direct route was unthinkable. So now the wolftaur suffered only marginally less. It didn't help that, while most Aukanna knights rode a war-mount, she as a furkin of the four-legged variety had none. Those beasts which could bear her kind were dark creatures, considered unclean and ignoble. Her surly mood, combined with the reputation of the knighthood for being strict and swift with the hand of justice, provided more than enough incentive for any traveler to get out of her way.
By dusk, she had entered Unclaimed Northlands. It was a sparsely populated region ribbed with rocky cliffs. What little traffic there was between settlements usually comprised of the unsavory sorts that needed no additional reason to hide from the law.
Night brought with it a cool and refreshing breeze off the nearby gulf. Komiere settled down in the lee of a steep hill. Her provisions were eaten cold. The smoke and light of a campfire was like a signpost for brigands that said "here I am, rob me." As unappetizing as her meal was, it was a long day of hard travel and the knight ate her fill. So much so that she was running low and hoped her destination would be soon coming.
Before going to sleep, Komiere commenced the ritual that had been pounded into her during her years as a squire: tending to her equipment. She oiled her armor, as well as she could while wearing it, then secured the cap on her arrow quiver and unstrung her longbow. If she were attacked in the night, it would be all but useless in the pitch blackness of northern nights anyway. More importantly, the wolftaur polished her shield and sharpened her sword.
Aukanna Knights were an eclectic sect of peacekeepers and they had few restrictions on what types of arms they may bear. Most nobles favored the traditional long sword or the elegant rapier. Komiere found those didn't take advantage of her upper body strength and chose for herself a gladius, the single-handed short sword made famous by Inkatti gladiators. Its broad blade was perfect for destroying an opponent's weapons as much as the opponent himself.
As she felt the onset of slumber, the wolftaur's mind turned to the memories of her youth. She wasn't quite old enough to remember them with the rose-colored glasses of distance. The years of harsh squirehood, the political wrangling of the nobility, the sting of lost love, all came back to her in the night.
Standing out amongst the pain was the kind face of her lifemate, who died in the Burning of North Ychisso. He too was a wolf--but of the two-legged variety--and as brave a furkin as you would ever meet. Alas, his prowess as a knight was not equal; he fell defending the innocent against desperate odds. Komiere's beloved was honored appropriately with a stained glass likeness in the Hall of Heroes, mausoleum of dignitaries in the Aukanna Temple atop Mount Eajolle.
Whenever the knight attended services on this most holy of ground, she would find time to gaze up at her beloved, now backlit by the sun with the glow of an angel.
Komiere missed more than his presence. What lovers she had in her prime never compared favorably against his vigor. Since his passing, the wolftaur had steadfastly denied herself the pleasures of the flesh in respect for his memory. The loss of her for the gene pool of nobility was considered a great tragedy, but she could not be swayed.
Laying sore and alone in the distant Northlands with just a memory to warm her, Komiere felt truly empty.
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The next day was mostly uneventful. Other than her equipment and some provisions, Komiere traveled light and she made good time that morning.
As the terrain turned mountainous and the elevation rose, the air became thinner and cooler. It was certainly more pleasant than the previous weeks of traveling. But a distant rumbling could be heard coming in from the mountains. Rather than a volcano, of which there were many in the northern range, it appeared to be a brewing storm. She expected to reach her destination before nightfall, if the weather held.
Only one matter of note occurred that day. Shortly after noon, Komiere stopped by a sparkling stream for a much-needed drink. Her lupine snout dipped into the cool water gratefully, but a sudden commotion around a bend in the road caused her head to snap up at attention.
The knight donned her helmet and rose from the bank of the stream, then carefully picked her way along the road, hoping not to make so much noise that she alerted whoever was causing such a ruckus. Upon rounding a particularly robust pine, Komiere had her answer.
