The beautiful pile of taut, smooth flesh and hypnotic curves spoke to him in the midst of his recovery process. She had to go to the docks, to meet with the funny little fellow that had identified himself as “Fenn” only hours earlier, when the tavern thumped and rolled with a special, rhythmic type of mayhem. For a moment, the unequivocal acceptance washed over him as a reflex, before the still-somewhat bizarre reality of the faun hit him with a punch to the kidneys.

And how precisely does she get there? Can she run with those powerful legs, or hop up, fur-on-fur atop Attila? Didn’t precisely walk through THAT part of the plan.

The pipe glowed a wild orange-yellow as he sucked a deep lungful of the rich, oaky tobacco. He considered the situation as he planned his words; far be it from him to come across as condescending after she had curled his toes so decidedly. Worse, he wanted to learn more about the boy; ever since Taische had gone missing, his paternal instincts had been left wanting.

“My horse is outside, my great big Attila. He’s stubborn as a mule, but strong as three f*cking oxen. If you’d like a ride, we can make double time coming into port east of here.”

It was probably best not to assume much of the situation; perhaps Philomel was wont to ride on a daily basis. Perhaps she could run as fast as the heavy-assed stallion leather-strapped to the dreadwood cinch-post outside the tavern.

Either way, smooth-play it; no reason to act surprised by any reaction. A little late for that.

Standing, he pulled up the dress trousers even over his own backside, only somewhat consciously flexing the sinewy muscles about his back as he tied the tailored cloth. The siren behind him may have been looking; Storm Veritas was too damned old to miss the opportunity to look attractive. With only a few flickering candles to light him, and alcohol in his system to pull the flesh tight to his muscles, he laughed as he realized this was about as good as it gets.

A glance back; she was so comfortable. So secure; even without any clothes, the ravishing beauty knew damned well how fantastic she looked. No woman would ever sit about a bed with her breasts exposed without a strong confidence that those looking would like what they saw. In this instance, there was certainly no cause for concern; she was a vision of unusual, unparalleled marvel.

I’d love to pretend I had the will to NOT follow you down some ill-begotten rabbit hole, but who in the hell am I kidding?!