(Author Notes:)
Welcome to Blood & Carrots: Silverpaw. There are a few things we should get out of the way before you continue into this serial;
First and foremost, this is a SEQUEL to my first series. If you have not read it yet, seriously, close this and go do so now. This story assumes you are a returning reader, and you will be thoroughly confused by the world if you're new to the series. Also it will spoil the bejeezus out of the first series.
Let me be clear; this story will still have plenty of raunchy kemonomimi-style furry smut mixed in, but like with the first one, there's substance here. It's story first, smut second. This isn't a fic for a quick pervy read, but give it a chance and I think it will Deliver~.
The story of B&C: Silverpaw, will be much more dramatic and violent than my previous one. If you enjoyed my combative scenes and drama in the first, you'll be right at home here! If not... w-well, sorry about that. I hope you will still enjoy it all the same! I've tried my best for you all, as always.
If you made it through my original B&C, it probably doesn't matter, but I'll say it again; this story has a Variety of sex scenes in it. Though since I'm still in the process of writing it, I can't say for certain what types you'll likely encounter. I will tentatively say m/f, f/f, and f/f/m.
Phew! That's enough babbling, let's get to it!
As always, I've done my best for my lovely readers, and I hope you enjoy your time in my world.
Thank you!
#
My earliest memories were when I was a young teenager. My small nomadic family didn't bother with concepts such as birthdays, so all I can say was I would have been between twelve and fourteen.
We were a small tribe of about four families, coming to around a little over a dozen citizens in total. We did the typical lifestyle of moving with the seasons, never having permanent residence. We kept in contact with other local tribes along with the nearby permanent settlements in the region.
My father was the shaman of the tribe, the medicine-fox as it were. He had reared me from a young age to understand the various flora of the area and how to utilize it to create rudimentary medicines as well as balms. No doubt I would have taken up his position when I grew to adulthood, under normal circumstances.
I recall that night with clarity for a variety of reasons. I was woken from my slumber by my mother. She told me a great evil would soon be upon us and there was no time. She forced a wretched smelling drink into my hands, ordering me to drink deeply of it. I knew not to argue with my parents and did as she demanded.
The brew tasted as bad as it smelled, as if someone had brewed it of rotten meat and rancid wheat. I nearly wretched several times upon quaffing it down. My mother then gave me sharp and clear instructions, told me when I woke I was to travel to the north to the nearest tribe. I didn't understand but couldn't question her, the tonic already starting to claim my consciousness. My vision darkened and I collapsed a few moments later. My slumber was absolute. I did not dream or register anything, I simply floated in the void of dreamless sleep.
It was the smell that finally forced me to wake from my sleep, that and the constant weight upon me. I opened my eyes to darkness and could feel my own breath blow back on me as I panted out. I was covered heavily in something but I wasn't sure what. Shaking my head of the grogginess the tonic had left in me, I forced myself to move, crawling from a large pile of old unwashed clothing and soiled furs.
Later I would put the pieces together. The drink put me into a deep almost coma of slumber, slowing my heart to a faint whisper like thrum. My parents had then piled the foul-smelling articles heavily upon me. The combination served two purposes, one to shield my scent and the other to dampen the beat of my heart.
What I awoke to could only be described as carnage. My parents laid out before me in our small yurt, their throats torn out. It was as if a wild creature had attacked them. Their forms looked frail and drained as if their very blood had been siphoned from them. In a sobbing panic, I pushed out into the morning light, crying out for help. I called out to our neighbors and family for aid, but no one came to my cries for help.
The next several minutes were spent moving from home to home, seeing a similar scene of death. Every last member of my tribe was dead, their throats torn open, from the elderly to the children, I was the only one left.
After nearly an hour of uncontrolled sobbing and panic, my mother's words came back to me. I did the only thing I could do, I quickly donned a small sword and bow, then I struck out northward to where the next tribe would be.
Nearly half a day was spent traveling but I finally came upon the small tribe, seeing the handful of yurts over the horizon. The men of the tribe saw my approach and rushed out to me. They were shocked to see a young female not even of age to marry on her own. I broke down into a sobbing fit all over again upon them finding me, explaining what had happened as best I could.
I was taken in, cleaned up and given food. Then the next day the hunters of the tribe had me lead them back to the remains of my home. The trip only took a few hours since we rode on primitive horses. The hunters set about the task of burying the dead, their own shaman having accompanied them to offer the rights of death to the fallen.
After that, I was adopted into their tribe. I would have most likely been taken as a wife within a few years, but I was a fox, and they were a tribe of oxen. Inter-racial relationships simply didn't happen in that time, doubly so for a predator and non-predators. Even so, they took me in and I pulled my own weight. They became my second family and their shaman even officially adopted me. He taught me of their own tribe's medicine and I shared what I had learned from mine.
The times found us and eventually our small nomadic lifestyle ended as more settlements cropped up over the next decade or so. Eventually, the tribe dissolved into the budding civilization and I found myself alone. I had learned much in my time and eventually managed to open my own apothecary in one of the small villages. I never did wed, there simply weren't any foxes in the area that were available for courting.
I didn't know my age, but I knew the time to rear pups had slipped by me, I was already in my mid-twenties, after all. I should have started rearing children nearly a decade ago. So you could imagine my surprise when a young reynard found his way into my shop later into the winter months, just as I was ready to close for the evening.
Oh, he was a lovely thing to behold. The first male of my species I had seen in several years. He looked younger than me by a few years, sporting soft fur of brown and red, hair of raven wing, like my own. We weren't the same species of fox, but my desire for him didn't care. His charm was overwhelming and after just a few hours of talking, I insisted he stay the night. I didn't realize at the time the decision was hardly my own.
I woke dazed and confused over what had transpired. I never got the birds and bees talk, but I was fairly certain it didn't involve being bitten in the throes of passion. Well, not in any fun capacity in any matter. I, of course, had been embraced and turned. My mortality was lost to me on that night and he explained as such to me when I awoke.
Fury filled my soul at the concept of it. I had not given this dog permission to do such a thing, nor had I wanted it. I was content to run my little shop and take my trips into the wilderness for supplies. He had taken all that from me, but it didn't matter what I thought or wanted, he had me enthralled and could bend my will as he pleased.
He was not a cruel fox, but he certainly had no hesitation to strip my will when I tried to come at odds with him. In a way it was like being wed in that time, you didn't argue with the male back then, after all a female knew her place. Still, it was one thing to be that way out of duty and another to have it forced upon you, to break your very will to make it be so.
So my little shop closed and I stopped venturing out during the day hours. I did take some pleasure in going on walks at night when fear kept me from doing so before. I still hadn't processed I had become the very thing that tormented me so many years ago. No, I had my suspicions, but mine was a controlled thing. I didn't tear apart entire communities, I would slip in on an occasional vagabond or travel to a nearby town to feed.
Of course, the idea of sparing them had never been instilled upon me. I was a predator and they were the prey. As a personal code, I tried to avoid preying on the young and focus on the older or sick, but if I were hungry enough, all bets were off.
For the next handful of years, this was my life. My forced marriage to the fox, my forced hunger, my forced avoidance of sunlight and need to kill. It wasn't a bad life, I even grew to enjoy his company despite the situation. I didn't outright hate him and the lovemaking was thoughtful as well as passionate. I didn't love him, but we learned to lean upon one another and enjoy our curse together.
Ah, there was one caveat to all this. Did you know that there are different types of us? Oh yes. Different types of vampires can offer different types of benefits and maledictions. Well, it just so happens mine did come with a heavy price. I was stricken with nightmares and not just any, but ones that focused upon the most tragic moments of my mundane life. Now, do you understand why I remember that last night with my family so clearly?
#
A curious thing happened after that. I had been with the fox over a decade when we had some unexpected visitors call late into the night. It was a small curvy sheep and a tall handsome white fox. The site of him left me stunned, flowing white fur and equally white hair that came down in a long ponytail. I had never seen a male wear hair of such length openly. I found him fetching from the very start.
The sheep introduced herself as Lorelai, she said she came representing the council. I had no idea what she was speaking about and the fox that sired me had never spoken of such a thing. He did, however, know of what she spoke of.
Things turned quickly from there. He commanded me to stand by his side and I did so, simply because I had no choice in the matter. The sheep seemed to know this keenly and instructed the white fox to not harm me.
To call the ensuing struggle anything short of laughable would be a gross understatement. He drew forth the black flames I had seen him call upon in times past, then the white fox drew forth his own flames of blue. I was in awe of it despite diving upon him and going for his throat with my teeth.
