Her Spirit Broen

This is a short work of erotic fiction containing furry, or anthropomorphic, characters, which are animals that either demonstrate human intelligence or walk on two legs, for the purposes of these tales. It is a thriving and growing fandom in which creators are prevalent in art and writing especially.

Please note that all characters are clearly over eighteen and written as such in all stories.

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Lillia hunkered down in the cargo hold of a boat that she thought was transporting mining products to a far off land in great need of it. The fae doe had felt it from some distance away, all the way back at the Mother Tree, from which the buds unleashed power through the absorption of the sweetest of dreams. The dreams had slunk through, calling her, though they were not the dreams that Lillia was used to feeding and sustaining, oh no. No... Those were dark dreams, insidious dreams, the sort of nightmares that sank their claws into a creature and did not release them from the gnashing grasp of their teeth.

There was no escaping those nightmares.

She tried to breathe slowly and evenly, her body that of a deer with thicker, fluffier fur, though it was what gave her body a little more protection than otherwise expected. Her tail was thick and full and could lift to show a flash of the cream underside in warning to others, though there was no one there with her, not anymore. Her torso was that of a human or an elf, though she was irreversibly fae, a soft delicate face with defined features branding her as a being who was entirely different to any other. She wore nothing bar what protected her modesty, the bodice of woven leaves around her chest reminding her of the Mother Tree from where she had come from, though that was from another time compared to where she was going.

The nightmares snarled, weaving and winding around her, daring her to challenge them. Turn back, they said, for that was all they wanted of her. They didn't want a fae there, someone who could challenge them, even if she was a lesser one of her kind, one who was still coming into her true power.

Lillia trembled. Oh, but the nightmares... She could not forget the nightmares that howled from Bilgewater.

They floated to her down the sea of Ionia, the fae doe hunkering down, clutching her bough. It held more power than she had any right to wield, her deer-like ears slanting back softly, though she could not lose her faith right there and then, not when she had so much to give the world.

That was why she had travelled so far, nearing Bilgewater, crew members shouting and calling on the decks above where she was tucked away in the cargo hold. The boxes and crates and barrels had jostled her through the long, uncomfortable voyage and her stomach yawned with hunger. She would need to replenish her sack of supplies soon but, first, she had to dock where the sailboat came to an end.

What boat had she boarded? Oh, Lillia had not cared to know, as long as it was going in the direction that she needed it to. She breathed as slowly and as evenly as she could, staying the course even as the ship bumped into dock, screams and shattering cries emanating from all around. If she hadn't heard the tales of Bilgewater and Harrowing, maybe she would never have followed the nightmares in the first place, but she had to try, had to go, had to do what she could as a fae from the Mother Tree, feeding sweetness back to the buds that could only bloom with the kindest and warmest of dreams.

Her fingers tightened around the Dream-Laden Bough. There was no place for a fae where there was no delight to be had and it was her duty to help those that were suffering from the Shadow Isles and all the misery that they had brought into the world.

It is time for action...

Her stomach churned but there was no time for her to take nerves in hands, a strange fae doe amongst the humans. Would she be accepted? Would she be shunned? She shook her head, trying to stand, though the wooden boards under her cloven hooves were still shaky. The bud on her bough glowed faintly as she drifted into an uneasy slumber, resolving herself to wait until the rest of the crew had disembarked before taking the plunge herself. Only time would tell whether she would successfully bring light back to the lives of Bilgewater and more, stealing them away from the ruling force of sadness. She could not do that trembling with nerves.

Sleep would help that.

*

Silence greeted her as she sat up, ears lifting to catch the smallest of noises. It was quiet, or as quiet as she could expect the vessel to be after all the activity that had brought it to life in the tumultuous, rocking voyage. A rat scratching the boards. The waves lightly lapping the hull as it rocked and rocked, though there was no one there that it needed to soothe back to sleep.

It was time.

She advanced up the ramps and staircases that were not designed for a creature like her, the little deer scampering and flitting around like a ghost. Back to the deck and a blast of fresh air finally lifted the loose waves of her purple and blue hair from the back of her neck, hanging a little more limply than it did when she was well-rested. But that would come in time, the magic in her begging to be released through the power of her bough, the dreams there, beckoning her down. Her stamen twitched, protruding lightly through her hair, though they were difficult to see at times.

"What is that - a deer?"

Others saw her but she had no time to tell them who she was and why she was there as she gathered her resolve and leapt from the deck. There was a ramp down to the jetty but it was not for her, muscles bunching and stretching to fling her into the air, free from the grasp and pull of the boat. Boats were not for fae: they needed to run and to jump, to move as their bodies were designed to!

She exhaled, finally taking a full lungful of air for the first time in what seemed like decades. The scent of rotting fish and new gold didn't help her stomach any more as it leapt and roiled, the town built around the port, houses on stilts out over the water as if they were a part of it themselves. Further inland, away from the port as she stretched out her legs, were dirt roads and cobbled streets, though the town would always retain something of an air of being constantly in progress, always unfinished. It was a strange sort of civilization to look down on as she stepped hesitantly down the jetty, water swirling beneath as if she was about to be plunged into it at a moment's notice. The world held a greenish-blue tinge to it, flames snuffed out, as if she had stepped into a nightmare itself, the dream itself holding its breath.

But that was just her overactive imagination, she told herself. Things like that could not happen in the real world, the world outside dream-walking and embracing the nuances of such things. It was the time in the hold that had turned her mind in such a way, she was sure of it. Time had a funny way of passing when one was trapped under the deck of a ship, even if it was under her own will.

Yet all was not to be soft and peaceful for any span of time as a lonely wind blew in a yin that she had never experienced before. The darkness came, hissing and swirling, and yet there was no sound to it even as her ears twitched and flicked back and forth. Her body thought there was something there even if her mind did not see anything, nothing tangible, nothing that she could grasp with her own two hands.

And then she saw what she should have first paid heed to on setting foot in the town, her hooves moving of their own accord, one after the other.

Every house closed up against an otherworldly force, tightly boarded. Whether there were families in there that had hunkered down against the true evil or had left instead for, hopefully, a better land remained to be seen. And Lillia could not see so very much of the world that she knew and remembered at all.

The wind howled, swirling and raging, bringing along with it the charm of evil, a kiss that no lover wanted to taste. It came for her, sweeping around, though it was there, bringing the kiss of death back to life.

Lillia reeled, the fae doe scrambling as her hooves skittered, debris flying as she stumbled over the boards to solid ground, in the town itself. Yet there was no creature in the world who could have truly stood fast against such spirits of the dead as proved to be the cause of the nightmares that she had sought to send back. She gasped but there was no air for her lungs as beasts and demons of the underworld walked again, their essence whispering at the edges, not bearing any true form for the mortal realm where Lillia abided.

No...

But there was no denying it, their gaping, yawning mouths, how they streamed between the closed up houses, how they flooded in through the Black Mists, a roaring swathe that could not be denied. That the houses were occupied was swiftly made obvious as they streamed in through the tiniest cracks and gaps that not even Lillia had known existed into those places, screams rising, blood-curdling and ripping through her very soul.

She clung to her bough, trembling, wanting to move but rooted in place, the stink of death on the air. A place that had, a moment ago, been so peaceful, had been shattered in nothing more than a single moment, the cries and the wails cutting her to her quick.

She had to move, had to do something - that was what she was there to do! Lillia shook, her chin tipping up to where the guards higher up, a hill rising forebodingly over Bilgewater as if to protect it, stood. They were no better protection than the mountains that had stood watch over the port for so many years, beasts running on all four legs like her, but massive, hunkering, slavering louts that sought only the snap of human flesh. The guards were tossed into the air even as they levelled spears and swords, broken and beaten, their screams swiftly swallowed up by the ravenous maws of creatures that should never have existed. For the dead knew no bounds when they had already been called back to the mortal realm to wreak terror.

BOOM!

The ground shook under her as Lillia staggered, her bough levelled as if that would do anything, truly, to help her balance. Yet she had to do so, had to try, lips parted, heart hammering. Her lungs tightened, struggling and pulsing for breath that would not come, but she still had to sink back onto her haunches and hurl her whole body into motion with the greatest force of will that she had ever had to call on her body to exert.

Bodies were hurled from houses, black tentacles snatching off boards and demanding entry. A mother clutching a small child was flung forth, never to be seen again, though Lillia could only hope in the moment, rather than sending up a prayer, that her end was a swift one. A human male crawled across the street and she whimpered as she leapt over him, knowing that he was already lost to the world, even if he had not yet taken his last breath. She couldn't do anything for him and it hurt her to the point that she wondered if she had been struck or stabbed, the pain in her chest and curling through her gut was that great.

Everywhere she looked, galloping flat out with her bough glowing, levelled and ready, there were monsters of the underworld. Some had vicious claws for stabbing and there was no human body before her that did not stop moving after a few well-timed stabs, ripping through spinal cords as if they were nothing at all. The reek of death fell heavy on air that was no longer fit for breathing and yet the deer's lungs needed it so very desperately, eyes wide and wild, nostrils flared as she sucked in scents that no one should have ever have had to.

The Harrowing had come. And it was worse than one little fae could have ever imagined.

So much death... So much fear... It was no wonder that the dreams and nightmares had reached her at the Mother Tree, her hooves faltering as she skidded on something wet and slippery, not wanting to think too much about what she had almost stumbled on. Countless dead spirits swept in to replace any that had exhausted themselves and she ducked to avoid a man tumbling from a rooftop, a blistering, oozing wound sliced across what may have once been a handsome face.

Run, she had to run, had to find a way, had to do something, anything, something to stop them. She was only one but they had said that she was strong and strong she must be, the bough in her hands, the Dream Blossom Censer that was her only hope against the Harrowing. She let out a cry that was less of a battle-cry and more of a squeal of fear, kicking back onto her hind hooves to strike at the air.

"Be gone!" She cried, her voice thin and weak in a world that would gulp her down whole and spit out the bones. "For you, spirits, have no place here! Be gone, be gone!"

Stamping the ground, she struck, the Dream Blossom Censer glowing, spitting rose petals, swirling around her as if in a storm of fallen blossoms. Yet they were all created by the power of the bough that she wielded, dream dust called to it, spluttering and growing in force and power.

Lunging and whirling, she struck, fighting back the Black Mists as much as she was individual opponents, for her presence had indeed been made known to them too. The fae doe screamed and reared and bucked and twisted, avoiding her enemies with the agility that had been blessed to her kind, knowing nothing else but evasion as she forced her body to the limit. The dust scattered in the petals, slicing into the mists, how it swirled and ebbed with a life-force of the underworld, all on its own, yet the raging monsters with drooling jaws and eyes sunken deep into their skulls were not so easy to force back. Those were the stronger ones and anger filled her, giving her strength, the screams of those that she sought to protect driving her on. She had to find the strength to be there for them, to do all that she came there to do, hooves pounding the dirt road, striking and sweeping, the Dream Blossom Censer and the Dream Dust fizzling into them.

It had little effect, the monsters advancing, greed in their eyes. Her Dream Dust swept towards the mouth and source of the Black Mists themselves and yet was swallowed up, a screaming spark doused in but a moment, snuffed out as if it had never existed. She looked on in horror as the dark swathes of pulsating mists rose to the height of a mountain, a towering wall that she could not hope to break through, turning on her heel with her under-tail raised in fear.

She had been a fool to assume that she could have done anything. Her stomach sank, stone-cold and dropping into her hooves, though Lillia's lips were clamped resolutely shut against any whimpers. Not even in retreat would she dare show weakness against the Harrowing, not when so many had more to cry for than her. She would come back again, stronger and with more at her back, carrying out the quest that had to be what she needed to do, what was her entire life's purpose in being there.

Up the mountains, though the guards of the port town had not fared well either: it was her only means of escape unless she wanted to sail a ship herself. The Black Mists would be able to follow her over the water anyway, she was sure of it, the fae striving with every last ounce of strength in her body not to look at the dead bodies littering her path. It was like leaping and twisting over old, gnarled roots and fallen trees in the forest, though she had known their lives and that they had come to a gentle and timely end where their life forces had returned to the underbelly of the forest itself.

Humans were not like that, their lives stark and howling, the essence of them pouring bewildered around their dead bodies. They knew not what had happened to them and, not even able to see their spirits, only feel their pain, Lillia could not even explain it to them. It was then and only then that a sob ripped from her throat, which tightened as if an invisible claw was locked around it.

She had failed. Now, all she could do was escape.

There were others along with her too and she called them to join her, hustling them along, feeding them a little of her Dream Dust to lift them up and along.

"Come!" She cried. "Flee, run! They are coming!"

Waving her bough wildly, she gulped and hacked for breath, something leaping in her chest, more flustered than in control of anything as a leader should have been. The mountain path was narrower and rockier than it should have been, cliffs and hidden ledges offering hiding places for monsters of the night, though Lillia had not the experience of such a land to know what could have been lying in wait for her. The spirits of the Harrowing, after all, were a fresh brand of a nightmare that not even a Dream-laded bough could sweep back to the darkness.

Alas, Lillia's cloven hooves, as swift and as agile as they were, could not lead her through the body of the mists. Maybe they sensed that she was a more worthwhile prey than the humans that they had cast aside, letting the survivors flee higher up while the Black Mists swirled and rose around Lillia.

The deer-taur screamed and tried her best to escape, but a scree of loose pebbles and dirt was too soft for her to clamber up as she tried to find freedom once more. Something in the mists rumbled a laugh but she did not turn to look, hurling her body into another path, smoke clawing at her nostrils. An unpleasant, acrid aroma, it pushed into her lungs and drove her to cough, chest convulsing and head ducking, striving to breathe with every last drop of energy she could call back to her soul.

Yet it was not that easy - it would never be that easy, not against the Harrowing. Some of the spirits toyed with her, appearing in her path, moving through the mist that was everywhere, an all-being spirit in itself that controlled everything it touched. She darted and dived out of the way, an old stag with broken teeth laughing at her, rearing and stomping, chasing her on, herding her to the spot that they wanted her to be. She may as well have been a fish being chased into a net, the catch of the day, for all the control she had over herself and her own direction, flinging her bruised, aching body on with all the energy she felt that she had left in her soul.

In the end, a towering wall blocked her path, the spirits closing in, step by step. As much as she darted back and forth along what had to be some kind of defensive measure for Bilgewater, there was nowhere left for her to go, the leader of the Black Mists, at least in that Harrowing, stepping forth to inspect what his fallen spirits had trapped in their nets for him.

Hecarim. Even she knew his name as she towered, his helm making it so that no one could see his true face and features, whether he was of the cervine viability like her or a human in appearance. No one knew and Hecarim would see to it too that he would never know, rumbling a laugh that had her quailing, hiding behind her bough as if that had any force or power against the might of one such as him. She may as well have been wielding a twig for all the good it would do her there.

"Little fawn... You should never have come here."

The giant stag-creature, his body that of a centaur-type, just like her, loomed, dwarfing her completely. Surrounded by his spirits, he was invincible, though the blue flames leaping from his armoured hide, though they gave off no heat at all. That was not something that was needed in the underworld, after all, not as he languished in the suffering of the human souls swallowed up by the Black Mists, lending them more and more power.

The cliff was not far and she briefly wondered if she should hurl herself off, follow the wall until she came to the end and plunge into the water below, for the town and the surrounding hills were still wrapped up in the water. There was no escaping it and, for once, she longed to plunge into its icy embrace, to end it all, to not feel the horror of his cold, dead eyes boring into her soul.