It was well past noon by the time the sun's rays entered through the little window and illuminated the feminine figure asleep on the pallet. The naked girl stirred and blinked at the sudden intrusion. She kicked off the torn blankets and rubbed her arms.
Tyra started to shiver in earnest as memories of the past night flooded back into her mind. Her throat burned from the bile raising throat rape she endured the night before and she could smell how terrible her breath was from licking her own bowels off of her rapists' cocks. She could remember them sticking their cocks up her ass and then in her mouth but, at the time, she could not taste it.
Tears slid down Tyra's cheeks as she began to sob aloud. Up until a night ago, she was just a nineteen year old serf conscript and she knew not what to make of all the emotions consuming her in the wake of her transformation and violation. "Curse you, Tyr," she cried aloud to herself, "for thinking you could become someone!"
Tyra cried and heaved deep, ragged breaths for a long time, huddled on the edge of the pallet. She was, in essence, still a serf boy, and she knew not one thing about the real world. Eventually, the grumbling in her stomach punched through her haze of misery and she resolved to search the small, two room house for food. Finding none, she remembered that her pack had food in it and was probably back in the basement where she was transformed.
Tyra got up on shaking legs and peered out the only window in the room. She could only recognize the place on the street where the werewolf fucked her. She had no idea where that basement and her pack were. Looking out, Tyra felt something was missing and she tried to concentrate over the loud rumbling of her stomach on what that was. After a while, she realized she could not tell which way was north.
Back when she was Tyr, she could always tell which way she was facing and she had a good sense of distances. Tyra shook her head and muttered, "Way back when..." in a bemused tone of voice. She looked over the shadows on the ground and thought she could identify east and west, but then she remembered she had no idea what time of day it was. She needed to step outside.
Her stomach painfully seconded that idea, so Tyra turned back to the pallet. She examined the blankets and picked up the one with the least holes in it and tore bigger the hole in its middle. She poked her head through the hole and wore the blanket as a tunic. She tore a strip from one of the other blankets and used it to cinch her tunic at the waist. After much internal deliberation, she decided the only way to reclaim her pack was to circle the palisade until she came by the house and, hopefully, recognized it. She had no idea which way was closest to the palisade, but, since it encircled the village, she reasoned all she had to do was go in a straight line until she came across it.
As soon as Tyra stepped out and squinted against the sun, she saw that the village was nowhere near as deserted as it was the night before. There were people about and they were all casting suspicious or leering glances her way. Her long legs were on open display and the holes in the blanket gave plenty of teasing glimpses of her bare flesh underneath. Tyra quickly ducked behind the corner, only to present herself to more eyes. The faces of the guards from last night came to her mind unbidden.
Tyra adopted a defensive crouch and began casting about for a weapon. She felt the bearded man's eyes on her behind so she ran across the street and darted down a side alley in a blind panic. Coming out of the alley, she saw a Guard uniform out of the corner of her eye, so she ran across the muddy street and down another alley. Bile rose in her throat again, as tears stung her eyes and the stench of her own shit hit her nose again.
Crying aloud, Tyra kept running in a blind panic, ignoring the villagers' and soldiers' disapproving looks, until she came across the only thing that could break her from her fit of madness.
Tyra's heels dug into the mud as she slid to a stop. She trembled with fresh fear, the nightmare of last night forgotten, as she slowly raised her eyes to look up at the enormous maw of the flaxen furred bear that stood before her. Tyr was a boy of above average height and Tyra inherited that height in her transformation, so she was actually very tall for a woman. Yet she had to tilt her head quite a bit upwards to see past the barred fangs, each the size of a dagger, to look upon the man perched atop the beast's back.
He wore plain robes with insignia that denominated him as a Royal Guard Battlecaster. Tyra closed her eyes in terror and started to pray quietly for a quick death. Tyra could tell the passage of time by the moist breath of the giant bear that was slowly and steadily breathing over her. After a minute, she heard the thud of boots in the mud, next to the bear and she peeked at it.
The mage was dismounted and digging into one of his pouches for the instrument of her murder or torture. She could hardly feel her shivering limbs, let alone command them to run. She looked in horror as he pulled out three little crystals, each smaller than a penny, and blew on them. Tiny orbs of warm light coalesced into being in the air above the palm of his hand and descended on the crystals, enlarging them and making them glow. When the glow faded, his hand barely contained three pieces of... Tyra guessed it was fruit, but she had never seen anything like it before.
He offered her the fruit. "I didn't need to cast a spell to hear your stomach grumbling," he said before gesturing above his bear, "even from such a height." Tyra regarded him varily, and he smiled, "Take them and eat them. You'll be refreshed."
The pain in her gut made Tyra reach out and daintily pick one up from the mage's palm. She brought it to her nose, closed her eyes and inhaled the scent. It was intoxicating and unlike anything she ever smelled as a boy on the fief. Her mouth was watering so she opened it and bit into the skin of the fruit. It was soft and her teeth bit through it without problem. The meat inside was soft and juicy, but not at all mushy like all the fruit Tyr ever ate in his life. She moaned involuntarily at the sweet taste. "For something that tastes this good," she thought to herself, "I'd whore myself out."
Tyra opened her eyes, blushed and looked at the mage in embarrassment. He smiled warmly and she swallowed her mouthful. "Thank you, sir," she said meekly.
"It's nothing," he said, still smiling.
Tyra stuffed half the fruit in her mouth and bit it off, chewing with delight at the juicy meat. She noted, after she swallowed her second mouthful, that her throat no longer burned, she was no longer thirsty and her stomach was doing the opposite of grumbling in hunger. She popped the last of the fruit in her mouth and gave it a few chews in delight.
"Thank you," she said, while eyeing the remaining two indigo fruits.
The mage laughed and offered them to her again. Tyra took them both and ate them with obvious relish. As she was licking the last of the fruit juice from her thick, luscious lips, she realized she had never had such a fulfilling or tasty meal in Tyr's life before. She also realized she was still standing in front of a battlecaster of the Royal Guard, wearing only a ratty old blanket pressed into service as a tunic. "He must have had an eyeful," she thought.
"I'm heading back to camp," he said, "If you like, I could escort you to your own wagon."
Tyra remembered she still had the short hair she had as Tyr, and on a woman, hair that short was a mark of being unclean. "The mage must take me a whore," she thought, "He thinks I have a wagon rented among the camp followers." She heaved a sigh and nodded. If the mage got her safely out of the village and to the wagon trail of the camp followers, she might beg some clothes and food from the whores and be on her way to anywhere but there. "I would rather be skinned alive than stay one more minute in this thrice accursed village," she thought.
