Chương 57: Vol 1. The Long Quest For Briskey: Part 4

The little house behind Ravira had been repaired so haphazardly by non-carpenters so many times that almost no part of the little farmhouse matched another: pale replacement boards beside rotting old timber that had blackened with mould, patches of thatch sewn over older patches, a brick chimney whose binding material had decayed so much that the bricks were leaning just enough to make Ravira nervous whenever there was a fierce windstorm.

Ravira pressed her muzzle against the stately footwear as she kissed them with desperation. Her claws were digging deep into the rotten and antediluvian sod of her yard. Ravira knew those shoes all too well: fine black leather, silver buckles, hardly a scratch across them. Her landlady had boasted about how they cost more than what Ravira earned in two years.

"Oh, my mistress, please," she begged in an embarrassingly high-pitched, masculine tone, her ears flat against her head.

"The month's end is still a few days away. Please, give us a little longer, and we will have the money you are asking of us." Ravira looked up at her landlady: Ressa Velrin. She was a dark-furred woman, chestnut with subtle ruddy undertones, green eyes, and tall, although not sinewy; she looked as if she had never lifted a single thing in her entire time being alive. She had a long, elegant muzzle that furled into a fiendish grin. Ravira swallowed. That look didn't mean anything.

"Oh, Ravira," Ressa cooed irreverently. She pushed the bottom of her shoe into Ravira's muzzle. Ravira squinted and gagged. She could smell and taste and see the pungent animal feces Ressa had stepped in. Ressa never went anywhere near animals, Ravira thought. She had done that for the sole purpose of humiliating her, but she would not say that out loud. She would keep her mouth shut.

"You know I am not a patient woman. When I tell you to do something, what do you do?"

"I do as you say, mistress," Ravira said.

"Good," Ressa said.

"But you have lost my trust. Do you wish to earn it back?"

"Yes, mistress."

"Lick the shit off my boot." Ravira looked up at her landlady, her breath now ragged.

"What…"

"Ravira, I know you heard me. You cannot act coy."

"I am not, mistress, but I…"

"It would be a shame if I increased your interest to three hundred percent."

"Okay, okay!" Ravira cried.

"I'll do it." She glanced toward the farmhouse window; her husband had heeded her warning this time and wasn't trying to peek at what was happening outside. Her son wasn't around either. Please, she thought, do not look outside, Merik. Whatever you do, please just do not look outside. Ravira muttered a little prayer, then pushed her face into the bottom of the boot and began to lick.

The instant her tongue touched the boot, the stench crawled inside her mouth: a cocktail of horrible sensations: bitter leather, salt, dirt, and the sour, fermented reek of dung. The warm, grainy paste smeared across her tongue, the sharp papillae that lined it making sure to pick up every little morsel. It clung to the roof of her mouth. Her stomach clenched before she could even swallow; saliva flooded her jaw as her body desperately tried to reject it.

Still, picturing her daughter, and her son, and her husband, she knew she had to woman up. And so, while cringing, she gulped it down, went at it again, gulped it down, until the bottom of Ressa's boot was completely clean. She brought her face away. Ressa inspected the bottom of the footwear as Ravira desperately waited for approval like an animal waiting for its master's satisfaction. Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

"You missed a little spot there," Ressa pointed out. Ravira leaned in again to lick the missed spot— Wack! Pain spread across Ravira's face as the boot struck her. Her body flung to the side. With a weary hand, she felt her muzzle. Warm blood was trickling from her mouth. Ressa placed one hand on her forehead and began to bellow out deep guffaws.

"Oh, Ravira, you are my favourite piece of property." She bent down onto her knees and pierced Ravira's very soul with her sinister glare.

"And do you know why?"

"I do not know, mistress."

"Because you are so resilient. No matter what I do, you never break." She gently tapped her on the nose.

"Though, eventually you will, and my fun will be over. But until then, you are mine." She stood up.

"Now, my payment."

"Yes, mistress." Ravira sluggishly got up. Her face was swollen, and she hurt considerably. She made her way inside the house.

The inside had a table worn smooth from years of use; a hearth with barely enough wood; empty pantry shelves; patched curtains; an icon of Seroth with a little candle burned nearly to the base; and in the center of the room was her husband, standing clad in that ragged but gorgeous dress she had bought for him last Sarothtine (enduring their landlady's wrath so he could have it), with a soft smile on his visage.

"Well?" he said.

"Hopefully things were not too bad this time?" Ravira spat on the ground and snarled.

"I had to eat shit this time, Merik. Actual FUCKING shit." She spat again. Tears welled in her eyes.

"This is never going to end… we are going to be at her mercy until we die… and even then, she will use our graves as a bathroom, I bet." Merik nodded.

"It's okay. I have faith that the Great Mother has a plan for us; this is only a temporary setback. Tavia…"

"Is going to abandon us!" Ravira snapped. She looked around the room and saw her little bed, the sheets unmade. Empty.

"When she gets the taste of royal life, she will never want to come back to her peasant parents who have to eat animal shit to survive."

"I am sure that's not—""Yes it is!" Ravira caterwauled. Her chest heaved up and down rapidly. Then, with a solemn expression, she slowly came up to Merik and brought him into a tight embrace. Tears wetted Merik's shoulder. He patted her on the back.

"It's okay, honey," Merik said sweetly.

"It's okay… we will get through this. We always do."

"I'm not so sure this time, Merik."

"All we can do is trust the Dual-Gods." After a few minutes of deeply hugging her husband, she let go, wiped away her tears, and went over to the desk where they kept their coinage. One pile for Ressa. One for House Seran. One for flour and grain. One for lamp oil. One for winter repairs. She counted… barely enough to cover this month's rent and loan payments, let alone the taxes to House Seran. She gulped. Veyrath would be collecting their yearly taxes soon. How were they going to afford it?

Ravira moved three coins from the flour pile into Ressa's, then two from the lamp-oil pile. She stared at the pile. She would need to go completely hungry to pay this month's rent, and she couldn't do that. Collecting up the coins, Ravira went back outside and dropped the circular pieces of metal into Ressa's paws. Ressa analyzed them for a moment, then counted them one by one.

"This is not the full amount you owe."

"We do not have that amount of money, mistress," Ravira said with her head bowed.

"Guess I will have to increase your interest to three hundred percent."

"What!" Ravira yelled.

"No… no… no… You can't! I ate shit off your boot!"

"That was for regaining my trust," Ressa said with an ear flick.

"Nothing to do with your rent." She walked off.

"See you next month, my playtoy." Ravira fell to her knees. The world became eerily quiet. Ressa's footsteps disappeared. A chicken started to bawk and scratch somewhere off in the distance. Wind moved calmly through the dead grass. She looked over her shoulder. Her husband was standing by the doorway. He reached out one paw as if to approach, but decided she needed a moment and walked back inside.

"Fuck," Ravira whispered. Then she saw it: there was a single copper coin wedged in the mud, right next to Ressa's footprint. Desperately, she grabbed it, excited; then she frowned. She was excited about a singular copper coin. Why. Oh, why. Why have you abandoned us, Seroth?