Turning of the Seasons

Author’s Note: Greetings! And welcome to my very first original fic! I’ve been wanting to write one for a very long time. And now I have. I hope you all enjoy!

The chapters’ rating will vary. So I will post the rating, and any necessary warnings at the top of every chapter.

Title: Turning of the Seasons
Author: Capricornia
Chapter Rating: PG-13
Chapter Warnings: light sexual suggestions

This story is in the process of being edited. You may continue to read if you want. But these chapters will be changed a little. Sorry for the inconvenience.

Prologue

Letter from Sir Keto Kriemhild of Ehy to our Most High and Powerful Majesty, Emperor Kroknof of Kal, concerning the creatures he encountered during his stay in the chain of islands east of our Great Land.

“August 6, 1707

My Lord and Master:

It is your humble servant’s greatest hope and wish that this letter finds Your Most Gracious Majesty in good health and merry cheer. We ourselves find our circumstances decent enough, or as decent as our objectionable hosts are able to provide for us. Three years have passed since my companions and I set sail to the islands of Saifos, the vast archipelago some seven hundred miles off our mainland, as ambassadors to the many kingdoms that sit upon them. As Your Grandest Majesty had well instructed us, we have observed and documented these peoples’ customs and activities to the best of our abilities. We have hence traveled all through the small isle-realms, and have witnessed many unusual things. After our extended stay and careful examination, we have concluded that the islanders are nothing but uncivilized barbarians by our much superior standards. They presently have no formal armies, no penal system; they worship pagan gods, are submerged in ridiculous superstitions, and have no social order whatsoever. There should be nothing of interest to Your Majesty among the people of these islands. Whoever, there is a particularly fascinating breed of creatures that might merit Your Lordship’s attention.

They are called the Qyotaul; large quadruple creatures with thick coats of thin feathers instead of fur, often mistaken for big wolves or small bears if seen from a distance. There is nothing quite like them in our Great Land, or anywhere else that we know of. The locals say they are magical beasts, who shape-shift into human guise every night of a full moon, and walk amongst us in secret. While others believe they bend the forces of nature to their will, casting rains over the forests and fires in the plains. They are worshiped as divine creatures, messengers of the gods, capable of traveling to the spirit world and back. Catching sight of one of them is said to bring good fortune to the good, and ruin to the wicked. As elusive as they are, any sighting near a city or village is cause for celebration and religious rituals. And it is said that if a man pure of heart is to meet one of them in the woods, he will not die of illness or mishap, but peacefully and happily in old age. Myths tell the beasts themselves are immortal. There are countless shrines scattered throughout the wilderness in their honor, where the islanders go to leave offerings and ask for their blessings. Truly astonishing stories surround these Qyotaul, like when in ancient times they assumed the forms of soldiers and led great armies to victory, or when they have shown kings where and when to plant their crops as to avoid famine.

Because of these fantastical fairytales, my men and I felt a great curiosity towards these creatures, so we arranged an expedition to go in search of them. Regrettably, we were met with much opposition from the locals, and were unable to embark. We have found no scientific documentation of them anywhere, not even the Academy in the capital city of Mirkir, the largest intellectual institution in the archipelago. All we know of them comes from legend.

I myself have been fortunate enough to see one of these animals, several months ago. It is indeed a beautiful creature. But because of this encounter, my company and I were forced to abandon Mirkir, for I broke my leg not long after, and was accused of having a sinful heart. Truly, these people must be delivered from their outrageous beliefs. I only hope to learn more of these Qyotaul before my stay here in Saifos comes to an end next spring. Perhaps another shall present itself before me again. And if it does, I’ll make sure to capture it as to bring it back to adorn Your Majesty’s grand court.

--Sir Keto Kriemhild of Ehy, Lord Ambassador to Northern Saifos”
(*)(*)(*)

A breeze swung the bare branches above him, and the sun cast swaying shadows over the forest floor. Iendro moved swiftly on his paws, almost gliding through the trees. It was still just after midday, but he still had a lot of ground to cover before nightfall. He’d been running for miles now, but there could be no slowing down.

There was a sweet, enthralling scent in the air, and it only served to remind him of the task at hand; claim as large a territory as he could before following the scent to its source.

That’s how it went. Mating season had its ritual. In order to impress a potential mate, sires looked to take control of the largest area possible around their desired. They would expel all competition from this territory and claim the land as theirs. Only after this was accomplished were they expected to approach, though they had probably never met the object of their yearning before.

Bearers in heat release pheromones into the air to attract suitors. And Iendro had caught whiff of this particular scent late the night before. It was the most intoxicating and luscious thing that had ever entered his nostrils, and he was intent on making this bearer his mate. So he had been chasing every other sire away from the area all morning, marking every nook and trunk he found with his own scent.

He felt good. He felt confident.

He had a very positive feeling about this scent. He knew this would turn out to be a perfect winter if he managed to get this bearer to mate with him. So he had to get more territory. That was the key.

He wouldn’t lie to himself. Being as…inexperience as he was in the question of…mating, brawns would be his only initial leverage. He had no idea how else to romance a bearer. Those were unknown waters for him.

He had never paid much mind to it, but the truth remained; he was a prude. Possibly the biggest prude in Qyotaul kind.

He was by no means young. At three centuries old, he could say he had seen his fair share of things, and learned enough about them to fill a human library with scrolls upon scrolls of information. But also at three centuries old, he had never mated before. Not once.

If any barer heard that, he would die of hysterics before even giving him a second glance.

Mating had just never appealed to him. No bearers from his pack, or from outside of it, had ever piqued his interest. And spending all winter tending to a pregnant bearer, whom would simply dump him and disappear come spring, hadn’t sounded like the most productive way he could pass the season. Instead, he had always taken to other pursuits, like traveling, hunting, and impersonating humans. Those he had deemed much more enjoyable things to do during the cold months.

He hadn’t even considered mating this year, either. His present circumstances weren’t the most suitable for procreation to begin with.

He had had his entire winter carefully planned. That is, until this scent reached him. This irresistible, overwhelming scent! It sent an uncontrollable urge coursing through his blood. He had never experienced anything like it. Every single fiber in his being was drawn to this creature like a moth to a flame. The very moment he caught it, he decided to throw his self-imposed celibacy to the wind. He just had to meet this bearer, and if that meant he had to gut every single sire within a fifty mile radius, then he would.

Soaring over a fallen trunk, he broke the tree line and found himself at the edge of a clearing. He raised his muzzle and sniffed the air. There was a human village near by. The smell of burning wood, smoked fish, dried meat, livestock and plowed earth filled his senses. They were all familiar scents. Having a village inside his territory was beneficial, since they would probably be leaving offerings in the shrines around the forest. The humans of these mountains were very generous. He decided to go explore the village when he got the time. But he had much more important things to do before that.

He turned to the tree at his right and sunk his claws into the bark, releasing the musky pheromones from the glands on his paws and leaving his claim mark. After quickly expecting his handiwork, he was off again.

At this pace, I should reach the river before the sun sets, he determined, glancing at the sky to calculate the time of day. Then I’ll go find him.

So far, things were going extraordinarily well. He’d chased his brothers away, thus claiming about twenty square miles of land without any confrontation. From there, he’d rounded up a fairly sizable territory with plenty of food resources. The river would be his last border limit to the east, and he would be done. He was pleased. He’d had no incidents to hinder him all day. Fortunately, no other sires had come to challenge him either.

He really hoped it continued that way. He wasn’t going to let some presumptuous rival ruin this for him. He could hold his own more than well enough in a fight. His Sire had made sure of that. Presently, he himself was hailed as a powerful warrior all throughout the Gahali Mountains. So any poor whelp that entered his new land would be met with a swift and painful removal. He’d never particularly enjoyed violence. But again, mating season did have its ritual.

He hurried over the forest floor, a flashing mass of gray feathers, and idly wondered how his siblings were faring. For many of them, it was their first mating season. Technically, it was his too, but that had been by choice. His younger siblings were still pups, and this would be their first experience away from the pack. The mating ritual was always done away from the pack. All individuals who weren’t bound by a life mate leave and disperse in search of mates of their own. This left the younger ones vulnerable if they weren’t careful. But his siblings were strong and clever, and should manage perfectly fine on their own. They’d had him as a teacher, after all.

Sniffing the air again, he realized the bearer he was after had stopped moving, probably noticing his actions and deciding to give him a shot. Perfect! Excellent! He quickened his pace even more. He shouldn’t keep him waiting!

Nothing can go wrong!

It amazed him how smitten he’d become just from the smell of this guy. It was crazy, but somehow poetic in a sense, at least to him. His whole life, he’d vehemently refused to take a mate. He thought the experience would only serve hamper his freedom. No bearer’s scent had ever, even casually, tickled his fancy. But now this happened. He was almost on a rampage for this guy. It had to be fate, simply had to be. Maybe this would be his life-mate or something. Maybe he had found his other half! He just hoped he would feel the same way once they met.

As enthralled in his thoughts as he was, he didn’t notice just how far he had travelled, until he heard a voice from above.

“In a hurry, pup? Something’s caught your interest, I see.”

Iendro stopped in his tracks and looked to the treetops. There, perched lazily on a low branch, was one of his familiars; the crested owl, Naosud.

“Perhaps it has,” answered Iendro, moving closer to the tree’s base and smiling in greeting. The bird ruffled its feathers in amusement, and Iendro cleared his throat before continuing. “Is it that surprising?”

Naosud hopped from his branch and landed before the Qyotaul. “That the great Iendro, who’s always been more interested in hunting, running, and playing guardian to the humans rather than finding a mate, has finally been love-struck? It is very surprising, my lord!” he shrieked, flapping his wings excitedly. “Finally, you shall plant the seeds of your legacy, gods be willing!”

“I haven’t even met him yet,” Iendro admitted, though offering the owl a lopsided smile. “He may not accept me after all.”

“Well, why wouldn’t he?” asked Naosud, tilting his head almost completely upside-down. “What haven’t you to offer?”

Iendro shrugged. He knew the old owl was only trying to be encouraging, but his words still left him with a heavy feeling in his stomach. He looked into the forest longingly. “He may let me know, once we meet. But I have a very good feeling about it.” He looked back at the bird with a confident grin plastered on his face.

“Then I shan’t keep you any longer,” said Naosud, happily flapping back to his branch. “I wish you luck, my lord, for you and your new mate. Call upon me if you need me. I shan’t be far.”

And with that, the familiar dived into the air and glided away through the stripped treetops, leaving Iendro alone again. The Qyotaul watched him go, idly wondering where he was going.

The wind brought his future mate’s scent back to his attention, and he rushed to continue on his way. The river was just a few more miles east, and the sun was starting to disappear behind the mountaintops. There was still no sign of rivals in the air. Everything was still perfect.

A flock of birds sliced through the sky above him. They were probably heading to the southern islands to escape the approaching cold months. He in turn would be spending the winter in a nice, cozy cave with his pregnant mate, snuggling close to each other for warmth and affection. It will be wonderful.

He chuckled. He was making himself giddy.

As he kept on running, the sound of the falls reached his ears. He was close now. He broke through the dying foliage, and was met with a tower of falling water that plunged into a rushing stream. Moving towards the edge, he lowered his muzzle on a calm pool to drink from the cool liquid, and then jumped on a rock above the water. Leaping from rock to rock, careful not to slip on the moss, he crossed to the other side and began to mark every surface in sight along the pebbly shore. He moved down stream for some hours until he reached his southern border limit. Once he was satisfied, he laughed to himself in triumph.

He’d managed to acquire some thirty square miles for his future mate. It was quite impressive, even if did he said so himself. The standard size for a mating territory in this mountainous terrain was usually around nine-teen miles. Any more than that was usually kept by dominant pairs. Others would surely come to defy his borders. But he would be ready.

Resolute, he turned and began to retrace his steps in a trot. He should get to his mate before dark.

He was almost half way back, when he suddenly felt a change in the forest. Something was coming. Stopping, he focused his senses, feeling the woods around him. The birds had gone quiet. The only sounds were the rushing water from the spring and the wind blowing through the branches above. Iendro went silent as well, testing the air for any scents.

A sound pierced the quiet. And Iendro whirled around just in time to see a yellow sprite shooting from the woods behind him and across the stream.

Then he caught a new scent. A sire! Very close! Whoever he was, he must have charmed the sprite to watch him.

“Come out and face me. Otherwise leave at once!” he snarled and waited.

A faint rustle came from behind the tree line, and Iendro pounced. A startled yip was his only response, and he had the other pinned to the ground in an instant.

“I’m sorry! Don’t hurt me! I’ll go!” pleaded the trespasser, paralyzed from fear beneath him. It was a much smaller sire, though he seemed to be about the same age as him.

Iendro looked down sharply, noting the bronze feather coat. The other was whimpering lamely, and his breath was coming in violent heaves. He certainly didn’t look like he wanted to fight.

“What’s your name?” he asked him.

“Aqar,” the other answered, looking up pleadingly.

“I’m Iendro, and this is my land.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’ll leave if you let me go.” He tried to wiggle away, and Iendro let him. Now they stood face to face, and their size difference was made all the more obvious.

“Why did you charm that sprite?” asked the larger one of the two.

Aqar looked around nervously before answering. “To—to follow you. I saw you…crossing the river. I was afraid you would try to cut into my—my borders,” he explained, stuttering from fright. “I’m sorry! I’ll never come near here again.”

Iendro considered this. He didn’t approve of the practice of charming the spirits of the forest. But if a sire wanted to protect his territory, he had to use whatever means he had. If one had the gift of charming spirits, who was he to judge him for using it. This guy didn’t seem like he would pose much of a threat. But for some reason, his presence still unnerved him. His instincts told him to be cautious. Any Qyotaul that could charm the forest spirits was potentially dangerous. He wanted him gone.

“Then leave. And don’t come back. I may not be as sympathetic next time,” warned the larger of the two, and Aqar nodded fervently.

“Yes. Thank you,” he said in a little voice, and began bounding up the slope.

Iendro watched him until he was out of sight, considering if he should chase after him and make sure he couldn’t come back. Ever since he had left his pack he’d become slightly paranoid. Without a pack, he was without protection, outside of his own strength and wits. So he had to be careful. He decided against it, though. The other had retreated without a fight, so there was no point in attacking.

Time he got back to important business.

Now he could go back and find his future mate, whom was waiting patiently for him, somewhere in his territory. His mirth returned immediately, and he quickly crossed back to the other bank. All he had to do now was follow his nose.

The scent had gotten closer. Maybe the bearer had followed him? Eager was he? Iendro smiled and followed the fragrant smell deep into the forest. The sky had turned a dark indigo, the last of the sun’s colors peaking out from behind the mountains. The half moon was visible through the trees’ dead branches. What a beautiful setting for a romantic first encounter! thought the young sire.

Prancing his way forward, he reached a glade, where the early night sky was revealed in all its starry glory. The smell had led him here, but he didn’t see or hear anybody, not even the nocturnal animals coming out to begin their evening. Stepping forward into the tall grass, he looked around and perked his ears. How strange. The source of the scent had to be there, but since it was so close, he couldn’t pin point it well. It was like he was standing right on top of it!

Just as soon as that particular thought was finished, he caught a flash of red in the corner of his eye, just two or three yards away from him. It shot out of the tall grass and a set of sharp claws almost made a path right across his throat. But he maneuvered and leapt back just in time to save himself. His attacker landed a few meters away with a snarl, posed and ready to strike again. Then he did. Iendro saw him coming again; this time with fangs bared. He managed to sidestep him and crouch into an offensive position, taking a good look at his assailant after he landed before him. This one was larger that Aqar, almost as large as himself. And his claws were enormous. How could he not have noticed him? He had gotten this close to his future mate without him noticing! There would be no pity this time!

But before he could seize upon him, the air blew from behind the stranger and carried his scent to his nose, a sweet fragrance like blooming orchids. Heavens above! That scent!

The other must have noticed the baffled recognition he was feeling, because he abandoned his aggressive stance and sat on his haunches, wrapping his lush tail around himself. While Iendro tried to piece together what he was seeing with what he was smelling, the stranger smiled a curious little smile and leaned forward.

“You’re quick on your toes,” he said in a rich baritone voice.

Iendro answered without thinking. “Thank you.”

The other smiled again, and bowed his head in formal greeting. “I’m Janrios.”

“Iendro,” again he answered without thinking. He was just too shocked to think.

That scent! That scent that had captivated him, compelled him to run for hundreds of miles in a single day, and driven him mad with longing; its source was right in front of him!

Right there, sitting before him, smiling, looking at him, was his desired mate!

And he had just tried to slit his throat!

TBC