"Of course! Give him my regards," Anchor calls cheerfully. "And do let me know if you'll be engaging in any more... activities. I have several commissions already, and fresh material would be most welcome."
The Fisher People laugh—a sound like waves breaking over bone. Several wave goodbye with fingers that bend in too many directions, clearly delighted by their morning's entertainment.
I turn and run.
The village streets blur past as I race back toward the cottage, my heart hammering against my ribs. Behind me, I can hear the market continuing its business, voices discussing the "breeding behaviors of surface dwellers" like we're exotic birds in some naturalist's journal.
We have to leave. Now. Before they decide to observe us more closely, before their scientific curiosity leads to evenworse violations. The Fisher People aren't just strange—they're completely inhuman in their thinking, their values, their basic understanding of what's acceptable behavior.
Anchor's cottage looms ahead, no longer a sanctuary but a trap baited with false comfort. How many others has he lured in with promises of safety? How many travelers have become subjects for his revolting art?
I burst through the cottage door, gasping for breath and fighting down nausea.
"Thoktar!" I call, my voice cracking with urgency. "We have to go! We have to leave right now!"
Because if we don't, if we stay even one more hour in this place, I'm terrified of what other scientific observations the Fisher People might want to conduct on their captive breeding pair.
26
THOKTAR
"THOKTAR!"
Forla's scream tears through the cottage like a blade. I bolt upright from sleep, instantly alert, my hand already reaching for my sword before my eyes fully open. She stands in the doorway, chest heaving, face flushed with exertion and something that looks like pure horror.
"What is it?" I'm on my feet, scanning for immediate threats. "What's wrong?"
"We have to leave. Right now." She's already grabbing our packs, shoving belongings inside with shaking hands. "The paintings, Thoktar. He painted us. Last night. Everything we did."
It takes a moment for her words to penetrate, and when they do, rage explodes through my chest like molten iron. "What?"
"Anchor was watching us through the windows. He painted everything—every touch, every position, every private moment—and he's selling them in the village market like we're animals in heat." Her voice cracks with humiliation and fury. "The Fisher People are buying them, discussing our 'mating behaviors' like we're exotic livestock."
My hands clench into fists so tight the knuckles crack. That charming bastard with his warm smile and friendly manner, offering us sanctuary while he violated the most intimate moments between us. The rage that fills me is beyond anything I felt in the arena, beyond the fury that carried me through battles with Dark Elves.
"Where is he?" My voice erupts as a growl, and I can feel my tusks extending with the depth of my anger. "I'll tear his fucking heart out and feed it to him while he watches."
"Thoktar, no." Forla grabs my arm as I start toward the door. "That's what I thought too, but listen to me. They don't think they did anything wrong. To them, we're just... specimens. Scientific curiosities. They study outsider mating rituals like naturalists study bird behavior."
"I don't care what they think!" The words roar from my throat. "He watched you—watched us—like we were performing for his entertainment. The violation, the humiliation... No one does that to my woman and lives."
Every warrior instinct screams for blood, for righteous vengeance against the perverted artist who turned our love into a commodity. I can already feel Anchor's throat crushing under my hands, see his eyes bulging as I explain exactly why violating our privacy was a fatal mistake.
"I know," Forla says, and I hear the same rage in her voice that's burning through my veins. "Believe me, I wanted to claw his eyes out right there in the market. But think—if you kill him, if you start a fight with the Fisher People, more will come. Dark Elves, bounty hunters, whoever's still hunting us. We'll be trapped here."
Her words cut through the red haze of fury, forcing me to think tactically instead of emotionally. She's right, damn her. We're outnumbered, in hostile territory, with enemiesalready pursuing us. A rampage through Penmorvah might feel satisfying, but it would probably get us both killed.
"They violated you," I say through clenched teeth. "They turned what we shared into... entertainment for monsters."
"And they'll pay for that," she says fiercely. "But not today, not here. Today we survive. Today we get away from this sick place and never look back."
The logic is sound, but it tastes like poison. Every instinct I have demands violent retribution, demands that I make these perverted fish-worshippers understand the price of treating us like animals. But Forla's safety matters more than my wounded pride.
"Fine," I force myself to say. "We leave. But if I ever see that bastard again..."
We finish packing in tense silence, my rage still simmering just below the surface. Every sound from outside makes me tense, expecting Anchor to return with his cheerful grin and casual discussion of his artistic process. I'm not sure I could restrain myself if I saw his face right now.
The cottage that seemed like sanctuary last night now feels like a trap, its warm walls closing in around us. How long had he been watching? Had he been studying us from the moment we accepted his offer, planning which angles would provide the best artistic material?
