Path of Their Own Ch. 01

However, more color started to liven up Galen's pasty skin with each crate he purged from his storage. The gaunt look quickly faded from his features along with his irregular breathing pattern. With the last box out of his system he almost looked reborn, though still heavily fatigued.

Free of the massive burden within, Galen leaned back against Celia and sighed in sweet relief as she whispered happy, Elven words in his ear. Boasting eyes wide as saucers, Michael stared at the stacks of crates and let his jaw hang. Seeing this Flak adjusted himself to sit cross-legged in the tent's doorway and leaned forward to put his elbows on his knees.

"I told you, Sergeant."

Michael blinked at what now filled his tent. "I can't believe Galen stashed all this away."

Flak grinned and sat up straight with his arms crossed, a proud look about him as he glanced at the young troop in question. "Well, he did, and he did it without bitching once. Even when it was killing him. Kind of makes me wish his uniform had a globe and anchor rather than a choking chicken."

With a brief chuckle, Galen shook his head at the Marine, "All due respect, Staff-Sergeant, not on your life. Only Marine I got in my family was an Airborne reject."

Michael guffawed as Flak pursed his lips, trying to keep a straight face. Slowly shaking his head, he started rubbing his temple while muttering, "Private, you're being real crass for someone who's about to take my boot up their ass."

"Just sayin' Staff Sergeant," Galen said, still smirking as he rested his head on Celia's shoulder and looked to the ceiling. "If I was anything but an army paratrooper, Dad would roll over in his grave."

Flak raised an eyebrow. "Your old man was a Screaming Eagle, too?"

"Mm-hmm. He served with the 502^nd Parachute Infantry in World War Two, then the 187^th Infantry in Korea, but he was killed in fifty-three."

It took only a moment for a cold silence to come over the tent. Flak and Michael traded somber glances as Galen cycled a deep breath through his lungs and placed a hand over the one Celia had on his chest. "Yeah, he liked being a paratrooper so much that he joined them twice. Told me if I ever had to put on a uniform, it better come with jump wings."

"Michael, Galen. Flak."

The three looked toward the door as the tent leather was pulled aside. Crouched outside was Mila with four warriors standing at her back, curious looks on their feline faces. One tried to lean to get a better view of what was inside, only for Flak to cast him a single look and make him back off.

"Lady Teak has offered us one of her broken wagons," Mila said with a bit of excitement in her voice. "It has no wheels, but it is a full box made of very hard woods and the door locks with a key."

Hearing the description had Michael sitting up straight, his face twisting with confusion. "That thing? I thought she stored her silver and gold in there."

Mila lifted her hands in an unknowing manner. "She said she had alternatives, and Sayn was standing over her shoulder when I asked Misn for safe storage for more of your weapons."

...

Between the efforts of the Willher warriors, three soldiers, and other members of the tribe that had offered their aid, both Michael's and Galen's crates were quickly moved to their new storage space at the back of the village. Tucked in behind the Elder's hall—the largest building the tribe had—the box-wagon was stashed away from any trafficked area and out of sight of anyone who wasn't actively searching for it. The tribe's merchants had only just finished clearing out the last of their valuables to another location when the first of the weapons were carried in.

The repurposed transport was built from thick oak planks fastened to a solid iron frame and was meant to be pulled by a team of horses or oxen. Purchased from an established caravan merchant that made his rounds through the forest, there was more than enough space inside to fit everything the Humans had brought and still have plenty of room for more. There were no windows, the wall and roof planks were shaped to fit tightly together, and most importantly of all, the door had an iron pad lock the size of one's hand.

As the last crate was set down against the back wall, the Nekos quickly leaving right after, Flak started going through everything they had. One at a time he opened the wooden containers and revealed the treasures inside for Michael and Mila to see.

"Whatever you want, it's probably here. For pistols, there's browning hi-powers, 1911A1's, some Smith and Wesson guns I've never seen before, all of which are suppressed. Four .357 magnums, several standard 1911A1s, and a few Russian tokarevs with a thousand rounds or more of each caliber to feed them all."

Before Michael could get caught up on the handguns, Flak moved to the next pair of boxes, "Here you got M16's, ten full-sized and ten of these stubby things."

For an example piece, he pulled out what looked to be a short-barreled M16 with a telescoping stock. "As you can see, these little fuckers have suppressors on them, but they're semi-auto only. No burst or automatic. The next box is all AKs with scrubbed receivers. The one beside it has M14 rifles with both standard and pistol grip stocks. And after that, it gets even more interesting."

Grinning like a kid in a candy shop, Michael took the short M16 from Flak and shouldered it while aiming at the floor. Nodding at its handling, he inspected the receiver for markings to find CAR-15 stamped on the side. "More interesting than this?"

Flak nodded and pulled his materiel list from his pocket and started going through the inventory. "M2 carbines, Ithaca shotguns, 870 shotguns, submachine guns, a couple of guns I haven't seen before. There's even a fucking Tommy gun in here, and a Marine 1941 Springfield with that long-ass Unertl on it. Old shit we used to shoot Japs with and now drag out for match competitions."

"This thing?" Galen asked, holding up the 1903 sniper rifle in question.

"Yes, that thing, now put it back before you break the scope or something," Flak ordered before looking back down at his list. "Fucking special forces. Marines gotta make-do with what we got while these assholes are rolling in with goddamn supressed UZI's and-"

A knock on the door shifted his attention and stopped him mid-sentence. A brawny Neko male with white fur stood at the door with his arms crossed. Flak wouldn't have given him a second thought if it weren't for the AK-47 and the bandolier full of magazines slung across his chest. It took a moment to get a good look at the weapon but when he did, Flak's brow furrowed and he took on a harsh scowl.

"A good evening, Humans," the walking feline greeted, getting an acknowledgment from everyone save the Staff Sergeant.

Teeth clenching, Flak let out his lungs through his nose and folded the list in his hands. Pinching his fingers over the paper's creases, he tilted his head back and closed his eyes. Muttering some words under his breath he tossed it aside and lowered his head to meet the Neko's fierce, green eyes.

"Flak," Michael started, noticing the Marine's body language. "This is Warrior Leader Sayn. He's in charge of the Willher's fighters."

"So he is," Flak said, an audible edge in his tone. "I see that he's the one that scooped up my AK from my helicopter's crash site."

Realizing the focus of the Staff-Sergeant's aggravation, Michael shook his head. "No, that guy was Farok, who brought it to us after he found you to prove that something from Earth had crashed here. I was training Sayn how to use it, but if you want it back, take it."

Hearing this, Mila looked to Sayn, saying in Nekonian, "Give the new Human his weapon back. He is the man that had jumped into the river and it belonged to him. There is a new one for you in these boxes."

Sayn nodded at Mila's words and unslung the weapon without protest. Removing the magazine from the weapon and pulling the charging handle to prove the action was clear, he passed the rifle off to Flak. "It is clean."

Raising a brow, the Marine looked to his army counterpart. Michael nodded in confirmation. "I started his training the same way I'd start any recruit. Learn to strip it, clean it, and clear it. Barrel on that rifle is mint, by the way. Did you scoop it up off a dead NVA?"

Running an appreciative hand over the hand guards and the six notches he put into them, Flak nodded. "We walked into an ambush while out on patrol and a bullet went right through the lower receiver of my M16. I dove into a bush, found a VC there fighting with one of my men, and stabbed him to death. I picked this rifle up off his body and I got my squad the fuck out of there."

Catching Sayn's respectful nod out of the corner of his eye, Flak pulled out his KA-BAR to add a seventh notch to the tally and continued, "This AK is an early production. Milled receiver, matching numbers, chrome chamber and barrel. It's damn accurate."

"An accurate AK?" Galen scoffed, earning himself a glare as the Marine sheathed his knife and pointed to the third notch on the rifle.

"Upper body shot, little better than four hundred meters across a rice field. Yes, Private, it's accurate."

He set the rifle down on one of the weapon crates just as a growl sounded out from his stomach. A deep frown creasing his forehead, the Neko warrior at the door muttered something in his language that had both Mila and Celia voicing a unified reply.

"What'd he say?" Flak questioned, and Mila was quick to translate.

"That if your belly growls like that, then you should store your weapons and go to the Elder's Hall for a meal. How long has it been since you've eaten?"

"This morning," Galen answered, rubbing his own stomach.

"That's it then," Michael declared. "Let's lock this up and get you three something to eat. There's a table with benches in the Hall, along with some fresh sweet-mead. Good stuff, too. Made right here in the village."

His face brightening up at the prospect of getting a fresh brew, Flak grinned. "I'm sold. Let's go."

...............

Horse hooves beat down on the coarse sand lining the banks of the River High. The beasts drew heavy breaths as they pulled their cargo at as close to a gallop as they could under their current load and Drow driver. Felyn focused with her Empathy the best she could without having eye-contact to drain as much of the animals' weariness as she could. However, after the distance they covered, the effect was losing its potency and taking its toll on the steeds and Empath combined. After being driven all-day, the horses only had so much further that they could go before they quit or dropped from exhaustion.

The darkness that came after the sun had set didn't help after it limited the surface creatures' vision. They slowed their pace and became more hesitant to follow the direction of their driver. After a half-day's dash through the forest, the tracks they followed left by the Human's Jeep still showed no sign of turning into the woods for the Neko village.

"Not much further," Petra said from the seat beside her. "Fifteen zetra at the most. There is a path coming up on our left that leads toward the Willhers."

The Drow's eyes narrowed as the night almost drew in enough for her darkvision to come alive. There was a sliver of moon in the sky above but, with Petra being an exception, it was barely enough for a surface creature to see, and their horses started to slow even more as their fear picked up in the Empathic feedback she received.

"The beasts need light," Felyn said, pulling on the reins to both steer them toward the river and bring the wagon to a stop. "Do we have a lantern?"

Petra frowned as she thought for a moment. When her eyes then widened in realization, her head dipped forward with frustration in her voice. "Galen has it stored with his magic."

"Lolth's tits," the Drow cursed, scanning the woods around them. "We should check the boxes. If they make metal wagons that move themselves, I'm sure they make hand-lights."

"I'm sure they do, just let me think..." Petra said, closing her eyes as she thought back to Flak's going-through of the equipment. Her impeccable memory played through everything she saw him and Galen handle, and after just a few moments she remembered something. After a few moments more, she remembered which crate it was in.

She stood up and climbed into a hole in the canvas leading to the back of the wagon. Prowling over the stacked crates to the rear, she found the one she had recalled and moved a box off of it to open it up. Amongst the cylindrical things they called "batteries" and the gadgets they called "walkie-talkies," were things they had referred to as "flashlights." If anything were to do the job they had intended, it would be these.

Provided she could figure out how to use one.

"How did you find that so quickly?" Felyn wondered as the assassin picked up the tube-shaped device with an angled head and glass face.

"I have what my people call 'stone's memory,'" Petra explained as she aimed the light and experimentally pushed a switch upward on the side. An appreciable cone of light erupted from the glass face to light up the back of the wagon. "Anything I see or hear is far more difficult to forget than to remember."

"Fascinating," the Drow remarked, regarding both the Neko's talent and her discovery. "Have you considered spy-craft rather than servanthood?"

The Shadow Stalker jumped out the back of the wagon and walked around to the horses that were gulping from the river. "I was an assassin before my path crossed with Galen's. Spy-craft was part of my trade and I was very, very good."

"What happened to change that?" Felyn asked, sensing the disappointment that was starting to grow in the Neko.

Sighing as she bowed her head, she clenched her fists and let her claws prod her palms. "I was sent to kill Galen for my former king. But my apprentice triggered a trap and she was killed while I was knocked out."

A flash of Petra's emotional pain stung the Empath hard enough to make her wince as she continued to follow the assassin's emotions. Felyn had the feeling she was leaving some details out when the Neko glanced at the tips of her fingers—more specifically, at her claws—as if checking to make sure they were still there.

"When I woke, Galen was before me, and through Nekonian law, sentenced me to his service for the dishonorable act of trying to assassinate him."

With a solemn look, Petra hooked the flashlight onto a mounting on the horses' yoke meant for a lantern and strapped it in. After a quick adjustment to make the hand-light point forward, she circled around the beasts and came back to the wagon. Climbing back into her spot beside the Drow, the Neko shifted her feet around the Ithaca-37 shotgun lying on the floorboards underneath her and tried to make herself comfortable.

"How do your laws work, to sentence you so?" Felyn prodded, lashing the reins once her passenger was seated to get the wagon moving again. Initially reluctant to leave the source of refreshment, the horses surrendered to the pressure the Empath put on them and got into motion. "Could you not kill him anyway and move on?"

Shaking her head, Petra answered, "No, unless I wished my own death and nothing but suffering in the afterlife." Her right hand came up to her neck to rub her felt collar and check to see if the garment was still on. "I do not know the history, but our laws have always been. I was on a dishonorable mission, and I lost the 'battle' to a stronger enemy. Where I could have been killed, I was allowed to breathe so long as I follow the fate set by my captor. Had I lost in a proper battle, our laws would dictate a limit of the length of time the punishment would last. Because my act of assassination was dishonorable, I am seen as a nothing, and so there is no limit."

"What would happen if you killed him now?" Felyn questioned again.

"I would face an eternity in the Nether when I die. I am reminded of this by the magic collar that is around my neck, put in place by our Goddess Necela. If Galen dies on his own, or if he frees me, it will come off. If I disobey, it will tighten up on my neck. If I kill him, or bring about his death on purpose, it will crush my throat. I have seen all of these happen, and the collar's death is not a swift one."

What a Matron would give to own such a thing, Felyn thought. "An unfortunate place to be in."

"Not as bad as one would think. Turn here."

Petra pointed to a path leading into the forest, one that had the wheel marks from the Jeep leading into it. Pulling the reins, Felyn steered the horses into it as the Neko continued.

"Galen hasn't shown me cruelty despite what I was to do to him. He hasn't set rules or demanded something I would not willingly do. He is a good man."

"Good in bed," the Empath quipped.

The former Shadow Stalker gave her a questioning look. "So you've fucked him?"

Grinning, the Drow answered, "Yes. As part of my order's training, we have to... 'open' ourselves to breaking taboo by spreading our legs for a surface male. Galen was that male for me."

Boasting a devilish smirk, Petra scooted over in her seat to close the distance between her and the Drow. "And? You say good in bed. How many times have you taken him?"

"Twice," Felyn admitted, the Neko's newfound arousal infecting her body through her talent. "He is a... filling partner."

Resting her elbow on their backrest and sitting on her side, the furry assassin had a sultry tone to her voice as she said, "So you've had him once more than I. Do not expect to hold that lead, Drow, as I'm looking forward to my next time with him. Maybe with Flak too, should they be so willing."

With a mischievous grin, Felyn couldn't help but probe, "Separate, or at once?"

"At once," was her immediate answer, and it came with a flush of the Neko's sexual desire. "Maybe while licking little Celia. That Elf has a delicious set of golden lips down below, and the only man to have been there is Galen."

Out of the corner of Felyn's eye, Petra's thighs shifted against each other with a growing heat. The Drow thought on that image for a moment. Petra sandwiched in between the two Humans as they buried their cocks in her cunt and ass. Her tongue diving into Celia's clit as the "little" Elf likely mounted Galen's face. Would the Tree Elf's rug match her curtains? Thighs clamping together over her now-damp nether region, the Dark Elf decided she would have to find out.

"Would the Humans be so willing as to share a female, though?" Felyn then wondered aloud. "Surface males are very territorial when it comes to the bodies where they stick their cocks. And Flak does seem to be more 'in charge' than Galen."

"That is true..." Petra sighed, enjoying the fantasy but seeming to have no intent to force it. "I do want to try something like that though. And if I don't get a taste of you some time, my dear Felyn, I will be disappointed."

Shaking her head while stifling a laugh, the Drow couldn't help but think, You're going to be so much fun.

..................

The Willher's Elder's Hall was over sixty feet along its length and twenty feet wide, and it served many roles to the tribe from meeting hall to mess hall. At one end was a kitchen area where the cooks could prepare the meals for the people of the village who could not do so for themselves. The other end had a fireplace with a chair in front of it reserved for the eldest and wisest Neko in the village.

Running the length of the building was a long table capable of seating dozens, though for the moment there were only three groups seated. Closest to the kitchen were the cooks, relaxing and chatting away with one another while ensuring what food they had left stayed warm for anyone else who came in for a meal tonight. In the middle of the table were a trio of Neko hunters, young males laughing and enjoying the mead their elders had finally permitted them to drink. Lastly, closest to the fireplace, were the three soldiers and their female companions.