The Brothers of the Beasts
By Araddion
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What can one say of evil? Those who know it best, lie. What we Elves have learned bitterly is that evil is never vanquished and that, like an illness, its cure eludes us. Thus, one must not be surprised to learn that, many millennia into the Ninth Great Year of Erthe, the malign god Uklo returned from starlit exile, and she began to poison the bodies and spirits of the living things of the world even before anyone was aware of her.
-- mila, The Secret Book of the Years, vol. XXVII, chapter 1.
Skylarking on a wheel hub, Lashka had a good view of everything going on in Innsvale's market square. Eager for the caravan to finally get its slow ass in gear, he was dismayed to see a late arrival approaching the wagons.
"Who's that?"
There was something about the stranger that made you want to look at him. He looked friendly and fun. Strangely, Lashka felt that electric tingle in his belly he got only when Gorma flashed her come-hither look at him. Or when Lashka spied on girls bathing in a river. Unconsciously, unable to resist the stranger's ineffable charm, Lashka grinned.
Pudgy old Gerynt, the caravan master, sat on the wagon bench. He also had a good view of the stranger. He scowled.
"I don't like the look of him," he muttered.
Perplexed, Lashka gaped at Gerynt. "What's wrong with him?"
"Too full of himself," said Gerynt sourly.
The stranger swaggered alongside a big white stallion. Both walked as if they owned the world. The heads of the folk of Innsvale turned as they passed. The stranger – and the stallion – ate the attention up. Their eyes shone with sunny cockiness.
"Betcha he just got off a river barge," said Lashka.
"Wherever he came from, he got a violent taint," said Gerynt.
The stranger had a slender, beautifully curved sword strapped to his back. He was lean, without excess fat. Wide deltoids supported broad shoulders. His biceps were huge, the size of Lashka's head. His abdominal muscles, incised into his sun-bronzed skin, flowed like martial poetry. His brawny, smooth pectorals reminded Lashka of water-polished boulders.
The stranger's strength was obvious. But violence? Lashka's nose crinkled with puzzlement. The stranger's expression looked like he was telling the stallion a dirty joke. How was that violent?
"He doesn't even have armor," Lashka said.
Gerynt grunted.
The stranger's hair was raven black. Locks trailed down to his nipples. His skin glowed in the morning light. He wore calf-high moccasins, and a loincloth was tied by a thong to his trim hips. The ragged-edged buckskin reached halfway to his knee ... but was no wider than a hand. Most of the Innsvalers seemed more mesmerized than scandalized as the garment swung between his thighs.
"Betcha the ladies go nuts for him!" Lashka exclaimed. That naughty tingling had taken over his body. A bit nervously, he glanced at Gerynt. Had he given it away?
"Too pretty for his own sake," said Gerynt primly.
The big white stallion, who sported neither saddle nor bridle but toted leather panniers on his back, nuzzled under the stranger's hair, then whickered. A big grin burst out on the stranger's face. He seemed to murmur something back.
"Hey! He's talking to that horse!"
"Must be a smart horse." Gerynt's brows furrowed. "Or a stupid human."
"Do you think he's an Elf?" Lashka asked. "He looks Elvish."
"Elf? An Elf?"
Gorma, seated on the wagon bench beside her father, lifted her eyes from her book. She was pretty and very nice. She was Lashka's best friend. Gorma used to let Lashka stick his boner in her cooze, but a few weeks ago she'd cut him off. She said he was getting too long and might pop her cherry. She wasn't ready for that. Not yet. As she studied the stranger, a dreamy light suffused her eyes.
"I think you're right, Lashka," Gorma said. Her eyes glowed like the Third Moon at its fullest. "He does look like an Elf."
Gerynt harrumphed. "Now Gorma –"
"You want me to find out about him?" asked Lashka. "He probably wants to join us."
"I don't .... hmm." Gerynt scratched his chin. "That's a good idea, Lashka. Find out – hey!"
Lashka leaped off the hub and sped down the length of the caravan. Morning sunlight glimmered on his smooth, gazelle-like legs. He was lithe, baked a golden brown by the sun, eager for roughhousing and mischief. Pragmatic intelligence twinkle in his blue eyes. Morning sunlight glowed in his unruly brown hair. His only garment was a narrow cotton wrap clinging precariously to his hips. As he ran, he flashed slivers of smooth white buttcheek.
The wagons were nearly ready to roll, so Lashka had to dodge irritable merchants and milling gawkers. He barged through the men harnessing up a team of draft horses.
"Hey! Lashka!"
He skidded to a halt. The voice belonged to a dryad named Valeria. She frequently came to Innsvale from the surrounding forest, selling mangoes of surpassing sweetness. Valeria had long, wavy hair the color of fresh young fern leaves. The dryad was clad only in a skimpy skirt. Ivy had been painted onto her breasts ... what Lashka wouldn't give for that job! Her nipples were green, and they glistened as if dusted with gold.
"Your butt's showing," Valeria said with a grin.
Lashka looked down his back. His wrap had slipped, and the upper half of his butt gleamed like marble. He shrugged. Who cared? It was a butt. What could you do with it?
"Can I have a mango? Gerynt skimped on breakfast."
Gravely, Valeria plucked a mango from her basket and displayed it. "On one condition."
"Yeah?"
Valeria's voice descended to conspiratorial softness. "Find out who that white stallion is."
"Uh. Sure."
Clutching the mango, Lashka eased towards the newcomers. The stranger watched the antics of the six newly hired cavalrymen. Their horseplay was spectacular, for the young men wore no shirts and glowed with golden vitality. There would be little for them to do while the caravan trekked through the forest, but out on the Saurian Steppes, the tribes were tense. Conflict might erupt at any time, and Fort Cataract's End, the caravan's destination, was a long way away.
Lashka bit the mango. Sweet juice spurted. The stallion had thrust his head over the stranger's shoulder and was watching Lashka. The horse's eyes were dark, and something smoky and crimson flickered deep down in them like a torch hidden in a cave. The stare intimidated Lashka, but he strode on, chin high and glistening with mango juice.
"Hey!" Lashka called.
The stranger's eyes twinkled like sunlight on a mountain lake.
"Hello, little guy," said the raven-haired stranger. He lifted his arm and stroked the stallion's neck. A feathery patch of sweat-drenched hair nestled in the armpit.
Suddenly, Lashka was dizzy. It felt like the once solid ground bucked like a bronco beneath his feet. He couldn't look at anything except that armpit. That naughty electric tingling began ricocheting along his spine between his groin and his brain. What was going on here?
"Um. Hi. I'm Lashka. My master is Gerynt. He wants to know who you are and what you want."
The stallion whickered. The stranger nodded, then winked at Lashka.
"Where did you get that mango, Lashka?" The stranger spoke in a clear, tenor voice without a trace of an accent.
Lashka folded his arms over the smooth bronze cuirass of his chest and cocked his head back. "I'm asking the questions."
The stranger grinned. "My name is Sâlanu. Pleased to meet you, Lashka."
A smile tugged on the corner of Lashka's lips. He didn't will it; it just forced itself into being. Sâlanu extended his hand. His powerful forearm, rippling like snakes under taut, sun-kissed skin, mesmerized Lashka. He wanted that power. That sureness. When Lashka took the hand, Sâlanu's grin turned playful.
"Not so hard, little guy. That's my sword hand."
"Sorry – oh!" Lashka sniggered. "Joker, eh? I think I might like you, Sâlanu."
Something began glittering at the hollow of Sâlanu's neck. It hadn't been there when Lashka walked up. It was a silver medallion tied by a rawhide thong. It depicted an alpha wolf drowsily reposing on the back of another. Suddenly, Lashka's heart hammered as if he was deep into along sprint. What was going on here?
"Sâlanu?" Lashka asked. "That's an Elvish name."
"I have an Elvish name because I'm an Elf. Now, little guy. You were asking questions?"
"Oh. Sure. Um. What do you want with us, Sâlanu?"
"I want to travel with you to Fort Cataract's End. I have no money, but I can pay with my skill at sword fighting."
"Gerynt doesn't like your looks."
"Do you like how I look, little guy?"
"Well, yeah," Lashka confessed. In the presence of this tall Elf, he felt very, very weird... as if a whirlwind had been loosed in him, overturning everything he'd once thought true. His eyes wanted to explore the swordsman's body. He'd never wanted to look at a naked man before. But he didn't want to give that away. Just look at the Elf. Sâlanu went for ladies. Lashka blushed. "I like your looks a whole lot."
"Me, too, little guy."
"Gerynt thinks you're violent."
"I can be. But I try not to make a habit out of it."
"Well, good. Tell you what. I'll put you with the cavalry."
"You have that authority?"
"Nope," Lashka said. "But if I forget to tell Gerynt until the last minute, he can't do shit about it."
"Smart guy. Where'd you get your mango?".
Lashka jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "Valeria."
Sâlanu stared for a good many moments behind Lashka. From the way he stood taller and straighter, Lashka guessed Valeria was staring back. She was a bit of a slut, which is why Lashka liked her so much.
"Hot babe," the Elf murmured. "She your girl, little guy?"
"Nope. But I keep trying. Does your horse like mangoes? He keeps staring."
"The Lord Aradd," replied Sâlanu, scratching the stallion's neck, "is not my horse. I'm his Elf. But he does like mangoes. Cherries, too."
"Cool. I know where some are."
"I bet you do, little guy."
Smiling winsomely, Lashka offered the mango to the horse. "Lord Aradd, if you want my mango ... here you go!"
The big white stallion rumbled in the Elf's ear. The two traded looks like old companions.
"Keep it, he says."
"What does your medallion mean?"
Caught off guard, Sâlanu blinked. "You see it?"
"Well, duh. Who can't?"
Sâlanu's eyes swept up and down Lashka's body. They were now dark and spooky like ... like the stallion's own. They lingered on Lashka's caramel-sweet thighs, the blazing white strip of his wrap, his flat belly. Lashka was used to being ogled. Normally he didn't like it when men did it. Not this time. Was this because Sâlanu was so masculine, so muscular, so every inch the warrior?
"Only special lads can see my medallion."
"Really?"
"Your body is very smooth, little guy."
For a second, Lashka was too startled to respond. You don't expect sentences like that to drop from the lips of a warrior. But now it seemed safe to let his eyes sweep the Elf's boss body, just the way the Elf had done to Lashka. It was funny what caught his attention. The profile of those bulked-up shoulders. The gap between the buckskin loincloth and the thigh. The sweat glistening on the tip of the warrior's nipples. It looked sweet as nectar.
"So is yours."
"Not everywhere, little guy."
Casually, Sâlanu scratched his belly just above the upper edge of his loincloth. The gesture fixated Lashka's attention. A faint trace of black down bedewed the incised abdominals between the Elf's navel and sagging buckskin. A few wisps of thicker, coarser hair curled over the top of the loincloth.
"Oh. You mean pubes."
"Yeah. That's what I mean." Sâlanu fingered the medallion. "This medallion means I'm a Wolf Brother, you see."
"Uh-huh."
"Do you want to learn about the Wolf Brothers, little guy?"
"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't!"
"Well, we Wolf Brothers are men. Men only."
Sâlanu knelt. His eyes held Lashka's. The Elf laid his forefinger on Lashka's sternum. The contact was light, warm, and friendly. There was nothing forbidden about the touch, but it felt pervy, somehow. The finger didn't move, lingering there as if the Elf was savoring a new flavor. Lashka shuddered. He felt he was sinking into a confusing dream.
"I think," said Sâlanu, "you're a Wolf Brother. You just don't know it yet."
"What are Wolf Brothers?" Lashka demanded. "What do they do?"
"I can't tell you." Sâlanu leaned close. His musk enveloped Lashka. "I can only show you, little guy."
Lashka felt himself getting high on the Elf's musk. All his life, he'd wanted to be a part of something bigger than himself. Something great. All he needed was for someone to open the gate. The smell of the big Elf made him feel as if he could really soar ... junk the caravan and move on to something higher, more exciting, and nobler. The tingling that had coursed through his body now infected his mind. This was the start of some adventure too fantastic to imagine! He grinned.
"Do you trust me, little guy?"
"Maybe. Sorta. Yeah, I guess."
"Let me give you a boner, little guy."
Lashka gaped. "Whuuuuuut?"
"Let. Me give. You a boner." Sâlanu winked. "It's a Wolf Brother thing."
Slowly, the Elf's finger began tracing a path down Lashka's belly. The sensation was light, like a blown kiss, but it forced Lashka's mind to concentrate on one thing. The space between his creamy smooth thighs ... his crotch, barely hidden by his skimpy wrap. There were questions in Sâlanu's eyes, and a mysterious smile played on his lips, but he did not stop. A tent began rising in Lashka's wrap. The lad blushed but said nothing until the fingertip met his boner, separated only by thin cloth.
"Stop—stop!" he cried. What if Valeria saw this?
"Why?" said Sâlanu. "Scared?"
Sâlanu's finger stroked the tent. Lashka gulped at the dirty touch. The Elf stared at the long strand of translucent fluid his finger drew forth. The Elf lifted it to his nostrils. He inhaled, then shuddered as if on the verge of keeling over and passing out.
"So pure," Sâlanu murmured. He shifted his finger to the stallion's nostrils. They flared as they gulped down Lashka's clear essence. The big horse rumbled like an earthquake.
"We Wolf Brothers," said Sâlanu, "help each other out."
Embarrassed, Lashka clapped his hands over his tent.
"Don't be like that. Be proud of your cock." Sâlanu crooned into the lad's ear. "There's a place we can go. Around the corner, behind the tavern, out of sight. Just me and you, little guy. I can do ... things ... nice things ... to guys like you. We Wolf Brothers know how to do things you'll never forget!"
A thrilling kind of insanity shuddered through Lashka. Adventure? Yeah, He was up for it, no matter how scary it seemed. His hands dropped away from his tent. He opened his mouth to cry out his reply --
"Ahoooooooooooy!"
That was Gerynt announcing the caravan's departure. All through Innsvale's square, heads whirled. Draft horses, now hitched to every wagon, pranced eagerly. The vendors began to pack up.
"Dang!" cried Lashka. "We – I – can't! Not now, double dang it! I promise you – I promise you! – I want to learn how to be a Wolf Brother! But I gotta go. I gotta go now!"
"You keep the Wolf Brotherhood secret." Sâlanu stood and winked. "It's not for everyone."
"I promise!"
Lashka sprinted towards the head of the caravan. He shouted at the cavalrymen that the warrior Elf was now part of their company. The young men would comply; they knew he was close to Gerynt. Then he whispered into Valeria's ears:
"The Lord Aradd. That's the stallion's name."
The dryad's eyes grew so wide you might've thought Lashka had whispered the secrets of the cosmos to her. When Lashka skidded to a halt beside Gerynt's wagon, he was breathless.
"You took forever, boy!" Gerynt barked.
"He's a swordsman, boss!" Lashka said. "His name is Sâlanu. He wants free passage, so I put him with the cavalry!"
"Get on board! You made us late enough!" Gerynt winced as Lashka, climbing up via the front left wheel, exposed his goo-soiled wrap. And his valiant little hardon. "Flaming dragon farts, you perv -- did you run the whole caravan like that?"
Lashka plopped his butt on the big crate of crossbows wedged in behind the bench. "Yup. It happens. I'm a grown-up, you know." He reclined on his elbows and spread his legs. Silver wolves danced in his brain.
Gerynt glared at his teenaged daughter. "You don't be getting ideas, Gorma."
"Who? Me, Dad?"
Gorma played it cool while Gerynt checked out his eager-to-get-going caravan. When she had the chance, she shot a sultry look over her shoulder. Lashka wriggled his eyebrows, then smirked. He couldn't wait to tell her everything.
"Ahoooooy!" Gerynt bellowed. "Let's roll!"
The caravan lurched out of the market square and left Innsvale by the gate near the old watchtower. Lashka, sprawled on the crate, wished his cock was as big as the tower. As tall, as thick, as sturdy. Was that a Wolf Brother thing? He felt sure it was.
For a mile or two, the road ran on a causeway through the rice paddies on the banks of the Whitebeard River. Then the road turned and cut up a gentle slope and entered the forest itself. The trees were tall, massive, wreathed in vines. The air was moist but cool under the high canopy of leaves.
Lashka bathed himself in dazzling sunbeams that pierced the fan-shaped leaves. The odors around him were rich. He smelled leather and horseflesh. Moss and old ferns. Vines, fresh water, and black earth. The organic melange reminded Lashka of Sâlanu: powerful, mysterious, profoundly male. A naughty thought occurred to him. He wondered if the Elf would let him sniff his armpits. Maybe even suckle on those tiny tufts of black hair. Or his nipples. Lashka might imbibe a fraction of the warrior's strength that way.
Suddenly the lad was horny beyond words. Guessing by the slack reins that Gerynt was half-dozing, Lashka crawled forward.
"He's an Elf," he whispered, slowly grinding his swollen crotch against the crate. "His name is Sâlanu."
"You already told me," said Gorma.
"He's really nice. I like him."
"Yeah?"
"He's into sex. I know it."
Gorma's cheeks reddened. She dared not respond, not with her father so close.
"I think you'd like him, too. I bet he'd like you."
Suddenly a trio of cavalry on patrol galloped by. Sâlanu led a pair of laughing youths. They were soldiers, bound together by a friendship that battle and shared hardship would only deepen. Gorma didn't seem to be breathing as her eyes followed the muscular form.
"Elves," she whispered. "They're so magical.".
"Yeah!" agreed Lashka. He rolled onto his back, imagining Sâlanu kneeling over him, the sunlight glinting on the Wolf Brother medallion. "I'm pretty sure they're pervs, too."
They made good time. Late in the afternoon, the caravan passed through Helmingford's northern gate. The frontier hamlet straddled a ford on one of the Whitebeard's tributaries. The wagons halted inside the wooden palisade. The arrival of a merchant caravan was a rare event. Instantly everyone had much to do.
"Set up the booth, you two," Gerynt ordered. "Push the crossbows. We're only a few days' ride from the plains, so people around here will be skittish." He bustled off. There were many new wagons carrying settlers, and they were eager to travel across the Saurian Steppes in the safety of Gerynt's caravan.
Lashka pulled the bits and pieces of the booth from the wagon and cobbled them together with a wooden mallet. Gorma displayed four crossbows on the booth and put out a few more trinkets she thought might sell. It didn't go well. People milled around the booth, chattering brightly, but they were interested in cloth peddlers or spinning wheel vendors, or sellers of pots and pans.
"We got to do something," Gorma said. "I'm bored."
"Do your magic trick," said Lashka, squirming on a numb butt.
Last year, Gorma made Lashka filch a primer on magic from a half-drunk witch who'd traveled briefly with Gerynt. She'd studied the slim volume as hard as she could, but her talents remained feeble. Gorma fished a thimble and a few buttons from her belongings. She managed to make them skitter – intermittently -- across the booth's surface without touching them. As displays of telekinetic prowess went, it wasn't spectacular, and the few spectators they drew soon moved on.
"Someone's got to pop my hymen," she muttered, cradling her head in her hands. "Magic and sex are linked, so if I stay a virgin, I'll be no one forever!"
"I'll do it!" said Lashka brightly. "Let's go –"
"No, not to you! Someone powerful. And magical."
Her attention went precisely where Lashka guessed it would go. Down by the gravelly ford, Sâlanu chatted with anyone and everyone. A gaggle of young girls had assembled under a young banyan tree, whispering and ogling the sunny, nearly naked Elf.
Gorma moaned. "Do you think he'd do it?"
Lashka's nose scrunched up as he studied Sâlanu. "Dunno. He's pervy."
"Why do you keep saying he's pervy?"
"Can't tell you. Sworn to secrecy. Why don't you ask him? To pop you"
"Because I'm scared."
"Why? He's nice."
"I'll show you why."
"Huh?"
Gorma returned from the wagon bearing a small, leather-bound book. Lashka had never seen it before, though he'd rifled her possessions anytime he thought he could get away with it.
"You remember my friend Elinda?"
"The cross-eyed girl in Fort Cataract's End?"
"She's not cross-eyed." Gorma suppressed a giggle. "She's clairvoyant. She likes Elves, too." Her voice dropped low. "She spies on them. On their home islands. On that archipelago, you know, out in the sea." Gorma whispered: "Elinda draws them."
"Yeah?"
Gorma opened the book. Elinda's artwork was executed in colored charcoal. The opening pages were pictures of buildings. Of a city with many gardens on the banks of a river. Of mist-wreathed crags, volcanoes billowing ash, giant glacial cliffs of blue ice. Gorma's fingers flicked on. There were portraits of Elves making speeches, or building ships, or studying books, or observing the stars, or cultivating fields.
"Boring!" called Lashka.
"She keeps the dirty stuff in the back."
Now Gorma's fingers unveiled pictures of male Elves. And only male Elves. Some wrestled one another, or sheeted sails home on storm-swept decks, while others wrangled horses, or paddled small boats. A few daring ones even leaped bulls, while others trained for war with every sort of weapon Lashka had ever heard of. In each succeeding picture, the Elves lost their cloaks, then their jerkins. Lashka wondered if this was how Elves really dressed out there or if this was all just a product of a teenaged girl's dirty mind.
"This," Gorma said, her voice tremulous, "is where it starts getting to me."
This two-page spread depicted a gang of Elven youths sunning themselves after swimming in a forest pool. In the background, a waterfall turned the pool to froth and palm trees reached out to embrace the sun. The youths – black-haired, blond, brown-haired – were stark raving naked, and not embarrassed by it. Every pair of strong Elven thighs was splayed. Nothing was hidden; everything was front and center stage.
"Those dongs are huuuuuuuge!" cried Lashka.
Gorma backhanded him. "Shush!"
Every dong on show was limp, evidenced by drowsy, rubbery curves, but they hung -- at the minimum -- the length of the youths' thighs.
Lashka sniggered. "Wonder what they got in the water out there, huh?"
The air around Gorma now smelled like fish. "Elinda's got a picture ... of one of those Elves by the pool ... you know ... playing with himself ... with his mates watching. He's hard and ... so big ... and ... that's why I'm afraid of Sâlanu."
"Betcha you'd be the most powerful sorceress ever ... if you let Sâlanu pop you."
Gorma closed the book and stared at Sâlanu. "He – he won't. He wouldn't ever. Dad says elves think of humans as animals. That means, for an elf to do it with ... with me ... he'd be committing bestiality."
"Well, try. I'm pretty sure Sâlanu likes to fuck." Lashka nudged Gorma. "Go ask him. Before one of those other girls beats you."
Gorma bit her lip. "How old is he?"
Lashka's nose crinkled. "Really old. Twenty-one, maybe twenty-two."
Gorma didn't even pretend to be riven by doubt. She flashed out of the chair and sidled up to Sâlanu. The big Elf greeted her with a confident smile. Proud and strong, the Elf loomed over her. He began to talk. One by one, those who'd been chatting with him departed, for his interest in Gorma was obvious and proprietary.
Lashka watched from the booth, pleased with himself because he figured setting up his best friend with his new friend was something one Wolf Brother would do for another. All sorts of naughty thoughts raged inside of him, and he kept having to adjust his wrap. Luckily, no one caught him.
Alone with the Elf, Gorma became nervous as a doe, staring diffidently at his boots, or his calves, or his thighs, but never into his eyes. Lashka saw the very moment when she worked up the nerve to ask him directly. She braced herself for rejection. Then the Elf, grinning like a cat, eased a muscled leg into her personal space and nodded. Suddenly Gorma was bobbing, weaving, and smiling giddily. Walking as if on clouds, Gorma returned to the booth. Now she positively reeked of fish.
"Sâlanu said yes, huh?" Lashka asked.
"He said he'd fuck my brains out," she whispered. "Oh, I'm going to be such a sorceress! But you've got to come. Someone's gotta watch for Dad."
"I'm there," promised Lashka. "Did you like his medallion?"
"Huh? What are you talking about?" Gorma blinked. "What medallion?"
"The one around his neck, silly!"
Gorma's eyes flashed a warning. "I think Sâlanu made you a little crazy, Lashka."
"I think he's making both of us a little crazy."
For dinner, Lashka roasted two whole chickens over a small fire, dusting them with thyme and rosemary, serving them with onions and beans. Gerynt babbled amiably about the settlers who'd joined his caravan. The two youngsters silently pretended to care. Gorma began flashing mysterious looks at Lashka. He'd didn't clue in until she kicked him. He climbed into the wagon and returned with a stoneware jug. He handed it to Gerynt.
"Thank you, lad." Gerynt uncorked the jug. "You're a fine helper. Brandy?" He sipped. "Aye, brandy!"
"Drink up, Dad," urged Gorma, her voice quavering.
With bated breath, the youngsters waited for the effects of Gerynt's drinking to kick in. It seemed to take forever. As Lashka set to packing up the dishes, Gerynt finally slumped over and began snoring.
"Let's go!" Gorma exclaimed over her shoulder. She was already off and running.
The perverse antics of
The Brothers of the Beasts
will continues in
Chapter 2
"Knocking on Heaven's Door"
© 2019 R. Keith Peck