These strange creatures whisked him away, far beyond the limits of his young comprehension. The journey felt immeasurable, stretching across what seemed like endless days and nights until time itself became an indistinct blur. He recalled crossing a vast expanse of saltwater, the briny scent mingling with that of fish, while the relentless rocking beneath him twisted his stomach in a queasy knot. Then came lands of blistering heat, where the ground scorched his delicate paws, and even the wind, once a source of comfort, carried only dry dust and uncomfortable aridity. They traversed towering cities, so overcrowded with these peculiar beings that they blended together into a cacophonous mass, their voices an endless, indistinct hum. Some appeared different from those who had captured him—taller, darker, or fairer—but all shared the same trait: they were devoid of fur. With every step they took, the world felt disorientingly vast and unfamiliar, and no matter how many miles they traveled, home remained a mere phantom beyond the horizon. Each mile pulled him further from the only home he had ever known, every jolt of the cart a stark reminder that he belonged to none but those who had forcibly taken him.

  Velrik jolted awake with the rattling of the wooden cage, his small body sore and cramped from confinement. The raw, rough bars vibrated with the wheels of the cart as it rolled over uneven terrain. The haunting echoes of his mother’s screams lingered in his ears, a haunting symphony accompanied by the metallic clash of steel upon steel. The stench of smoke mingled with damp earth, clinging to his fur alongside the acrid essence of sweat and iron.

  Night had enveloped the world, but lanterns swayed from the cart’s sides, casting flickering shadows onto the path ahead. The men who had abducted him rode alongside, their dull armor merging into the shadows, their voices low and indifferent. To them, he was naught but a commodity, no different from the barrels of stolen goods strapped to the cart—a rare prize to be bartered to the highest bidder. One of the men idly poked and prodded at him with a stick or a finger, amusement masking the boredom of their grim task.

  The stars above felt like foreign gems, distant pinpricks of light offering no solace. Velrik curled his tail around himself, ears quivering at every new sound—the mournful hoot of an owl, the whisper of rustling leaves, the occasional grunt of a weary horse. He refused to cry; tears wouldn’t change the cruel fate he faced. Instead, he listened, harnessing the lessons taught by his father to remain vigilant in the woods, just as his mother had whispered stories of a time long past. He absorbed the conversations of the men as they ambled along, many of them eagerly anticipating riches and glory, while others speculated on whether their next caravan would yield a willing companion at a nearby inn.

  The cart finally slowed. The scent of damp stone invaded Velrik’s nostrils as they entered a realm where the air no longer flowed freely. The sound of hooves echoing upon a bridge, a distant murmur of voices, and the heavy groan of iron gates opening heralded their arrival at an important place—somewhere vast and imposing.

  Torches flickered along the walls as they navigated into an expansive courtyard. When the cart came to an abrupt halt, the thud of boots against the stone reverberated around him. One of the men, bearing a scar that bisected his brow, stepped forward and unlatched the cage. “Time to come out,” he grumbled, seizing Velrik by the scruff of his neck.

  Velrik lashed out instinctively, clawing at the man’s arm, but a gauntleted hand struck him sharply across the face. His vision swam, and he tasted the metallic dribble of blood upon his tongue.

  "Feisty pup," another man chuckled. "The lord won’t appreciate that; best to rein it in, if you value your hide."

  Scarred hands yanked Velrik from the cage onto the unforgiving stone floor after tightly securing a leather collar and lead to him. His legs trembled unsteadily beneath him, wobbly after hours of confinement. He braced himself on all fours for a moment before hesitantly rising, his ears flattened and tail bristling with a storm of emotions—anger, sorrow, confusion—each fueling his instinctual defensiveness. He attempted to escape, but before he could make three hurried steps, he felt a sharp tug around his neck. The man holding the lead pulled hard, yanking the young Vulpin off his feet and towards him.

  A shadowed figure loomed atop the stone steps leading into the manor. Velrik looked up from his position on the cold ground. Even in the dim light, the figure’s fine coat shimmered, polished boots glinting as rings sparkled on his fingers. The noble’s expression was inscrutable, yet his eyes—calculating, amused—scanned Velrik as if he were a newly acquired artifact to be appraised.

  “Bring it inside,” the noble commanded, his tone smooth as silk. “I wish to see what I shall procure.”

  The man shoved Velrik forward with his boot, propelling him up the steps. The looming doors, crafted from dark wood and intricately carved with images of majestic hunting hounds and serene woodland scenes, swung open with a ghostly silence, revealing a grand hall illuminated by flickering candlelight and adorned with banners displaying an unfamiliar crest.

  For the first time since his capture, Velrik hesitated. His home was lost. His family was gone. Whatever lay beyond those imposing doors belonged to a world that felt alien to him. Yet, he had no choice but to step further into the abyss.

  He was forced to move swiftly as the man tethered to his lead roughly tugged him onward, following the lord of the manor deeper into his expansive abode. Velrik placed his padded hand around the constricting collar encircling his neck, its leather surface pressing harshly against him, leaving only enough slack for him to breathe. Each yank forward dug it deeper into his fur, and he was compelled to keep pace with the noble leading the charge. The man holding the lead paid little heed to Velrik’s discomfort, delivering sharp tugs whenever the young Vulpin faltered.

  The manor unfurled before him like a tapestry unlike anything Velrik had ever encountered. The polished stone beneath his bare paws radiated a chilling cold, reflecting the candlelight with an eerie sheen. The walls were bedecked with meticulous tapestries, their woven narratives illustrating grand feasts, noble celebrations, and sprawling estates. In stark contrast to the wild forests he had known, this place felt unnatural—overly pristine, disquietingly still.

  They traversed a corridor lined with tall windows, revealing a courtyard awash in the soft glow of lanterns. Strange flowers adorned in colors and shapes unfamiliar to him flourished in neat, meticulous rows, while trimmed hedges formed patterns that seemed impossible in nature. Servants bustled about, some pausing momentarily to cast curious glances at Velrik before promptly averting their eyes.

  At last, they halted before a set of wooden doors, their surfaces beautifully carved with intricate floral designs. The noble turned slightly, his sharp gaze landing on Velrik for the briefest of moments before shifting to the man grasping the lead.

  “Take him to the east wing,” he commanded. “Ensure he is made presentable.”

  The man grunted in acknowledgment, tugging at the lead once more, and guiding Velrik down a narrow hallway. The air turned cooler here, the warm glow of chandeliers giving way to the flickering light of wall-mounted torches. The walls lost their grandeur, fading into a simpler, quieter aesthetic.

  Velrik focused, counting each turn they made, each door they passed, and each window that might offer a chance for escape. He was uncertain of when or how it might occur—yet one thing was clear: he would not remain here forever.

  He was then ushered into a room that felt more utilitarian—a place for cleaning or perhaps repairs, Velrik mused as he surveyed the space. The faint scent of dried blood and leather hung heavy in the air.

  The chamber was smaller than the others in the house, with long tables arranged methodically and several unfamiliar tools scattered nearby. Some appeared menacing—a sharp blade between two wooden handles, rounded wooden boards, and an assortment of other items he saw piled in a shadowy corner.

  The man gripping Velrik’s lead pulled him toward a large wooden basin balanced upon four legs against one wall. Lifting Velrik by his lead, the man plunged him into the cold water encased within.

  Velrik gasped as the icy liquid enveloped him, the shock seizing his small frame. His fur clung tightly to his skin, the sudden chill stiffening his limbs. As he struggled to rise, the man’s grip on the lead held him firmly in place.

  “Stay still,” the man ordered, fishing for a bar of harshly scented soap nearby. Without compassion, he scrubbed it against Velrik’s soaked fur, pressing hard enough to evoke a wince. The overpowering scent of lavender invaded his nostrils, a sharp contrast to the stale air of the room.

  Velrik clenched his paws, forcing himself to endure the brutal scrubbing. He suppressed a growl as the man rifled through the dense fur of his tail, untying knots with little concern for the pain it inflicted. The icy water alone was torment enough, but this—this felt barbaric. As if he were a stray beast being washed prior to display.

  Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

  After what felt like an eternity, the man yanked Velrik from the basin, letting droplets cascade freely from his fur onto the stone floor. He seized a coarse cloth, dragging it over Velrik’s head and ears, yet it did little to absorb the moisture. With an impatient grunt, he discarded the cloth and waved his fingers through the air, uttering words Velrik could not decipher. A gentle gust of warm air enveloped him, gradually drying his fur, a fleeting comfort before succumbing again to the damp chill of the room. The man shifted to retrieve something from behind him.

  A simple tunic, woven from fine threads and vibrant in hue, was thrust into Velrik’s chest. “Put this on, you mutt.”

  Velrik hesitated, eying the man warily, yet he reluctantly pulled the tunic over his head. It was oversized, the fabric hanging loosely from his slight frame; the damp fur beneath rendered it clingy and uncomfortable.

  The man chuckled at the sight before peeling off the tunic. “This won’t do for the lord. You’ll just have to go as you are.” He then muttered, “Let’s go," giving the lead a firm tug. "The lord’s waiting."

  Velrik offered no resistance as he was maneuvered through the manor’s halls, his messy fur uneven and irritating. He lowered his ears, his sharp gaze scanning the corridors once more. As they walked, a young woman with striking red hair and brown eyes, dressed in an elegant black-and-white attire adorned with intricate designs, approached them.

  “Please hold on a moment while I tidy up his fur. I don’t want it to look like this when he meets the lord.” She knelt beside Velrik, smiling warmly before gently brushing through his fur with a well-crafted brush. Velrik closed his eyes, lost in the comforting sensation, recalling the tender touch of his mother grooming him each morning to smooth out the knots of his fur.

  “Alright, that’s enough.” The man intervened sharply, yanking Velrik away from the young woman and disrupting his fond memories.

  When they finally returned to the grand hall, the noble lounged in a high-backed chair near a roaring fireplace, his arms resting upon the armrests as he regarded Velrik with an appraising eye. The firelight wove intricate shadows across the polished stone walls.

  “Much improved,” the noble remarked, motioning for Velrik to approach. “Let me observe you more closely.”

  Velrik hesitated but took a hesitant step forward, ears twitching as he advanced before the noble. The man leaned slightly forward, his sharp gaze sweeping over Velrik with the practiced scrutiny of someone assessing fine craftsmanship.

  He reached out, firmly grasping Velrik’s muzzle and tilting his head side to side. Velrik fought to remain still, every fiber of his being urging him to recoil. The noble’s fingers were cold and impersonal, devoid of any warmth that might denote sympathy, as though he were appraising a curious object rather than a living being.

  “Exotic,” the noble muttered, more to himself than the others present. “Never seen one up close. Those eyes… quite striking.”

  Velrik narrowed those very eyes, resisting the urge to pull away. He despised the way the man spoke about him—like he was merely a unique trinket to be admired. He longed for the gentle touch of his mother and father, who would hold his cheek with love rather than evaluation.

  The noble released his grip and turned his attention to Velrik’s hands, lifting one to run his thumb over the soft pads. “Dexterous little fingers. You’ll learn to be useful soon enough.”

  Velrik clenched his jaw but remained silent. The expectation of what was required from him was unclear, yet he had no intention of making this man’s existence any easier.

  “Smart, too,” the noble mused, tilting his head in contemplation. “You understand me, don’t you?”

  Velrik met his gaze but refrained from responding. Uncertainty lingered in his heart—silence might shield him from further inquiry, yet he wasn’t prepared to grant the noble the satisfaction of a reply.

  The noble smirked. “Yes… you do.” He leaned back in his chair and waved a dismissive hand. “Take him to the servants. Get him settled.”

  The same man grasped Velrik’s lead once more, forcing him away before he could seek another glance at the noble’s face. His mind whirled, questions crashing together as he was propelled through the manor’s maze-like halls. Settled? What might that entail? Would he be tasked with cleaning, cooking, or worse?

  The noble’s echoing words took root in his mind. You’ll learn to be useful soon enough.

  Velrik swallowed hard. He wasn’t sure what that meant—but a deep instinct warned him he wouldn’t find it agreeable.

  Nodding sharply, the man tugged Velrik toward a side door leading from the hall. One last glance at the noble revealed that he had already diverted his focus elsewhere.

  The journey to the servant quarters proved shorter than Velrik anticipated. In stark contrast to the lush hallways of the manor, the servant areas were narrower, featuring plain walls devoid of adornment. The air felt absurdly warm, infused with the welcoming scents of baking bread, aromatic herbs, and the faint smoke of burning wood. For a fleeting moment, it almost harkened back to home—if not for the well-crafted stone walls.

  The man halted before a sturdy wooden door, delivering a forceful knock before shoving it open. Inside lay a modest room filled with simple furnishings: a lengthy wooden table accompanied by benches, a few scattered chairs, and a large fireplace where a pot of tantalizing, thick stew simmered in fragrant anticipation. Several individuals were scattered about, some seated and murmuring in hushed tones, while others busied themselves with various tasks.

  Heads turned as Velrik was ushered inside.

  “What in the world is that?” exclaimed one man, rising from his chair.

  “A fox?” offered another, tilting her head in bewilderment.

  “No, look at its hands! Standing upright—it's something entirely different.”

  Velrik's ears pressed back as watchful gazes scrutinized him, their curious intensity palpable in the air. He retreated to a corner near the door, instinctively curling into himself and burying his face between his legs in an effort to hide.

  Some of the servants chuckled softly, while others regarded him with more cautious glances.

  “Poor thing looks terrified,” the red-haired woman observed, her voice gentle. “Let’s give him some space.”

  Yet others encroached upon him, several murmuring comments while others tentatively reached out in an effort to brush against his fur.

  “Look at that! It resembles a fox!” one girl exclaimed. “He must be incredibly young,” someone else noted, while a man declared, “Oh look! It’s male!” Hands brushed gently over his fur and ears, eliciting discomfort.

  Velrik's heartbeat raced. Too many voices. Too many hands.

  His tail bristled as he turned away, ears flattening against his skull. “Stop it,” he murmured, barely audible.

  The room quieted momentarily, yet it wasn’t enough. Velrik clenched his hands at his sides, claws surfacing as he whispered fiercely, “Leave me alone.”

  The red-haired woman frowned and stood abruptly, raising her hand to the others. “Alright, that’s plenty. He’s probably had a long journey.”

  Murmurs fell silent, and some servants exchanged glances before returning to their previous tasks.

  Velrik swallowed hard, remaining tense and ready to flee or defend himself at any moment.

  “Come now, little one,” the young woman persisted, her voice a soothing balm against the earlier chaos. “Let’s find you a quiet place to rest.”

  She knelt beside Velrik, careful to avoid sudden movements. “Come,” she murmured gently, her tone unyielding yet soft. “You’ll feel more comfortable somewhere quieter.”

  Velrik hesitated, his ears still pinned flat. The thought of leaving this corner of safety with these strange beings filled him with apprehension, but remaining here amidst their curious hands was worse. At last, he raised his head, peering at her. Her expression was kind, a stark contrast to the men who had scrubbed him down or the noble who had scrutinized him like an object. Here stood a being who didn’t seem to pose a threat.

  She extended her hand, yet when he didn’t take it, she merely stood and waited. “It’s alright,” she assured him, turning toward the door. “You don’t have to follow, but I believe you’ll be more comfortable.”

  Moments stretched, yet at last, Velrik pushed himself to his feet, cautiously padding after her with his tail low.

  The manor’s halls hushed now, flickering candlelight casting long shadows upon the walls. The young woman guided him up a short flight of stairs before stopping in front of a door. With a gentle push, she opened it, beckoning him inside.

  “This is my room,” she disclosed. “It’s modest, but it’s safe and comfortable.”

  Velrik hesitated at the threshold, inhaling the scents that permeated the small space—lavender, aged wood, and something warm and familiar. He crossed the threshold, scanning the simple furnishings: a bed draped with a woolen blanket, a small wooden chest, and a table with a half-burned candle. It wasn’t as grand as the noble’s hall, yet it felt... better.

  Once the door was closed behind him, the young woman approached the bed, patting the mattress lightly. “You can rest here. I shall bring you something to eat.”

  Velrik crept nearer, still cautious but willing to trust her, and climbed onto the bed. The blanket was rough yet warm against his damp fur. He curled up, wrapping his tail tightly around his body as exhaustion settled heavily upon him.

  The woman lingered by the door. “I should warn you about one thing,” she said quietly. “Don’t attempt to flee.”

  Velrik’s ears flicked towards her but he did not raise his head.

  “The collar,” she continued, her voice solemn. “It’s enchanted. Should you attempt to leave the manor without permission... it will hurt you.”

  Velrik’s fingers instinctively traced the leather band encircling his neck. He had already sensed the constriction it imposed—he didn’t wish to learn of its other capabilities.

  “I will return shortly,” she promised before slipping out the door.

  Alone, Velrik buried his face against the coarse blanket. His body ached, and his fur felt grimy, yet for the first time since he had been wrested from the serenity of the forest, he found a measure of peace. He drifted off, held in dreams of home, followed by the shadowed recollection of the night he was taken.

  A brief time later, the door creaked once more. Velrik’s eyes flew open, anxiety surging through him again. The fragrant aroma of bread and roasted meat filled the air as the young woman returned, bearing a modest plate. She set it down on the table before kneeling beside him once more.

  “Here,” she said softly. “Sit up and eat something.”

  Velrik uncurled cautiously, his stomach twisting with hunger. As he reached for the food, the collar tugged painfully at his throat, prompting him to wince.

  The woman caught sight of his discomfort. “Is it too tight?” she asked.

  Velrik hesitated but offered a small nod.

  “Hold still,” she instructed, her fingers deftly working at the buckle beneath his fur. It loosened just enough to mitigate the pressure against his skin, and he exhaled quietly.

  “There,” she said. “Is that better?”

  Velrik nodded, seizing the food and consuming it in small, cautious bites.

  She watched him for a brief moment before rising. “Get some rest,” she encouraged, moving toward the door. “I’ll return this evening when it’s time for bed.”

  Velrik scarcely acknowledged her words; his body was growing heavy, warmth seeping into his bones as he curled up once more. For the first time since being taken from the forest, sleep came swiftly and easily.