“Hurry up,” one of the other keep children whined. Others sneered at Taro in his moment of weakness. At the head of the group was Rei, mistress of the keep. When she spoke, her voice was level, but Taro could still feel the bite of her words. “You must do it. Honor demands it.”

Ripa the doarmir quivered next to the courtyard well, its face flushed blue in apprehension. When Taro looked at it, he thought of the times they hunted rodents outside the keep’s walls, the time Ripa had fought off those who had attempted to steal some of the keep’s precious relics, and how the two had fallen asleep curled together in the night.

“Do it,” Rei commanded. Taro crept closer, and put out his hand for Ripa to lick. He made a whimpering sound, and then went deathly quiet faster than Taro would have expected. Rei made a clicking noise with her mandibles. “Honor demanded it. Now clean this up.”

The crowd dispersed, and Taro fell to his knees, cradling the still body of his best companion, now seemingly small in death. He tried to will himself to stand up and move—honor demanded it!—but he felt powerless to stop the tears that now rolled down and soaked Ripa’s fur.

—

Thel ‘Vadamee, supreme commander of the Fleet of Particular Justice, shifted slightly in his throne elevated over his flagship’s bridge. There was no doubt. The new coat he’d just received from Sanghelios was the most comfortable he’d ever worn. He was momentarily distracted and lost himself in idle musings. I wonder how they get the fur so soft.