Zar woke up from a dream, a repeating dream in which she was massaging her breasts, not with the witch's gel however with the bull-prince's essence, the smell of it intoxicating, her breasts continuing to grow even beyond their undesirable enlargement. As usual, she woke extremely aroused, her swollen, sensitive nipples pushing against her leather tunic - a new one made to fit her new curvy shape - and that other consistent need denied by her moonsilver belt.
However there was only one way to get the relief she yearned for, and that required more personal privacy than used by a milk cart. Zar sat up, surprised by for how long she 'd slept. Thanking the farmer's partner, who had actually not demanded payment for this favour, Zar gathered her things and hopped off the cart, eager to see the terrific city.
Raised in the Convent, she knew nothing of temples and cities, and undoubtedly little of gods beyond fireside tales. Saruz was a big city, a port that served both river and ocean. Thousands of boats enhanced the water, some carrying passengers, many ferrying goods. The language at least had been taught to her by Sister Alvesi, though many of the words flung past her ears by residents were unfamiliar.
Their clothes too was odd to her, far lighter and more revealing than the Convent's thick habits, and far more sophisticated than her leather and wyrm-wing. The males even more so, although with some concessions to utility.
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