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Zar awoke from a dream, a recurring dream in which she was massaging her breasts, not with the witch's gel but with the bull-prince's essence, the smell of it envigorating, her breasts continuing to grow even beyond their unwanted enlargement. As usual, she woke intensely excited, her inflamed, sensitive nipples pushing versus her leather tunic - a brand-new one made to fit her new curved shape - which other continuous need rejected by her moonsilver belt.
There was only one way to get the relief she yearned for, and that required more personal privacy than offered by a milk cart. Zar stayed up, shocked by how long she 'd slept. Thanking the farmer's other half, who had not demanded payment for this favour, Zar collected her stuff and hopped off the cart, eager to see the excellent city.
Raised in the Convent, she knew nothing of temples and cities, and certainly little of gods beyond fireside tales. Saruz was a huge city, a port that served both river and ocean. Thousands of boats enhanced the water, some carrying travelers, most ferrying items. The language at least had actually been taught to her by Sister Alvesi, however a lot of the words flung past her ears by residents were unknown.
Their clothes too was odd to her, far lighter and more revealing than the Convent's thick practices, and far more sophisticated than her leather and wyrm-wing. The guys even more so, although with some concessions to energy.
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