Zar woke up from a dream, a recurring dream in which she was rubbing 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 augmentation. As usual, she woke extremely aroused, her swollen, delicate nipples pushing versus her leather tunic - a brand-new one made to fit her brand-new curvy shape - and that other continuous requirement rejected by her moonsilver belt.
But there was only one way to get the relief she longed for, which needed more personal privacy than used by a milk cart. Zar stayed up, surprised by how long she 'd slept. Thanking the farmer's better half, who had actually not required payment for this favour, Zar collected her things and hopped off the cart, excited to see the excellent city.
Raised in the Convent, she knew absolutely nothing of cities and temples, and undoubtedly little of gods beyond fireside tales. The language at least had actually been taught to her by Sister Alvesi, however numerous of the words flung past her ears by locals were unfamiliar.
Their clothes too was odd to her, far lighter and more revealing than the Convent's thick habits, and far more advanced than her leather and wyrm-wing. The males even more so, although with some concessions to energy.
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