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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 however 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 extremely excited, her swollen, delicate nipples pushing versus her leather tunic - a brand-new one made to fit her new curvy shape - which other continuous need denied by her moonsilver belt.
There was just one method to get the relief she longed for, and that required more personal privacy than provided by a milk cart. Zar sat up, surprised by for how long she 'd slept. Thanking the farmer's other half, who had actually not required payment for this favour, Zar collected her stuff and hopped off the cart, excited to see the excellent city.
Raised in the Convent, she knew absolutely nothing of cities and temples, and indeed little of gods beyond fireside tales. The language at least had been taught to her by Sister Alvesi, however many of the words flung past her ears by residents were unfamiliar.
Their clothes too was unusual to her, far lighter and more revealing than the Convent's thick practices, and far more advanced than her leather and wyrm-wing. The guys even more so, although with some concessions to utility.
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