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Description
Drip. Drip. My head is pounding and I'm in excrutiating pain. Even with my eyes closed I see bright lights that seem to aggravate the pain. When I take a deep breath I'm assaulted by so many smells I can't help but go into a coughing fit. Mold seems to be the strongest scent. The next strongest is a musky aroma reminiscent of sweat and dirt. A light perfume of wet fur reminds me that I am being dripped on though I can no longer hear the rain. Finally a smoky scent of a cooking fire is noticeable along with the scent of venison roasing and something herbal I can't quite place.

Drip. Drip. With a sigh I open my eyes slowly, increasing the pain in my skull, to see exactly where I am. A tent, small and only enough to cover the spot I lay upon along with a few things I can only assume are supplies. A look out the tent flap showes the sun rising slowly, the rain stopped for now, and my attacker sitting by a fire cooking something over the fire. I can't see many details of him, although I can see his weapondry seated at his feet.

Drip. Drip. Just my luck. Either the tent is so saturated that it's leaking or it is under a water laden tree that felt like sharing. Attempting to get up is next to impossible in any normal way yet I feel I have to try. After a few futile attempts I resign myself to lay there once more to plot my next move. A glint of light from the rising sun catches my eye. Turning onto my side, after a brief struggle, I see my musket is what is reflecting the light. Casually I look over to my captor and he is only poking at his meal while puffing on a rather odd pipe. My paws may be tied but if I could get to my musket perhaps I may have a little leverage. A desperate idea at best but what else did I have?

Drip. Drip. Yes it was time to move I decide as I bite my lower lip in concentration. If I can rock myself I could get myself to my feet or so I hope. Gently I begin to rock back and forth causing what sounds to me like a large ruffle in the hay mattress. Wide eyed I stop and watch to see if the sound alerted the guard. He was now munching on his meal, tearing into the meat with a vigorous appetite. Back to the rocking. When I think I can do it I try to stand up only to find myself face down in the dirt once more. Paw steps foretell the approach of the strange male until the claws of his feet are blocking my view.

"Hungry?" He asks with a thick accent. Without warning I'm grabbed and thrown over his shoulder, moved a few steps, and thrown before the fire. A pewter plate is then presented that holds a piece of charred mystery meat and a roll or hardtack biscuit. Nothing further is said as he plops down across from me, the fire strategically placed between us. The food is very charred and heavy with spices, so much so that it was completely unrecognizeable from it's original form. A kettle of brown gravy hangs over the low burning flames. Every so often the male grabs a biscuit, dips it, and shoves it into his face. In beteween his bits of breakfast he takes a few puffs from or relights his pipe.

Now that I'm closer and we are in the light I can see him more clearly. This creature is male as I had first thought. Of course first looks can be deceiving. After all I dress in men's clothing to hide my true sex. Then again it is silly to think that others feel the need to hide as I do. Anyways back to my inspection of this male. He was evidently of an allied species, a dragon to be precise, but that did little to put me at ease. My own view on the war was undecided or at the very least neutral. As far as I am concerned it doesn't matter whether we were still under feline rule or seen as a free land. No matter whose tail sits in the leader's chair my life wouldn't change. Those that considered themselves civilized, canine or feline, would only destroy the land of the ferals in which I was raised.

So yes he is a dragonic, one with black scales all over and a pair of horns on top of his head. Glasses sit on his long muzzles and those damned blue eyes watch me from behind silver rims. For clothing I only see the oilskin watch coat with the crossed axes on the shoulders with his feet and forepaws bare. I am still focusing on his appearance when he leans forward and snaps at me with his sharp teeth and questionable breath. Reflexively I jump back before collecting myself once again. The black dragon points to my food with a sharp talon.

"Just how do you expect me to eat with my hands tied? Tell me that you dumbass reptile!" I snap at him still figuring he can't understand more than a few words. "Okay so you caught me. Are you proud of yourself? What do you plan on doing with the blood money from the city dwellers pay for my clan's pelts? Cheap whiskey and even cheaper women I'm sure." I assume that's why he caught me, the bounty put on the feral dogs' pelts by the stuffed shirts. As big scaley stands up and makes his way to my side of the fire I wait for him to prepare to cash in. Standing behind me he leans over my shoulder and smiles the evil malicious smile like last night. His paw reaches for the plate and shoves it into my muzzle, almost choking me.

"And here I thought your kind couldn't speak the king's tongue." He speaks as articulate as any native born mammal would even if his reptilian accent is thick. "At least that's what I had heard from the locals." He throws down the plate and storms back to his side of the fire. Bits of food are now stuck up my nose, in my eyes, and in my fur. With a shake of my head I clear most of the debris. My adversary has gone back to ignoring me and is once again smoking his pipe. The scent of the tobacco is heavy and very aromatic. So communication isn't out of the question but what was the point? If I'm simply a bounty to him then speach is pointless. I am not about to beg any one for my life, especially from some cold hearted (and even cold blooded) murderer of innocent ferals. Sure he hadn't killed me outright but if he had seen past my facade of malehood perhaps something more sinister would happen before he slaughtered me. My voice is deep, well deep for a female anyways. I always tied and tuck my breasts to hide them and baggy clothes, though not fashionable, complete the disguise. Thankfully, being part wolf and part border collie my fur is pretty thick as well so that also helps to discourage any unwanted attention.

Description
Drip. Drip. My head is pounding and I'm in excrutiating pain. Even with my eyes closed I see bright lights that seem to aggravate the pain. When I take a deep breath I'm assaulted by so many smells I can't help but go into a coughing fit. Mold seems to be the strongest scent. The next strongest is a musky aroma reminiscent of sweat and dirt. A light perfume of wet fur reminds me that I am being dripped on though I can no longer hear the rain. Finally a smoky scent of a cooking fire is noticeable along with the scent of venison roasing and something herbal I can't quite place.

Drip. Drip. With a sigh I open my eyes slowly, increasing the pain in my skull, to see exactly where I am. A tent, small and only enough to cover the spot I lay upon along with a few things I can only assume are supplies. A look out the tent flap showes the sun rising slowly, the rain stopped for now, and my attacker sitting by a fire cooking something over the fire. I can't see many details of him, although I can see his weapondry seated at his feet.

Drip. Drip. Just my luck. Either the tent is so saturated that it's leaking or it is under a water laden tree that felt like sharing. Attempting to get up is next to impossible in any normal way yet I feel I have to try. After a few futile attempts I resign myself to lay there once more to plot my next move. A glint of light from the rising sun catches my eye. Turning onto my side, after a brief struggle, I see my musket is what is reflecting the light. Casually I look over to my captor and he is only poking at his meal while puffing on a rather odd pipe. My paws may be tied but if I could get to my musket perhaps I may have a little leverage. A desperate idea at best but what else did I have?

Drip. Drip. Yes it was time to move I decide as I bite my lower lip in concentration. If I can rock myself I could get myself to my feet or so I hope. Gently I begin to rock back and forth causing what sounds to me like a large ruffle in the hay mattress. Wide eyed I stop and watch to see if the sound alerted the guard. He was now munching on his meal, tearing into the meat with a vigorous appetite. Back to the rocking. When I think I can do it I try to stand up only to find myself face down in the dirt once more. Paw steps foretell the approach of the strange male until the claws of his feet are blocking my view.

"Hungry?" He asks with a thick accent. Without warning I'm grabbed and thrown over his shoulder, moved a few steps, and thrown before the fire. A pewter plate is then presented that holds a piece of charred mystery meat and a roll or hardtack biscuit. Nothing further is said as he plops down across from me, the fire strategically placed between us. The food is very charred and heavy with spices, so much so that it was completely unrecognizeable from it's original form. A kettle of brown gravy hangs over the low burning flames. Every so often the male grabs a biscuit, dips it, and shoves it into his face. In beteween his bits of breakfast he takes a few puffs from or relights his pipe.

Now that I'm closer and we are in the light I can see him more clearly. This creature is male as I had first thought. Of course first looks can be deceiving. After all I dress in men's clothing to hide my true sex. Then again it is silly to think that others feel the need to hide as I do. Anyways back to my inspection of this male. He was evidently of an allied species, a dragon to be precise, but that did little to put me at ease. My own view on the war was undecided or at the very least neutral. As far as I am concerned it doesn't matter whether we were still under feline rule or seen as a free land. No matter whose tail sits in the leader's chair my life wouldn't change. Those that considered themselves civilized, canine or feline, would only destroy the land of the ferals in which I was raised.

So yes he is a dragonic, one with black scales all over and a pair of horns on top of his head. Glasses sit on his long muzzles and those damned blue eyes watch me from behind silver rims. For clothing I only see the oilskin watch coat with the crossed axes on the shoulders with his feet and forepaws bare. I am still focusing on his appearance when he leans forward and snaps at me with his sharp teeth and questionable breath. Reflexively I jump back before collecting myself once again. The black dragon points to my food with a sharp talon.

"Just how do you expect me to eat with my hands tied? Tell me that you dumbass reptile!" I snap at him still figuring he can't understand more than a few words. "Okay so you caught me. Are you proud of yourself? What do you plan on doing with the blood money from the city dwellers pay for my clan's pelts? Cheap whiskey and even cheaper women I'm sure." I assume that's why he caught me, the bounty put on the feral dogs' pelts by the stuffed shirts. As big scaley stands up and makes his way to my side of the fire I wait for him to prepare to cash in. Standing behind me he leans over my shoulder and smiles the evil malicious smile like last night. His paw reaches for the plate and shoves it into my muzzle, almost choking me.

"And here I thought your kind couldn't speak the king's tongue." He speaks as articulate as any native born mammal would even if his reptilian accent is thick. "At least that's what I had heard from the locals." He throws down the plate and storms back to his side of the fire. Bits of food are now stuck up my nose, in my eyes, and in my fur. With a shake of my head I clear most of the debris. My adversary has gone back to ignoring me and is once again smoking his pipe. The scent of the tobacco is heavy and very aromatic. So communication isn't out of the question but what was the point? If I'm simply a bounty to him then speach is pointless. I am not about to beg any one for my life, especially from some cold hearted (and even cold blooded) murderer of innocent ferals. Sure he hadn't killed me outright but if he had seen past my facade of malehood perhaps something more sinister would happen before he slaughtered me. My voice is deep, well deep for a female anyways. I always tied and tuck my breasts to hide them and baggy clothes, though not fashionable, complete the disguise. Thankfully, being part wolf and part border collie my fur is pretty thick as well so that also helps to discourage any unwanted attention.