Chapter Eight

The next morning, Sir brought out a salve that would help heal the small wounds of the single tail and applied it liberally to Wishbone's body, even to his prick and down between his buttocks so that he spilled again. After Wishbone dressed, the salve started to work, painting him all over in itches so that he was hard put to stand still. When he dressed, the rasp of fabric on his welts made him bite his lips, and not just from pain. He felt so aroused that one kiss from Sir would have made him spill in his clothes, and it was just as well that Sir pushed him out of the bedroom in order that he might write letters.

Terefar dug up an old cloak of Sir's that was a little heavy for the spring sunshine, but made a modest enough wrap for Telia to wear into town. Wishbone walked her down the Hill.

"Pardon me for fussing, Wishbone," she said, "But you seem unwell. Have you hurt yourself?"

"I strained myself lifting crates for Sir," he said. "It is a small thing, and I thank you for your concern."

The delicate creature seemed satisfied.

They came upon the dressmaker recommended by the girls of Bent Street. Indeed, the shop was tiny, but every bit as respectable-looking as Wishbone had been led to expect. The woman clerk showed Telia bolts of fabric that made her eyes open wide. The two of them vanished into the back...