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The wind whispers through the tall grass as gentle lights bob in and out of the field, lackadaisical in their direction and purpose.
Narinder hates them. He gets cold now. Hungry. He bleeds. He punched a deer last week for stepping on his tail. Even that he was poor at, he’d tucked his thumb behind his fist and nearly sprained it. It had hurt for a week and Lamb had not been kind about his injury.
“Misdirecting your strength, Narinder,” he’d laughed gently in a way that never failed to incense him. He’d been clutching his aching thumb and howling curses all the while.
“It seems you’ve learned nothing from your loss.”
The words, though they had been light, playful, had cut deep and Lamb had merely sidestepped his clumsy attempt to lash out at him, ever patient smile on his face.
Narinder grunted at the memory as he paced through the reaching grass. He was cold and miserable. The dew on the grass was sticking to his fur, wetting it. He’d be getting a chill soon if he wasn’t careful. The thought of dragging himself back to the good graces of the one who dethroned him was too much to bear.
The wind picked up and the grass rustled in emerald waves as a shiver went down his back. He found himself crouching against a rather large boulder. He was huddled in on himself a few minutes later. The breeze hadn’t slowed down and the lights had started to tuck themselves away as a drizzling rain began to fall.
The rock he was pressed up against had a small outcropping which offered a bare bit of respite from the dampness and cold.
“You’re not very good at this whole being flesh thing are you?” A familiarly calm voice sounded from somewhere astonishingly close.
Narinder about leapt out of his skin, his heart pounding thunderously in his chest. Lamb approached with the Red Crown formed into a rather obnoxious looking umbrella. What a blasphemous use of his sacred servant.
He found his teeth chattered as he tried to speak a rather pathetic, “Go away.”
Lamb blinked slowly, ever patient smile in place on his face.
“I would not be a good leader if I neglected one of my flock, petulant as he is,” he held out his hand to Narinder, other still grasping the Red Crown, which was now slightly tilted forward as to shield him as well from the wind and rain.
Narinder languished in stubborn silence. Lamb rolled his eyes.
“You may come back with me now, while you can walk, or I can retrieve you tomorrow.” The rest went unspoken.
He mulled over his meager choices for a few seconds, glancing up at Lamb begrudgingly, scowl fully in place.
He sighed, “I wish you wouldn’t make this so difficult on yourself.”
“I did not ask for this,” Narinder spat, unable to suppress the wracking shiver that ran through his body. He saw Lamb’s gaze soften at the involuntary movement, and hated him for it.
“And yet you received.”
Angrily, he slapped his hand into Lamb’s and together they were encased in a pentagram of red light. In a flash they were in a considerably warmer, drier area. He let his eyes adjust to the blinding change in lighting and dazedly realized he was in a spacious, though rather bare room.
Lamb released the handle of the umbrella. The Red Crown dissolved into a cloud of black that congealed back to its normal shape perched on top of his head.
“You’ll be blessed if you don’t wake up with a cold tomorrow,” Lamb said as he rifled through a chest, pulling out a clean white towel and approaching Narinder.
“Leave me to it,” he barked, reaching for the towel.
“There are many places you cannot reach, allow me,” Lamb pushed, moving the towel slightly out of reach. Narinder sighed as if he were enduring a great burden, and dropped his grasping hand, letting himself be directed into a sitting position on a nearby rug. He folded his hands neatly into his lap as Lamb began to rub him.
The towel against his fur was overwhelming. Narinder couldn’t remember the last time he’d been touched in such a way by another. It had certainly been a while, back before he and his siblings had fallen out.
“You should be careful,” Lamb hummed as he rubbed down Narinder’s back. “You’re not used to this body. Catching a cold sulking out in the fields.”
“I was not sulking,” Narinder protested even though he had been doing exactly that. Lamb’s gentle chastisement made a queasy sort of warmth bloom in his stomach.
“Such weak lies,” Lamb tsked with mild disdain as he continued to tend to him. As the towel reached farther and farther down his back, Narinder felt a slight tingle start to build through him. Each rub of the towel sent pleasant, warm sensations through him and there was a low rumbling sound deep in his ears that seemed to get louder and louder the more Lamb rubbed him.
Suddenly two fingers were under his chin, scritching at his throat.
“Do you always purr when you are contented?” Lamb tilted his head with the question, tender smile in place on his face, eyes full of that revolting softness that disconcerted and repelled Narinder. Heat and embarrassment flashed through him as he realized he was indeed purring. He tried to stop it.
Lamb merely chuckled and continued to rub at Narinder’s fur. He bristled at the realization the rubbing was making his fur unkempt and he would have to smooth it out later. Lamb was getting further down his back and the sensation was really starting to become overwhelming.
Narinder lashed his tail a few times before he stood abruptly, glaring back at Lamb over his shoulder. “I will sleep in my own shelter.”
Lamb looked at him, unimpressed, still holding the towel open, little prickles of black fur littered all over it.
“You will fall ill and I will have to tend to you, stay here,” it was a command, he realized, but not likely one Lamb would force him to obey.
That was the strange thing about him, among his clan he rarely ever forced, only suggested. A poor leadership quality, Narinder thought. Yet here he was, a god made flesh while Lamb relished in the love and obedience of his followers.
“No,” Narinder resisted, but he made no move to leave.
“By all means, keep resisting me, even against your own interests,” Lamb said sarcastically as he folded up the towel and placed it in a hamper.
Still Narinder lingered.
“Unless you’d like to stay,” Lamb suggested, welcoming smile in place. He began to shrug off his cloak and remembering the intense tingle of his touch, Narinder turned and stomped off into the night cold.
When he made it back to his own shelter, he found it almost as frigid inside as it was outside, with a leaking roof to boot. They were in the process of building him a better one, but it took time and resources. Narinder huffed irritably as he settled down into his sleeping bag on the icy, compact ground and shuddered himself to sleep.
When he woke his sight was bleary, his entire body ached, and there was an unpleasant crust to almost all of his orifices.
He sat up, noting the ground under him was no longer cold and hard. The room was familiarly sparse. He had been transported back to Lamb’s shelter. Hurriedly he looked around himself, but found the space empty for the moment.
He thought, idly, of trying to go back to his own shelter, or out into the fields. But his throat hurt and he longed for water and even sitting up had made him dizzy and miserable. Brightness entered the room for a moment, sending piercing throbs of pain into his skull. He covered his eyes with an irate groan.
“Some might say I’ve been gifted with divine sight,” the Lamb’s soft voice came to him. He uncovered his eyes, blinking and noting a slight wetness as he did. The pain began to subside and his eyes adjusted again to the dim lighting of the room.
“I just call it common sense, but perhaps I’m too humble.” Lamb approached holding two precariously stacked bowls in one hand, a jug of water in the other. A small towel was slung over his shoulder.
“Not much to say today, hmm? A pity,” Lamb said, and before Narinder could say something biting back, the jug was pressed to his lips and he drank greedily, thoughts of manifesting a retort fading away as his thirst was slaked.
“You won’t like this part next, but it will save you pain in the long run,” was the only warning he got before the jug was moved away.
Narinder turned his head, wanting more water, but was met with a spoonful of an unpleasant, acrid smelling mash. It was pushed inside his mouth and tilted over as to deposit the stuff on his tongue. Lamb withdrew the spoon, looking content to see it wiped clean.
The mixture that was placed in his mouth was bitter and revolting, Narinder immediately wanted to spit it out but found a hand placed over his mouth. He must have seen Narinder’s desire to spit on his face. Or he knew his personality too well.
“Swallow that,” he commanded gently. “Gathering those materials was a pain and I’ll not have you waste them.”
A hand rubbed at his throat and Narinder swallowed begrudgingly, finding himself feeling distinctly infantilized. He remembers distantly, so distant the stars in the sky were different, a time when he was small and someone of his kind took care of him like this.
“Saving a god of death from the misery of his own lack of self preservation,” Lamb sighed, picking up the other bowl. Narinder turned his head away this time at the spoon that was offered to him, but his resolve quickly broke down as his nose picked up the smell of actual food.
“This had better not also be poison,” he sneered weakly.
Lamb laughed delightedly, “Oh no, of course not. As you know, there are much more efficient ways to kill than poison.”
Narinder grumbled at that, but continued to allow Lamb to feed him until the bowl was empty and set away. Next the jug was picked up, tilted to wet the towel Lamb had brought with him and the dampened cloth was pressed against Narinder’s forehead.
“With any hope your fever will break before next evening, I’ve chores to run. Shout if you need something. No matter how weak, I shall hear it,” Lamb said with an ominous smile.
Narinder grunted in acknowledgement and turned over, facing away from Lamb and pulling the sheets of the bed more tightly to himself. He shut his eyes and listened to the sound of the door opening and closing with the Lamb’s retreat.
Most of the day was spent dozing in and out of consciousness. When Lamb returned, there was no light behind him in the open doorway. At his entrance and with a snap of his fingers, several candles in the room burst to life, flames dancing merrily as he approached with more supplies to tend to him.
This time Narinder sat up and took his meal from him, his pride and body having recovered enough to warrant some self sufficiency.
“You missed a rousing sermon,” Lamb said conversationally. “Would you like me to redeliver it for you?”
“I’ve no need for your drivel,” Narinder grunted between mouthfuls of hot porridge. He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the meal as it allowed his queasy nausea and constant fatigue to abate slightly.
“On the contrary, if you listened to my wisdom, you might adapt to this change a little better.”
“Listen to the advice of one cloaked in lies,” Narinder glowered. “Unlikely.”
“On the subject of bitter medicine.” Lamb drew out the bowl full of the cursed mash. Narinder turned his hateful gaze to that instead. It didn’t smell any better than earlier.
“There is a bit of honey in it this time,” he said as he passed the bowl. Narinder leered at it, a bit longer before hurriedly upending the bowl, using the spoon to urge the sludge into his mouth. Lamb took the bowl from where it perched on the bed.
“Where did you even learn to make that foul mixture?” he asked as he attempted to rub his tongue on the roof of his mouth to wipe the rest of the taste away. The honey, he would admit only to himself, had helped blunt the terrible taste.
Lamb looked distant for a moment, “I had a life before this one, with different needed skills.”
“Yes and then you had no life, and when I returned it to you-.” Narinder caught a flash of something in Lamb’s eyes before he cut him off.
“Betrayed you! Stabbed you in the back! Made you low to my whims!” Lamb acted out each phrase dramatically, in a mockingly grating tone Narinder suspected was meant to imitate himself. “A travesty, I know. But I can only heal you from one injury at a time. Your wounded pride will have to wait.”
Narinder stewed in stubborn silence as Lamb bustled around the room. It was when he heard the slight jingle of a bell that he looked up to see him shucking off his cloak.
“Surely you are not sleeping here?” Narinder questioned face scrunching up like he’d been fed the mash again.
“Though I will not get a cold stalking around the fields at night, I would like to enjoy the comfort of my own bed,” Lamb said as he was bending down to pick up his cloak and fold it away.
“Ridiculous, sharing my bed with a traitor-.” Narinder was working himself up into an indignant fuss.
“It’s good to know you’re recovering your strength enough to throw tantrums again,” Lamb huffed, suppressing an outright laugh. “And it’s my bed. If you do not wish to sleep in it, you may sleep in the temple for tonight.”
“You would make an infirm follower walk out into the cold? Cruel leader you are,” Narinder muttered.
“I won’t make you do anything at the present moment except share my bed.”
Narinder mulled over his options. He enjoyed the softness of Lamb’s bed, the warmth. The temple was well kept but the pews were bound to be hard and uncomfortable. While the medicine had broken his fever, his whole body was tender with sickness and ached at the suggestion of arduous movement.
“You may lie with me,” he permitted after a moment of deliberation.
“Oh such a gracious host I have,” Lamb said with a roll of his eyes. He wasted no time climbing into the bed with Narinder. The bed was large enough that they did not have to touch.
With a flick of his hand, all the candles went out, bar one.
“Some day when your guard is down, I shall reclaim what is mine,” Narinder threatened as the sheets rustled next to him with Lamb’s shifting to get comfortable.
“Mhm,” Lamb said, turning over away from him. “Rest then, gather your strength, One Who Usurps.”
Narinder, for once, did as his leader bid him.
–
When he woke, it was gradual. He was warm, enveloped in softness. There was a rumbling sound in his ears and his hands were nestled in something warm, soft and curled-
“You’re a sleep cuddler, you know that?” Lamb told him with a grin as he shot upright and scrambled to widen the gap between them.
Lamb looked as if he’d just risen from slumber himself, still smiling as he wiped the sleep from his eyes. He crawled forward placing a hand on Narinder’s brow even as he was still trying to put space between them.
“Hm, you feel alright,” he murmured. “A bit more medicine and another day of rest should do it. I hope you have learned something about this ordeal.”
“That you still do well serving me,” Narinder said haughtily.
“That when you don’t listen you end up a sniveling waste,” Lamb corrected patiently, punctuating his statement with an overly saccharine smile as Narinder glowered at him. “Rest now.” With a gentle scratch behind Narinder’s ears that sent tingles down his spine, Lamb was up and gone.
The rest of the day was much the same as the last had been, only now that Narinder was feeling substantially better he was faced with a new antagonist: boredom. He spent some time pacing the room, but found quickly that merely made him tired and wishing for a nap.
Next he decided to paw through Lamb’s things. Minimalist that he was, Narinder didn’t find much of note. A few different cloaks. Some odd carved statues. A few gifts from overly ardent or potentially amorous followers.
Narinder found a note from one such follower professing his love and interest in Lamb. He snorted upon reaching the end and put the wretched thing to the flame of the last lit candle, watching it burst into flames with satisfaction.
“It is unkind to be so careless with other’s things.” A voice behind him made Narinder jump.
“How do you move so silently with a bell around your neck?” he wheezed, having dropped the half burned letter. It lay smoking on the ground. Lamb walked over to him and picked it up. The ashes of the letter rose and revived themselves, the black turning to tan as the letter was made whole once again.
“It is also unkind to be so careless with someone else’s affections.”
“Affections which you intend to accept?” Narinder asked petulantly.
Lamb looked at him strangely for a moment, “No, I turned them down gently weeks ago. I am not actively looking for a consort.”
“Good,” Narinder sneered. “Then when I usurp you there shall be slightly less bloodshed.”
“If you have time to be destroying others' valuables, I believe you are well enough to work again,” Lamb sighed. “Go help with meal preparation.”
It was a kindness, Narinder knew, that Lamb did not send him out to work in the fields, or make him pray at his statue. Still he grumbled complaints even as his chest lifted in exaltation at being upright and outside again.
He was still ill and that was clear enough to the doe running the kitchen. She smiled tersely at him before asking him to sit on a stool and peel vegetables by the oven. Narinder did so, taking a dull sort of pleasure in the repetitive activity.
A few hours into his tasking, Lamb stopped by to check in on their progress.
“Hello Meron, the pot smells lovely today,” he greeted with a nod to the doe. She smiled brightly at his compliment and thanked him.
Lamb’s nose crinkled in distaste as he brushed by Narinder.
“You reek of illness still,” he complained, reaching to take Narinder’s hand in his own. Currently peeling a potato, Narinder stubbornly jerked his potato-filled hand away, brandishing the knife at Lamb.
“Leave me be, I’ve suffered your presence enough.”
“The cult will suffer your smell if you don’t get to the springs.” Lamb reached out to touch the tip of the knife and it crumbled into dust as he made contact.
“Meron, if you’ll excuse our absence,” he said with a nod. Meron bowed her head in acceptance.
His hand rested on Narinder’s shoulder and in a flash they were out in the hills, the camp just barely visible between the trees below. He dropped his half peeled potato.
Lamb gestured grandly to the hot springs which lay in front of them. It was a tranquil scene, he had to admit. There was a steaming stream that came from up the hill, dribbling into a large pool that gave off opaque billows of white.
Narinder shivered in the crisp air.
“Well, help yourself.”
“Absolutely not,” he said stubbornly.
“For a former god, you’re not one to maintain appearances,” Lamb said, slight irritation in his tone.
“I’ve groomed myself plenty since this morning,” Narinder huffed, folding his arms and turning away. Maybe he could walk back from this distance.
“Licking yourself, only one so disinclined in the ways of the flesh would think that’s an adequate way to wash,” Lamb said with distaste, flicking the very tip of Narinder’s ear.
He lashed out at him, “Would you stop that!”
“What?” Lamb asked in a manner that implied he knew exactly what, stupidly smug grin in place.
“The touching,” Narinder snarled.
“But your reactions are so amusing,” he teased.
Narinder felt his face grow hot with indignation and he launched himself at Lamb, losing his self control. He’d known instantly he’d made a mistake when Lamb smirked at him cockily, and side stepped his attack. Narinder found himself floundering in the warm spring water for a moment before he got his footing.
Lamb crouched down at the edge of the spring, watching him amused.
“Not so bad now is it?” he said. Narinder splashed him and he merely stuck his leg in the water before easing the rest of his body into it.
“Mmm, nice and warm,” he sighed contentedly, letting his eyes close lazily. Absentmindedly Narinder wondered if he could manage to drown him here.
“Why do you pester and plague me with your company?” he asked after a moment of silence.
Lamb didn’t bother to open his eyes, “We have a lot in common, you and I.”
Narinder’s lip curled. “We are nothing alike.”
“Devoid of family. Fraught relationship with godhood. Dangerous to underestimate,” he listed off. “We have a few likenesses.”
“You were nothing before me,” Narinder reminded him.
“And you’re nothing after me,” Lamb said as he let his legs lift up, allowing himself to float on top of the water. His curls floated out around his body like little rays of white light. The Red Crown had detached from its perch on his head and was orbiting him in lazy circles.
“You should duck your head under the water and rub your face and the back of your head,” he commented as he bobbed idly along in the water. “Remove whatever remnants are left over from your illness.”
Narinder hesitated. He felt at the fur of his face and noted there were indeed spots around his eyes and nose that were matted with the refuse of illness. Quietly as possible, he took Lamb’s advice.
When his head rose above the water, he was met with no mockery or comment from Lamb. It was merely the two of them listening to the sound of trickling water and the quiet of the surrounding forest.
“Will you ever take a consort?” Narinder asked after a lengthy period of silence.
“Interesting topic to dwell on,” Lamb chuckled, still floating along in the water. “Are you applying for the position?”
“Merely wondering who shall be my retribution for Baal and Aym.”
For the first time in the entirety of their relationship, Lamb seemed to express some form of guilt and discomfort in regards to him.
“You were close?”
“They were my servants and confidants, and you took them from me. I want to pay you back in kind.”
“Your siblings have taken everything in that vein from me,” Lamb’s voice was flat and dead in a manner that was foreign and unsettling. When Narinder looked over to where he had been in the water, he found him no longer floating. Instead standing upright, dead in the water, eyes locked on Narinder’s position. The Red Crown was back on his head.
“Then I shall wait until you have one that you value again,” Narinder persisted despite better sense pleading him not to.
“Are my followers not sufficient?” he asked, tilting his head.
“No, not nearly, you do not care for them the way I cared for Baal and Aym. I can see that.”
“Very well,” Lamb said ominously agreeable. “I will tell you when I have found one of equivalent value as your servants.”
The forest was darkening now, the sun low as the tops of trees cut the last rays of sunlight to ribbons. He exited the spring, was quickly grabbed by Lamb and transported back to the camp, exactly where he had been taken from. The warmth of the stove dried him off as Meron served him a steaming bowl of soup.
He ate it slowly as he watched Lamb walk around the camp greeting followers, blessing them, and engaging them in small talk. All the while an overly wide smile was spread across his face, but Narinder noted it looked distinctly forced.