To my dear sister,

We have set out for Uncle Yvun's mysterious ranch, and already, I begin to wonder. Jerrod, the stockman, really doesn't seem to like the natives here. Makes me wonder if Uncle Yvun's done something wrong. Jerrod assures me it's our legally bought land, though, and none of the natives have been in a hurry to accuse us of claimjumping, exactly.

We booked a room—Jerrod insisted on taking only one room, which strikes me as a sign that he thinks we'll get jumped—at the local inn. Yojeong is a funny sort of town, full of the weird characters you'd meet at the city despite being about as large as a baron's estate. What kind of village this size has an inn? I guess a lot of traders do come through here. I even spotted a kitsune! I think, anyways. When you see a fox arguing with a butcher over the price of chicken, there are only so many assumptions you can make.

Anyways, this is a short letter. I'm headed down to the common room now—I've heard some enthusiastic recommendations for the local beverage...

Senya sat in the common room of the inn, chewing on some rather tough chicken and waiting for his drink to arrive. He wondered if the cook had burned the chicken deliberately. Nobody in this town seemed to much like him or Jerrod, so it was a distinct possibility.

He'd spoken a little to the carpenter woman. Her name had been Lin. She'd been as terse as most of the villagers, but at least she spoke Western and was willing to tolerate them. She hadn't been willing or able to explain much about the Ranch, though. Only one word had stuck in Senya's mind: Custodian.

The way she'd said it, it could have been a curse. Senya wondered if it was the sort of word someone picked up from reading rather than usage—a synonym for another word that would make more sense. Cleaner, perhaps? Caretaker?

"You drink alone?" Senya looked up, and realized he was not the only person in the common room anymore.

A tall young woman with long black hair and vivid blue eyes sat across the table from him. Aside from the eyes, she had Eastern features, and a thick accent caught up her words when she spoke.

Senya recovered from his surprise quickly. "Nobody here is that interested in drinking with me," he said. "Not to be rude, but do you not know who I am?"

"Yes, yes." The woman smirked. She was dressed fairly shabbily—Senya guessed she was a farmer or hunter, judging by her simple attire and powerful build—but she was far from unattractive, and Senya couldn't deny a bit of interest. "You are warden. Well met, I think."

Senya met her gaze for a moment, then looked away. Those eyes were not natural, he told himself. Not even a Southwesterner got eyes of that electric shade of blue. And yet there they were, watching him with bright excitement. "My name is Senya," he said.

"My name is Nun. She raised her hand. "Let me order a drink."

"Oh, no." Senya held up a hand hurriedly. "I already ordered—"

"Please, please." She winked at him. "It my...privilege, I think."

Senya lowered his hand as the bartender came over and Nun whispered something in his ear. He supposed there was no reason to object. He wasn't taking advantage, or anything—this was an attractive woman in a bar chatting him up. There was no reason to object to letting her buy him a drink. It wasn't as though he'd planned to have only the one drink. Senya could handle his alcohol.

And still, he felt muddled. He caught himself staring into her eyes again, and tried to look away, but something held him there. "C-come here often?" he asked.

She giggled. "No, no often. Only when...special company is here."

The bartender leaned in, disrupting his view of Nun, to deposit the drink Senya had ordered earlier. Senya blinked, feeling strangely thickheaded. He looked down at the drink. It looked something like milk. He'd heard locals say great things about this drink, so he hoped it wasn't just cream mixed with rum or something. "What is this?" he asked, picking up the tankard.

"Is local drink," she said, giggling again. Her voice sounded strangely close. "You must drink. Enjoy yourself."

Her eyes seemed to sparkle in the warm light. Senya found himself getting lost in them again as he slowly raised the mug and took a cautious sip.

He almost blinked. That was really good. Creamy and sweet, almost like pudding, with a nutty liqueur aftertaste. He took another, deeper drink. "Wha—" He swallowed. It was quite thick, and he'd been about to talk with his mouth full. "What is this?"

"Milk," Nun said, smiling widely. Senya found himself smiling, too, as he took another deep gulp. Her clothing suddenly seemed much nicer, he thought. Coarse, yes, but it hugged her body beautifully. And what a body to hug. Her breasts weren't exactly visible, but from the way that outfit clung to her, she couldn't be small. Senya had lain with a few Easterners before, and so while he had never been one to speak of 'exoticism' (a tasteless word he tried to avoid), there was something mysterious about Nun he couldn't quite place. Maybe it was her pretty, sparkling eyes.

Drinking seemed to make her happier, so he took one more deep gulp and finished the 'milk'. He felt wonderful. "Wha's..." He licked his lips. A bit had splashed on his face, embarrassingly. Where had his manners gone? "Wha's innit?"

"Milk," she said again, leaning closer. "You have some on you."

"Oh. Sorry." Senya found himself leaning over the table. Something told him that was what she wanted. Her face was getting closer...her lips were parting...

A small clink signaled the arrival of another mug of milk. Senya leaned back, feeling disoriented. What was going on? Why did he feel so... "Milk?" he managed.

"Mm." She slid over the mug the barkeep had just handed her. "Drink up."

He blinked blearily at the mug. Hadn't he just emptied his? But there was only one mug at the table. His whole head felt foggy and thick. Like thick, rich cream.

"You drink," she repeated, smirking. He stared into her startling blue eyes. As her eyelashes fluttered, he lifted the mug up and took a sip. He started to drink deeper as he stared.

"You are very handsome," she said slowly.

"Mm." He kept drinking, feeling his heart flutter from the compliment.

"You think I am very beautiful?" She fluttered her eyelashes again.

"Mm-hm," Senya found himself perfectly incapable of putting the mug down to answer properly. This tasted amazing. It was thick, and rich, and something about that nutty aftertaste made his whole body tingle pleasurably. His alcohol tolerance was nothing to this. Just the one mug was making his whole head swim and slosh like it had filled up with the stuff

Nun beamed at him. "Yes," she whispered. "Drink up. Good boy. Drink up. Tastes so good, feels so good to drink. Do as I say. Feels so good to do as I say. Drink, drink, drink. Good boy. Drink up."

Senya couldn't imagine doing anything else. He gripped the mug with both hands, realizing he was starting to sweat, and gulped down the rest of the drink so fast, some of it spilled down his chin. Some part of him felt embarrassed by these poor manners, but it felt more distant than usual. He lowered the mug, a satisfied smile spreading across his face.

"Tastes good?" she asked sweetly.

"Mm-hmmm," he said, leaning forward.

She gave a funny smile, then, and Senya wondered about that, but then the last few gulps kicked in and he felt his smile going slack. Too late, he tried to fight through the haze, tried to breach some sort of surface thought, but the only thoughts that were going through his head were pertaining to how quickly he could get Nun out of her clothes.

Nun leaned closer. "Silly boy," she cooed. "Your face is messy."

"Oh." Now Senya did feel a little bit embarrassed—and worried. Something was telling him he shouldn't let Nun near him, but the closer she came, the fainter that something became. "S'ry."

"Do not be sorry." Nun's voice was barely audible now, even in the dead silence of the common room. She took his chin with one hand, and he felt her roughly-trimmed nails graze over his skin. For a moment, that mundaneness distracted him, and he again felt the sense that something about this was wrong.

But her eyes were sparkling. His belly was full. And every little touch of her smooth skin on his sent those worries just fluttering away. "Just lean closer. You let me help clean."

Senya swallowed. The sweet taste of the milk was turning strangely sour in his mouth. Part of him was getting worried. Part of him wanted more. "W-wait."

"No." She was still smiling, but there was danger in that smile now. Her lips brushed his.

"Sto—" Senya was cut off as Nun took him in a gentle kiss. As her lips touched him, he felt something alien and strange reach toward his mind. New thoughts contacted him, worming their way into his consciousness.

Touch her breasts, whispered the voice. Lean deeper. Submission is your birthright.

Enchantress, he thought desperately. She's an enchantress. But the clear thought was swiftly muddied by thoughts that felt like his own but definitely weren't. Were they?It feels so good. It would feel even nicer if I touched her breasts. They must be so round, so smooth...

Senya realized his hands were already brushing over her dress, creeping beneath to her breasts. She let out a soft moan into his mouth as his fingers brushed a nipple. As he touched them, he felt his own mind trembling as though it were a small tree in a hurricane. A tree that was coming out by the roots.

Her lips worked against his. It was a strange caress—loving, yet cautious. Some still-free part of his mind told him she was trying to avoid tasting the milk in his mouth. But then her dress was slipping off, and his hands were on her breasts, and all those worries just melted away.

She pulled out of the kiss and surveyed him. He smiled back at her, staring into those beautiful eyes, trying to remember why he was here. She was so pretty, though, and it felt so good to keep touching her breasts. Time seemed to be melting. His mind seemed to be melting.

"Isn't that better?" she cooed. "You feel good now? You like to touch my breasts?"

"Mm-hm." At another wordless command, he allowed his hands to leave her breasts and fall back to his sides. He started to undress himself, but everything in his movements was slow and clumsy, his fingers fumbling over the buttons.

She watched this with clear annoyance. "Maybe you drank too much milk," she said, sighing. Then she smirked slightly. "Is that the problem? Were you thirsty, my good boy?"

He found himself giggling as his shirt came off. Everything felt so nice and soft in his mind right now. He looked up and saw her holding up a mug.

"You drink," she said. "Drink, now. Finish. Submit. And then I will give you all the pleasure you want."

Pleasure. Something about the way her lips parsed that word made his whole world tingle. He reached out and took the mug, feeling the weighty sweet cream within. It would taste so good, he knew. If he drank this, the sourness in his mouth would go away forever, and everything would be sweet.

Sweet. Everything. He hesitated. "Buh...but..."

"What?" She grinned, and fluttered her dark lashes. "You no want to fuck?"

"No...do..." He stared blearily at the milk. He'd drunk so much. And yet he wanted more. He lifted the mug up. "But..."

"Drink, boy," she said, giggling. "Drink, and go alllll under me control. Then I will fuck your brains away."

Fuck your brains away. The words echoed in his head. He felt them drill against his defenses, wearing them away. He looked at her, and the sight of her tore at what little remained of his will. Nun, fully naked before him, was exquisite. Her breasts were full and round, her lips were plush and, he knew, soft as pillows, and her eyes sparkled like stormclouds. He imagined kissing those big breasts. He imagined sticking his cock between those lush lips. He imagined letting those beautiful, sparkling eyes fuck his brains away.

Fuck your brains away. He lifted the mug to his lips.

The mug shattered.

Senya stared at the bits of broken ceramic as they fell to the floor. His mind stuttered to a halt. Suddenly, everything seemed to be moving at a tenth the speed.

Nun looked furious. Senya sluggishly looked up and saw that someone else had entered the common room. They spoke a single word, and his mind left him completely.

~~~~

Senya awoke. It took him a moment to realize he wasn't back home in his bed, another moment to recognize that he wasn't in the bed at the inn, a third moment to recognize he was in a bouncing carriage, and a long fourth moment to remember.

His head was pounding, though not altogether unpleasantly. It wasn't painful—just strange, like a heartbeat. His mouth, however, tasted foul. Like old bile.

"Oh, shit," he muttered. "What the..."

He heard voices from outside the carriage. One he recognized as Jerrod's. The other, however, was unfamiliar. It sounded like a woman's voice. A moment later, the door swung open, and an unfamiliar face appeared. "Morning, Boss," the face chirped. Senya squinted, his mind still trying to catch up with wakefulness. "Sleep well?"

In the absence of understanding, politeness took the reins. "Um. Yes, I suppose." Senya rubbed his head. The pounding had stopped. "Have we met?"

The face grinned, and its whole body lurched into view. Senya stared, finally comprehending just how little about this he understood.

She looked like a woman. Her skin was very slightly dusky—just beyond what could be achieved by a pale woman with a tan—and thoroughly freckled. Her eyes were a sharp orange. Her brown hair was just above shoulder-length, cut in a shag cut. Her form was youthful and lithe—almost inhumanly thin, with a small but pert rear that almost seemed to jut sharply to one side or the other whenever she assumed her crooked stance. She was dressed in practical working clothes, but wore a leather vest that was clearly meant as armor. A wickedly notched falchion hung naked at her utility belt.

Most distinctive about her, however, was her fur. Her feet and arms were covered in blankets of peach-brown curls—not hair, fur—and she had a set of bushy, immaculately-styled sideburns. Her ears were large and pointed, almost like a bat's. She grinned at him, showing a very large number of small, extremely sharp teeth. "Not formally. I'm the ranch's hob." She extended a clawed hand to shake. "Also known as the straw boss. But you, Master, can call me..." She winked. "...Bobbin. Last night, I saved your life. It's an honor to meet you."

~~~~

As eager as Senya had been to get a less dramatic explanation, he had to take a break to get some water. His mouth tasted utterly foul. Bobbin seemed apologetic. "I had to get it out of your system, Master," she said with a shrug. "I always keep some castor oil on hand. Normally I'd've just let it run its course, but...well, not wise to leave someone under the influence unattended."

"Under the influence of what?" Senya snapped, taking a swig of the good, clean water. He was trying to be polite, but so far, the 'hob' had steadfastly refused to answer any serious questions.

"That witch gave you something special." Bobbin pursed her lips. "Something...unhealthy. Inedible, I'd even say. At least for humans. A local drink in the village."

Senya blinked, decoding her words. "So, a drug."

"Mm-hm!" She grinned at him. "Exactly, Boss. A drug. A foul one. She used it to dull your resistance. Shit, though, three mugs...she must've been playing it safe."

"Perhaps she heard about my sister," Senya muttered. "Got us confused. Anya has a powerful will. Me, I'm just an average bum."

"Aw, no bum." She winked. "Well, you've got one, but it's far from average, Master, believe me. But it's no bum that has claimed the Ambrosia Ranch."

"I still barely know anything about the place."

"We're close," Jerrod called from up front. "Hob, maybe you'd best give 'im the scoop. Don't want 'im still confused about one thing when he...well, let's just get this out of the way."

"I know how to do my job, Jerrod," Bobbin said, rolling her eyes. She turned back to Senya, crossing her legs with impossible flexibility. "Anyways, she and a few, er, more radical natives thought to snuff out the line last night. They were scared of you, and me, but I was still gone and you were alone." Her eyes narrowed. "I told Jerrod to watch you."

"It's lucky they were scared as they were, I guess," Senya said, laughing uneasily. "They put so much effort into drugging me and bewitching me. I don't think I would have survived a minute if they'd just come at me with a sword."

"Hm." Bobbin raised one bushy eyebrow. "Well, you're modest and realistic. That'll serve you well on the Ranch, though I'll miss your uncle's bravado."

"You knew my great-uncle?"

"Of course!" She pointed her thumb at her chest. "I'm a hob. We're a sort of...house fey. Loyal to the family above all else. Your uncle was...well, he had his moments where I hated the bastard, but he was a clever bastard. I liked him." Her smile thinned a little. "He knew how to run this place. Taught me more than ten of his ancestors combined."

"I'm sorry." Senya squirmed. "I didn't know him well."

"Heh. Well, doesn't matter now." Bobbin shrugged. "I know what you wanna ask, Boss, so you'd best hop to it."

Senya nodded. "Yeah. Why the hell do these people want to kill me? What do they hate about our Ranch?"

"They're traditionalists," the hob said flatly. "Your decigreat-uncle bought this land fair and square, and your ancestors always followed the rules-as-writ. Your uncle might've...bent things, once or twice, but the basic system was the same."

Senya grimaced. "Do you explain anything without being totally vague?"

"All you gotta know is that we haven't done anything to the natives." She scowled at him. "We aren't thieves, we aren't slavers, we aren't...ugh. See, we...well, it's complicated." Now the fey was the one squirming a little bit, her knees rising to a gargoyle's hunch. "See, we're—"

"We're here!" Jerrod called from outside.

"Oh!" Bobbin's eyes lit up. "Finally. I hate going far from home. Gets me all bothered." She got to her feet and skittered to the door. "Welcome, my new Master, to Ambrosia Ranch!"

TO BE CONTINUED...