Moral to the Story

The god-Prince Ultyr flicked his tail, a paw gripping the sand. He had never... had this before. There he was, languid on the other shore, out of reach, full of piss and vinegar, the perfect partner that he had been pining for. He would have to start from square one. He had built a repertoire with his past lover so they felt comfortable with each other. But this one was entirely new, he was not already his.

"I am not my father." He rumbled, attempting to keep a dangerous tone out of his voice. Though his little slave would feel the way his muscles grew taught as she leaned against him, curling around his leg like a snake.

"I am the God-Prince Ultyr and I will not beg. She won't need a nursemaid, though I had hoped you might lead me to your siblings. Alas, you seem as lost as we are, we'll have to continue our search where we last found their scent. I won't bother you any longer." A calculated risk. It took everything in him to turn his back and start to lead his girl away from his prize. He was not his father. His father didn't understand loyalty, didn't understand godhood, and didn't understand how to get his slaves to adore him. Ultyr's collection of slaves had been his most loyal subjects and how he treated them was how his lover had turned into his closest companion.