Hairbrushing Incident

---

J’vani closed her journal, almost the moment she entered the small cabin, and slipped its silver chain around it before Ma’zura could see it and become curious.

Her current abode was small; a section of the cargo hold that had been almost-flooded in the breakaway from the docks. Her bed was a hammock, and the room was fortunately large enough she could entertain company, though not large enough to be perfectly comfortable for it. The far corner had an armor stand, which served, and had been a sort-of gift from Qa’iit, who knew her needs better than most and venerated her in his own way when he could. The rest of her gear was spartan, as most had been left behind in the flight. Ri’sari’s people had been mostly polite, but J’vani, not being of the clan, had been put against the curve of the ship and did not enjoy a very warm or quiet existence at all.

She deposited her mantle on the stand, then she looked behind to her visitor, the shirtless, calico male following her in.

“Is this enough light?”

"Yes, it is," Ma'zura smiled, looking around and taking in the room. He carried with him his simple leather satchel, and had somehow lost the vest he had been wearing at some point between between leaving the deck and arriving at J'vanni's quarters. He preferred to show off his coat, though; a well-groomed patchwork of colors, it shone in the dim light, despite having been soaked only an hour before.

"So, tell this one, you truly only have a single brush?"

J'vani nodded, reaching up to unbuckle the straps which held her breastplate together. Beneath it she wore a leather jack, and padding, to prevent the raw metal from chafing her any further than normal. Elsweyr-forged armor could breathe, and she rarely felt discomfort from it, but if Ma'zura would brush her fur for her he could not do it while J'vani wore armor.

"Yes," she said, fixing the chestplate and backplate to the stand to keep her back to the companion, hiding her embarassment. It still stung that he had sounded so surprised, initially. "Just so. As she said before, this one could not grab her gear. And only one. Very-short bristles."

Ma'zura shook his head with disapproval. "Please do not take his incredulity too harshly, but he has never owned less than three. At the very least you need a coarse-brush, an undercoat-brush and a fine-brush, yes?" He set his bag down, removing from it a soft carrying case. "You are lucky, Zura was gifted a fine full Lunar-Lattice set."

He unrolled the tooled leather roll, revealing a multitude of fine brushes, each inlaid with Khajiiti moon symbols. Each brush was different in shape and size but made of matching materials, fine opalescent shells and rich red woods. An appraiser's eye might estimate the cost of such a set equal to that of a fine example of the blacksmith's art.

"You are doubly lucky, Zura is jealous with his brushes and does not share them with just anyone. Tell him, what do you know of how to brush?"

J’vani did not answer before she had thought about it, because doing so would incriminate her in what she had not believed to be a crime; grooming had been on the top of her list, once, when she was Roana’s own daughter, but it had gradually gone to the wayside out of humility. With so many things on her mind, she had told this to Ma’zura unthinkingly. This secret she had kept poorly.

She undid her jerkin and rolled it off her shoulders, baring them, and the rest beneath. It gave her a faint pang of regret and she felt not a little bit of that could be shame; shame, that Ma’zura would be the first outsider to see her only in the fur she had been born with. This was not the first time, of course, but J'vani felt it anyway. J'vani did not often take lovers, though such things were not denied to her, nor were they against her own urging. It simply seemed to be too dangerous, in this clan, to have a handle worth much. Would she put others in danger? Most often, she answered 'No'.

A companion on the other hand wasn't out of the question, so long as she guarded her secrets carefully and diligently. After all, it was what they were there for.

“For years now,” she decided to say, as she deposited her jack on the hammock and looked for a suitable place to sit. “This one has humbly sufficed with one, and very few other possessions have been hers.”

A barrel of pickles looked promising, so she grasped the rim and heaved it around to sit on while Ma’zura did his work.

She and Ma’zura shared a coat-color, but that was about all they shared. Where he was smooth beneath the fur, slender and only a little toned, J’vani had been long at martial devotions from early adolescence. She didn’t bother to hide the ripples beneath her coat as she flexed to move the barrel; as a fighting devotee, they were a point of some guilty pride for her, something she had worked, and still worked, long hours at.

Of the others, by J’vani’s measure only Qa’iit would be able to stand against her, and he had a good deal more ‘fluff’ around the middle than she. Perhaps Sumar, also, but this was an impression J'vani had of his dexterity and skill in arms, only.

She unbuckled her bracers and sat as she waited.

Ma'zura listened carefully as he looked over the multitude of brushes and combs. The moon-shapes on each shone in the candle-light, each instrument's decoration showing a different configuration of the ja'Kha'jay, each brush and comb rather whimsically identified in that way. He looked over at J'vani, considering, and selected the largest, coarsest brush, its backing showing a larger moon full and a smaller waxing.

"Hmm," he announced, approaching J'vanni, "One does not normally ask this, but today do we brush for the coat or just for enjoyment? Typically he assumes the latter, but, ah -"

The patchwork Khajiit hesitated, trying to think of a polite way to continue. "Today we can help you remember how to use a brush set after being so long deprived, yes?" he finally asks, voice open and cheerful.

J’vani looked over her shoulder, at some of the brushes Ma’zura had spread out. She had not noticed the scrollwork, though she’d heard him talk about it abovedeck. It seemed very lovely and detailed. As the moons waxed, the brushes grew, and he held one of the most coarse brushes.

“Can it not be for both?” she asked, trying to sound pleasant instead of nervous, but the answer came to her a moment later. “Ah, no. This one knows she has gone a long time without this. Forgive her. Please be kind to her.”

J'vani barely remembered her mother brushing her at a young age, but the memories were fuzzy and far-away, escaping her like smoke every time she wanted to grasp at them. She could not remember using seventeen brushes, or even more than two or three, though she tried. Her embarrassment deepened, though it could hardly be Ma'zura's fault.

"Yes, thank you."

"Kindness is what Zura knows best," he purred reassuringly. He looked back at the brushes and smiles. "Do not be in intimidated, most are just variations on the basic three. And some are actually combs. And a few even Zura has not found a good use for."

"As for which, he supposes it is hard to do one without the other, but it will be, ah... brisk to start to put your coat in order."

Ma’zura’s purring eased J’vani, just a little bit, though she knew she would be in for it when he started. Rather than looking back at him, she turned her attention the gently-swaying oil lamp suspended from a beam.

“J’vani is ready, and understands."

She placed her hands on her knees, unconsciously adopting the posture she’d once used for sitting meditations, and tried to relax her shoulders and neck. Ma’zura would likely have some difficulty with the heavy brush; her armor, so long worn, often matted her fur and there would be uncomfortable dirt and agonizing knits there which she often couldn’t get out herself.

"Where did Ma'zura learn to do this as well as he does?"

Zura had selected the largest brush with the strongest bristles, essentially a curry-comb meant to prepare the coat for further grooming. He approached from behind and settled huis lissome form in, gently resting one hand on J'vani's shoulder as he started to pull the brush gingerly over her shoulders and back.

"Zura learned from his mother, and other khajiit in the house where he lived in Mistral," he replies as he works, the heavy brush drawing out matts and dirt.

J'vani clenched her teeth, but made no sound. To her credit. It pulled at the skin beneath and scratched, menacingly, even with Ma'zura's kind touch. One could only be so gentle.

"Just so," J'vani shared, keeping her voice even and putting her mind elsewhere. She remembered the Elsweyr sand, at dawn, or the mandala of the ja'Kha'jay in the Temple, in front of which she had spent so much time prostrate. "J'vani learned from her mother as well. Very-beautifly, J'vani remembers her."

The slim male settled and keps working determinedly on J'vani's shoulders and upper back. "The more frequently you brush, the easier it will be to do the task," he notes conversationally as he listens to J'vanni. "One must be a little rough, here," he warns, waiting for assent before putting his strength into setting right some of the worst parts of the warrior-cat's coat. The brush's bristles are coarse and firm, but have enough give that they do not scratch as it's drawn across. Frequently Ma'zura stops to clean shed fur from the bristles.

Giving her assent, J'vani said, "This one knows. Doing it is another thing entirely. It takes so very-long."

J'vani had found a peaceful place within her mind. She did not see the light, swinging, or the brine remnants of her earlier frantic bailing sloshing about in the corner. Instead, she remembered warmth and comfort, and made in her head the image of her homeland and of a place where she felt safe and assured.

That Ma'zura was not an unkind tender did wonders for this. His soft and considerate tenor fit beautifully with the picture.

"Ma'zura intends to stay for a while, no?"

Ma'zura's shoulders flexed, his back and body bending as he put effort into briskly cleaning the worst of the matitng and knots from J'vani's back. One hand steadied her - though, given the differences in strength, it was more Ma'zura that was steadied by her- as the other worked in brisk short strokes. Eventually, the lissome consort stops an steps back, gathering the shed fur and sweeping it aside. "You have some lovely musculature, it is a shame to hide it with a worn and tangled coat. It cannot be comfortable, either. Would you like your front or legs next?"

J'vani knew he asked simply out of propriety. Either way, he would see her naked as her cub-hood.

In truth, he had done so before, once, the night before when she had asked the pale calico to warm her hammock. He had not been unkind then, either, and J'vani had appreciated the company more than she'd admitted, even perhaps to herself. Else, she might not have considered this offer. Grooming felt very intimate to her, almost more intimate than sex. A family thing, born of trust.

Sometimes being a clanless bothered her, a lot more than J'vani liked to admit, and the thought intruded into her perfect mental island like a storm cloud.

"The front," she said. "Very kindly, please. This one should likely have simply started naked, no? It's the armor. Such trouble to remove, sometimes."

"As for staying, yes. Ma'zura considers his nights on this ship yours to take, for your kindness," he smiles, a small purr in his voice. He set the large brush aside and hestiated for a second, before gathering it's smaller brother. "One understands it must be worn. Sword is not kind to fur. But it must feel better to be well-brushed beneath it, no?"

Ma'zura stood back, his tail curling calmly as he waited for J'vani to shift her position. "One we have you brushed, we can move on to the undercoat brush, then the finishing brush. If you are not exhausted by then. Zura will gladly give you an oil-brushing as well, if you do not mind the same perfume he wears."

Perfume.

J'vani couldn't remember the last time she wore perfume. That was too far behind in her memory, too deeply buried, beneath a beautiful mother and a caring father whom she couldn't quite remember well. Shadows flitting across her memory, scents and touches too long ago to recall clear.

Turning in the chair, her sandals scraping a bit on the rough salt-stained deck, J'vani came face-to-face with her groomer and new lover. She looked up at him, trying to read his expression, but found she could only see the smile and the twinkling eyes.

"This one does not mind, particularly. But she meant to ask, how long it is he considers staying. Perhaps he could do this more often, in the future, no?"

Ma'zura's smile is genuine and open, an inviting and honest expression that raises his cheeks and parts his lips ever-so-slighty, drawing back his whiskers but not enough to show his teeth.
"You mean, more than tonight?" he asked, settling himself on his knees in front of J'vani, "After the journey is over, in... what was the name of the city again?"

He gently settled the brush on her collarbone, its bristles as strong as its predecessor but less coarse, and drew it down to the center of her chest. He then drew it away, pulled the fur it had gathered off, and repeaed the process on the opposite collarbone before moving down her sternum. The khajiit's hands were deft and firm, even when he had to strain to pull out stubbornly matted patches. The brush was drawn down slowly, over her shoulders and across her flanks.

"One thing of having such a nice set is I have tail-brushes, which make that appendage quick to groom. It is simple enough with a basic three-brush set, but so much nicer with the fancy ones."

"Sren-jo," J'vani supplied, her eyes following him down. He seemed to be enjoying himself, in a professional sort of way.

She looked away, out at the thin sheet covering the door, and wondered just how much of that enjoyment was cunningly devised. Immediately she reprimanded herself for doubting him too harshly. Everyone had secrets. But why let that mar her evening?

Though she Danced beneath the Moons, keeping her own secrets closely guarded, she sometimes decided to pretend the clan was not based entirely upon them.

Her back tingled, the after-affects causing her to stir, but not unpleasantly. It hadn't been right, she now felt, going so long without even this basic grooming. Moving her hands to the edge of the barrel she was sitting on, she gripped it, and she did not complain even when the bristles tugged the collarbone.

"Yes. This one cannot help but note the clan-mother, Ni'saba-dar, is absent from the ship. Ri'sari has not mentioned her for days. So, J'vani's attention is somewhat free, as she is neither teaching, nor advising, though the clan-mother's disappearance does weigh heavily upon her. Did she tell you these things, yet? If you listen for her, these are things you must know privately."

Ma'zura smiled. "This one will stay with the clan if he is needed. He does not know what kind of city this Sren-jo is, and if he will be welcome there. If it seems like the clan can make use of him and the city is not cold and lonely - then, Ma'zura may ask to formally join as a consort, and not just your secret ears."

He continued brushing as he talked, smiling. His demeanor was not professionally detached, his touches were subtle and intimate and warm. The brushing hand moved with practice, of course, pulling gingerly and delicately where the brush hit snags, but the other hand did moved with sweet and caring lover's touch. As he stood to clean the brush, he moved to press his cheek to J'vani's breifly before stepping back to discard of the loosened fur. "No, you did not tell him of this dissappearance yet," he replied, "But Zura listens now."

She accepted his attention with a fond touch of her nails, brushing his shoulder and nuzzling his cheek in return when he offered. When he withdrew, so too did she return to her normal posture, settling her hands upon her knees. The smell of him lingered with her, and she wondered for a brief few heartbeats what it would be like to smell, just as he did.

"The ship pulled out without Ni'saba-dar." This was common knowledge. J'vani shared it easily.

"J'vani knows before, several days, she went missing and no-one seems to know where to. It is disturbing to this one, especially since she was so young and kind-hearted."

The touch of Ma'zura's soft fur drew his shoulder closer, moving in to the caress to prolong it; a small, unaware reaction.
He settled again once the brush was cleaned to continue, his hands moving to clear the fur on J'vani's breast, drawing along the lay of her pelt, across and down and then on to her stomach. Small flurries of movement made tough patches of matted fur come loose more easily than extra pressure.
"Zura listens," he affirmed as he worked, his voice betraying concern for the news.

J'vani considered how much to tell Ma'zura.

There should be a balance. As Jone and Jode turned and waxed and waned, and even in riddle'Thar, such balance proved important. Even more so, she could not share some of her suspicions aloud. Making a compromise, she said slowly, "J'vani-dra comes to this place to protect the clan-mother, and it is true that she may be in some danger."

In truth, J'vani had her suspicions, but the proof proved elusive. Had the Clan-Mother stayed in Woodhearth? Had she left, by land route, with the intention of going elsewhere, or following... J'vani found herself glancing unconsciously to the dagger, Twin-Catch, upon the belt she had just hung alongside her armored plate. Twin-Catch, the blade that could not kill.

Qa'han had given it to her and told her the secret. So many secrets here. Truly, if this were not a clan in fact, it would at least manage the spirit.

"Has Ma'zura found other clients?" she asked, thinking to move the conversation a little as he worked around her chest.

One or two times, she could not help but wince. Other times, she felt Ma'zura might forget he brushed.

She did not mind either of those things, finding the time well spent.

Each wince was noticed and the brushing was adjusted; strokes became smaller and gentler, worrying the trouble spots with greater care. "Zura has entertained one or two others," he comments, "And has had some interest beyond that. It is quite encouraging."

He shifted his posture, gently pressing his shoulder up under one of J'van's arms, settling in nearly beside her, like he was trying to help a wounded comrade off the battlefeild. However his near-arm steadied him against her shoulders as the brush was played across her stomach and loins.

"It will be your arms and legs next, yes?"

J'vani found draping her arm around the slimmer male to be heart-touching, in its own way. He had a thick mane, so she wove her claws into it, twining her fingers idly. It had looked rough-woven, but when she brushed through it, she found it unknotted and smooth. Better than hers had ever been.

"Tell this one when she must disrobe further, yes?" she chided, and then, "Who? If this is not an inappropriate thing for her to ask, of course."

The touch of his mane drew out a smooth, encouraging purr, and like the caress of his shoulder produced an immediate action toward the fingers. His ears twitched softly when J'vani's caress came near, making his earrings gleam in the candlelight.

Despite this, the brushing continued, firm bristles dislodging fur that overstayed its welcome on the warrior's taut belly. "As soon as you would like, of course," he chuckled, tilting his nose up to draw it along J'vani's jaw affectionately. "As for who? Ah, Zura does not know if that would be discreet. Give him time to learn what may and may not be said, please."

J'vani smiled, a brief flash of her teeth not meant to be vicious, but rather, she had found the response somewhat droll. She nestled into his nosing, read the apology there.

"Of course, please forgive her for asking. This one has many things on her mind. So many, she often finds it difficult to stop finding more of them out of habit."

She wandered over to an ear with her fingers, and tried not to flinch or twitch too badly as the brush found more sensitive terrain, near the triangle where her pelvis began, along with the line of her thick-sewn, plated trousers. Tensing only made it a little more awful near the waistline.

"It weighs too heavily, no? That sort of thing."

Ma'zura smiled happily, concerned briefly that holding his tongue would displease J'vani. "There is no forgiveness needed," he purred.

Noticing the strong Khajiit's reaction to the brush he slowed his movements, he shifted his position to draw his chest closer and let his balancing hand slide lower. The bracing posture was shifted thusly to a gentle cuddle up to her side as he reigned in the harshness of the brushing.

"This would not be so uncomfortable if it had not been neglected for so long," he chided, teasingly, "Sometimes great burdens become great because they are allowed to grow from small ones."

That small revelation struck a chord within J'vani. She stopped talking, for a while, and swallowed her next response to consider the implications.

Great burdens become great because they are allowed to grow from small ones.

Had she heard that before, somewhere? Riddle'Thar had many such sayings, and it was very possible that Ma'zura had unknowingly phrased close to one of them. J'vani struggled to remember the exact saying, though it was a mind game only, as the meaning of Ri'Datta's teaching was more important than the verbatim.

Her touch became soft, and affectionate, instead of idle and inquisitive. She felt like Ma'zura had taught her something, and that delighted her.

"Ma'zura is wise beyond his knowing. This one is much humbled."

The calico male continued his brushing in the meditative silence. His lissome body rocked gently against J'vani's as his arm drew the brush down and forward, from hip to belly, then starting again, pausing only briefly to clean the bristles. As the warrior thought, Ma'zura slipped behind her, switching from right side to left to give her opposite flank the attention its counterpart had received. When he ducked under her other arm, his nose came up to touch her cheek again.

"You are too kind," he purred, voice rich with the perceived flattery, eyes smiling from the compliment, "Perhaps you will brush your coat daily and not let it get into such a state again, then, yes?"

A few moments more and he set the brush aside, but kept himself embraced to J'vani's side. It was time to brush her legs, and she was the one who would decide when that would happen.

The Dancer leaned into the nosing companion.

“Perhaps,” J’vani agreed, adding with her customary murring lilt, “or perhaps Ma’zura will do it for her when necessary, yes?”

Not immediately rising, J’vani took the time to feel, trying to soak through her fur and skin what she would not yet touch with her hands. The ship was warm, so far as that went; enough bodies were packed in together. She could hear them going about their business, not a thin bulkhead away. Eating, drinking, and being warm. The air seemed damp with it. Ma’zura, by comparison, seemed dry, his scent a sharp and pleasant contrast to the scurvy air.

She turned and buried her face in his neck, taking a few winsome breaths. She wondered if Qa’han wore perfume. It had been so long since she had seen him, and she had never asked before. She had missed him. Now, J’vani wondered if she would ever see him again. Cold-harbor! What a dismal and dire place for a caravan. Why had he not stayed upon Nirni, and gone to the sands, again, or to the poison bogs of the south?

Before J’vani knew it, more time had passed than she had intended. She realized it when she found herself dozing off.

Lifting her head, she apologized, “Forgive this one,” and pulled up one leg, and then the other, undoing her greaves. Soon she found herself able to stand, and then she undid the draw on her trousers, first freeing her tail and then her legs, catching the cloth before it could spend too long upon the brine-stained floorboards.

Folding her trousers in her arms, she sat them with her leather jack, upon the armor stand, and turned to regard Ma’zura, settling a hand upon her bare hip.

“Should this one lie down?” she asked. “Or would it be easier if she stood?”

Ma'zura chuckled. "Zura will tend to you as much as you desire," he purred reassuringly, "But you will doubtlessly spend time away from him, yes?"

The young male's arms settled at J'vani's waist as she started to drift, warmth and comforting presence undemanding and immediate, welcome and welcoming. He purred wordlessly, gently nosing her cheek when she settled in against his scented fur, rocking with her with the heave and sway of the ocean.

"If you wish to sleep, we can finish another time. This is content to remain here and help you dream," he noted when J'vani stirred again, letting his hands fall away as she stood. "As for where... The hammock would be not ideal. If you can rest your arms on the beams above, standing will work. If not, sitting will be fine, except for when we must take care of your rear."

J'vani looked up at the low ceiling. Even though she reckoned herself short, she still found herself able to reach one of the braces. Standing, the rolling deck seemed a little more obvious, but she steadied herself, and set her legs.

"This will be good, then?"

Ma'zura smiles and gave a small nod. He gathered his brush and knelt at J'vani's feet, admiring the strength of her form. "Once we are done with this and the undercoat-clearing brush you will feel ten pounds lighter from removing all the dead fur," he comments, smiling. His position at her feet was like a lover's pose - appropriate enough, really - and his actions as sensitive and intimate as any needed for that act. The consort drew his brush down the curve of J'vani's hips, along the front of her leg and down, following the natural lay of the fur. The already delicate attention was softened further when the brush was drawn across the inside of her leg, but kept brisk, short and long strokes alternating in a pecular rhythm decided by the state of the fur. Long, short, short, short, long again - working down from the join of the leg to the knee, then repeating again once Ma'zura shifted himself over to her other leg.

J’vani found her legs easier to ‘suffer’ through. Aside from just inside near… well. The top of his head, as he worked, and the view of his shoulders, proved interesting, amusing, and more than a little suggestive. At least, considering everything.

Drawing a deep breath, she lifted her gaze to the swinging lamp, which was not distant, and shifted her thoughts.

Yes. J’vani felt tired. More tired than she had felt in a very long time. The Bottle. Qa'han. The Clan-Mother. Ri'sari. J'vani closed her eyes and leaned her head against one of her arms.

“This must be something you have perfected over a very-long time,” J’vani observed. "Ma'zura is very good at it."

Ma'zura delicate shoulders rolled and his head bobbed a little as he worked, his earrings occaisonally catching the light. His brushwork continued to balance movements both swift and gentle, his attention on the reaction of J'vani's coat and body to the brush. The coat needed strong cleaning to pull the dead fur out, but the flesh beneath needed soft strokes to relax. He moved again, loping around behind the woman to brush down the well-toned backs of her legs. Between strokes the pale patchwork khajiit playfully caught that appendage and stroked it with his empty hand, guiding it to curl over his shoulder as he worked.

"This one has not had that much practice on others, but he spends about an hour a day with his brushes. Sometimes more, when the situation calls for it."

"Now, put your foot up on Zura's thigh, please," he requested, as he moved to kneel once again in front of J'vani, one leg up and ready to receive her sole.

“This one is very easily fooled, then.”

It felt as though a ripple traveled up her spine, from the tip of her tail to the very top of her skull. J’vani felt the shiver like a tiny bolt of Aetherial lightning, raising her hair all along the way. Although irrational, no khajiit truly ever could be prepared for someone touching their tail, even in delicate kindness, and J’vani least of all. She had not known the touch of another khajiit for a long time, if it were not in violence or from practice, and yesterday’s evening had been an embarrassing reminder in how deprived of actual physical contact she had been. The Dancer hadn’t ‘danced’ very well. Ma’zura had been patient.

She curled her tail as indicated, feeling oddly strange and awkward about it.

Afterward, when Ma’zura had finished behind her, she looked down at his knee, momentarily perplexed. After only a second, though, she understood. Re-gripping the beam, she carefully placed her foot up on his knee, and hopped just a bit to get her other foot into a better balancing position.

“Ma’zura?” J’vani kept her voice even. “This one forgets if she has thanked you, yet. If not, she does. It is a sort-of debt, and she feels a little guilty she does not seem to be very beneficial to him. But he does these things for her and has been very kind.”

Ma'zura drew the brush down J'vani's leg. He had been neither disappointed nor left wanting by the 'dance' of the previous night, though J'vani did not seem to believe his insistance on that point. Even unpracticed enthusiasm was gratifying, and he had shared the night with few who lacked anything more than a basic needy impulse and whose demeanor would have had them mistaken for a rug. Not that the young consort had voiced this, of course.

"There is no need to thank him," he purred in reply, leaning forward to give J'vani a reassuring kiss. It was on her knee, given their respective positions, but still. "Zura is most grateful to you and your clan for providing passage and shelter. He was a stranger fresh off the boat when the Thalmor started fighting everyone and he would have been far from home and very alone had you not accepted him on-board."

Ma'zura's touch with the brush now was simple and brisk, drawing down from knee to ankle, then across the top of the foot. He examined the claws of her feet to make sure that none were cracked and dirty, then gently patted her calf. "Next foot, please."

Dutifully, J'vani shifted her stance, offered the other foot.

"J'vani is not of the clan," she corrected. "So in truth it is little that she has actually done for you. Ri'sari gave her the task of advising the Clan-Mother and teaching her adroitly. Without the clan-mother to advise, J'vani of course is not sure if she will ever be considered such. After all he shall no doubt say that J'vani is the one who lost her, though Ni'Saba has her own mind and will."

J'vani left out quite a bit with that statement, though all of it she knew as fact. Of course, she already knew what she would do about it, but Ri'sari and she had some blood between them. More than a little blood. The Bottle and the Clan had been, from the moment Kazzah had done a certain unthinkable thing, sworn and bitter enemies. In the end, the Bottle had not been strong enough to survive. Secretly in her heart, J'vani thought that Qa'han had been too honest.

Honest khajiit never could lead other khajiit. Fadomei has passed them cunning. J'vani had lent help where she could, however, in the end it had not been quite enough.

As a Twin-Moons Dancer, J'vani had been compelled to follow at least the structure of a clan, and Ni'Saba had truly needed assistance, but now that the bouncy, excited young nominee had gone, J'vani had begun to wonder if she should not have simply followed Qa'han. After all, it was the Sandscale that had been her tie to this adventure.

Ma'zura brushed down that calf and foot as well as he listened, resembling a bootblack in posture as he nodded. "Ah, one sees. He still does not understand this... group. Are you one clan? One... what? What words does Zura say to describe you?"
He inspected the claws of this foot as well, then set it gently down.

"Ah, this one believes we have forgotten your arms. Perhaps you could do them yourself while he starts on your back with the undercoat-brush?"

With both feet firmly on the ground again, J'vani released the beam above and, as all the unfortunate Clan must be doing, ended up rolling her balance to suit the deck.

"Yes," she said. "And no, as well. A split happened, some little while ago. They are skooma-dealers. Ri'sari-do thought to make it a Khajiit clan, and so he went to a clan-mother for her blessing. Instead..."

When the ship hit more stable water shortly after, she dared to look at Ma'zura's complicated array of brushes, and mentally balked a bit. How could she possibly know what would be appropriate? Her brush had been singular, and small, and had been her every-thing brush.

"...the clan-mother named Qa'han. So Ri'sari had her tail cut off, and held her hostage until she was murdered, and Ni'Saba-dar named Clanmother."

Three J'vani could understand. Seventeen?

She looked back to Ma'zura, folding her arms, not out of chill, but out of embarrassment. She felt naked in more than a physical way. Wordlessly, she looked at the brushes, then back, unsure which she should be grabbing and unwilling to look cub-stupid.

Ma'zura remained kneeling as the boat swayed, listening curiously. His eyes followed J'vani's to his brushes, then he looked back to her. "That is most un-fragrant. Dark moons. And many other words that this one could utter. Why does the... group... tolerate him, if he is so foul?"
He shakes his head. "You all have been most kind to Ma'zura. He finds it hard to believe a creature capable of such acts would be leading them."

Meeting J'vani's gaze, he looked puzzled at her expression, thinking it related to the story she had just unfolded to him. It took him a long moment to glance back at the array of brushes. "Oh! No, just use this one." He handed her the one that he had been using to curry her legs.

J'vani accepted the brush thankfully, and sat upon the barrel which had been her chair for a while before. Ma'zura would be able to reach her back from there, and she would not be swaying so. Just who drove this ship? J'vani did not envy them.

Thoughtfully, she set about brushing her arms as she always had during her long tenancy with the temple, as though it were her own brush. It felt coarse enough.

"It is very-true that dark moons and bright moons must both be present in the sky," she voiced, recalling from memory the words which she had heard dozens of times before academically. She had never been given the opportunity to see them so true until she had come here. "While all smile up at the brightness of Jone and Jode, certainly there is Lorkhaj to whom all must at least acknowledge. Should such a thing never have occurred, no stars should ever have been in the sky, though it is jha-Kha'jay that lights the evening. Is it not so, then, that behind such a khajiit as the Mane - or behind such a Clan as this one - that some crafty person must always be? jha-Kha'jay have two faces."

J'vani picked some of her fur out of the bristles. She let them fall on the deck, as the rest of her discarded fur had fallen before. The barrel's surroundings had begun to look as though she were having her mane cut, instead, but J'vani did not see it.

"Who is to say that Ri'sari-do has not been successful? Much blood has been shed. Now J'vani notices, the clan is healthy, though its leadership rots. And she has met this Ja'Amore, the son of Ri'sari-do, who seems to be earnest and eager, and kind-hearted to all he meets. So in the end, although J'vani bristles to think a clan-mother of Mafala was maimed, perhaps she is not wise or far-seeing enough and this is for the better purpose."

Ma'zura selected the next brush - it looked halfway between a brush and a comb, and its narrow handle identified it as the Tojay-raht brush - and carefully paced the swaying cabin floor back to J'vani. He started on her back as he listened. The feel of this new tool was unlike a bristle brush. Dull metal pressed through the fur, its touch cool against the skin beneath, and as Ma'zura dragged it down, small tines pulled free loose fur ffrom the undercoat, sharp internal edges trimming hairs that did not want to be freed. Where it passed, it felt like removing a layer of clothing, allowing the skin beneath the coat to breathe again. Truly, the heavy brush had cleared knots, matts and large hairs from above, but the Tojay-raht brush was opening J'vani's coat again from beneath.

"Zura supposes," he replied conversationally, "Still, such tales make his stomach knot. There is a difference between crafty and vicious, yes? Ah, well. This one does not know all the players in the story. To him, you say clan-mother, he thinks of the clan-mother of the planation he was born on, or the clan-mother in Mistral. The thought of violence against either sickens him. But he will put it out of his mind."

J'vani flashed her teeth again, and this time, not pleasantly as before.

"This one is also greatly offended," she explained, "she knows some of Mafala's secrets and to strike someone who knows them completely, to maim her and do such a horrible thing, this is the closest thing J'vani has ever seen to a damnedable offense against Riddle'thar. In truth had she been free to do so, J'vani would have slain him. The Bottle, at the time, had the numbers. But, what can one do?"

Almost without thinking about it anymore, J'vani started on her other arm, at her shoulder.

"Enough talk of this. One can feel your muscles tighten with stress under the brush, and time with Ma'zura should be about enjoyment, yes?"

The gooming continued in the same pattern as the first brush. Even as the brush - well, comb, really - warmed up, its touch was still cool as it was slid across the patches of J'vanni's coat, riding smoothly up and down the hills and valleys described by the training-hardened curves of her back.

The soothing pass of this brush was much more rapid, now that the worst of the knots and matts had been cleared away. The broad teeth of the instrument left furrows in her fur, like the raked patterns in a rock-garden.

Taking a long breath through her nose, J'vani breathed out slowly, and tried to breathe out some of her worries with it. Had she been tensing? Ma'zura had noticed.

"All she means to say is that she does not know all things."

Each stroke of the brush came a little bit slower, until finally J'vani held the artifact in her hands, looking down at it, picking out more of her tawny fur. She did this slowly, noticing the way that Ma'zura pampered her. The silver filligre on the brush caught her eye, and she followed it a little along the handle. Ma'zura had polished it - or, more likely, his hand had done so over long use. Her mind found little things to distract her with, get her away from her hidden coal of sorcerous anger.

"Tell this one about the Clan-Mothers he knew? If it is not too much trouble."

Ma'zura drew the brush down in slow sweeps with his right hand down J'vani's right side, leaving the fur gently rippled like a calm ocean.
"Mm. The clan-mother at Windcatcher plantation, Halitazi-Dra, was always so concerned about work. Things must be done before the moons rise again. Before the tide flows out again. Before the moonsugar reaches knee-high. Not after the carts have been loaded to market. Kind, but as inevitable and ever-moving as the wind."

He switched hands to mirror the strokes down J'vani's back with his other hand, producing an unintentional symmetry.

"This one never met clan-mother-Mistral Harrani. He saw her on the street, and perhaps exchanged greetings, but never got a good sense of who she was under her fur. But Mistral still stands, as does the Roost, so it she must be doing things right, yes?"

By then the change in J'vani's coat was becoming pronounced as the skin beneath could breathe again. Especially now that the undercoat had been thinned, it felt lighter, like another set of armor had removed; the sensation was not unlike stepping from a cloistered room filled with candle-smoke and incense into the expansive cool outside. Not as sudden, of course, but there was little else to compare it to.

The Dancer, her attention now a little more directed, began to feel better as a whole.

Appreciatively, she rolled her shoulders and turned, just enough to see Ma’zura from the corner of her eye. It did not prove difficult.

“And, what was your own mother like?”

Ma'zura paused to fetch the brush's smaller brother, a more nimble shape adapted to the nooks and crannies of the body.

"Mmm, warm. Caring. She was a fan of the 'honest work' thing, for which Ma'zura has no knack."

He applied the new brush to J'vani's neck, drawing it down the top of her spine to her shoulders, then working it slowly forward to be drawn back along her jaw.

"Zura must write home when we make port, so she does not worry unduly."

“One is blessed.”

J’vani lifted her arm, beginning to brush away some of her inside fur. She had kept her arms and most of her appendages mostly clean and mostly brushed, though the recent troubles had galvanized her to spending the time elsewhere. Brushing took a lot of time. Sometimes, in the evenings, J’vani only wished to sleep, and she found herself sleeping like a rock. It would not do. Ma’zura’s brushes made her feel a great deal better, cleaner. It already shaped her outlook into a better direction.

“What does he put in letters? Simply that he is well, or other things?”

Ma'zura paused to clean out the brush before returning his attention to J'vani's neck and collarbone, seeking out places where concavities in the warrior's toned body would hide fur from a larger brush.

"This one writes that he is well, or if he is not, what causes it. He says where he is, mentions friends. Nothing indiscreet, no clients, no money. Well, to his friends in Mistral he may mention an interesting night, but would not want to breech anyone's trust. And would certainly not send such details back to the plantation. His family may support what he does, but they would not appreciate the details, yes?"

J’vani set the harsh, broad-brush aside, though the barrel she sat on had little room to spare. She folded her hands in her lap again, watching the other side of the room and thinking to herself.

She could barely remember her mother’s face.

The closest she could recall came from an illuminated manuscript from one of the Temples’ censuses, detailing her family line back to the noble clans of Anequina. There were many such books. The clans of Anequina were considered barbarous by almost all other races, and even their southern cousins, but there were laws, and rules, and ways of doing things more ancient than the spoiled ones from Torval near the forests, or Pellitine on the sea, where the sands did not make farming next to impossible and where the days were not so punishing.

The family lines were extensive. It seemed to J’vani she could recall the faces and lineage back for at least three generations, though it would not matter; what she really wanted to remember was her own mother’s face. All the sketches were proud, Clan-Mothers in austere dress and regal demeanor, Clan-Leaders in full battle regalia with the patterns of their clans sketched, even without colors, brilliantly. A proud clan.

Nobody had ever conquered Anequina. Not with clans like hers had been. Nobody ever would.

It was the plague that had brought them low.

Again, J’vani realized that time had passed for her, while she had been lost in reflection.

Without preface, because she could not find much to say, she turned and caught Ma’zura’s hand. He had finished brushing her, for the most part – there would be detail work, J’vani assumed, but the detail work could wait.

“Come to bed with this one,” she asked, quietly. “She would have you again.”

While the warrior thought, Ma'zura brushed down her neck and shoulders, tidying her coat around her jaw and where her mane did not cover near her ears. At J'vani's words, the lissome young consort stood, with a nod and a smile taking a moment to return the brushes to their places in the leather roll that held them.

With casual elegance he slung himself onto the hammock, eyes shining brightly in the dancing candle-light, open and eager. "Do not make it sound like such a chore," he teased, "Ma'zura enjoys you, as he hopes you enjoy him." One hand extended, painted claws and gleaming coat, offered to draw J'vani in.

"Blow out the candle, if you wish?"

J’vani did not have to reach up very far to turn the wick down into the solitary lantern when she stood. She took a moment to appreciate Ma'zura in the dim and shadowed lighting before she joined him, though, wondering if he had very-carefully cultivated the way the light played over him, as he had created so many other handsome things about himself.

She only wondered a moment, though.

---