Been awhile since I've updated (many of my stories) but here is the next chapter on Farkas and Hennigyn's journey. It's not too long, but I hope it's enough until the next one. :)

Don't own Bethesda or Farkas (sigh).

One bound by Hircine was given certain benefits: heightened sense of smell, awareness, mobility, and the like, but the lack of dreaming, that was what he missed the most. There were never nightmares or strange pictures that meant nothing and at the same time left an odd taste in his mouth; knowing he couldn't have thought such things without there being some reason to it all.

When the familiar slip into wakefulness found him, Hennigyn was still asleep, pressed up like a small child in their father's safe embrace with drool staining wetly into his thin shift. Even in the dark he could still make her out easily enough. Those high almost hateful cheekbones looked softer when she was asleep, and the small scowl she wore while they traveled was curled up as if she was experiencing a better dream than the one he was already forgetting.

The uncomfortable feel was still there, but he couldn't remember any content...just sensation. The small eye-glass window on the far wall shined in low, dim moonlight and by the soft ruckus of noise down the way, it was still more late in the night than early in the morn.

He let out a long breath, wiggling his fingers on the other side of Henni's body. His arm was numb, but the prickly tickles in his veins distracted him, calmed him. Eventually he relaxed and took with inhaling the juniper-smell of her hair. She smelled like she looked, most of the time, a combination of something hard, dark, and alluring. Like the cleanly cut slab of a grave marker, she smelled...or maybe the fresh smell of the Eldergleam tree when him and Vilkas had whittled the dead branches into spears that one winter when they'd been just whelps.

Another heavy inhale of the dark smell and sleep came easy again. The dreams forgotten and her sleek heat lulling him back. She wiggled on his chest and buried herself closer, a small sound traveling with her exhale and just like that, he was asleep again.

"Get up."

Like a stubborn wench she sneered and rolled over at the command.

"Henni...get up. Something's up." A hand, unmistakable in it's size, feel and gentility as belonging to Farkas, shook her bare shoulder in an irritable manner. "Get up.", he said again, and that short, curt tone – normally fit for danger on the front – brought her up even before her eyes opened against the light of day.

"Whats wrong?", she said; awake and aware even as her eyes winced at the light. It was never good when he was demanding things of her. That sort of behavior he seemed to save for...

She perked up, the ends of her ears burning hot. The unmistakable sound of a female yelp cut off down below. In a matter of moments she had her gear on – Farkas helping her strap on the buckles with enough know how that she felt barely a hollow curve between her cotton shirt and the thick hide of her armor. When he held the door open for her she gave his arm a slap and rounded the corner immediatly. He followed close behind, his breath turning the hairs up on the back of her neck when she'd negated to realize he was so near. "The Taverns empty." He said in a right worry.

A females screams always conjured the worst behavior in Farkas, as if he were as willing to break down the gates of Oblivion as he was to croon over the victim like a mother hen. It was admirable she realized early on, but he never seemed to think right when a damsel was in distress, and even now without having to look at him she knew what expression he wore.

"Don't follow to close, Farkas.", she mused, seeing the cooking spit burning and the mead tankards full.

Again that small sound, hurried and oh so strained rang in the depths of her ears. There was a woman below their very feet, and as she stared down at the thick boards in the floor she couldn't remember where she'd noted the basement latch was. Farkas knew though. Call him slow, but that would have been the last thing you said when his blade shucked inside your bowls. She was the one to follow him as he slapped the basement latch open, delving down in the modest opening and she right behind him.

Everyone was down there.

Farkas cursed and stopped at the ends of the stone steps, forcing her to nudge by him to catch sight of the small crowd gathered. The thick scent of blood rung up her nostrils and she had to cover her nose before the smell turned her stomach inside out. But that wasn't the only smell, there was something sour and biting, and unmistakable as afterbirth. The realization struck in time with a choking wail of a new born babe.

Despite the smell and the hanging humidity of sweat and pain, she smiled behind her hand.

Through the surprised tavern goers, she could see the sweaty expression of a new mother and a new babe pressed up along an exposed breast. The glimpse of cradling arms and wide lips.

"What just happened?"

She turned her gaze up to the slack jawed Farkas, seeing his eyes shifted and gather moisture at the sight of the exhausted mother, laughing in relief. He'd never seemed so at awe and yet so...disgusted, or perhaps that was severe nerves creeping out of his pours?

"Life, happened.", she said, still smiling without means to cease. Existence only made sense with acts of light within the dark. The past cycles had been unforgiving, and even more so with the lacking comfort between her and her closest friend. But the sight of this joyous birth and wide, proud smiles turned everything warm once more. It was better than the heavy heat of flowing mead, and the feeling of a job well done. This was the reason they were fighting was it not? What did she matter, or Farkas, or even these people...? Together though, that was something.

It was life that mattered, and her brief moment of philosophy only intensified the smile on her face and the warmth in her chest.

"It's bloody.", she heard Farkas state, his voice low and near a whisper. After a second his arm raised and wrapped around her shoulders, not pulling her in, but merely holding her where she stood. His smile was small, almost uneasy as if this was the first time he'd seen such a thing. As a warrior, a male, a Nord, it was most likely this was the first he'd seen of birth. The look in his eyes was fetching, and before all sights found them she grasped the wrist over her shoulder and ushered him to the steps quietly.

She said nothing, content to gather their things and head out. She could have ridden this content sensation until sundown, but Farkas carried himself like a man having witnessed something more profound; more spiritual than base and happy.

"What was that thing on the floor?", he asked when they were a good ways from Riften.

"On the floor?", she repeated, unsure and almost uncaring of his question when the birds seemed to sing smoother and the sun shown brighter. Every dark feeling she'd brought into that Tavern was burned before they left, and she cared for not but the moment.

"You know, that soggy thing."

"Afterbirth.", she stated, feeling her blade bouncing at her hip as they treaded rougher ground to avoid the Stormcloaks escorting a captive. They spared them no attention, and thus they got none.

Her answer seemed to satisfy him, or disgust him, either way he seemed content with it and walked beside her in relative silence. It would be awhile until they reached Whiterun, but despite the distance ahead of her, she found his company less troublesome. The tension in her stomach lingerer less and the silence was more a comfort than not. Even the looks they gave each other were not warring back the unease left unspoken.

If it were not for the lingering tension, she would have called Farkas her true brother, and the weight lifted from her as they walked the worn path – the old trees hanging down shade and cooler breezes – could not have been compared to the victory of a Dragon or a city. For the first time in longer than she cared to remember, she relaxed within his presence and allowed her lips to curl in turn. And when she spared Farkas a glance, he too wore the same look, catching her gaze and smiling wide and warm.

"You look better. Not that you don't look good other days.", he started when she turned her smile to the road once more. "I almost forgot what you looked like all happy...and stuff. Missed it."

Wind brushed leaves in a rustle of sound while a distant gallop of a steed parried off from their presence. Farkas could be clumsy with words, but she could always count of them being uncut and honest. If he seemed to fumble, she knew he was trying for another s sake to say the right thing. She preferred him this way, the same way he was when they'd first stumbled upon a rutting animal, or that time he'd caught her trying to pee in privacy. The memories still embarrassed her, but the words he'd said had been so frank she couldn't stay shamed.

There were little words she could think to say at this moment. Some more perceptive would say Farkas was better with his tongue than even his brother. He said what he thought, and this wasn't the first time she felt envy for that gift. Times were gaining the majesty they had lost with each breath, each step and shared smile.

It was as if she could act as she once did with him; so close and comfortable...and happy.

The next day she spoke as much as she had the past season, which wasn't a whole lot, but when she looked at him there was a small smile hidden behind the tense eyes and curved nose of her normal expression. By all rights elves smiled little he'd noticed, but when she did, it was like spring taking over a frozen field. All the hard, bitter edges of her face went soft and warm. The cruel line of her jaw became sweet, and the apples of her cheeks grew into her cheekbones, making her look like one of those wispy nymphs he'd seen in sketch books as a whelp.

"Do we need these?"

He turned from the famous steaming pools of The Pale, seeing her with hands full of creepers. They looked wilted and dead. What did she use them for again?

It appeared that the expression on his face was enough for her, for they dropped with a pathetic noise to her feet, following a soft little grunt as her boots squished one bundle with agenda. Sometimes, Henni liked to think herself an alchemist, but even he knew better. She just liked to pile the dried ingredients around her little nook at Jorrvaskr – making it always smell like chaurus acid and snowberries.

"I have this sudden impulse to just stuff everything into my sack." Her statement was bitter, and even looking back to the pools he could see the billow of her breath out the side of his eye; shivering slightly.

Never could he figure out how other races could be chilled so easily. One glance at her and he figured she'd have just put more furs on if she'd been so cold, but then he remembered what kind of woman she was and a smirk crawled on his lips. Hennigyn was, if anything, a stubborn woman.

She'd freeze before covering up from head to toe.

For moments they stood there, feet in the slush of snow that'd melted against the heat of the pools. The wind howled like a wolf, and easily he knew what they both were thinking; knew what she was about to suggest like she'd already spoken it to him and by the Gods he nearly winced.

"How long do you garner we've gone without a bath?" The tone she used was light and soft, mingling with the shrill of the gusts off the Winterhold mountains.

There was still tension between them, but he found himself smiling when the normal fear of her nudity waned as she smiled wide again – it really had been too long since she fixed everything with one smile like that. Hennigyn cleared her throat, a nervous gesture he rarely heard unless there was unwanted male attention, and with the hostility for her kind, that rarely happened.

"Two weeks?" He guessed allowed, heaving a sigh at the pleasant cool breath in his lungs.

"I'd say that means we're do for one then, yes?"

Her uneasy look gave him a sheepish feeling as he shrugged his shoulder in answer. He could go a month or two if it wasn't for peoples complaints. Vilkas never understood why the layers of filth and grime never bothered him, and neither did he...but the prospect of a bath seemed even less tolerable when it came with her. Sleeping, nestled beside her last night, had been the perfect combination of intimate and innocent – enough to satiate his desire to be next to her, but not too raw to set himself ablaze.

The wind cried again and he dared another look in her eyes – the dark orbs were shining and glossy, probably brimming with extra moisture from the cruel winds.

"You do smell, you know that right?" the side of her thin lips curled upwards; a smirk.

There was still the unmistakable sight of her nerves; like a wolf with it's hair stood on end. The memory of her snarling at him – that one night he'd changed at the smell of her hunting – came to mind. Her fur had bristled at him then, not knowing at the time who he was and what his presence had meant.

He smiled, staring off when she started to unbuckle her armor. There was actually a chuckle in his throat before he realized whats he was doing.

"Henni..." he murmured; startled and...yes, nervous. She really was just going to strip down and bathe whether he wanted her to or not, wasn't she?

"I'm bathing Farkas," she stated rather bluntly, as if it was some defense, "You can do so as well if you feel the need," her black eyes found his as her grey skin was gradually exposed to the cold, "which you should...feel the need. I wouldn't be concerned about any prowlers either...Windhelm is too close for that."

He took a heavy inhale of the air before remembering how thin his sense of smell was again – it was a habit he couldn't help, even after all this time. Not having the beasts sense of smell was at time a regret...only at times though.

"Alright," he relented, undressing with his eyes on the melted snow as his peripherals saw her fold her armor on a bare rock lodged at the edge of the pool. Dimly, he heard her start talking, but his mind lay elsewhere...

"If we scrub down hard enough they might not shun us when we pass through the Mixwater Mill."

Water rippling and dispersing gave his heart a sudden flutter as the chill touched his bare chest; wind brushing at the dark hairs down his stomach. His nervousness traveled to his fingers as he fumbled with his belt buckle; her splashes not helping the least bit.

"I'm not too keen on spending another night on this stony ground...Eastmarch does not bode well for my back...evil earth..."

It would bother him later when his leathers stuck between his legs without his loincloth, but he couldn't take the cloth off even if it meant the flame of a Dragon burning his ass for it. He was hard already, and even though she wouldn't comment on it, or stare, he'd feel ashamed if it stuck out as he waded into the water, as if pointing to her for attention. Anything he could do to avoid another moment of his own body's betrayal towards her, he would.

"Though, these pools make up for the pains...by Azura the water is nice."

Once again she proved it hard to think of her as just his shield-sister; just his close friend. But, she always made it difficult, especially when she didn't mean to. Maybe sometimes she took her race for granted around him, thinking he'd not find her attractive, but that was silly. She was beautiful.

Beautiful and right she was – the water, almost too hot, felt good. An ache in his lower back loosened and his skin prickled. She wore a wry look, knowing she'd been right about the bathe and relishing in the contented look he no doubt wore. But she wouldn't gloat; keeping her words to herself was more common than not with her.

He watched her as she lay back against a submerged rock, shoulders exposed and eyes closed contentedly. To the untrained eye she looked relaxed, but he knew she had her dagger-like ears trained all around her; ready to pinpoint any noise that would alert them to trouble. Once it has been him with ears better trained than hers, now he relied on her keenness...

Moments passed by, long and quiet, and then suddenly...she let out a heavy moan and submerged herself deep under the bubbling water as quick as any slippery fish.

He shouldn't have been surprised she'd do something odd like that, but it gave him a second of surprise regardless, especially when his nerves were already running high. Even through the steam he could see her shaking filth from her hair; some of the darkness breaking the surface before she appeared with a heavy gasp, grinning wide. "Tilma can't even make a bath this wonderful."

There was no stopping his own wide smile, "You haven't been around long enough to make that judgment. She did a good one when me and Vilkas were but whelps."

Her cheeks were flushed, hair dripping and stuck to the side of her face like a sheen of wet fur and...even though his beast was long gone, a part of him grew warm at the sight of her looking so feral.

"You were young then, a mud bathe probably would have been glorious for you too," there was a little noise vibrating in her throat, much like a soft giggle...but she never did that...

Her eyes searched his for a heavy moment; shifting before they narrowed almost dangerously, "Must I dunk you? - or can you manage washing the blood out yourself?"

"Blood?" he stared lost, grabbing at his heavy hair in defense and frowned. It hadn't been that long since he'd cleansed it, had it? She was smirking, just like the days before she'd grown cold towards him and, as if her attitude fixed his own just as easy as a lever on a closed door, he held his post and grinned stubbornly. "It's not filthy enough to wash yet," he grumbled; all bolshy entrapment.

"Ah...it's a dunk then, is it?"

Her playful nature came out just as well as it had when she'd first joined their ranks. With a close eye he watched her wade towards him, mimicking a manner much like a wolf would stalk it's prey, "You had but to ask." - and then she was upon him; one hand tight on his should and the other in his hair, pressing with all her might to get him under. He gave little resistance, just enough to give her a mute challenge before falling under the heat of the water with a lungful of air.

Those little, dextrous fingers attacked his hair under the assault of water, scratching at his scalp and bumping his forehead to her bare stomach in the process. He nearly gasped out his breath of air, wrenching his eyes closed tight as the smooth expanse of her body slid against him. The contact almost scared him, and on instinct he grasped her thighs under the water; thumb pushing deep on her inner muscles.

Even under the water he could hear her mirthful sounds of success; unknowing or uncaring as to the battle warring in his gut or the slick grip he had on her. She probably wouldn't have resisted if he pulled her forth and ran his tongue up - no...she wouldn't resist him, but he'd feel wrong after wards.

Vilkas' serious words came to mind, that one time Farkas had said she looked cute after bashing shields with Ria. His brother had said he was going to marry her one day, as if he was talking about the unavoidable act of dying in the future...

Her fingers curled in his hair, pulling him up to greet a loud clipped chuckle as she let him go; his hands sliding from her thighs regrettably. The waves of water pushed her back, but her eyes met his when he rubbed the water away, feeling oddly clean, yet dirty at the same time.

"It nearly looks bright it's so clean. Can you believe it?" The innocence in her voice was enough to make him shift under the water, trying to bade down the uncontrollable hardness throbbing there like a pulsing red bit of iron in the forge.

"Yeah?" he muttered uneasily with a hand itching on his stomach, resisting the urge to grasp himself. She wouldn't know...and he could get rid of the tension.

When her back turned to pull out a rough-cut hunk of cream-colored soap he brushed his erection with his fingers, only aware of how stupid he was acting until she was pulling herself up on a slope to scrub at her body; breasts turned to the side and barely visible.

He swallowed – almost choking on it's thickness – as the slick of soap made her shine in the clouding steam. It felt wrong, but he would finish quickly if he started now...he'd be done and relieved by the time she was cleansed.

So, with his mind barely made up, he sunk near chin deep and stroked from base to tip while he watched her lather along her sides and back, dipping into the water to rinse. Steam billowed, obscuring most of her, but exposing enough that he didn't have to close his eyes this time.

She washed, lathering her hair and scrubbing at her cheeks and behind her ears, unaware of him slowly working himself under the water that had started to run slippery from the excess soap. Gods, it felt good too...almost better than that farm girl had, which seemed like forever ago right now.

"Almost done. Arcadia made this for me. 'Scent-less' she said... heh' I didn't want you smelling like flowers again."

He squeezed and stroked, keeping his face relaxed as the pleasure started to mount and rise like a overflowing cup of good mead. Tension in his gut gathered, his thighs started to twitch and he let his eyes roll back the briefest of moments before...

"Farkas."

Immediately he paused; hand still wrung tight around his flesh as he darted his eyes open to find her staring at him – the bar of soap in her outstretched hand, shaking before his face.

"It has no smell," she said with the barest look of a smile, "So no excuses."

Just how he swallowed before starting this, he swallowed again as he released himself; feeling the sourness starting to creep as he came down from nearly finding that level of clarity. He'd been so damned close, too. Forcing a smile, he took the soap and did as she told him, lathering his chest clumsily, unable to look her in the eye.

It was probably good, he reminded himself as the ache grew even worse; near painful. If he couldn't look at her now, without having finished to the sight of her bathing, then he couldn't even imagine how he'd have felt with his seed tainting the water they washed in...

"You know..." she trailed as he looked in her general direction, "I hadn't exactly thought about getting out of here, after getting in. Escaping the cold is quite different than crawling back into it...guess my mind didn't really expend much thought on that part."

Despite everything he smiled as she gave him a amusingly distraught look; eyes pointing to the cold winds above their heads like they were pesky crows coming to peck the last of the bread from their hands. Elves really did hate the cold...Henni especially.

As always, thank you for reading. I'll have more up next week, and more updates for my other stories will start popping up, so get ready! Review if you find the time of course (they are loved).