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THE ICY WIND OUTSIDE screeched and wailed like a banshee seeking to devour children’s souls. Frosted windows rattled in their frames so hard the glass threatened to shatter. The camels and horses tied to the posts in front of the Tsas Ber Tavern whickered and spat their displeasure at being left exposed in such inhospitable weather.
Ajir wrapped his snow-dusted paws around the steaming goblet of spiced wine, thawing them from the painful cold that hadn’t yet left his aching fingers. A fire roaring in a large stone hearth did little to expel the chill of winter possessing his body. The spicy, pungent aroma wafted into his nostrils and increased his hunger.
A scarred-faced yeti named Olar stood behind the bar, polishing dirty cups with an even dirtier rag. He glanced up at Ajir and smiled, revealing his jagged, yellowed teeth.
Ajir took another large gulp of the fortified wine. Liquid fire traveled down his throat and bloomed in his chest. His cheeks tingled—the drink was taking effect. Some of the wine dripped onto his arm tattoo of an olgoi-khorkhoi bursting through the sand, a bloodied camel trapped in its well-toothed jaws.
“Sarlagiin,” he bellowed, slamming his fist on the ancient wooden table. His breath puffed white in the frigid air. “I ordered honeyed sarlagiin leg, and it better be in front of me soon!”
Meat was scarce this far north, and Ajir had been anticipating this meal for quite some time. When he was back at home, things were different. Snow was rare and meat plentiful in Gryek. His belly growled to be filled.
“I’ve got your sarlagiin leg right here, minótavros! If I drizzle some honey on it, will ya gobble it up?” Olar stepped from behind the bar, grabbed his crotch, and blew a kiss.
Ajir leapt up and his hooves slammed to the wood floor. He unsheathed the worn pickaxe from his backside and roared. His dripping fangs glistened in the candlelight as his wooden chair crashed backwards behind him. His tail jerked from side to side in agitation.
Khaji sauntered from the kitchen. “You men and your tempers. Put it back in your breeches, boys.” Her long, white fur undulated with her every move. She set a dull metallic platter on the table in front of Ajir. “Here’s your sarlagiin, sweetie. I added some fermented cheese for you, on the house.” She winked at him and stroked one of the two large horns protruding from his brow.
Her right breast brushed his well-muscled and tattooed arm as she leaned over and righted his chair. Ajir’s breathing stopped, and he stiffened. He had been working in the mines for six moon-cycles and hadn’t seen a female the entire time. Fresh, hot food wasn’t his only unfulfilled desire. He couldn’t hide the stirring in his loincloth. He’d never been with a yeti before.
“Now use your mouth for what you’re craving and eat!” She slapped Ajir’s butt and strutted to the kitchen.
Ajir’s eyes followed her swaying ass until it disappeared around the corner, then locked with Olar’s. They glared at each other for a moment before laughter overtook them.
“I’d rather be using my mouth on that.” Ajir nodded towards the kitchen and sat.
“You and every other tenegkhün that walks in here.” Olar removed his paw from his crotch, sniffed it, grunted, and continued wiping the bar. “But like all the warming treats we serve here, she ain’t free.”
Ajir looked up, his eyes wide, his beard already matted in grease.
“I didn’t know she was on the menu.”
Olar snickered, shaking his head. “Only for those whose satchel is large. And you clearly don’t have the markny.”
Ajir narrowed his eyes and wiped the bits of sarlagiin from his face with the back of his paw. He rose with slow, deliberate care and stalked to the bar.
“I might be light on markny, but I do have this.” Ajir slapped a large brown gemstone onto the countertop. He snorted with enough force to briefly lift the heavy steel ring that went through his septum. “Andesine. I hit a small vein of it, and pocketed what I could before alerting the foreman.”
Olar’s eyes widened. He snatched the gem and held it to the light, squinting.
“Aye, this would cover it alright, and for the entire night, too. Including dinner, breakfast, and all the drinks you want.” Olar licked his lips and slipped the andesine into his pocket. “Khaji! Our guest would like the Yeti Special.”
Ajir’s grin went to both of his pointed ears. “Sounds perfect.”
“Well now, I guess you never know what hides in one’s loincloth.” Khaji slipped her paw into Ajir’s and pulled him into a side room. “Can’t wait to see what else you’ve got in there for me.”
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Khaji set the platter of fresh-roasted meat on the table and sat down to sip her horn of kofye. The morning light shone through the window and glowed on her ivory fur.
Khaji stretched her arms and yawned. “It’s been years. As sore as I am, it was well worth it to finally get some relief.”
“Was he rough on you, my bride?” Olar asked as he ripped off a chunk of the steaming meat and stuffed it into his mouth. Its juices dripped down his matted chin fur.
“Not too bad. Once the egelisreg kicked in, he could hardly move. Don’t worry, I didn’t have to do too much before the paralysis set. After that it was easy. You were right, he was rich.” She pulled a piece of rendered, fatty skin off the meat and licked her lips. “I take it that andesine pays off the last of my dowry?”
Olar nodded. “Aye, that and this bounty of fresh meat. This should last us a good while,” he grunted. His eyes never left the gemstone.
Khaji smiled and bit into the crispy skin with the olgoi-khorkhoi tattoo, savoring the intense flavor. She was already envisioning what their life would be like together, finally married and away from all this snow—perhaps in Gryek.
J. M. Ames is a multi-genre author native to Southern California. He has several publications dating back to 2016. When not working his day job or enjoying his fatherly adventures, he writes short stories and novels, including an upcoming series.