The Elder Goatling

Kimahri Ronso has been an elder for many years and the tolls and strains of the job mean he has only one place to take solace. But Mt Gagazet listens to its inhabitants, and sometimes it speaks back to them

The Elder Goatling

Gagazet was always cold. Kimahri, now Elder of the Ronso tribe, knew this but had never quite got used to the idea. A pilgrimage across Spira that had taken him from Besaid to Bikanel’s desert had adjusted him to warmer climates. Neither of those were places he would likely return to in short order, but he missed the balmy feel of Besaid at times. He carefully made his way up the mountain, it’s cloud cover now almost entirely vanished after the death of Sin five years ago. Hot springs near the summit were now a tourist attraction, the Ronso’s becoming wily merchants that created excellent souvenirs rather than warriors who protected the mountain. Sometimes he didn’t approve of the more egregiously exploitative practices of some of the tribe but they needed the income and the feeling that they were welcome in the wider world. While the Guado were, on the whole, forgiven for the crimes of the past they would not be welcome in Gagazet, for everyone's safety.

The stresses all this placed on Kimahri had made him tired. He could feel his muscles starting to stretch, his natural Ronso strength requiring upkeep that his time spent dealing with matters of diplomacy and inter-tribe debate gave him less and less time for a focus on training. Previous Elders had been long past their warrior prime, excellent historians and orators rather than natural fighters by that stage of their life. But he was still in his mid-twenties, still able to battle it out with the strongest of his tribe's warriors, many of whom coveted his position. He’d be able to fight them off for a decade or so at least, but he couldn’t help but feel as though that time might come sooner.

He wandered up to the cliffs that overlooked the northern side of the mountain, spires of rock and large stones dotting the landscape. It was here where Yuna had defeated Seymour, and it had given Kimahri great pleasure to throw his ridiculous construct off the side of the mountain after the horror he’d inflicted. Psychologically and culturally, that one maester had done enormous damage that he was only now finally repairing.

As he reached a small alcove he pushed himself through a gap in the side of the mountain. This was his spot, a private area that, as far as he was aware, only he knew about. A hot spring, undisturbed by many of the sphere hunters and tourists that dotted the mountainside year round. A small number of pyreflies slowly meandered around it. It reminded Kimahri of the Moonflow, the stretch of water that was permanently lit by the spirits of the dead. He’d never gone back to see it at night, as his guardian friend from a few years past had wanted. Maybe he’d make a point next year to do so.

He stripped down, breathing in the air as he removed his various items of eldership he’d come to take on. He’d always preferred travelling light, but Ronso children were talented and he couldn’t help but take small trinkets and add them to a collection around his wrists or neck. Eventually he’d come to look like a walking jewelry box, jangling around the mountainside. But each of those trinkets were important, a way of remembering that the next generation of Ronso were not only vital to the tribe's survival but also something to be cherished.

He thought back to his own childhood. The tribe then had been larger, more concerned with the protection of the mountain from larger fiends and trespassers who would interfere with a summoner's pilgrimage. You couldn’t run up or down the mountain without meeting another Ronso, their fur and horns clearly visible through the white of the snow. He remembered running with other Ronso, some twice his age… Biran… Yenke…

A small sniffle came from his muzzle as he remembered the two of them. Whether they had been friends or bullies when he’d been younger was debatable. The Ronso tribe was often one of kids' rough housing, even now and Kimahri had never learned to properly use his strength. As a result Biran had snapped his horn, a permanent source of shame that had only been properly healed during his guardianship of Yuna. As he slipped into the hot spring water he rested his head backwards on a small rock and closed his eyes, allowing himself to drift towards sleep.

“Heh, Biran does not leave Kimahri’s head it seems”

Kimahri’s eyelids immediately shot back open as he sat up straight. That voice had not come from his mind. It had come from somewhere in the alcove, but the voice had bounced off the walls, giving the impression that it was coming from everywhere.

“Kimahri thinks of Biran, thinks of pup-hood. Biran was always strong, stronger than little Kimahri”

Kimahri pulled himself up, looking around the cave. That was definitely Biran’s voice, he’d know it anywhere, but the Ronso was nowhere to be seen. What he did notice was that the pyreflies in the cave were moving far more rapidly, dancing between rocks and disappearing from view only to reappear a few moments later.

“Biran?!” Kimahri growled, his muscles tightening up almost instinctively, as if preparing for battle against his old friend.

It was then he felt a coldness hit his shoulder. He swung round, his eyes immediately being greeted by the large chest of a fellow Ronso. One he immediately recognised.

“Little Kimahri shouldn’t howl alone”

Kimahri stepped backwards, his feet catching on a small wet rock at the bottom of the spring. His balance failed him as he dropped backwards onto his rear, his mouth opening in shock as the water splashed around him.

The larger Ronso howled with laughter “Biran knew little Kimahri was always a pup. Big Ronso like Biran had to protect you from fiends”

Kimahri growled as he got back to his feet “Kimahri knew this. Kimahri left Mt Gagazet to get stronger than Biran. And Kimahri bested you, and Yenke.”

Biran walked forward, towering over Kimahri as the two of them locked eyes together. “Kimahri did. Biran was proud of you then.” he grinned “But Kimhari is still pup. Still a small Ronso.”

His arms pulled Kimahri into a bear hug. Whatever magic or strange energy was allowing Biran to appear here had made him even stronger than before, and Kimahri was already fatigued from his walk up the cliff. He struggled vainly against the grasp of his yellow furred brethren, feeling the air start to drain from his lungs. He couldn’t breathe!

“Little Kimahri, the Ronso pup, now Elder of Tribe. Sleep now, rest in Birans arms”

Kimahri tried to hold onto consciousness but eventually Birans strength overwhelmed him. As his vision went black he felt Biran start to carry him, though to where he couldn’t tell…

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As Kimahri awoke from his forced slumber he looked around. He was still in the cave, laid back on a soft surface of moss that had been ripped from the walls of the cavern. It was strangely familiar, he hadn’t slept in a traditional Ronso bed for many years. Being an Elder came with some particular perks, not least a bed that had a feather mattress imported from Bevelle that Kelk had acquired prior to his death. Such luxuries were frowned upon, but the strains of elder-ship are something that require a good night's rest.

His last memory was that of being a pup, younger than eight or nine years of age, and rolling over to find his tutor. That had been the day he met Biran and Yenke outside, twice his height and strength and ready to start a fight. He’d foolishly obliged and a few minutes later his horn was broken from his head. He’d never looked back at the mountain until his pilgrimage with Yuna ten years later.

He took a look around. The room seemed to be at the back of the cavern, light shining in from a small gap in its ceiling. He pulled his legs to one side and tried to get to his feet.

Instead he found himself collapsing to the floor. His legs felt dead, like something had cut the blood flow off and was making them just heavy weights. He supported himself on his hands and looked back at his feet, trying to see if anything was keeping them restrained.

What he saw instead was a large, cotton loincloth that was spreading his legs apart and wrapping its way between them. It was bright white, as if freshly sown like a brand new goatskin blanket. He’d only ever seen anything similar on newborn pups…

“Ah, little Kimahri is awake” the figure of Biran stepped through the cavernous opening to the room, bending down to avoid hitting his head.

“Biran, what have you done?” Kimahri could feel his throat dry as he spoke, rasping a little from the bear hug he’d endured.

“Biran has wandered the mountain for many years. Seen little Kimahri become elder, become father to the tribe” he moved forward, looking down at Kimahri and cocking his head to one side “Kimahri is still a small Ronso to Biran”

Kimahri growled, his nostril flaring as Biran grinned down at him “What do you want with me? I have to get back to the mountain base, to my home”

Biran walked around to his rear, lifting his tail and patting the cotton underwear he’d been dressed in “Biran knows you come here for hours. Kimahri uses the hot spring when he’s alone, when he’s feeling tired of being elder”

Kimahri couldn’t even deny it. He’d come here often as a method of escape, as a method of avoiding the responsibilities, but to have it called out by his childhood bully was making him more than a little frustrated.

“Biran, stop. What did you do to Kimahri’s legs?”

He laughed again “Little Kimahri’s legs needed a rest. Don’t worry, they’ll get their strength back in a few hours. Just let Daddy Biran take care of you…”

“Dad… Daddy?!” Kimhari growled again “What nonsense is this Biran? How is this happening?”

The larger Ronso bent down and pushed his finger into Kimahri’s muzzle. The smaller Ronso’s eyes widened as he felt his jaw close shut. He couldn’t reopen it, the strength of his jaw being held in place by the same force that seemed to be keeping him to the floor

“Don’t worry little Ronso. Here let’s help KImahri back to bed” Biran grabbed Kimahri under the shoulders and dragged him upwards, lifting his entire muscular form off the ground. He could only stare in shock as Biran pulled his useless legs around his waist, forcing the Ronso elder to cling to his shoulders lest he fall back to the cavern floor. With surprising swiftness Biran took him over to the mossy stone bed and laid Kimahri back down.

“Kimahri should stay here, lay his head back on his bed and relax. Daddy Biran will fetch you a fresh weaning jug of goats milk”

At this point Kimahri could only feel his head spinning. This was all too much for him to handle, the feeling of the cotton padding around his waist reinforcing a strange sense of security that the bed seemed to be reinforcing with every second he spent in it. It reminded him so much of his pup-hood, his early times in the tribe that…

Suddenly the thoughts started to click together in his brain. “Daddy” Biran? Thick cloth padding around his groin, a weaning jug… He was being treated like an infant pup!

He pushed himself back into a seated position but it took nearly all his strength to do so. Pushing himself against the cavern wall he looked at the entrance that Biran had left through and began trying to assess his next move. He couldn’t talk, or walk. He looked ridiculous and he still didn’t know what Biran was doing to cause this. Was it even Biran? The Ronso had passed many years ago, but Spira was a land where such things meant little at times. Now he seemed stronger, more emotional. He was tied to this world, as friends had once said, by something.

“Nice full jug for little Kima… Biran said to lay down pup!” the ronso bounded across the cavern before Kimahri even had a chance to move again “Little Kimahri should rest here, spend some time with Daddy Biran before he leaves”

KImahri wanted to reject the notion, to pull at the yellow fur and run. But he knew he was stuck, trapped here in his current state. Instead he lay down, as commanded, and Biran knelt down next to him holding a large clay jug. The spout was long, designed to go into a muzzle and stay there with little movement from the pups that normally drank from such things. But this was oversized, definitely not a small Ronso pup… but for a small Ronso adult.

“Drink, little Kimahri.” Biran pushed the end of the spout into Kimahri’s maw and slowly pulled it up. The milk in the lower half of the bulb at the bottom of the jug ran down and entered his throat, splashing against his tongue. It was sweet, as if shoopuf milk had been mixed with it and swirled for hours. This was not the milk of his childhood, but it was something he felt he lap down without question. It was tasty, and more importantly he could start to see something glowing in the eyes of his captor.

Pyreflies danced behind his irises, burning away with a drive he’d never seen. Whatever emotions were driving Birans incorporeal form to do this were strong, certainly stronger than anything he’d seen from many of the pyrefly forms that took the form of fiends. They were confused, unbridled rage that manifested in forms of hatred. But this? Birans form was one of care, of love.

“Do you see now, little Kimahri?” he started to rub the elders stomach fur, moving it around in sensual circular motions “Kimahri was always just a pup. Biran knew this, Ronso knew this, mountain knew this. But little Kimahri didn’t, little Kimahri heard the mountain but never listened to what it told him” he patted the front of the cloth around Kimahri’s waist, reminding him of its thickness.

“So Biran came back. Came back to show little Kimahri what the mountain had been trying to tell him. Kimahri has taken care of the mountain, now Daddy Biran will take care of little Kimahri”

As the jug started to empty Kimahri felt a warmth start to build around his lower abdomen. It was as though the hand of his captor was moving inside of him, encouraging a relaxation of his muscles. He felt safe, but weak, at the mercy of the now explicable entity that had taken him from his place of solace and given him a new feeling of compassion. He could already hear a voice in his head telling him how good this felt, to let it happen, to give away his worries and concerns about what was happening at the base of the mountain and instead just look into the eyes of his Daddy.

His Daddy… Daddy Biran… who was now feeding him. Had clothed him like a pup and was seemingly determined to do more than just that. The small part of Kimahri’s brain that still resisted the treatment whined behind the jug, before feeling a different warmth start to spread.

The padding around his waist was wicking away what he knew was his own excretions. There was no stopping it, the flow was too strong and too quick for him to manage and the hide that was absorbing it all just continued to swell around his nethers. There was no way to know how long he might be stuck here, but he knew he didn’t want to be stuck in that.

“Sshh… Don’t worry, little Kimhari. Daddy Biran will make sure you’re ready for the mountain trip soon. But Kimahri must rest, must not worry about the world outside for now. This is still Kimahri’s special place, the mountain will keep us from others.” his voice was soothing as he pulled the now empty weaning jug free from his muzzle.

“So sleep, little Kimahri. When Kimahri wakes he will be back in the hot spring, he can go back to being elder. But here he can be with Biran, safe and comforted”

Kimahri felt his eyelids start to droop. He wanted to sleep now, even if there were parts of him that wanted to keep this moment going for a little longer or fight it to the end. It was as though a compromise was reached in his brain, that now was not the time to expend energy. Instead he let his eyes close on the cavern and the face of his Daddy.

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When Kimahri awoke later he found himself lying face up on the floor of the hot spring. He’d been stripped back down to nakedness, his fur fluffed as if recently washed. There was no evidence of his previous experience to see in the cavern, just the pyreflies that swirling in small groups. They were memories, he’d been told, of experiences of loved ones and of friends. He understood now what the mountain had seen of him here, had seen what Biran had meant to him.

As he re-clothed himself he felt a twinge of disappointment that the experience had ended so quickly. But perhaps it would happen again, perhaps the pyreflies of the mountain would allow him these little asides when he could get them.

With a final look at the hot springs he left the cavern behind him. He didn’t notice the burning green and white irises of a large Ronso that had hid at the back of the cavern, his form vanishing into thin air as if it had never existed at all….