Steph's Outcast

Her hands go to her teats—no, her heart—and she clasps them over it. "Steff," she tells me, tapping her chest. "Steff."

Her name.

She has an Outcast name.

STEPH

When an unexpected smile creases Juth's hard face, I feel as if I've done the right thing. I'm glad I decided to return after dropping off things this morning and bring a second round of treats for his kid. Pak clings to his father's leg, but his little stubby tail flutters back and forth with excitement, reminding me of a deer fawn. He clutches his egg tightly in one hand and holds onto his father with his other.

I feel good. Warm. I smile at both of them, and for the first time, I feel like Juth doesn't hate me. I've only seen him a few times, all of them from a distance. He always glares when I put stuff down, as if he disapproves. It's so odd, because they used to take the items we gave them every time. Lately though, they've been leaving them behind. I don't understand it, and I want to understand. I need to understand.

It's my thing, getting to understand people. And I've made it a personal goal to bring the two outcasts into the fold, to welcome them to our small village. I just didn't think it would take me months and months to do so. Juth is a stubborn one, though.

Today, though, I feel like we've made a breakthrough.

I smile at him and touch my chest again. "Steph." I gesture at him, indicating I want to know his name, too. I know Outcast clan say that it's against the rules for them to speak to the other clans, but surely that's gone by the wayside. Surely this is a sign of progress. Surely—

Juth's eyes narrow at me. He grabs Pak by the hand and turns around, hauling him back down the beach.

I must have pushed too hard. Disappointed, I watch them go, and I snack on the egg left behind, since it won't keep. I want to chase after them and give them the egg I'm forcing myself to eat, but I know they need their space. They need their space, and they need me to respect their customs. Maybe telling them my name pushed too far. Pak glances back at me as they walk, clutching his egg, and I smile and wave at him, trying not to show my disappointment.

There's always tomorrow.

I watch Juth as he walks away, too. This was my first close-up look at Juth, and he's fascinating. His skin has that same strange cast to it that the islanders do. It's not quite the same blue that the sa-khui have, but a lighter, almost luminescent shade that means that they can camouflage to fit in with their surroundings. Unlike the others, though, Juth has no horns to speak of. His dark hair is thick and wild like the others, his brow heavily plated, but…no horns. Not much of a tail, either. Unlike Pak's fuzzy little stump, his is a nub just above his buttocks, devoid of fur. I do notice it flicks when he walks, as if conveying irritation, and I bite back a smile at that. I think his parents must have come from Shadow Cat, though—he's got the thick arm and leg fur like them, and the prominent fangs.

And the scowl. Can't forget that. The attitude is very Shadow Cat clan.

Because he was wearing nothing but a woven belt, I got a good look at…everything. A bit of heat touches my cheeks, because I tried really, really hard not to stare at Juth's genitals. My interest in him is purely that of a therapist, I remind myself. Another person I want to help. It's just that…well. His dick was so…thick. It's not as big as some of the others I've seen—the islanders are very quick to undress for practically no reason at all, and Ashtar the drakoni is extremely proud of his naked form—but it's probably the thickest, with an utterly insane number of ridges climbing along the top, an equally fat spur and a heavy pair of balls. I'm pretty sure most therapists don't notice their patients balls but…they were just right there. It was hard not to look. When he turned away, it presented me with a new problem, because Juth also has a very fine, tight ass with a scar going across one butt cheek.

I might stare at that scar for far too long, in an absolutely unprofessional capacity. I remain where I am and watch until they disappear down the rocky beach. I should be thinking about the best way to make them comfortable and how to approach them properly. Instead, I keep thinking about that butt scar. And his cock. And the ridges. And the spur. Flustered, I shake my head to clear it. This is not like me. I don't lust after bodies. I lust after minds.