I saw many people come and go from the village, the place I called home. That included hyms that stopped for a meal or stayed a night before going on their way. Sometimes, they even had hymoids with them that carried heavy luggage.

But this was my first time seeing a hym with two hymoids and the hym was carrying the luggage. Well, it wasn’t much, just a strange satchel strapped to the hym’s back, but the other two walked beside the hym, happily chatting, one with a tail sticking out of a back sleeve and wagging happily.

From the church’s spire, I watched them go around and talk to many people, even coming to the steps of the church. Those three were… very close together.

Eventually, they left the village, heading towards the reservoir. That was strange. There was nothing that way, so no one ever went. But the river was dry the last week, the watermill stopped, and the priest was praying for rain most days. I asked him about it because he sometimes told me off for the things I prayed for.

“When it is something within our reach, we pray to the gods to ask for strength. When it is something beyond our reach, we pray for mercy,” he said.

The gods didn’t give us mercy, but that group did. I watched the clouds come from nothing, fluffy white squashing into darker and darker grey until it was black as charcoal, out where the reservoir was. Then a flash of lightning, crash of thunder, and I nearly soiled myself, barely clenching in time.

In the village, people stood outside and they cheered when the rain fell in the distance, some hugging each other, others coming out of the buildings. The rain was so heavy that it looked like a fluttering white sheet.

Not long after it finished, the group came back and everyone cheered again, crowding around them, and I even saw the priest walk out to them. To the side of the village, the river flowed and watermill turned.

I wasn’t clever, but I knew that the gods weren’t listening to me. Maybe the hym would.

For the rest of the afternoon, I watched them go around. The baker gave them something, the butcher, even the carpenter saw them. They visited the watermill and the church and even the graveyard out back. In the evening, I saw them go into the inn and not come out when the sky darkened.

So I finally went down from the spire, careful not to slip on the narrow stairs, and said hello to the priest as I left, him saying something about me missing the excitement. A few people were still out, but they barely looked at me before carrying on what they were doing. I went to the inn, the adults inside already drunk, singing and dancing, no one sparing me a second glance even when I went upstairs.

The good rooms looked out front where the morning sun shined, so I had seen the first room was where a trader stayed and the carpenter’s apprentice was in the last. Only two left, I listened, the first silent, the second some muffled talking, light under the door.

I knocked, the talking stopped. After a few seconds and a few more, the door opened just enough for a person—the hym—to look at me.

“Sorry, can we help you?” the hym said.

I chewed the air for a moment, trying to remember what I wanted to ask. The hym sort of pouted, but didn’t say anything, so I remembered quick. “Can I talk to you?”

The hym frowned and turned around, saying, “There’s someone who wants to talk.”

The others said something, but I didn’t hear, then the hym turned back and opened the door wider. I stood there, staring.

“Come in,” the hym said, reaching out and grabbing my hand. But it didn’t hurt. Even when the hym tugged me inside, it didn’t hurt.

I looked around and saw the two hymoids. One was a sort of soft red colour and smiled, the second white with splotches and a scowl. Without meaning to, I hunched over, turning away from their looks.

“What d’you want to talk about?” the hym asked.

I chewed the air, words hard to find right then, but no one said anything, so I remembered quickly. “I don’t mean to be rude, but can we talk alone?”

The hym didn’t look happy, but looked over to them and, after a bit, I heard the hymoids go through to the bathroom.

“So, what is it?” the hym asked gently, but I could hear they were irritated.

I forgot the words, frustrated at myself. A bad habit, I tapped my claws together, losing myself in the sound for a moment, then remembered again. “How old are you?”

Glancing up, I saw the hym look confused. “Twenty-five. Yeah, I’ve been here half a year, so twenty-five.”

I sighed in relief. “That’s good.”

“Why?” the hym asked.

I wondered too, then remembered, scratching my lip with a claw. “It wouldn’t be good if you were too young.”

The hym sort of frowned, asking, “Too young for what?”

“I want to… what’s the word… sex?”

The hym froze, eyes wide. “W-what?”

More comfortable with the hym now, the words came easier. “You saw the others here are all highmoids? None of them will… want to have sex with me. But you don’t have fur like me, and you like those hymoids, and you saved the village, so… you might save me. I waited so long, I’m almost thirty and I haven’t even kissed someone.”

The hym still stood very still, barely blinking, maybe not even breathing, but eventually spoke. “I, I’m a woman, you know?”

“Oh, me too,” I said mouth curving into a narrow smile. “That’s nice.”

The hym—she—swallowed. “I, um, the other two, they’re my lovers, so I have to ask them first—”

From behind the bathroom door, there were two shouts. One said, “You can!” and the other, “Only if we can watch!”

She hunched over too, head falling down, then looked up with a weak smile. “Do you… mind if they watch?”

I tapped my claws for a second, then shook my head. “If they only watch, that’s fine.”

A bit hesitant, she asked, “You don’t want them to join?”

I shook my head. “It’s like I’m, what’s the word, monogamous?”

She sort of smiled like I was stupid, but it didn’t make me feel upset. “Monogamous people don’t have sex with strangers.”

I frowned, thinking it over for a second. “I said I was like monogamous, and I don’t want to have sex with strangers—I want to have sex with a stranger.”

Behind the door, one of them laughed and then said, “She got you good.”

Since I was already thinking, I thought a little more. “Do you… not want to have sex with me?” I asked quietly. “If you don’t, that’s fine. I just thought I’d ask.”

After a second of silence, she held my hands, her thumbs gently stroking me. So gentle.

“I’d love to have sex with you,” she whispered.

“Really?” I asked, looking up at her.

Smiling, she nodded. “You’re beautiful.”

My mouth curved into a narrow smile around my beaky nose. I only remembered people telling me that as a joke, laughing at me, but she wasn’t laughing. “You are too.”

She let the other two into the room and they were already undressed, but I wasn’t interested. They moved the chairs to face the bed and sat there. Then she took my hand, leading me to the bed.

We sat next to each other and she stroked my cheek, so gentle, softly pushed it so I faced her, and we kissed. She was… soft. I knew my leathery skin was tough, rough, but her lips were soft and I wondered if mine were too. So when she stopped, I felt her lip with a claw, then felt mine, and it was… it wasn’t the same, but it was close.

“Was that nice?” she whispered.

I didn’t want to come up with words, so I kissed her, nudging her nose with mine like I saw hymoids do, and I brought up my hands, careful not to touch her with my claws, but rubbed her arms, the skin under her clothes soft.

My heart, it was like I ran. I felt warm like I was in the sun, but the sun was inside me, and I didn’t feel so lazy, my hands wanting to move, to feel more of her.

She soon stopped kissing me. I stared at her, waiting, and she started to undress, so I did too. She was different to me. On her chest, there were things, kind of looked like sores on bumps, but sores didn’t stick out like that. I wanted to touch her, but remembered my manners.

“Can I touch you?”

“Yeah. Can I touch you?” she asked.

I nodded, already reaching over, my finger curled so the claw didn’t scratch her. Her skin was so soft, I was really scared to hurt her. I touched the not-sore, and she gasped, so I quickly pulled back my hand, but then she held it, smiling, and brought it back to her not-sore, gently rubbed it with the back of my hand. It was soft at first, but soon felt firm, and she made little moans.

“This is my nipple,” she whispered, then moved my hand to the bit around and it was so soft—I wanted a pillow just like it. “This is my breast.”

She let go and I carried on, gently pressing into her “breast” with my knuckles, like I was kneading it. And my other hand came up, doing the same to her other one.

At the same time, she stroked my sides, almost ticklish. But it was a nice ticklish. I liked it.

Eventually, she showed me where her not-cloaca was. I was surprised because she was furry there, but it was strange fur, coarse. And then she asked, “Can I see yours?”

My head was kind of funny, the words I wanted coming quickly, even though I couldn’t really think. “Maybe later.”

Before she said anything else, I touched her not-cloaca with the back of my finger, watching her. She gasped again, didn’t look upset. I stared at her, waiting, and then she nodded.

Careful to keep my claw away, I pushed open the flappy bits. It was weird, pink like I was looking into a mouth, but no teeth or tongue. There was one hole inside, one hole under it, and I wondered what came out of them. I pushed around some more and noticed another tiny hole, very confused.

I was more interested in the holes, but I nudged something at the top and she moaned even louder than before, almost scaring me enough to soil myself. I clenched tightly and looked at her, worried I hurt her, but she… looked strange. Happy, but tired, her eyes half-closed, mouth stuck like she was yawning.

“Please,” she whispered.

I didn’t know what she wanted, so I carefully did what I was doing before, watching her, and I learned she wanted me to touch that top bit. But my finger was so clumsy, and I was worried about my claw, so I did what I saw some villagers do in the forest and put my mouth there. I nudged her with my nose at first, but that wasn’t right, so I kissed her there, my lips softer, gentler. But she still looked at me like that wasn’t enough. I didn’t know what to do, but then I licked my lips and she shuddered. I tried it again and she looked happy.

Understanding, I used my tongue, even turned my face so I could stick my tongue out more. I felt so good hearing her happy, happy like the villagers in the forest when they had sex. This was what I wanted. This good feeling of making someone happy.

“You’re so beautiful,” she whispered.

No one told me that. No one looked at me like she did. No one wanted me to touch them, definitely not with my tongue.

Sex was amazing.

I kept making her happy, let her show me how to make her happy. She wasn’t scared of my claws, she liked my tough skin, she stared me in the eye and caressed my cheeks like she was my mother, full of love.

Sex was really amazing.

After she was finished being happy, she told me what the different holes and parts of her were called and what they did. I showed her my cloaca too, but I frowned, noticing it looked… different, weird. It was normally just a hole, but, when I relaxed it, there were little lumps just inside it, something new. I gently touched one and quickly pulled back, feeling something wet come out. But it didn’t feel like I was soiling myself.

One of the others said, “Scent glands.”

“Really?” I asked, sniffing my claw and not smelling anything.

“It’s a very different smell to any of ours, so I know it’s yours.”

“Oh.”

She, the hym, leaned over and held my hand, sniffing my claw. “Yeah, it’s… musky.”

I tried again, but still smelled nothing. Well, my nose was bad, so I didn’t care.

After a second, she let go and her hand started to go down towards my cloaca. She didn’t touch it, though, instead looked at me. I shook my head. “It’s okay, I know cloacas are… dirty. We only have one hole, so it all comes out here—even our eggs.”

“It’s pretty. If we clean it first, can I touch it?”

I shook my head again. “I can touch it myself if I want, I just… wanted to make you happy and see how we’re different.”

She said nothing, but, the way she put her hand on my shoulder, she was asking to hug me. I nodded. She pulled me close, hot. I didn’t know hyms were so hot. It felt good, like being in the sun, so I hugged her back, still careful not to scratch her with my claws. Everywhere we touched was warm, tingling. One of her hands stroked up and down my back, so good I melted, relaxing into her hug.

After a long time, she quietly asked, “Who told you cloacas were dirty?”

“The priest. He’s looked after me since I was young. He told me to wash it often, otherwise… I might get diseased there.”

She tensed up, and I giggled.

“He doesn’t molest me. He’s… the only one kind to me, but he never touched me. Not even a hug.”

She relaxed. And I felt… happy. Someone cared about me. It felt so nice, making me wonder if all the children felt like this hugging their parents. But I had to quickly clench, feeling something almost come out my cloaca. Too relaxed.

Maybe she felt that. “You’re really almost thirty?” she asked.

Her tone—I understood. “I know I sound… stupid,” I whispered, these words not hard to remember, but hard to say. “And I am stupid at things… even kids can do well. But I am almost thirty. About almost thirty.”

She let out a laugh, but I didn’t mind, a nice sound. “Sorry, just, about almost thirty?” she asked.

“You can’t see now, but here”—I pulled away from her and patted my stomach—“the scales have growth rings. I think my parents… famine… left me here. Then the rings, one grows in summer, one in winter. I counted every year when I was young. So I think I am twenty-nine, but maybe a bit off.”

That was the most I ever told someone about myself. It felt… not good, but I felt better.

One of the others—the one who spoke a lot—said, “There’s a mountain range at the northern border. I heard that reptiles mostly live beyond it where it’s warmer year round. To end up down here, your parents maybe left you with a trader.”

“Mm, that sounds nice,” I said, mind wandering. “I like warm.”

No one talked, and I still sat next to the hym, holding her hand, our legs touching—she was very warm. Looking around, I saw the other two. The soft red one with a dark front, breasts and no sticking out thing, was a woman? And the white-with-splotches one too? Their vulvas didn’t have fur, different to Siya. But they also looked wet. I wondered if their scent glands were outside, or if they sometimes had trouble clenching their… urethra?

Oh, and they were holding hands. That was nice. I liked it when different hymoids got on, made me think they maybe would like me. They never did. But these two—if they were the hym’s lovers, I thought, maybe they’d like me.

“I just realised, my name is Siya. What’s yours?”

“Mm, it doesn’t matter,” I said.

After a second, Siya said, “Please, I want to know.”

I huffed, not really wanting to remember something no one used. But she had said please. “Mo,” I whispered.

“Mo? Just Mo?” she asked.

“It’s short for something, but Mo is enough to make me look at you.”

Like she was testing that, she whispered, “Mo,” and it was such a soft and gentle sound, I almost forgot it was my name. I turned to her, eyes tearing. “That’s not how… anyone else says it.”

“It’s how I say it, Mo,” she said, stroking my cheek.

I leant in and kissed her, maybe to stop her from saying my name again, maybe to thank her, maybe to feel good. It didn’t matter. Kissing made her happy, made me happy, so it didn’t matter why.

In a bit, I stopped to see her smile. It made me smile too.

Her hand stroked my cheek again, so gentle. I felt her feel the grooves between my leathery scales, almost ticklish, but I didn’t laugh.

“You didn’t say you were stupid, did you?” she asked, her tone so gentle.

I nodded.

“Can you tell me about it?”

The words were… complicated. Trying to think, I ended up pulling her into a hug again, like it was easier when I felt her heat. “If I’m thinking and someone talks… I forget what I was thinking. So people think I can’t add, so no one… lets me work. And it’s hard to talk about complicated things. I have to think first, but people like to always talk. And I can’t remember well, but I can practise until I do, or focus if it’s… important.

“Really, I just… don’t care. No one wants me here. But the priest, he lets me stay in a shed… feeds me… and I help with the harvest, some chores. That’s… more than I’ll get anywhere else… so I stay.”

I didn’t make any sense, but it wasn’t something I knew the words for, something I felt. But now I’d tried to use words for it, I realised… words couldn’t make something make sense if it didn’t make sense.

I felt her breathe in, about to speak, so I squeezed her and she stayed quiet.

Picking up my thoughts, I slowly realised… it didn’t make sense to not care about myself.

That important thought thoughted, I squeezed her again and whispered, “You can talk now.”

“You don’t know any people like you?” she asked.

“Testuhyms? No.”

After a bit of silence, she said, “Do you want to come travelling with us? Maybe we’ll find others like you, people who… do want you.”

I smiled. “Can we have more sex?”

“Um, well, if you don’t mind that I have sex with Dandee and Ka’ne too.”

“That’s okay.”

Squeezing me, she said, “Then yes, we can.”

“I’m a bit… tired in the morning. Is that okay?”

“It’s fine, we’ll help you get up.”

I squeezed her back. “Then yes, I’ll come.”

Her hands gently rubbed my back, wonderfully warm, and gentle. I stretched out, but went too far and something pinched, letting out a hiss.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

I giggled, not used to someone… caring. Slowly, I pulled away from her, then turned around, showing her my back. “The scales here are tougher, so they sometimes pinch.”

She ran her fingers over them, tingling wherever she touched. “Are they uncomfortable?”

“They make me hunch over, so it’s a bit uncomfortable to stand up straight, otherwise they don’t bother me.”

Her fingers stopped, sitting in the groove between two of the leathery scales. It made me feel like fidgeting, but I didn’t, letting her feel me.

“The main reason we’re travelling is so I can learn magic that lets me… change the body,” she said, a little quiet, soft, like she was telling me a very important secret. “Ka’ne had trouble with her fur, so I changed it to be more comfortable. If you want, I can make your back… softer. Only if you want me to.”

I remembered she was a witch, a witch who answered prayers the gods ignored. But I forgot what prayers I made. Or maybe, she’d already answered my prayers.

After thinking about that, I went back to her question, her fingers in a groove on my back. I was made as the gods made me, the priest told me that. But the priest didn’t want to wait for the gods to bring rain.

So I asked Siya for that which was out of my reach. “Yes, and can you make me warmer?”

“I can.”

No one said anything, then I started to feel it—feel her magic. It was like she hugging me, but every part of me, even the parts inside. A warm and gentle feeling. Her fingers stroked my back, becoming more ticklish every time until I giggled. Then she stopped and put both her palms on my back, holding them still, but I felt something like water running down from my head, warm water. It was wonderful, better than the sun. And then I realised it wasn’t running outside, but inside, warming me up every time my heart beat.

Slowly, very slowly, it was easier to see, to hear, my fingers easier to clench and let go, like I was out in the sun. The summer sun. And my back—I stretched and stretched, but it didn’t even feel stiff.

I turned around and kissed her. “Can we have sex now?” I asked.

The others—Ka’ne and Dandee, Siya called them—giggled. “Pin her down, Mo!” one said, then the other said, “Put her in her place!”

I didn’t know what that meant, but Siya let out a sigh and nodded.

So I pushed her down and made her as happy as she’d made me.