FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Edited 3/18/2023 with missing introduction.

The bed was cold, yet the sheets clung to me. I craved one of the fairer sex clinging to me. Gouentine didn't sleep with me in bed last night. She didn't even talk to me once we found her dress was missing.

Because of that, she didn't acknowledge me all night. So I had to entertain myself. Not easy when you consider how easy it is to waste time in the modern world. Where I am, was a world with technology similar to our Napoleonic era. Early Victorian. A time before computers, scrabble, and mass-produced porn. The working man was kept busy at work until he came home. His brain was so tired that small talk with his wife and maybe some sex kept him busy. Then it was bedtime, all to repeat the process tomorrow. Of course, the rich man had books. But if there was a library here, it's not like I could read it.

So, with nothing to do and no reason to be awake, I called it an early night. Only after supper, some of that purple cow's jelly, room temperature, on stale toast.

I didn't fall asleep. Instead, I was constantly in that hellish state between asleep and awake. Twice my night was interrupted. First, when Gouentine opened the door to my room, trotted over to my muddied clothes and took them. And then, probably an hour before daylight peaked through the curtains. That was when she returned and put my clothes, now clean, back on the chair.

The worst feeling isn't walking barefoot on lemon-soaked glass. Or having to repeat something embarrassing in front of a full classroom. A close, but not necessarily number one feeling is disappointing someone you love. That feeling when your lover wants nothing to do with you. All while you crave their company, like a drunkard craving that last glass of whiskey.

No, The worst feeling is being on the edge of sleep. Close enough that if you hadn't been disturbed, you would have fallen asleep. But you kept getting disturbed. Whether it's an alarm or your neighbors screaming.

Or, in this case, a knock at the front door.

Yep, someone was knocking. And no one bothered to open the door. Or even get up, for that matter. So, seeing as I was not going to sleep now, I got up, got dressed, and headed downstairs.

Who was behind the door? That little shit who had me hogtied face-first in the mud yesterday! Olaf.

As tall as my hip, and yet an ankle biter. Charlie Bhoyse at least wore an emotionless facade. This little shit had a shit-eating grin the moment I opened the door!

"What?" I grunted.

"Where's great cousin Gwen?" He took off his newsboy cap and scratched his head. The kid's blonde hair was dirty.

"Hold on, I'll get her."

And then I not-so-gingerly shut the door and did an about-face.

I made it about halfway to my room before he started knocking again.

"What?" I asked after opening the door. Again.

"Can ya tell her that the clan dinner is this evening? I just got done informing everyone about

it."

"Sure."

Then I slammed the door. I had only just begun my turn when the knocking came again. I opened the door so fast Olaf's fist was still beating against the wood.

"Can you give me a second to-" Then I noticed the very arm Olaf was using to knock on the door was in a sorry shape. Bloody rags, covered in dirt and almost yellow. Then I realized his own shirt was in tears. He cannibalized his sleeves for bandages!

"Christ, kid! What happened last night?" I asked, pointing at his bandages.

"Wha- what did ya call me, ya furless incubus?"

At this point, I was taken aback. I was showing this kid I gave a shit for once, and here he was giving me lip. "I was asking if you wanted to get more hurt, you pint-sized cunt."

Olaf then donned his cap and raised his fists. It was like I was facing a middle school karate student. "I was going easy on ya yesterday. T'was holding back fa great cousin and me boys. I'll whoop ya ass so bloody the twins'll send me an angel for being such a good warrior!"

After being ignored, unable to sleep, and now my kindness being thrown back in my face, it's high time I realize I need to be grateful. Sure, I'm not religious. But if there is a god (or twins? If the sheep are correct), he at least blessed me with the perfect walking punching bag. So I changed my stance, readied a fist…

And then our tension was broken by an unexpected party.

“OLAAAAFF! OLAF? IS THAT YOU?”

It was the hollering of an old lady. Gouentine's mother, if I'm correct. Christ, Gouentine herself hasn't woken up already? Maybe I should check on her…

Facing upstairs, I was no longer in the way of Olaf. He took the chance and ran up the stairs. I followed. No longer was I eyeing to get petty revenge. Not around the elderly. Or the sick. Instead, I made my way towards Gouentine's room, the voices of her relatives becoming a whisper, allowing another noise to be heard: Snoring.

Peeking in from the hallway, Gouentine's room is a mess. Clothes of all sorts block the view of the blueish carpet and walls (walls decorated with what almost seems to be an archaic form of pink whales one would recognize in Nantucket clothes shops), dresses, pantaloons, corsets, and the weird leather ovals with metal bottoms that are their dress shoes, littering the way. But I don't see any panties or underwear. Not that I was going out of my way to find some. It's just something I noticed stepping the clothing and occasionally poking my foot at the masses.

Gouentine was past her bed, sitting half upright, leaning against what looks like a sink under a mirror, snoring hard and drooling on her dress. A brown one, wet and stained with mud.

A dress made of light enough fabric I could see through to her breasts. At least what is above them. No nipples. Instead, what appeared to be masses of… wool? Well, at least I learned she's got perky breasts without a bra.

With manners in mind, I tried subtly waking her up by coughing. "Ahem." When that didn't work, I said outright. "Hey, Beautiful. Good morning! Your cousin the cunt is here."

Her eyes opened up slowly, wide-eyed and green like jade plates. The only light source in the room was the purple lantern by her door. Her curtains were drawn over her windows. But it still seemed like her eyes reflected golden sunlight. She blinked once, stretched slightly, and looked down at herself. Then me. And then back to herself. And immediately covered her chest and stood up. "Guh-Get out! Out!" With the fury of a thousand housewives, she shoved me with one arm and then shut the door. "What about Olaf?" I said.

"I'll be out there in a moment!"

"He's injured!"

"BY THE TWINS! A MOMENT! PLEASE!"

At this point, I had to yawn. A busy day ahead, and already the morning was full of shit. I needed a smoke and a drink. I returned to my room to look for my cigarettes and lighter. I didn't bother to look inside the box to see how many I had left. The package was lightweight. Tapping it against my hand, I took the first stick. Taking a drag, it was the first time I'd tasted something from back home. Blueberries. I wonder if they have blueberries here.

I put the cig out and walked to Gwen's room, just in time for her to emerge. She was in a blue dress, a faded blue version of the missing one.

"Did you help him with his wounds?"

I raised my hands like I was surrendering. "You think he would let me touch him?"

That sounded better in my head. Felt worse when Gouentine's brow furled in anger once I said that. I gotta work on this whole guardian angel thing.

We burst into the mother's room, not unlike Guoentine's. There weren't clothes strewn throughout the room. There were several wardrobes opposite the bed, yet there was still the same amount of space. And the walls, a creamy egg white. Not much different from the color of the fur of the aging sheep lying in bed.

Back home, at least from the dogs and cats I'd seen, an old animal didn't get wrinkles. Yeah, bloodhounds were naturally wrinkled. And those weird hairless cats that the birds sing for were just walking wrinkles. But that was the breed's default. It didn't come with age. Animals just got slower, just got whiter fur when they aged. At least, what I had seen.

Now I was seeing, peeking over at least six blankets and propped up by a dozen pillows, an old sheep. Old. Wrinkles on her hoof-tipped fingers holding the covers. Wrinkles on her ears seemed to droop past the blankets into their own pile. Wrinkles under her golden eyes, stretching not over any muscle or fat. It was just straight skin on her skull, with her eyes half closed and surrounded by red veins.

Jesus, the elderly who looked like that were in their 90s. How old was this sheep? How old was she when she had Gwen? Christ, how old is Gwen?

Gouentine was by the bed where Olaf was kneeling. She held his arm out and undid the bandages.

"Ouch! Great Cousin~!"

"OLAF! Were you traveling at night? You need to be careful!" There was a mix of sorrow and anger in Gouentine's voice.

"I'm getting better at avoiding the wolviffs, Cousin." And that little shit was full of pride as he spoke. Even closing his eyes and holding his head high. All while Gountine had the bandages removed entirely.

"There's a chunk missing from your arm!" Well, I saw a single gash almost lengthwise on his right arm. Black and red, fur mottled in scabbing blood and brown dirt. Not like how I'd taken a digger off a dirtbike once into a tree.

"It just got cut hiding under a tree. Ow!" The billy winced and pulled his arm away from Gouentine as she touched it. "Twas able ta invite everyone in the family within the night."

"Twins." Gouentine shook her head. "Olaf, you're staying here to heal."

"What?"

But before Olaf could put an excuse, Gouentine's mom spoke. "Oh, come on, Olaf, why don't you spend time with your favorite auntie anymore? It's not often I get to talk to my family with how busy everything got after … after.."

"Fiiiiiine." Olaf relented, and Gouentine's mom smiled. I got a glimpse of black gums and yellow teeth. Human teeth almost, maybe a little bigger to fit the sheep's skull. But surprisingly in good shape, at least for a place without toothpaste.

Again I looked into her eyes, wide and pale, and I wondered how much she could see. Was she aware of my existence? I think I heard Gouentine speak to her. God, I have to hold in the urge to yawn.

"I'm bringing up some fruit and tea and a poultice for you, Olaf." Gouentine walked past me to go downstairs. And then I felt a shove from behind. "Angel, this is my mother. Mother, this is our angel."

"Splendid." From under the covers came the old sheep's hand. There was barely any fur on her arm, her skin drooping off in a big flab where her tricep would've been. I stepped over and just carefully put my fingers around hers. They were tiny, like blocks from a Jenga set. I didn't even move my arm when we shook hands. I just gently grabbed her fingers and nodded.

"A pleasure to meet you." I said.

She smiled again, and for a moment, I remembered my own parents. My own grandparents, too. The warmth that came from someone whose skin was so cold.

And then I felt cold.

Her arm went back under the covers. "I hope my daughter hasn't been too rough on you."

"MOTHER!" Yelled gouentine from downstairs. God, how good are these sheep's hearing?

Again the old sheep smiled, closing her eyes and nodding. "She means well. They always say she takes it from me. But my husband was always the angry one, yet always trying to please. I guess when you are so focused on making everyone happy, your own happiness goes…."

A wet, loud cough came like an explosion emanating from the old sheep's chest. Exactly like how my grandparents had coughed. Exactly like how my parents were beginning to cough. At least since the last time I'd seen them.

"Were you given a name?"

I struggled to remember. I wasn't going to give them my real name. At this point, I was an actor playing someone else. "Paedar."

The old sheep nodded. "Not what I would have given you, but it's a nice name."

I kept standing by the doorway, just offset. Didn't want Gouentine to bump into me when she returned. I was hoping for an excuse to go now. I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be the one with someone so wholesome and fragile. I am not a good person to be around the weak. I am just a corrupting influence around someone like her. She was a drag on my parade. An annoyance at worst. And the fact being in her presence annoyed me and made me feel like shit. I was a piece of shit, and the more I stood in this room with someone as good as her, the more I wanted to leave.

Olaf was sitting on the chair by the bedroom sink. His arm was outstretched, whatever facade he'd kept hiding his pain long gone. Clenching his teeth, Olaf's seething was the only noise besides the long, drawn-out breaths of Gouentine's mother.

Finally, Gouentine came through the door, pushing her cart. It was the same meal as yesterday, just larger. Bread, purple worms, and purple meat. Plus, wrapped in some kind of wax paper on the rack beneath the table was some sort of green and brown silk worm-looking thing. It didn't move as Gouentine picked it up and placed it on Olaf's wound.

"AH CRACK!" Yelled Olaf.

"Oh, quit being a baby," Gouentine said as she wrapped some fresh bandages over the weird thing, tightening it against Olaf's fur. "Should be clean when I return from the Mayor's office.."

"The Mayor? But wha about the gatherin tonight?"

"We'll be back in time!"

Gouentine turned to me, greeting me with the familiar sight of purple bags beneath her beautiful green eyes. "Angel, downstairs to the far right is my father's office. Open the door, and you should see everything we'll need for the Mayor."

"Alright." I started out the door before I stopped myself. "And if there's something I don't recognize?"

"Like?" She said, moving food onto plates.

"Well, what's in the room?" I leaned against the door frame and stifled a yawn. I wasn't the most professional looking at that point. It underlined how much I didn't want to be there.

"Well, when you open the door, you'll see a drafting cabinet. In the topmost drawers are the sketches." She pointed a butter knife at me. "Very carefully roll the sketches up and scroll them into one of the leather containers nearby. DO NOT touch the model, as I will be handling that."

"Alright."

Downstairs and to the right of the staircase was the door. It was as tall as me, with a big bronze door knob molded like a rose. Dust covered its carved face, wood etched with squares and diagonal lines in a pattern I couldn't recognize. Didn't look cheap. Certainly not as fragile as Gouentine's mom.

I'll stop making comparisons.

Opening the door, I was hit with stale air and dust. Right where she said it would be, there was the cabinet. The top drawer came out with a rusty squeak. Sure enough, there were papers in there. Couldn't see what was on them, what with the purple light from the cow-brained lantern sucking. So I took out all the documents and returned to the better-lit foyer.

In my sleep-addled state, I almost felt like falling over.

I couldn't read this shit. There weren't even legible numbers! The blueprints were for a beamy hull, like a dagger you'd cut out someone's heart with. She had a single mast and a boom stretching past her stern, like a child's drawing of a boat brought to life.

I knew gouentine was coming downstairs when I heard her say, "Goodbye, mother! Take care, Olaf!"

"CAN YA GET ME SOME LICQOURICE?"

Ignoring the cracking voice of the teenager, Gouentine brushed past me into her father's office. When she returned, she had a mass of fabric wrapping what I assume was the model and a leather tube, probably for carrying papers.

She bopped me in the army with the tube. "I am still rather mad at you."

"I can't read to tell if this is the right blueprint."

She took the paper out of my hands and scrutinized it. She pointed at a bunch of blocky shapes at the top. "'Cutter brig, smuggler type: The Evening Star.'"

"Cool. How can I build it if I can't even tell its dimensions?"

Again she read over the paper. Then she rolled up the paper and put it into the container. "95 feet long, 25 feet wide, 140 tons."

"Alright, alright." I took the container from her. This was interesting. I can understand her from eating a cow's brain. But I can't understand the writing. And the units of measurement are the same in this world as it was in mine. "You're going to have to teach me how to read while we're doing this job."

Gouentine sighed and opened the door. "The devil to pay and no tar hot. Is there anything else I must do while we're together?"

"Well, I would appreciate your attitude improving." Outside, it was overcast and windy. The path to town was riddled with puddles. I was about to start when I felt Ewe's finger digging into my back.

"And I would appreciate having my dress." She was pouting, trying to show how angry I had made her. "That dress was very important to me! So I would appreciate you being a tad more delicate concerning my feelings!"

Have I mentioned I was tired? I wasn't in the mood to argue. It was another day in this sheep-populated world, and I was again arguing with my host. Maybe things would've been better if I had gone with that Mayor. Maybe there's an opportunity once we get there. Until then, we have to get there, don't we?

Her hand was still pointed at me. I grasped it like it was something delicate. Her eyes went wide as I looked into them. I gave her a slight grin and nodded. "As you wish, Princess."

She snatched her hand away, her muzzle open as she grimaced in disgust. "Don't say that!"

And so Gouentine turned and stomped towards town. And I trailed her all the way to the Mayor's Office. I couldn't get the thought of her hand out of my head. The fur on her hand was soft. Like I was holding velvet. Funny. I wanted to hold her hand more.

We made our way downtown without saying a word. We passed by that saloon where I'd had my first meal. It looked likely now, with at least six patrons sitting on its porch. All of them were the Merno type, with twisty horns and pale faces. Enjoying drinks of different colors. Probably all alcohol, the lucky bastards.

Up ahead I heard Gouentine snarl. "Don't even think about it."

I can't even dream in this place.

The Mayor's building was in the center of town. It was two stories tall, made of red bricks, and even had a railing on its roof. Over every grey-glass window, of which there were about eight, an archway was formed with some kind of symbol in the keystone. The construction was like a red version of Dublin's capitol building.

We were greeted by a simple waiting room when we opened the front door. Benches on either side of a hallway leading to entries on the left and right walls. A desk was between these doorways. And nailed to the front of this desk was a giant wig. It was like a lion's mane of hair, brown with bluish dots. Reminded me of a whig for an animal out of a cartoon.

I was taken aback by this thing. I didn't even bother checking out the secretary. "What is that?"

"A cow's mane," Gouentine replied before she spoke to the secretary. This sheep had a rather masculine-looking face and almost black eyes. The only thing making her look female was the dress and the lack of horns. "Good morning. I hope you're having a pleasant day."

The secretary glanced up from her paperwork. She didn't even answer Gwen. Today was an excellent day if I wanted to see grimacing sheep.

Gwen took a deep breath and put her hands on the desk. “My name is Gouentine Broyne. Nice to meet you. I was requested by the Mayor to arrive today with my angel on matters pertaining to a shipwright position."

She received no verbal answer. Instead, the secretary's eyes returned to the paperwork as she pointed her quill to the right doorway.

"Thank you." Gwen huffed.

Through the left doorway, we found a set of stairs. Up those stairs, we walked right into what was a meeting room. A long room with paintings, several large windows, and a great big table that sat at least a dozen other sheep. Merno, Ronalsh. Some were well-dressed. Others were wearing rags. Tall, big, masculine-looking, and even that little tailor from yesterday. Was his name Ruuri?

And, of course, there was that bastard Charlie. Standing next to the head of the table. Hands in his pockets and no emotion on his face. That slick black sheep with his hair parted to the side. A slimeball if I ever met one.

"Ah," There was that voice. The deep, slow voice. The Mayor of this town. That other slimy bastard. "Good morning, Lady Broyne. A pleasure to have your company. If you and your angel would be so kind as to take a seat."

"Good morning, my Laird? Could I ask whom you have us in the company of?"

"Ah, well, my bailie, Mister Boyes here, had a great proposition." The Mayor raised an arm to Charlie. The kid straightened his back, still a blank expression on his muzzle. "Why let the mill rot while we wait for proper manning? No, instead, we'll have these craftsmen. Furniture builders, carpenters, masons…."

Ruuri stood on his chair and waved at us like a toddler begging attention.

"And tailors to work with you to build a pilot craft as a test of your leadership and building capability. Then these men will train the crew you bring in. All supplemented by the Boyes family's foundry, of course."

Gouentine turned to me, in her eyes what looked like the rage of a thousand suns. She did not want to be working with Charlie or anyone he suggested. She sat at the end of the table, and I stood by her. She undid the wax to reveal the half model, half a ship's hull against a plank. Back home, they're bar ornaments. Hung over doorways and toilets for eye candy. But in the past, and here, they were necessary references for shipbuilding.

"Anyways," The Mayor cleared his throat and snapped. "Bailie, get my tobacco. Angel, convince these men you're a shipwright."

And then everyone's focus shifted from Gouentine to me.

Here I was. Sleepless. Hungry. Craving another cigarette. In the company of no less than fifteen sheep. In the boarding room of a town that was like a goat imitation of Dublin. After being robbed and shot. All following a boat-maintenance bender. Being asked to prove that I knew how to build ships.

If there was ever a justification for my four years at a maritime academy, this was it.

So I took the half model out from in front of Gouentine (She went "Hey!" but I gave her a wink) and started selling the concept. What are the materials necessary for a ship? Where do they go? What tools do I need for carving out pieces? What do we do before we even put chisels to wood?

I was interrogating Charlie Boyse and the Mayor the whole time. Antagonizing them about what they had. What were they expecting? Measuring their reaction to time scales for every part of the job. Keeping track of their response to their lackey's reactions. I wasn't just selling my abilities. I showed those losers they had bitten off more than they could chew. Furniture builders and tailors can't just be made into framers and canvas men. I needed them to know what they're gonna be doing. And If they can't do it, I need someone who can. And hopefully, the people I did need were in Gouentine's family.

As the saying goes. The devil you know.

The whole time she was smiling. Gouentine entered this building like a quiet, grumpy wool rug. But as I spoke, she seemed to come back to life. It didn't just show on her muzzle with her smile. She started sitting tall and looking confident. Her eyes glistened like sunlight off the emerald shores. Her whole demeanor got better as I spoke. As I gave her hope.

This sail's found its wind.

"And that's why I'm the master builder." I pulled a chair, sat, and kicked my feet on the table. "Any questions?"

The room was silent. The Mayor's fat jowls were stuck in a permanent frown. Charlie Boyse was leaning against the wall in a corner, head bowed. Meanwhile, all the dozen sheep they had brought had a similar expression. 'What did we get ourselves into?' Not a word being uttered.

Then the Mayor broke the silence. "How much lumber will you need?"

I looked over my shoulder and whispered to Gouentine. "Can you write something down for me?"

Gouentine seemed mystified. "With that?"

I snapped and pointed at Charlie. "Hey, billy boy, get me some paper and something to write with."

He seemed to choke. "Why?"

"Well, in my culture, discussing financial matters verbally is impolite." Big words coming from me. Truth is, I had to do some math.

Charlie crossed the room and handed me a primitive pencil and some paper. I started doing my calculations, then ripped off a small piece. On it, I wrote the amount of lumber I would need. Then I handed it to Charlie, who took it to the Mayor.

"This is preposterous!"

"It's the truth."

Now it was the Mayor snapping at Charlie. "Bailie, take their blueprints and calculate the necessary lumber. Then order the materials necessary as well."

Charlie's face switched to his regular blank expression. "Yes, my laird."

Gouentine's gripped the blueprint roll to her chest. "I can't just let you have these."

Charlie now looked at his fingers. Like how a woman stares at her nails. "If it makes you feel any more secure, I can translate those blueprints into a more legible script for you."

I looked at my female host. She was torn. The last thing she wanted to do was give anything to Charlie. That was obvious. But I could tell the gears in her head were spinning. Did she really not want to teach me how to read? It would be convenient for both of us.

But I don't trust that slimeball as far as I could throw him.

Before she spoke, I coughed. "Return the blueprints as you got them. Don't do anything unnecessary."

As if to mock me, Charlie bowed. "As you wish."

Gouentine handed me the blueprint tube, and I gave it to Charlie. He shook the container. Satisfied with its contents, he said, "stop by my forge tomorrow, and you can have them back."

"Very well." The Mayor snuffed his tobacco and clapped. "Bailie. I want all the material here by Sunday in five days' time. I want the yeomen summoned after church and sent to the yard. I want the skeleton done by dinner."

What? I stood up. "Sir, finishing the ship will take longer than that."

"You have two weeks. Because in two weeks, our island will be visited by none other than his majesty, King Caelleth. And I am going to surprise him with a gift. That gift will either be this ship. Or you.”