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Cicchetto Manor had stood too long, its bones creaking with neglect, dust layered so thick on the balustrades that even the sunlight filtering through the cracked windows looked jaundiced and reluctant.
Giovanni moved through the foyer like a ghost testing his own haunting, each step uncertain, cautious, ears always straining for the next sound, habit born of years inside the Wishing Woods and Chigda’s dungeons. He’d told himself he didn’t care what Avicinda thought about this place, or about the chipped paint on the marble columns, the moth-eaten drapes, the glimmers of shattered blue glass embedded in the stairwell’s shadows.
But he did care.
He cared so much that the indifference choked him, catching in his throat every time he found the Faewish Sprite floating silently in a pool of cold light, blue skin mottled with starlit freckles, gaze unreadable, untouched.
Today, Avicinda’s presence pressed against him from the other end of the hallway, a floating, slow-moving shape with that impossible stillness only sprites possessed, white hair nearly glowing, eye so deep a blue it seemed bottomless. He hovered high above the tiles, arms crossed, mouth drawn into a line as sharp as any blade. Giovanni had learned, by now, how to read the moods Avicinda barely deigned to show. The set of his eyebrows, icy, severe. The sweep of his cloak, he wore his formality like armor, always ready to parry an emotional attack.
“Did you paint this yourself?” Avicinda asked at last, his voice as smooth and cold as lakewater at midnight. His gaze traced the Peppergem dog logo Giovanni had laboriously painted on the parlor wall, the bright yellow outline awkwardly cheerful amid the gloom. The image, a hound wearing a top-hat and bow, smug looking and head held high, behind it streak of purple comet-fire, stood out as if someone had carved hope straight into the manor’s heart.
Giovanni shrugged, one gloved hand twisting the blue sash at his waist. “Didn’t have a choice. Nobody else would help.” He tried for a laugh, but it caught, croaked, faded. “Thought it’d make the place look less like a mausoleum.”
Avicinda’s mouth twitched, more a recoil than a smile. “A loyal dog, eager for praise. That does suit you.” He drifted closer, white lashes lowered as he considered Giovanni, taking in every detail: the piercings, the tired set of his jaw, the insistence in his stance. “But I suppose it’s fashionable in Miraland to embrace one’s station. Peppergem. Super Styling Contest.” The words tasted like dust on his tongue.
“You know, you could join us.” Giovanni pressed, soft but insistent, shifting closer. “You’re not tied to Chigda’s shadow anymore. I know you’re busy, but…” His voice faltered. There were limits even to hope, and Avicinda’s coldness pressed against him like winter.
“I told you, these contests are for children and trend-chasers. I have responsibilities. Wishes don’t grant themselves.” Avicinda interrupted, tone crystalline with impatience
For a moment, silence stretched between them: long, taut, electric. Giovanni didn’t flinch from it. He’d learned not to. He let it spool out, lips quirking into a half-smile. “So you’re saying you don’t want to wear the uniform I designed for you? The one with the dog ears? I think you’d look good.” He was teasing now, reckless, playing with the flame just to see how hot it could get.
Avicinda’s gaze narrowed. “I think that's better fitting for the sort of treatment you want, isn't it? To be led about by the collar, eager for commands? I’d expect nothing less from someone so desperate to belong.”
The words stung, but Giovanni met them with a steadiness he’d earned through years of surviving both Faewish cruelty and human indifference. “And what about you?” He shot back, stepping closer. He could smell the faint, not-quite-natural ozone scent that seemed to cling to Avicinda’s skin, sharp as midnight. “If you’re not loyal to anyone but the dead, what are you, really? You just float above it all, untouched, unclaimed. Nobody to answer to, nobody to hold you to anything.”
Avicinda’s lip curled, half in contempt, half in something darker, uncertain, unspoken. He drifted lower, eyes locked on Giovanni’s. “That’s the freedom you envy. You want to be claimed, given orders, made useful.”
“And you want someone who’ll obey you without question. Someone to feed you devotion, like a Wishing Orb.” Giovanni’s hand trembled, but not from fear. He stood face-to-face with Avicinda now, chin raised, daring him to deny it. “Well, here I am. Take what you want.”
The air in the room changed. It thickened, shivered with something ancient and raw, as if all the old wishes once made in Cicchetto Manor had risen up, scenting blood. Avicinda reached out, fingers trailing just above Giovanni’s skin, never quite touching; testing the boundaries, savoring the power in the pause. When he finally closed the distance, the touch was barely more than a breath, but Giovanni’s knees nearly buckled.
“You always were the most obedient of the humans.” Avicinda murmured, words a caress and a command in one. His hand closed gently, inexorably, around Giovanni’s throat, not choking, just there, asserting presence, intent. “Do you want to prove it?”
Giovanni’s voice was hoarse, desperate with longing and defiance all at once. “Yes, tell me what you want...”
“On your knees.” Avicinda ordered, and Giovanni obeyed, slowly, without shame, boots thumping softly on the ancient carpet as he knelt. Avicinda circled him, gaze predatory, cold fire flickering in his gaze. For what they shared wasn’t akin to some silly contest logo or a joke among stylists; it was old as worship, primal as the ache inside Giovanni’s chest.
Avicinda trailed one hand along Giovanni’s jaw, tilting his head to expose the line of his throat, white hair falling in a silken curtain to brush Giovanni’s cheek. “If you’re going to play the dog, then you must learn what it means to serve. No questions, no hesitation.”
Giovanni’s heart thundered. He pressed his cheek to the back of Avicinda’s hand, mouth open, breath coming quick, soft, needy. “Command me… please…” He whispered, barely more than a gasp.
Avicinda’s voice dropped, rich and cool as shadow. “Open your mouth.”
Giovanni obeyed, and Avicinda smiled, slow and cruel and dazzling. He pressed his thumb to the bottom of Giovanni’s lip, tracing it, then pushing deeper, savoring the heat and the helplessness. “That’s it.” He purred, thumb moving in slow, deliberate circles. “Show me how eager you are. Let me see you beg.”
Giovanni sucked at Avicinda’s thumb, eyes fluttering closed, heat building in his cheeks. His tongue flicked along the pad, desperate for more contact, more praise, anything. He whimpered, the sound low and needy, and Avicinda’s answering chuckle was almost gentle.
“Pathetic…” Avicinda said, but his touch was anything but. He stroked Giovanni’s hair, petting him slowly, the motion strangely comforting even as it stoked the fire inside Giovanni’s belly. “You wear that logo, parade yourself as Peppergem’s loyal mutt, but here… on your knees, mouth open, hungry for command, you’re finally honest.”
Giovanni whimpered again, the sound half-embarrassed, half-exultant. Avicinda’s fingers traced his lips, then his jaw, then down his throat, leaving goosebumps in their wake. The room felt impossibly small, charged with want.
“You know what I want, Giovanni…” Avicinda whispered, voice soft as falling dusk. “And you want it too. You want to serve, to be praised, to be useful. So serve.”
Giovanni’s obedience was complete, unquestioning, desperate. He'd always let Avicinda lead him, guide him, claim him, every movement a wordless offering. His mind floated somewhere between worship and submission, the world narrowing to the heat of Avicinda’s touch, the steady cadence of his commands, the dizzying pleasure of being exactly what he was meant to be.
Above him, Avicinda’s eye glimmered, starlit and impossibly old. He bent, sly as scavenger at the edge of the wood, but something softer flickered in his gaze. For a moment he seemed to hesitate, then, as if bored with Giovanni’s eager, wordless compliance, he moved away, cloak swirling like a midnight cloud. “You’ve been busy, haven’t you?” He called, voice echoing faintly off the manor’s crumbling walls. “Running off to play with your little team. Peppergem’s loyal hound, straining at the leash.”
Giovanni watched him, breath slowing, still kneeling on the carpet. There was always a moment, in Avicinda’s presence, where reality seemed to slip sideways, where nothing in Miraland existed except the two of them, locked in their strange orbit. He licked his lips, nerves prickling, not daring to rise.
Avicinda vanished through the shadows of the hallway, trailing streak of starlight. A long minute passed before he returned, hovering just a hand’s span above the floor, one blue hand closed around something he kept hidden behind his back.
He said nothing at first, just watched Giovanni with that fathomless gaze, as if trying to decide whether Giovanni was worthy of whatever secret he now carried. At last, Avicinda let his arms fall to his sides and revealed what he held: a collar, unmistakably Faewish in its artistry.
It was a thing of dark, subtle beauty. The band was supple but strong, dyed so deep a black it shimmered with shifting violet and blue when the light struck it, a suggestion of starlight caught in leather. Fine silver filigree, delicate as frost, traced swirling patterns along its length, and the metal clasp at the back looked sturdy enough to bind a wish.
Dangling from the center, a cool, weighty nametag, etched with care: Giovanni.
The letters were sharp and graceful, unmistakably Avicinda’s hand.
Avicinda held it up between thumb and forefinger, letting it turn, letting the light play over it. “For all your efforts, I thought you deserved something to remind you of your… purpose.” His lips curled. “A little gift. Handcrafted, of course. No one in Stoneville could hope to manage work like this.” He moved closer, letting the collar dangle just out of Giovanni’s reach. “Do you want it?”
There was a glint of mockery, yes, but also something possessive, like a master taunting their favorite pet with a treat.
Giovanni’s mouth went dry. His heart pounded, desire and embarrassment tangling together so tightly he almost choked on them. He wanted it so badly the longing felt physical, a hollow ache behind his sternum, but he bit his tongue, fighting not to show how his hands twitched, how his eyes locked on the collar and refused to look away. He tried for composure, tried for nonchalance. “It’s… elaborate.” He managed, voice hoarse with effort. “Didn’t know you were so sentimental.”
Avicinda’s smile sharpened, knowing and cruel. “Oh, I’m not sentimental at all.” He purred, voice soft as velvet, deadly as night. “But you…” He moved again, floating just before Giovanni, collar poised between them. “You seem to crave belonging. You want to wear your loyalty. You want everyone at your contest to see you for what you are.”
He dangled the collar just above Giovanni’s head, silver tag swinging. “But only if you beg for it. Only if you admit you want to be collared, by me, for everyone to see. Or…” Avicinda drew the collar back a fraction, tilting his head, feigning indifference. “Maybe you’re not as eager as you pretend. Maybe you’re too proud. Is that it? You won't be my good boy?”
Giovanni’s cheeks burned, defiance and need warring in his chest. He tried to look away, tried to play it off, but he couldn’t help the way his breath caught, the way his hand rose, hesitated, then fell again, fingers curling uselessly in his lap.
He swallowed, throat working, finally whispering. “I want it.” And then, more steady, the old stubbornness glinting in his eyes. “But not if you’re just doing it to mock me.”
Avicinda’s fingers traced along Giovanni’s jaw, cold and sure, tipping his face upward. “Not to mock. To claim. If you want it, ask for it. Properly.”
Giovanni’s pride broke on the edge of Avicinda’s gaze. He knelt up taller, hands behind his back, voice a low, trembling plea. “Please… Avicinda. Let me wear it. Let me be yours. I want everyone to see.”
Avicinda’s satisfaction was palpable, a shimmering, hungry thing. He fastened the collar around Giovanni’s neck, his touch maddeningly slow, careful, fingers brushing skin. The clasp clicked with a cool, final snap, and the nametag settled against Giovanni’s throat, cold and heavy and perfect.
The sprite leaned in, lips brushing Giovanni’s ear, his whisper a brand: “Good boy. Now show me how much you love it.”
Giovanni, heart thundering, pressed his cheek to Avicinda’s knee, lips parted, trembling with gratitude and anticipation, every part of him alight with belonging, eager, at last, to be seen exactly as he was.
And still, Avicinda’s cool fingers lingered at the clasp, just a little too long, an old habit of cruelty and claim, but now threaded through with a strange, deliberate tenderness. The collar gleamed around Giovanni’s throat, iridescent and Faewish, a thing too beautiful to ever be mistaken for mercy.
“Funny…” Avicinda hummed, circling Giovanni as if assessing his handiwork, voice curling with lazy, wicked amusement. “It’s not the first time you’ve worn my mark, is it?” He let his magic stir, a pulse of Whim shimmering through the air, a faint breeze, the taste of electric midnight. “Back then, I could leash you with a thought. A whim, a flick of the wrist, and you were mine: bound, kneeling, perfectly obedient, whether you liked it or not.” His gaze flicked to Giovanni’s face, catching every telltale flinch, every flicker of remembered humiliation and hunger.
Giovanni tensed, lips twisting, the old anger and pride flaring up. “I didn’t have a choice-”
Avicinda cut him off, floating down to eye-level once more, fingertips gliding along the edge of the new collar, thumb stroking slow circles at Giovanni’s pulse. “Oh, but I always knew, deep down, you loved it.” His smile was all teeth, soft and cutting at once, voice pitched low so only Giovanni could hear. “You’d pretend to struggle. Snarl. But you’d always melt when I praised you, when I called you my clever boy, my good dog. You'd do anything for praise.” He paused, thumb pressing just a little firmer. “Just like now. All it takes is a word and you’re eager as ever.”
Giovanni’s cheeks flared crimson, jaw set in defiance, but the shiver that ran through him was pure, traitorous pleasure. “You… You’re full of yourself…” He tried to spit, but his voice faltered as Avicinda’s touch slid to his chin, tilting his head up so his new collar caught the light, glimmering like a starlit leash.
“Good boy.” Avicinda purred, letting the praise roll over Giovanni, slow and deliberate, as if rewarding a favored hound. “That’s it. Such a proud thing, but so easy to tame.”
Before Giovanni could protest further, Avicinda drew a new leash from behind his back, crafted with the same devotion as the collar, its leather gleaming, the silver hardware etched with swirling Faewish patterns, strong and impossibly beautiful. He clipped it to Giovanni’s collar with a soft metallic snick, fingers brushing the base of Giovanni’s throat in a possessive, almost comforting gesture.
“This one’s special. Handmade. For you.” The leash pulled, gentle but unyielding, and Avicinda straightened, floating backward up the first step. “Now, crawl for me. Down you go. On all fours, like you’re meant to be.”
A command, simple as breath. Giovanni’s breath hitched, pride tried to war with obedience, but the leash in Avicinda’s hand was a promise and a challenge both, and his body responded before his mind caught up. Knees pressed to the threadbare carpet, palms flat, he followed, movements awkward at first but quickly smoothing into a rhythm, the leash taut between them, leading him up the wide, echoing stairwell.
The manor’s silence was punctuated only by Giovanni’s crawling, the brush of his boots and hands against the faded runner, and Avicinda’s slow ascent, head held high, leash held like a scepter. Every few steps, Avicinda would look over his shoulder, white lashes shadowing that beautiful, deep blue eye, lips curling. “Good dog.” He’d murmur now and then, almost absent, but every time it landed like a spark, lighting something deep in Giovanni’s chest.
At the top of the stairs, Avicinda paused at the doors to the master suite. The scent of fresh wood and paint lingered beneath the manor’s ancient dust, and the air felt new, expectant. With a flick of his wrist, Avicinda opened the doors, light spilling across the newly-renovated chamber: the walls washed in cool twilight hues, windows clear, drapes swept back to reveal the endless, dreaming sky above Stoneville.
He led Giovanni to the center of the room, the leash still snug, and knelt, drawing Giovanni closer until they were nearly touching, searching his face for every twitch of emotion.
Shame, pride, anticipation.
“I thought you’d like it.” Avicinda said at last, releasing the leash but keeping his fingers tangled in the ring at Giovanni’s collar, holding him in place. “A proper room. Maybe now you’ll stay where you belong.”
And as Giovanni looked up, heart pounding, breath shaking with something wild and grateful and fierce, he realized he wanted nothing more than to remain exactly where Avicinda had put him: claimed, collared, wanted, and home.
Avicinda settled onto the newly made bed, every movement dripping with a slow, deliberate grace, robes pooling like midnight fog around him. The mattress barely dipped beneath his weight; a decadent, cloud-soft thing he’d chosen himself, clearly meant to impress. In this light, his skin gleamed with an ethereal blue, the white constellations of freckles across his cheeks throwing subtle reflections across Giovanni’s vision.
The leash remained taut between them, Avicinda’s fingers curled possessively around the handle. He regarded Giovanni with all the calm smugness of a prince on his throne, chin tilted, eyes hooded with anticipation.
“Come here.” His voice rich and laced with command, and Giovanni obeyed, crawling close until he knelt at Avicinda’s feet. The carpet was so thick it muffled his motions, and the air smelled faintly of Aromalilies and fresh linen, some indulgence Avicinda must have sourced from the Wishing Woods.
Avicinda gave the leash a gentle tug, smirk deepening. “Now then. Let’s see what Peppergem’s loyal mascot can do.” His tongue lingered mockingly on ‘mascot’, savoring every syllable.
Giovanni scoffed, rolling his eyes, but the tips of his ears burned crimson. “What, you want me to roll over? Beg for a treat? I’m not actually a dog, you know.” His voice was gruff, defensive, but his knees remained planted on the floor, eyes never straying far from Avicinda’s face or the glittering collar hugging his neck.
Avicinda only grinned, sharp and self-assured, one brow arching imperiously. “You’re not? Then why do you look so good on your knees?” He let the leash slacken, twirling it lazily between his fingers. “You’re clever, Giovanni, but you do get so tense. All that preening and performing in front of your little friends. I can practically taste your nerves when you come crawling back, tail tucked, after every meeting.”
His voice then dropped to a purr, each word curling through Giovanni’s resolve, tugging at old, well-worn pathways of want and obedience. “I know you’re stressed, little hound. I know what you need. So… indulge me. Do your tricks, and I’ll make it worth your while. I promise, I’ll see to it you get the relief you crave.” His tongue flicked over his bottom lip, gaze darkening with promise. “It’s your reward for being such a loyal pet. Isn’t that what you want? To be good for me?”
Giovanni tried to muster more protest, but something in Avicinda’s expression, a wicked tenderness, the certainty of someone who knew all his buttons, undid him. His pulse thudded in his throat, collar cool against hot skin. He swallowed, then shot Avicinda a glare, equal parts arousal and exasperation.
“If I do, you better not tell Aderinna I let you humiliate me like this.” Giovanni muttered, but he sank back on his haunches, hands curling into loose paws, shoulders squared in mock-pride.
Avicinda’s grin flashed wider, eye glinting. “There’s a good boy. Now, let’s start simple. Sit. Then… beg for me.”
Giovanni obeyed, raising his hands in front of his chest, wrists bent, fingers splayed, head tilted just so, humiliation and want mixing hot in his stomach. He fixed Avicinda with a narrow stare, but his heart pounded with anticipation. “Like this?”
“Mmm, yes. Now, give me your best bark.” The challenge in Avicinda’s tone was clear. Make it convincing, or else.
Giovanni’s pride stung, but the promise of relief tugged harder. He forced out a sharp, “Woof!” half-growl, half-laugh, as Avicinda clapped slow and mocking, his satisfaction evident.
“Very good. Now, roll over for me. Show me you remember how.” Avicinda’s tone was all silk and steel, unyielding, delighting in each bit of obedience.
Giovanni shot him another glare, cheeks blazing, but eased down, rolling onto his back at the foot of the bed, hands curled, gaze never leaving Avicinda’s. He held the pose, breath coming faster, everything in him tense with embarrassment and hope.
Avicinda made a thoughtful sound, tugging the leash to bring Giovanni upright again, face mere inches from his knee. “You’re a quick study, aren’t you?” he murmured, leaning in, white lashes nearly brushing Giovanni’s forehead. “Good dogs get rewards. And you, Giovanni, have been so very, very good for me tonight.”
He traced the edge of Giovanni’s jaw, fingers cool and sure, then hooked one beneath the collar’s ring, pulling Giovanni up so their faces hovered close, even his breath intoxicating and strange. “Tell me what you want, hound. Tell me how much you need your master’s touch.”
Yet Giovanni was silent, really, caught between humiliation and want, throat working as Avicinda’s fingers toyed idly with the leash ring beneath his chin. The new collar hugged his neck like a brand, the tag cool and heavy, a reminder of how real this all was, how easily he’d slid into the role Avicinda had always carved out for him.
He wanted to protest, to bite back with something clever and stinging, but all that came out was a ragged exhale as Avicinda’s gaze pinned him, dark and relentless.
“Well?” Avicinda prompted, voice low and unhurried, savoring the power in the moment. “Don’t play shy now. You can bark and roll over, but can you beg? Properly, this time.”
The words throbbed inside Giovanni’s head, tangling with the burn in his cheeks. He squeezed his eyes shut, tried to summon pride, failed. He could feel his own body betraying him, knees pressing deeper into the carpet, hands flattening in unconscious supplication.
All the years of surviving, of pushing back against faewish cruelty and the deprivations of captivity, and it was this, this intimacy, this humiliating comfort, that undid him.
He lifted his gaze at last, mouth parted, eyes shining in the soft lamplight. “Please, Avicinda…” Giovanni whispered, his voice a rasp, thick with longing and the ache of surrender. “Please. I’ve done everything you asked, haven’t I? I’ve been good. I… need you.”
A slow, delighted smile crept across Avicinda’s lips, his free hand sliding to cup Giovanni’s cheek, thumb tracing the line of his jaw, cool and firm. “See?” Avicinda crooned, tone teasing and indulgent. “I knew you had it in you. Even back then, you’d snap and snarl, but when it counted, you always knew how to beg.” He let the leash slacken a bit, fingers feather-light on Giovanni’s face. “You’re perfect, little hound. Absolutely perfect.”
He patted Giovanni’s cheek, almost patronizing, before using the leash to guide him forward, closer between Avicinda’s knees. Avicinda leaned down, face inches from Giovanni’s, his own pale lashes trembling with the force of his satisfaction. “Good boy, you’ve earned a treat.” He murmured, words as much a caress as a reward. Avicinda beckoned Giovanni up, but not to stand, never that.
“Come.” He commanded softly, patting his own thigh. “Up.”
Giovanni crawled forward, each movement sending a pulse of heat through his body, hands skimming the edge of the bed before Avicinda caught him by the collar and drew him up, chest pressing against Avicinda’s knee. The leash coiled loosely in Avicinda’s hand, the symbol of his mastery as real and unyielding as the touch itself.
Avicinda’s hand moved to the back of Giovanni’s neck, stroking slowly, almost possessively, as if smoothing down the hackles of a favorite pet. “That’s better. Let’s see if you can keep being good for me. Lie down. Head in my lap.”
Giovanni obeyed, twisting so that he stretched out on the bed, head pillowed against Avicinda’s thigh, face upturned. Avicinda ran his cool, slender fingers through Giovanni’s hair, nails raking gentle, electric lines across his scalp. Every touch was deliberate, every word calibrated to send a thrill down Giovanni’s spine.
“You carry so much tension here…” Avicinda murmured, massaging slow circles at Giovanni’s temples and jaw, then ghosting down to the sensitive skin at the edge of the collar. “All that performing for others. But here… you don’t have to pretend. Here, you’re just mine.”
Giovanni shuddered, exhaling a shaky, grateful sigh, sinking deeper into the mattress as Avicinda’s hand worked lower, tracing the lines of his throat, then his chest, each touch slow, drawing out the anticipation until it bordered on agony. “Avicinda…” He whispered. “Please-”
Avicinda silenced him with a finger across his lips, eye glinting with a mischievous, indulgent light. “Patience. Dogs who rush their treat don’t get seconds. You want to be my good boy, don’t you?”
Giovanni nodded helplessly, breath coming quicker now as Avicinda’s touch drifted lower, teasing at the hem of his shirt, fingertips cold and sure. Every sensation sharpened: the snugness of the collar, the brush of Avicinda’s hair against his cheek, the delicious, shame-tinged vulnerability of being so thoroughly seen, owned, and, finally, cherished.
Avicinda’s touch in Giovanni’s hair was a slow, deliberate indulgence, fingertips ghosting through the silver strands, occasionally tightening just enough to remind Giovanni who truly held control here. The hand on the leash remained steady, a gentle but unbreakable anchor.
And Avicinda’s voice, quiet, almost dreamy, with just that edge of taunt, spilled out in the hush of the master bedroom, the words intimate and inescapable. “You know, I used to wonder how far you’d go for a little praise. Back in the Wishing Woods, in that cage, you’d do anything for me, wouldn’t you?” His thumb swept across Giovanni’s scalp, not unkind, but undeniably patronizing. “Whenever I passed, you’d be the first to kneel. The first to offer some pathetic scrap of information about your fellow humans. Always so eager to be seen as the good one. The obedient one.”
He smiled, almost fondly, as if remembering a favored pet’s clever trick. “All those nights you’d sneak glances at me, hoping I’d notice you. If I so much as glanced your way, you’d practically purr. You remember, don’t you? How you’d rat out the others; tell me about their plans, their complaints, just for a pat on the head or a kind word.” His voice dipped lower, teasing, “You would have kissed my foot in front of everyone, if I’d asked. Sometimes I think you wanted me to.”
Giovanni’s cheeks burned hot, indignation and mortification twisting in his gut. He bristled, starting to push back. “That’s not- You’re twisting things, I-”
But Avicinda only laughed, soft and delighted, fingers never ceasing their lazy strokes. “And the way you took it, when the Paladins talked down to you. The way you blushed, shrank in, didn’t even argue back. Sometimes I wondered who you wanted approval from more, me, or them. All those cruel words, and you’d just melt. I think even Chachada enjoyed saving his best insults just for you, just to see that look in your eyes.”
Giovanni opened his mouth again, searching for a retort, but the words died in his throat. He could still feel the echo of those old humiliations, the way Avicinda’s approval had felt like the only warmth left in the world, the way every cruel word from a paladin had seemed to burn and comfort him in equal measure. It was true, wasn’t it? Even now, with his freedom, the collar, the leash, he was still chasing that same rare, dazzling flicker of praise.
He managed a faint, hoarse: “I didn’t- You made it so there was nothing else. You… you were the only thing left…” Yet even that sounded thin, uncertain. The sting in his eyes wasn’t anger now, but shame, and something more vulnerable, something like relief at finally being seen for what he was.
Avicinda’s smile grew gentler, almost sweet, but his grip in Giovanni’s hair was firm. “There’s my good boy. Still can’t help it, can you?”
Giovanni tried to lose himself in Avicinda’s touch; the slow, circling strokes through his hair, the rhythmic, absentminded petting that made him feel cherished and utterly vulnerable at once. But the anticipation grew sharp and urgent, a heat curling in his belly that left his breath shaky and his muscles taut. He couldn’t keep still; even as Avicinda’s long fingers traced idle patterns along the edge of his collar, Giovanni’s hips lifted in slow, instinctive arcs, desperate for more friction, grinding against Avicinda’s thigh with an unspoken plea.
He let out a quiet, helpless whine, the sound bubbling up from his throat before he could stop it, high and needy, barely human, utterly transparent. He pressed himself closer, the soft whimper repeating as he tried to gain some relief, only for Avicinda to still him with a single, unimpressed glance.
Avicinda scoffed, the sound all icy amusement and smug superiority. “Look at you…” He drawled, shaking his head with theatrical disappointment. “So desperate, so shameless. It seems my mutt’s gone into heat.”
His words sent a fresh pulse of humiliation and longing through Giovanni, who flushed even deeper, mouth opening and closing uselessly, wanting to protest but unable to form words. Avicinda simply smirked, brushing Giovanni’s hair from his eyes, letting his gaze linger, predatory and indulgent.
“Honestly, Giovanni. You really are a handful, always so quick to beg, so eager to rut against me the moment I give you a little attention.” Avicinda leaned forward, his lips ghosting against Giovanni’s ear, voice dropping to a velvety whisper, “Is this what you wanted all along? To mounted me like a proper hound? Hm?”
Giovanni shivered, hips canting again with a needy, instinctive thrust. He whined again, soft, imploring, so honest it made Avicinda’s smirk soften into something almost fond. For a moment Avicinda just watched him, savoring the sight: Giovanni sprawled out, collared and leash still wrapped in Avicinda’s fist, every line of his body straining for permission, for contact, for belonging.
At last, Avicinda gave the leash a sharp tug, making Giovanni look up, eyes wide, lips parted, every inch of him quivering with anticipation. “If you can behave yourself…” Avicinda intoned, fingers grazing Giovanni’s jaw. “I’ll allow you to mount me. But you’ll do it properly, or I’ll leash you to the bedpost and make you wait until you’re begging like an animal.”
He shifted, settling back against the pillows, one leg drawn up, opening his arms in a gesture of invitation and control. “Come here, mutt. Show me just how badly you want it.”
Giovanni crawled up, knees digging into the soft mattress, hands braced on either side of Avicinda’s hips. The hunger was in every line of his body, his breath coming quick and ragged, need spiraling higher now that the permission had been granted. He paused, seeking Avicinda’s gaze, desperate for a last thread of approval.
Avicinda reached up, twining a hand in Giovanni’s hair, guiding him down for a hungry kiss, breath mingling, tongues meeting in a mess of urgency and restraint. “Easy…” Avicinda breathed against his lips, smirk returning as he nipped lightly at Giovanni’s lower lip. “I’ll let you have me. But you do as I say. Understood?”
Giovanni nodded, throat dry, another quiet, needy whine escaping him, submissive and eager, all pride stripped away by the relentless, aching need for Avicinda’s touch.
“Good boy.” Avicinda purred, voice rich and triumphant, one hand gliding down Giovanni’s spine, guiding him closer, “Now mount me, slow, obedient. Let me feel how much you’ve missed me.”
Giovanni’s movements turned frantic, heat flushing every inch of his skin as he tugged open the buttons of his blouse with shaking fingers, the soft linen slipping away to expose the lines of his chest. Boots thumped to the floor, pants shucked in an uncoordinated blur, he was stripping down to bare skin, urgency overwhelming any thought of self-consciousness, the need in him coiling tight and bright until his breath came in ragged gasps. The collar at his throat, still cold and perfect, seemed to burn.
Avicinda watched, head cocked, lips quirked in a lazy, unhurried smirk. He undid the fastenings of his own elaborate robe, white hair spilling over his narrow shoulders as the fabric slid away. He was smaller, so much smaller than Giovanni, body lithe, almost weightless, the faint constellation of white freckles glowing against blue skin. Avicinda shed his robe with a bored flick of the wrist, barely sparing a glance for where it tumbled off the edge of the bed.
Their eyes met, a moment of raw, silent acknowledgment, and Giovanni’s pulse hammered. He leaned down, nuzzling along Avicinda’s jaw, hands smoothing over his slender waist, savoring the contrast in size, the delicacy of the sprite’s frame beneath his hands.
“Careful, hound.” Avicinda taunted, a low, breathless laugh slipping from his lips as Giovanni maneuvered him to all fours, Avicinda’s knees sinking into the plush mattress. “Don’t get too eager, else I'll take away your new toy.”
Giovanni groaned, the sound somewhere between a plea and a growl, fumbling for the small vial tucked into his discarded jacket, a sleek product, slick and glistening in the lamplight. He squeezed a generous amount into his palm, the cool gel sending a shiver up his spine, and leaned over Avicinda, pressing a lingering kiss to the juncture of Avicinda’s shoulder and neck. “I’ll be gentle…” He promised, voice hoarse and thick with need. “Just- fuck, I’ve wanted this-”
His words broke off as he spread the lubricant over and inside Avicinda’s entrance, fingers slow, careful, working in the chill gel until Avicinda arched beneath his touch, a shudder running through the sprite’s small body. Giovanni stroked slow circles, murmuring reassurance, but his own control was rapidly fraying, his hips rutting helplessly against the air, desperate to sink into the heat of Avicinda’s body.
Giovanni braced himself, palms spread wide at either side of Avicinda’s narrow waist, breath coming in hungry, uneven gasps. He pressed the head of his cock to Avicinda’s entrance, the cool lube giving way to unrelenting heat. Avicinda arched his back, wings of white hair spilling down, glancing back over his shoulder, eye shining, mouth slack with anticipation and authority.
With a slow, steady push, Giovanni sank inside, his vision swimming at the impossible tightness, every muscle trembling as Avicinda’s body stretched around him. A guttural groan slipped from Giovanni’s lips, deep and ragged, hips stuttering as he forced himself to go slow. “A-ah- Avicinda… you’re-”
Avicinda’s own cry was higher, biting off with a hiss, the stretch making his toes curl, nails scraping at the plush comforter. “You’re so- big, you brute…” He gritted, voice cracking between pained pleasure and laughter. “You’d better, ngh, hold that leash tight, mutt, or I’ll have to train you all over again.” Yet his grip only strengthened, leash snapping taut, a living thing between them. He yanked Giovanni closer, hips rocking back, taking him deeper, determined to command even as his own body shuddered, overwhelmed by the fullness.
Giovanni’s restraint wore thin under the dual onslaught of heat and command, hips rutting slow and shallow at first, fighting the urge to simply claim, to breed, to give in to the animal ache driving him. Every thrust was a promise; I’ll be careful, I’ll worship you, I'll be your good boy, and I’ll give you everything, even as his body shook, barely able to hold back from claiming, devouring, belonging completely.
“Don’t- get sloppy now-!” Avicinda bit out, breath hitching as Giovanni bottomed out. “My mutt has to earn his reward, move, Giovanni, fuck me properly… show me you can listen to a simple command.” His hair fell forward, wild and gleaming, starlight scattered on blue skin, every muscle in his back and shoulders taut, trembling with the strain of taking Giovanni so deep.
Giovanni let out a desperate moan, hands locked around Avicinda’s hips, thrusting with long, careful strokes at first, then harder as Avicinda’s body relaxed to welcome him, gasping with every push.
Avicinda’s grip on the leash never faltered; he used it to pull Giovanni in, grinding back into every thrust, demanding more, voice gone breathy and imperious. “Harder- don’t you dare stop-! My good boy, such a good hound, making me take all of you, let them all see who you belong to, ahh-!”
Their rhythm grew wild, Avicinda commanding, body moving to meet Giovanni’s, gasps and cries mingling in the close air of the master bedroom, the leash a living line of power. Each thrust drove them both higher, the ache of years of tension, captivity, and longing burned away in every desperate, rutting movement, until all that remained was sweat and heat and the music of their voices:
“Avicinda, please, gods! So tight, so-!”
“Yes, yes, that’s it, good boy, give it to me, let go, let me feel you!”
Avicinda’s command rang in Giovanni’s ears, sharp as a leash-tug, breathless and fierce, but Giovanni didn’t surrender. Not yet. The words, the raw edge of praise, made him desperate to please, to push himself past the edge of obedience, to become the good hound Avicinda demanded, to impress, to tease, to draw this out and bask in the fevered ache of belonging.
Instead of letting go, Giovanni groaned, grit his teeth, and held himself there, buried deep inside Avicinda’s yielding body, every muscle trembling with restraint. The leash was tight in Avicinda’s fist, pulling Giovanni closer, keeping him right at the sweet brink, but Giovanni resisted, his hips grinding in deep, slow circles, deliberately denying both of them release.
Avicinda felt the defiance and snapped the leash taut, a jolt running up Giovanni’s spine, but the human only panted, tongue lolling, mouth open in a hungry, canine whimper. Avicinda barked a short laugh, half-exasperation, half-appreciation. “Oh, so my mutt has a little willpower left? What’s… gotten into you, hound? Or do you just want to show off for your master?”
Giovanni let out a low, throaty whine, rutting lazily, savoring the friction, his lower chest pressed to Avicinda’s back, every inch of skin alight. “Just want to make you proud, Avicinda. Want to be a good boy for you. Tell me what you want… anything-!”
Avicinda grinned, baring perfect white teeth, eyes wild and predatory, all trace of composure gone. “Anything? Then beg. Beg for it, mutt.” He gave the leash a quick, insistent tug, using it to guide Giovanni, forcing him to move, short, shallow thrusts, the leash dictating pace, Avicinda’s hips pushing back to meet him, stoking the tension, making Giovanni work for every inch.
“Beg for your treat,” Avicinda crooned, voice a purr, rolling his hips, letting Giovanni feel the way he clenched around him, just enough to send Giovanni’s resolve trembling. “Show me how much you want it. Beg. Now.”
The command was clear, and Giovanni obeyed without hesitation. He whined, desperately trying to thrust but stopped short still by that leash. “Please, please, please, let me have you… let me breed you, let me mark you, let me show everyone whose hound I am!”
Avicinda’s breath came in ragged gasps, his back arching, the leash held high and tight, a symbol of submission and pride. “Good boy… such a good hound, needy and eager and all mine…” Avicinda flexed back, pressing himself closer, thighs trembling, letting Giovanni feel just how much he craved this display.
Not letting Giovanni rest, Avicinda tugged the leash, guiding him down, forcing Giovanni’s chest to the mattress, pinning himself in place under the human, the angle shifting deliciously as Giovanni rutted against him, tongue out, whining, rutting and humping in desperate, eager thrusts. “Pant for me. Louder. Let everyone in Stoneville who listens know who you belong to.”
Giovanni’s voice came out in broken, eager barks. “Hah, ahh, Avicinda… your good dog, please, please…need you…” His hands clutching the bedding, ass flexing with each rolling thrust, sweat beading on his brow, every muscle burning with the effort to hold back, to draw this out as long as Avicinda wished.
Avicinda relished the control, voice tightening with delight as he alternated sharp tugs and soothing strokes along Giovanni’s arms, running fingers under the collar, sometimes reaching up and toying with the tag, letting it jingle. “That’s it… crawl for it. Hump me like the dog you are. Show me what those Peppergem stylists would die to see… my hound, rutting and begging for permission to cum.”
Giovanni’s mind spun, the humiliation and devotion cresting into pleasure, thrusts growing erratic, the leash now looped behind his head, Avicinda holding him captive, forcing his movements. Avicinda braced himself, using his smaller size to direct, to order, to keep Giovanni desperate and obedient.
The room was filled with wet, needy sounds, slick thrusts, the jingling of the tag, Avicinda’s breathless commands, Giovanni’s pleading barks and moans, until both of them were quaking, the tension strung so tight it was almost unbearable. Still, Avicinda refused to grant permission, teasing and goading with every word:
“Not yet, mutt. Beg harder. Roll over, show me your belly, let me see how much you need it.”
Giovanni, desperate, whined and pulled out, flopping onto his back, the leash going slack as he rolled over, legs spread, cock flushed and leaking against his stomach, panting like he’d run for miles. Avicinda straddled him, planting himself down, grinding, hair spilling around them both as he rode Giovanni’s hips, holding the leash taut and watching with hungry satisfaction.
“Now, bark for me. Beg. Tell your master what you need, and maybe, maybe, I’ll let you finish.”
Giovanni barked, eyes wild and glassy, voice trembling, “Please! Need you, want you, want to cum so… so bad, want you to own me, fuck, please… please…"
Avicinda leaned down, hair curtaining their faces, hand sliding from the leash to cup Giovanni’s jaw, eyes blazing with pride and want. “That’s my good boy. That’s my perfect mutt. Now, cum for me. Mark me.”
And when he did, the sound Giovanni made was a broken, helpless howl, hips bucking, pleasure flooding him as Avicinda rode him through every shaking, shuddering spasm, the leash still tight in his master’s grip, both of them lost in the wild ecstasy of belonging, master and hound, power and surrender, love in every humiliating, glorious, perfect moment.
Yet Avicinda himself didn’t slow, if anything, the moment Giovanni broke, the sprite rode him harder, small hips snapping down with a sharp, hungry rhythm that made Giovanni’s entire body buck and shudder beneath him. Giovanni’s climax raged through him in waves, thick and hot, spilling deep inside Avicinda’s tight, trembling body, but Avicinda held him down, pressed him flat to the mattress with one small hand planted firmly on Giovanni’s heaving chest.
“Don’t stop… don’t you dare stop…" Avicinda gasped, voice fraying at the edges, each word punched out on breathless little moans as Giovanni’s hips jerked involuntarily, oversensitive but still thrusting, desperate to keep up under Avicinda’s unrelenting pace. The leash tightened again, sharp, commanding, delicious.
Giovanni whimpered, a broken, high sound. his hands gripped Avicinda’s thighs, trying to steady him, but Avicinda only pushed harder, white hair whipping like streamers of starlight.
“Good… just like that, just, hah, keep going, hound… keep-!” Avicinda choked out, head tipping back, voice trembling with the crest of pleasure building in his stomach.
His body clenched around Giovanni with a sudden, sharp spasm, a cry ripping out of him, high, startled, utterly unrestrained. Giovanni felt it, every fluttering squeeze milking the last pulses of his orgasm, sending a fresh jolt of pleasure through him as Avicinda came undone.
Avicinda’s climax hit him like a shockwave, his whole body bowing, trembling, thighs tightening around Giovanni’s hips as he spilled across Giovanni’s stomach in hot, slick ropes, fingers digging hard into Giovanni’s chest. He rode it out in frantic, needy movements, whimpering Giovanni’s name under his breath, the leash slackening at last as pleasure overtook control.
Giovanni couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. He just held Avicinda’s shaking body as the sprite’s orgasm pulsed through him, warm and overwhelming, blue skin flushed dark as twilight, freckles glowing faintly like constellations in motion.
Avicinda slumped forward at last, panting, boneless, collapsing against Giovanni’s chest with an uncharacteristic softness. Giovanni’s arms came up instinctively, cradling him close, still shivering with aftershocks, the scent of sweat and Aromalilies thick in the newly renovated bedroom.
The leash slipped from Avicinda’s fingers, falling across Giovanni’s collarbone, cool metal against burning skin. Avicinda nuzzled into Giovanni’s throat, breath steadying, voice dropping to a low murmur that carried none of his earlier cruelty, only satisfaction, possession, and something dangerously close to affection.
“…Good boy.” He whispered, barely audible.
Giovanni closed his eyes, hand stroking down Avicinda’s spine as he held him, both of them trembling, wrapped together in the warm ruin of the moment, spent, sated, and for the first time in years, quietly, undeniably whole.
The Peppergem camp was a riot of color and organized chaos, a canvas of purples, yellows, and flashes of metallic silver catching in the Miraland sun. Banners fluttered between tent poles, gemstones glinting in piles of fashion detritus, and every corner seemed to host someone sewing, sketching, or arguing about the placement of a single rhinestone ,whilst one particular employee simply wanted to spin a sign better than anyone ever could.
For Giovanni, who still felt the aftershocks of his night with Avicinda thrumming in every muscle, the creative noise was almost comforting.
Almost.
He moved through the bustle, fingers absently tracing the collar at his throat, the cool weight of the tag a constant, private reminder of what he’d become and whom he belonged to. He’d tried to hide it at first, tucking it under his shirt by buttoning it all the way up, but the way it pressed into his skin only made him more conscious of it, of Avicinda’s hands buckling the clasp, of the leash tugging him down and back. So today, he wore it openly, daring anyone to comment.
He found Aderinna in the heart of the camp, flanked by swathes of pleated fabric, members of Peppergem ducking in and out of the perimeter. She was impossible to miss; tall, poised, striking in her armor of cool darkness, red-eyed gaze like a blade under her thick, choppy bangs. She was bent over a spread of swatches, white hair falling like a curtain as she consulted with a nervous stylist, then looked up, sharp as a hawk, when she spotted Giovanni.
“Well, if it isn’t our Giovanni” she teased, voice low and rich with amusement. Her eyes flickered over him, lingering on the collar with a predator’s curiosity. “Look at you, finally getting adventurous, huh? That’s a serious piece. Come here, let me see what kind of statement you’re making.”
Giovanni stiffened, caught off-guard by her directness. He rolled his shoulders back, trying to act nonchalant, though the collar seemed to grow heavier as she leaned in. “It’s, uh, just a new thing I’m trying. Bit of an edge, you know?” He shot her a tight smile, praying she’d let it slide.
But Aderinna was nothing if not thorough. “And there’s engraving? Mind if I-?” She leaned even closer, her fingers ghosting along the cool band before he could step away.
He coughed, shifting back just out of her reach, hands up in gentle protest. “Sorry, I can’t stay long, Aderinna. Still have some… errands to run. Next contest round’s not going to plan itself, right?” He tried to laugh, but it came out thin, awkward, too close to nervous.
Aderinna watched him, a knowing glint in her red eyes, lips curving into a wry, black-lacquered smile. “Busy boy. You’re looking flustered, you know. Don’t tell me someone’s finally tamed our stray.” Her words were light, teasing, but there was an edge of honest curiosity beneath it, she always saw more than he wanted to reveal.
Giovanni shifted his weight, reaching to straighten the sash at his waist. “Something like that…” He muttered, glancing at the ground, suddenly aware of how the tag clinked softly with every breath.
Before Aderinna could needle him further, a burst of laughter erupted nearby, shrill and delighted. Someone, one of the younger stylists, was kneeling in the grass, fussing over Fluffy, the spoiled little Floof. The tiny dog’s coat was brushed to a ridiculous, cloudlike volume, bows tied behind his soft ears.
“Who’s a good boy? Sit! Good boy, Fluffy! Beg! C’mon, give me a little bark, yes, that’s it, such a clever boy!”
Giovanni felt the command as if it had been aimed at him, a jolt straight down his spine. His muscles tightened, every instinct honed by the night before suddenly roaring awake: kneel, beg, roll over. The memory of Avicinda’s leash tight on his throat, the way those icy fingers had praised and owned him, was still raw and electric, lingering like a bruise.
He clenched his jaw, squeezing his fists to keep from reacting, fighting the instinct to drop to his knees and obey, to show off his tricks for approval. He forced a laugh, stepping away from Aderinna as Fluffy yipped and pranced for treats, the other stylists clapping and egging the little dog on.
Aderinna arched a brow, noting his sudden distance, the odd tension in his frame. “You alright, Giovanni? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Or are you just jealous Fluffy’s getting all the attention?” She teased, flashing a grin as she momentarily glanced back at a new sketch brought to her.
He shook his head, heat prickling behind his ears. “Nah, just got a lot on my mind. You know how it is…new routines, new styles, whole new leash on life.” The words tumbled out before he could stop them, and for a second, he saw realization spark behind Aderinna’s eyes.
She laughed, low and sharp, stepping back into the camp, her presence as bold and dangerous as always. “Well, don’t let your leash get tangled. Peppergem’s counting on you to win, and maybe, next time, you can show me some of those new tricks you’ve picked up.”
Giovanni only managed a crooked grin, heart pounding as he slipped from the camp’s bustle, one hand never leaving the collar at his throat, feeling every command, every memory, echoing in the shape of his new life, so much so he barely noticed another visitor approaching him.
Giroda arrived with the gentle rustle of leaves that always followed him, a soft green shimmer floating around his small form, his white hair braided with vines and tiny blossoms, clearly something done by Nonoy in their downtime. He hovered eye‑level with Giovanni, holding a round, golden Delicious Orb in both hands. It glowed faintly like a lantern fruit, warmth pooling in its center.
“Giovanni!” Giroda greeted, voice lilting and soft. “I brought what you asked. You’re sure you needed one? Avicinda can get these much easier than you can.”
Giovanni accepted the orb, rolling it gently in his hands. It felt warm, pleasant. “I know. But he’s been helping me nonstop with the manor repairs. Figured I’d… bring something back for him.”
Giroda blinked, eyes bright violet, freckles sparkling like dew in the sun. “You know, you could just make a wish yourself. Humans do that, remember?”
Giovanni shrugged, stuffing the Delicious Orb under his arm. “Not really the wish‑making type anymore.”
“Right…” Giroda murmured, tone lilting with amusement. “Well, I’m just glad you and Avicinda are getting along these days! You two were so tense before. Now you’re… uh… very… ” his eyes dropped to Giovanni’s collar. “…close.”
Giovanni stiffened.
Giroda drifted nearer to inspect it, head tilting with innocent curiosity. “That’s Faewish craft. Very much so. Those engravings… those patterns… Giovanni, is that-?”
But Giovanni was already turning away, muttering something vague about running errands, steps quick and a little too pointed. Giroda blinked after him, baffled.
“Well… they’re definitely close now…” He whispered to himself, drifting off in a swirl of light.
Giovanni walked fast, almost ran, back toward the outskirts of Stoneville, heart pounding, the collar warm against his throat as the sky shifted toward evening. The Delicious Orb weighed heavier with every step, like a gift held between teeth. The closer he got to Cicchetto Manor, the stronger the pull became, not fear, not embarrassment, but a molten anticipation curling low in his belly.
Because he knew Avicinda would be inside. Waiting. And he knew exactly what that collar meant to him by now.
The manor’s windows glowed faintly, shadows moving inside, floating shadows, unmistakably Avicinda’s. Giovanni’s breath quickened.
He stepped through the creaking doors. The orb nestled in his hand like a peace offering, or an invitation.
Avicinda glanced up from the newly repaired banisters, eye catching the lamplight, stars in a midnight sea.
Giovanni swallowed.
Avicinda’s gaze dipped to the collar. Then the leash ring. Then Giovanni’s flushed face.
Slowly, deliberately, the Faewish Sprite floated toward him, a smile creeping across his lips: hungry, knowing, possessive.
“Oh? And what has my little hound brought me now?” His voice curled around Giovanni like silk and smoke.
Giovanni didn’t answer. He couldn’t. The collar felt too tight. His knees felt too weak.
Avicinda’s fingers slid under the ring, lifting Giovanni’s chin. “Good boy.”
The orb fell from Giovanni’s hand onto the nearest table with a soft thud.
A moment later, the manor echoed with sounds the walls had long forgotten, fierce, breathless, unmistakable. Giovanni’s barked cries pressed into Avicinda’s soft, delighted moans, the slap of skin, the rattle of the leash, the rough slam of bodies against new wood, bedframes, walls, each sound heavy with devotion and desire.
And long into the night, past midnight, past exhaustion, the manor trembled with the proof that Giovanni had returned home to his master again.