Adamion steps back from Fern and Miaren, and the attendants descend.  A pair of them each gathers up Fern and Miaren's arms, moving fluid and firm to gather them to their feet.  Two more behind each woman observes with all the lethality of drawn weapons.  Adamion addresses them idly as he slides a lithe finger reflectively along the recumbent coil of his slickened penis.<br/><strong><br/>"Make sure the tall one is nourished again before tonight.  Otherwise, just observe."</strong><br/><br/>And he observes - observes with a piercing stare - as Miaren and Fern are led away, down a wending, fine stone path, to a building on the rim of the Garden.  That glare leaves a fresh penetration.<br/><br/>Miaren finds the guidance of the celestial elves to be troubling.  Though they walk as if on a bridge of air, even the subtle motion of their step jiggles her bound breasts.  The leather cords wrapped about the base of her breasts have the effect of summoning blood in curious, thick currents to fill the orbs while refusing it any release.  Swelling has begun, making the flesh expand excruciatingly with the trapped and tumbling blood.  Dark rose hues prickle at her nipples as they are lifted high, and the skin is made glossy as though painfully vulnerable to the tenderest touch.  There is one mean mercy: Whatever ointment they rubbed into her, allows that skin to stretch and that flesh to grow in its engorgement.  There are few broken vessels, no splitting or bruising.  Miaren's breasts instead expand, high and hard with feeling, bulging a tiny bit more with each heartbeat.<br/><br/>And in deeper places within her - in her mind - the uncanny solvent of what she licked from Fern continues to wet the fetters of her rational mind, making thinking sticky and slow, save for the raw, urgent impressions of bestial awareness.<br/><br/>The building they are led into is a large courtyard with flat, towering walls.  It has fluffy tuffets of grass, piled around flowerbeds like frothing rainbow.  Cool water stands crisp as glass in shallow lagoons.  Sun bakes down as though through a lens.  It is a little scrap of idyll, and here Miaren and Fern are deposited, shut behind a featureless gate without apparent lock.<br/><br/>With them - with the languid drift of flower fragrance and the stab of sunlight - they sense another presence: Some sharp, animal odor of bitter feathers, musky fur and spicy perfume.