The sun beats down on you as you wait for it to set.
Apparently, Ulther's band of slavers don't think much of your health because with your heavy mat of fur, strapped down nearly immobile in the back of a cart in direct rays of the sun all afternoon, you're feeling more than a bit sick. It must be sunstroke, you realize, as you try to ignore the dizziness and heat.
If you ever get out of here, you vow to get even with Ulther, Holme, and that whip-cracking bastard, Rhimes. Heck if you could find that flute-playing woman who ensnared you in the first place -what was her name?- you'd show her a thing or two as well...!
Granted, that's pretty tough talk coming from a 9' minotaur, shackled down in the back of a wagon awaiting sale on the slave block, but that's just how you feel.
The noise of the busy market square only rises as the afternoon progresses and the shadows lengthen. It's hard to tell what time it is without your watch, now lost in the depths of Caspian's Labyrinth, but you'd guess that it must be after the dinner hour.
Traffic gradually lessens and you can see, by craning your neck to look past your hooves while you lie on your back, several young townsfolk coming out, scaling the lamps around the perimeter of the slave square, and lighting them with torches.
Finally, the heat starts to abate and after an hour or so, you start feeling a bit better.
The sky grows darker and darker, soon a few, faint stars starting to appear in the sky.
The crowds have mostly gone home for the evening and only the occasional steps of a guard, interrupts your reverie.
"Holme: take Shara's payment to her," came Ulther's voice from somewhere across the square. "Her flute playing snared us a lot, but not enough for her bonus..."
"Sir, is it wise to cross her?" came Holme's soft voice.
You strain to listen.
"That buxom wench is only as good as the magic I allow to flow through her. She doesn't know enough to use it properly without help and no one in their right mind would help her for what she's been paid. Just go! Give her the money and get back to the inn. Tomorrow we sell this lot and then head out to Ivansore Ridge; I've heard rumors of possible dragons out that way..."
"Yes, sir," came Holme's reply.
Ok, you think to yourself, This woman who played the flute is named 'Shara' and she's being used almost as much as me and the captured slaves.
"They're going," comes Trelawn's deep-voiced whisper, leaning close to the wagon again. "You ready? The moon should be up, soon..."
You nod, your huge horns scraping against the wooden sides of the wagon.
Darkness descends completely, then, and -soon- you see a dim, blue light increasing over the rooftops that surround the slave square. The guards on duty, each armed with a mammoth axe, sword, or crossbow, don't seem to care, even though the rising moon provides them with more light by which to see.
Indeed, as you see it, you realize that you truly are on a different world.
You've seen Earth's moon since you were a child and not only is it smaller and bluer, but the patterns on its surface -its craters and ridges- are noticeably different.
"Wow..." you whisper, to yourself.
However, just then a wave seems to wash over you. You don't see anything, but you can feel it: a tingling, warm sensation that floods your muscles and flesh with energy! It's a heady feeling and you know that Trelawn feels it, too.
"That's it..." he says, his voice louder than before. "Gods above, it's Shia'asa's spell...!"
Whether the magick of the kitsune is responsible, you know the results are beyond question. You feel your muscles bulking up and growing; getting stronger and stronger! You grin to yourself, actually able to see your chest getting broader and thicker with muscle as you grit your teeth and prepare.
"I ... I'm getting ... stronger..." comes Trelawn's voice, shaking with power. "Stronger than any centaur's ever been!"
You can hear dogs barking in the nearby streets, now, as well as the Rowr of stray cats. The guards, hearing the noises, pay little attention to you and don't get any closer as you feel the shackles on your wrists grow very tight with the increased thickness of your muscular body.
"It is time..." whispers a voice in your ear; and although you've never heard it before, you know who it is...
"Shia'asa..." you whisper.
"Yes... Come to me, both; free Baranor and we shall flee this place..." comes the whispery reply.
"As you command," Trelawn says.
You hear him grunting and straining and -soon- join in, yourself, straining to break your chains.
The metal creaks and groans but seems so flimsy, now; like cheap aluminum!
With little effort, your giant muscles rip the chains at their weakest links, the shackles still on your wrists and ankles, but no longer attached to the slaver's wagon!
You leap up at the same time as Trelawn breaks free and begins a rushing gallop directly towards the nearest guards.
There are eight of them, each armed, but the power flowing through you makes you bold. Without thinking twice, you turn around, bend down, and pick up the entire wagon! You laugh in your deep, bovine voice at how easy such an impossible feat of strength has become, and -stark naked- hurl the massive wagon some fifty feet into three of the guardsmen, bringing their crossbows to bear on you!
You turn, then, looking for another weapon, as you see Trelawn, his fifteen-foot-tall frame so thick with muscle that you guess he must be at least as strong as yourself, run down one of the fleeing guards and kick another into a brick wall.
The others break into two groups: a couple fleeing and a couple trying to move in to where they can use their weapons.
You snort and stomp the ground with one, huge hoof, and -lowering your head- charge both men.
The looks on their faces shifts from caution to outright fear as one turns to run and the other tries to dive aside.
Missing the one who leapt out of your path, you -instead- catch the fleeing guardsman on your horns and, with laughably little effort, toss his body high into the night air, to crash down to the ground on the other side of the 120' wide square.
Too late, you hear the footsteps of the other one, running towards you from your blindspot.
Too late, you see the flash of metal from his brandished axe.
Too late, you start to turn and face him...