The Roaming Larl

This Gorean Fan Fiction was generated using Chat GPT alongside the RP logs. 

Please note that the Gorean Saga is a fictional series, and its world, customs, and values may not align with modern societal standards or moral principles.

Gor is Copyrighted by John Norman

 In the soft, golden light of late afternoon, the infirmary was quiet save for the rustle of parchment and the distant murmur of voices. Neeve knelt upon the straw-covered floor, a small wooden bowl of milk balanced carefully upon her lap. Before her, a tiny larl—its fur still soft with youth, its limbs unsteady—watched her warily.

“Come now, little one,” Neeve coaxed gently, her tone melodic and soothing. “I’ve got some nice milk for you.”

The creature sniffed at the air, mewling softly before inching forward on uncertain paws. From behind, another woman—an older healer—observed with a mixture of curiosity and caution.

“Have you tested its teeth yet?” the woman asked, kneeling beside Neeve.

Neeve frowned thoughtfully. “Not yet. I didn’t see many when it yawned.” Carefully, she lifted the larl’s lip with the tip of her finger. “Ah, there we go—just a few coming in.”

The little beast hissed at the intrusion, its gums tender from teething. Neeve withdrew her hand quickly, murmuring an apology.

“Best to add some mashed meat to that milk,” the healer advised. “It needs more than milk alone.”

Neeve nodded and set to work, mashing bits of raw meat into the bowl before returning it to the larl. “There you go, little one,” she said softly, watching as it sniffed, then began to lap at the mixture with cautious delight. “Let’s hope your mother isn’t within earshot,” she added with a nervous chuckle.

“I doubt we’d live to tell of it if she were,” the healer replied with dry amusement.

When the creature had finished, Neeve frowned thoughtfully. “We should weigh it. It won’t sit still, though.”

The older woman smiled. “Then hold it while we measure. You’ve the gentler touch.”

With some coaxing, Neeve managed to balance the creature upon the scale long enough for a rough measurement. “Twenty-seven stones,” she murmured, glancing at the reading. “Seems light for its size.”

“It should be closer to thirty-five,” the healer mused, watching as the larl began to paw playfully at Neeve's dress. "I hope you aren't thinking of keeping it? its a wild beast Neeve." 

Neeve laughed softly. “Aye, but I rather like it.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Perhaps it can be tamed?”

They examined the creature further, noting its steady breathing and bright eyes. When the healer handed her a brass stethoscope, Neeve rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Fine, send in the apprentice,” she teased before leaning close to the larl. It watched the shiny instrument with fascination, batting at it like a toy.

She pressed the cold metal gently to its chest. “Heart rate’s a little slow,” she murmured. “Seventy-five beats per minute. Should be closer to a hundred.”

Her words were interrupted by the sound of tearing her dress as the larl caught a loose fold of fabric in its tiny claws. Neeve squeaked but only laughed. “You naughty thing,” she said, tickling its belly to distract it.

As she inspected the creature further, her brow furrowed. “There’s a cut here—on the back leg.”

The healer circled around, produced a jar of salve, and smeared it carefully but deftly over the wound before binding it with linen. The larl hissed, indignant, and then began limping dramatically as though to protest.

Neeve chuckled and stroked its head. “Hush now, brave one. I’ll call you Riku. It means Wise Sky.”

The name seemed to calm it; the little beast purred under her touch.

Once the wound was dressed, the healer dusted off her hands. “That’s done. Keep the bandage until the cut heals. And remember—raw meat only. It’s still a predator at heart.”

Neeve nodded earnestly. “I know. I’ll see to its diet.” Then, glancing toward the creature, she added softly, “Perhaps I’ll look into old scrolls—see if there’s record of raising larls in captivity.”

The healer smiled. “A wise idea for a scribe. The scholars will have something on it, I’m sure.”

Kristie’s laughter was warm as she continued to stroke Riku’s fur. The larl leaned into her touch, purring deeply, and when she tried to pull her hand away it nipped playfully, demanding more.

“I think I’m going to tame it,” she confessed. “The city could use a guardian… they need protectors too, don’t they?”

“Perhaps,” the healer replied with a knowing smile. “But be careful, Neeve. Wild things follow their own hearts.”

As Neeve stood, the small larl padded after her on unsteady legs, its eyes bright with curiosity. The two disappeared into the dim light of the corridor—woman and beast—bound by a fragile, growing trust.