16 comments/ 19373 views/ 2 favorites Third Born By: neonlyte The girl struggled along a pathway threading across the lower slope of the cliff up to where the clan lived in caves; she had waited for the pre-dawn sky to lighten before attempting the path, even now the sky gave barely enough illumination and she picked her way carefully, not wishing to stumble, not wanting to alert the Leader to her return. She stopped momentarily, listening, head cocked in the direction of a sound from behind her, from the valley floor, deciding the noise was nothing to fear, animals foraging, probably picking through the remains of the meat the hunter had brought for her while she'd been exiled from the settlement. She listened to the distant cries of other beasts greeting the day casting her eyes in the half-light across the grey shadowed tree crowns where leathery winged creatures raucously cawed and swooped above roosting sites. She moved forward once more along the path shifting the balance of the child she carried, he slept at last, worn down by the hunger that had him whimpering pitifully in the darkness of the night. She held him close through the night cushioned to her breast knowing he'd find little or nothing to sustain, maybe comfort was all she could offer; now she glanced down at him fearful for his life, the clan found no room for the weak and sickly, allowed no time to attend the ill, sentiment was a sparser commodity than food itself. Several times their Leader had looked at her disapprovingly, questioning with his stance and glare the time she spent nursing the sickly boy instead of working for the group's survival. 'He's your Son.' She thought, 'Don't you care if he lives or dies?' Clan policy was harsh and only concerned with survival; the weak, the injured, and the elderly had no practical value and were cast-off to perish. The elderly and the injured understood the necessity of the rule and usually removed themselves voluntarily from the caves to end their life amongst the beasts and scavengers on the valley floor - they rarely survived long. For a mother to abandon her sickly child to the wild beasts was quite another matter, few mother's could make the sacrifice willingly; the Leader was the arbiter, his word final, to disobey would cast the mother to share the same fate as her child. The clan with whom she lived had settled in cliff face caves fronted by a broad flat rock strewn apron, the apron edge plunged one hundred metres down to the plain and the mountain soared dizzyingly above their home, it was safe, defendable against raiding clans and beasts, the only disadvantage was the need to descend into the valley for food and water, a time penalty that stole even a moments respite from the daily toil for survival. Few rules governed the clan, each new leader choosing his way, imposing by force for a few seasons before a younger, stronger male challenged and took up the mantle; by custom the pretender took possession of the defeated males woman, often choosing a second younger woman to help ward off the cold night air. That had been her fate. She been in the wrong place at the wrong time wandering too far from her family clan looking for early season fruiting berries and finding herself surrounded in a pig hunt, the pig forgotten in the excitement of finding a female without the need to resort to battle. The clan Leader claimed her - the spoils of the hunt were his to despoil. As she slowly climbed the path, her mind ticked off the annual rains that marked the seasons. 'Five,' she counted, 'not more'. In those seasons she had borne the Leader three children, this one in its second season and unlikely to see a third. She felt old and in the feeling of her weariness she recognised the briefest of glimpses of the smell and the image of her own mother; too many seasons blurred by birthing to recall her mother in detail, yet still she knew her own life, her own span of seasons, did not equal the total of the digits on her hands and on her feet. She walked on unsure of the reception she'd receive, resigned to a beating at the very least for returning with the child, possibly cast out to fend for herself; a death sentence, there was no survival as an individual. She was no longer afraid - the young hunter had given her hope, so very different from when she had fled the settlement a few days earlier... - - # - - She had woken in the night, a pain clutching at her inside like fire and ice and had bitten on her lip so as not to scream out as another spasm of pain cut through her body. Slowly dragging herself from the sleeping skins, pulling the infant with her, taking care not to wake either the child or the Leader who lay grunting in sleep against the ample bodied warmth of his first woman, she stole down the mountain path to the bleeding camp where the women stayed for a few days each month less the shame of their bleeding bring dishonour on the clan - or so the Leader claimed. The bleeding camp, a hundred metres or so from where the path up to the settlement met the valley floor, was in the lee of a small crescent of rocks enclosing a clearing in which a fire could burn shielded from all but the most inquisitive eyes. She had been terrified when first dragged to the camp by the Leader's woman. She hadn't understood the different way of things in this clan. She thought she was being expelled from the clan, to be left for the beasts to fight over until she found herself thrust with a curse, and the routine beating of a staff across her shoulders, into the company of two other women resting in the shade of the rocks, they were almost kind to her, in spite of her outsider status. The place scared her, the bleeding camp - not the bleeding, she had long since grown to accept the inevitability of staining with the cycles of the moon; her own staining had begun seasons before she'd been captured by this clan. She remembered a time before her capture, before the birthing of her children, when she could feel changes, sensations in her body in the days before staining commenced and she would seek out the moon in the night sky, check its shape, remind herself this was just the natural cycle of things, it was as natural as the rains that marked each season. Now her life was too demanding to have the luxury of feeling the subtle changes inside of her, she felt subtlety had been swamped by the children that had grown in her body, the long months of growing and the pain of their birth had somehow dulled her capacity to feel within her body, though she felt with her heart, more so for this sick child than her first born; an empathy not just of motherhood but of being on borrowed time, surviving at the whim of others. What scared her about the bleeding camp was the scavengers, the beasts of the night, she could smell their fetid breathe on the night air, she could hear them marauding nearby, baying over remains, padding around the camp, wise enough to keep out of the flickering light cast by the flames from the fire, rarely hungry enough to venture near. Everyone in the clan knew that occasionally a women never returned from the bleeding camp, it was impossible to know whether they'd been taken by animals or by another tribe, simply knowing they'd disappeared was unsettling enough. She didn't know what she feared most, to be swollen with child, or to bleed and stay some days at the camp terrified the fire would fail and an animal would carry her away. That was before this last season. During the last season she had been a regular visitor to the camp, each moon cycle brought her and the infant to the camp, an entire season without a child growing inside her. She grew less fearful with each visit, relished the time with her son, rarely entirely alone, nearly always one or two other women who would take charge of the child, give her time to rest, recover her strength, or take her turn at gathering and preparing food. It was curious, she thought, how in the bleeding camp the women shared compassion, such caring between women would be met by a beating at the settlement. She began to look forward to her visits and the short time it allowed for her to be alone with her son away from the disdainful and reproachful glances of the Leaders woman and away from the routine beatings she incurred for imagined failings dreamt up to spite. Then she missed a staining, and another; her heart sunk, she didn't want another child, not yet, not while this one remained so weak. When she crawled away from the sleeping skins with a pain clawing at her inside, she knew something was different. She had felt the familiarity of change growing within her body, a child growing from seed, but she had never felt pain like this. She reached the sanctuary of the bleeding camp and slumped against the rocks settling the infant alongside her, oblivious to his cry's, pulling an old and dirty sleeping hide around her, her body curled, cramped in pain, a cold prickly heat of perspiration dampening her body as the barely formed foetus aborted. She lay waiting for the pain in her body to subside and her strength to recover, all the while cradling the child, exhausted beyond hearing his plaintive mews, aware she should move to the stream, cleanse the child and her own body, lacking strength to make food, to maintain the fire. The first night she watched the fire burn low, lacked the energy or even the desire to gather fuel and closed her eyes, waiting for an animal to take her, knowing they were there, watching, waiting, she can smell them on the breeze, hear them brushing through the vegetation. She was surprised to find herself alive next morning, someone had rebuilt the fire, left some fruits within reach. She ate hungrily, brushing away the dirt and insects, too hungry and too tired to be bothered with washing the food or herself. She dozed during the day, the infant clutched to her breast, suckling from time to time, crying when not sleeping. She wakes with the feel of the child being pulled from her, shrinks back, claws the air to ward off the animal, opens her eyes at the child's plaintive cry. A man silhouetted by moonlight taking the child, turning, walking away from her. She cries out, stretching an arm, and struggles to her knees, too weak to stand, watching his back disappear into the forest, crawling, calling out as the child's pitiful voice weakens with distance. Distraught she slumps forward beating the ground with her forehead, wailing, frightened to move, frightened to witness the child's demise, all hope for his future vanishing with his cry. She slumps to the ground her body shaking, raging at the unfairness of life that snatched her from her tribe, mated her with a man whose very smell and savagery brought her to the point of retching only to have the one person she cares for snatched away; too weak to cry, she lays wondering when one of the beasts would come for her, hoping it would be soon, her weariness surrendering her body. She lay for an indeterminate time, neither long nor short in her memory, stirring when the heat of the re-kindled fire warmed her back and the smell of roasting meat seduced her thoughts. Hunger igniting swelling her stomach, she turns to the fire, the child's fate sealed, and takes meat tearing at sinewy flesh, meat's blood dribbling from her chin, eating quickly before he returns and beats her, glancing up all the while in the direction he took. She hears his returning footfall and scuttles into the lee of the rocks, teeth snatching at the meat, slaking her hunger, taking the food inside her before he tears it from her grasp. She hears him close toward her; can feel feet pounding across the clearing and bows in supplication, arms circling her head to ward off blows, waiting resigned: nothing. She peers between her arms, can see him standing before her, a foot moves, she flinches waiting for a kick that is just a tap accompanied by a grunted greeting. He bends down, proffering the cleansed child held in his outstretched arms, the infant's dark eyes brightly shining in the light of the fire. She snatches the child from him, pulling him to her, feels his tiny hands grip at her flaccid breast and shifts his position, feeling him draw on the nipple, gurgling, quietly suckling, pulling sustenance from her body. The man slowly reaches an arm toward her; she bares her teeth, watching his face, not his hand. He croons, soothing, touches her skin, moving his hand to where her body shrunk back from his touch tight against the rock, cornered. Ignoring her spitting snarl, he touches her shoulder. She lunges for his arm dislodging the child, missing her target, draws back instinctively guiding her nipple to the child's mouth silencing a whimper before it grows to a cry, her eyes never leaving the man crouched before her. She watches the man move to the fire, taking meat, returning and offering food to placate; she's enticed by the smell, hungry beyond fear, snarls at him, upper lip curling over stained teeth, and hesitatingly reaches forward, snatches the food and places it behind her, out of his immediate reach. He growls quietly whilst his eyes traverse her body, not threateningly but sympathetically, marking her condition, nose wrinkling. She's aware of where his eyes lay, croons discomfort, almost mewing, watching him closely as he cautiously reaches touching her leg where the blood has dried, she growls, showing him her teeth again, watching his finger rub at the stain. He stands and moves away grunting at her to follow; watching as she struggles wearily to her feet clasping the child to her and reaching for the piece of meat, placing it in her teeth. She knows he's taking her to clean just as he's cleaned the child, and follows him aware for the first time since arriving two suns before, that she smells and is dirty, even by her own limited criteria. At the stream, he looks around, sniffs the air searching for predators, glances back toward the caves set in the cliff and sees the first beams of the morning sun licking gold high up across the rock face. He beckoners her forward standing off to one side so as not to intimidate and watches as she places the child cradled between tufted grass mounds bordering the streams edge. She bends to the water, the piece of meat still held between her teeth dripping juices onto her thighs, and splashes water onto her lower body. He grunts with dissatisfaction at her efforts, moves swiftly grabbing her by the wrist forcefully pulling her into deeper water ignoring her struggle and growls through clenched teeth, pushing her down until she's sitting on the gravelled stream-bed, the water dividing and spilling around her hips. He moves behind her, she twists her head as she feels him spoon water with his hands onto her back, feels his fingers scrape at the downy hair of her shoulders cleansing the dirt and grime matting her body hair, spooning more water to wash away the loosened dirt. Knowing not to waste an opportunity, she strips and chews at the meat eating rapidly, less out of hunger, more to devour before he changes his mind and snatches it from her. For the first time in many seasons she doesn't feel fear, she's aware of an inner calm, like when her Mother would comfort her after a fall or a burn. She knows she should be cleansing herself, not letting this man attend to her; but first finish the food, she eats passionately glancing sideways all the while to verify his position. Finished with the meat, she throws the bone onto the bank, thinking she might have an opportunity to chew later, to crack the bone and draw the marrow, and moves to brush him away, to take up the chore she should be doing for herself. He grunts displeasure and forcibly pushes her arm away before pressing down on her shoulders, making sure she understands he wants her to keep still. She watches cautiously as he moves to face her, gutturally demanding compliance, gesturing her to move, to open her body. She reacts instinctively, years of male subjugation taking their toll, and leans back to watch him kneel before her crooning again as he spoons water across her chest, drawing the dirt from her skin with his fingers, muddying the downstream flow. She's surprised by the colour of her skin, pale under the darker hair clumped above and below her stomach. She feels his hands moving between her legs; gentler, probing, unlocking matted secretions, no mans hands had been there, except to part the way. Now she knows what he wants and lets him continue, relaxing, enjoying the attention, listening to his throat purr as his fingers untangle the knotted hair in her groin, watching him intent at his ministrations, waiting for him to finish, expecting him to begin. As he moves his hands away, clearly finished with that part of her body, she reaches out, grabs his hand, places it to her crutch mewing, opening herself for him to touch. He throats a deep growl of contentment massaging her briefly, feeling her heat even in the coolness of the stream, then stops and turns his attention to cleaning her legs. She lay back letting the water coursing round her head, down across her breasts and stomach, parting her legs shamelessly and letting the water tip down her sex like a gully in flood. She stretches a hand to part herself, kicks him with her heel of her free leg to draw his attention, then moves her foot into his groin probing at the protrusion, feeling it flex at her touch. She hooks her foot between his legs and pulls him toward her, flinching as he growls aggressively at her, pushing her leg down, unhooking her hold. His aggression startles her, she starts to scramble back, move away from him and feels him take hold of both her legs, she kicks out, breaks his grip and scrambles to the bank side, feels him drop on her, holding her, enveloping her in his grasp. She pushes up trying to dislodge his grip forcing her bottom against his stomach, feeling his hardness press against her skin. A hand pushes her head to one side and she feels his mouth descend onto her neck biting hard enough to stop her moving, light enough not to break skin, the growl in his throat urging her to stop her struggling. Deciding he has the advantage for the moment, she lies still, wondering what he intends next. He eases his grip forming a tunnel with his arms, nudging her to turn over. She twists under him staring up at his face, emitting a low growl of displeasure, lips twitching, teeth flashing a warning, and watches with astonishment as he moves down her body and resumes cleaning her legs, not that it need much cleaning, the running water had washed most of the dirt from her skin. He leans back on his haunches as if admiring his handwork. Satisfied he pats at her leg, gesturing her to open. She shakes her head, raises her knees, and locks them in her arms. Deliberately slowly, he unclasps her interlocked fingers, there's no mistaking his strength, if he wanted, he could beat obedience from her. He starts to part her knees, she moves faster now wanting him inside her and fans her thighs down to almost touch the grass opening the core of her body to him and watches as he crouches forward bringing his face down between her legs all the while rumbling a low growl of contentment. She can feel his breath moving the hairs covering her sex, hear him inhale her scent, she imagines his flattened nose twitching expectantly, then feels him running his nose hard across the folds of her sex. She leans back, hands gripping at the tufted grass each side of her, moves back, not to get away but to elevate her hips, to display more openly. He chews across the folds of her sex, lips gradually opening her, exposing the true colour and texture of her body to his mouth, nuzzling at the pink warm flesh, feeling her jolt with the penetration of his tongue, she settles against his mouth opening wider to feel his tongue move in her body, his teeth scraping against soft tissue. Her breathing takes on a stream of small spaced grunts, contentment - not displeasure, while he continues to seek the source of the smell and of the liquid coating his tongue. Third Born With his hands he grips her bottom, moulding the cheeks like clay, pulling her onto him, matching the rhythm of her own thrusts, forcing herself onto his mouth for his tongue to scratch the itch she cannot reach. She feels her body undergoing a change, muscles contracting, insides turning to liquid, blood roaring in her ears, hips rising pressing ever harder against him, she couldn't stop the onslaught, she didn't even think of stopping; she screamed, unlike any sound she'd made before, not the fearful sound of first penetration, not the scream of pain of her first born, a scream of release, from deep inside, roaring, pulsing with her flow, pumping at the spring of elation and matched by his cry of triumph vibrating against her groin. He held her back-arched against his mouth while her hips contorted with a series spasms plastering her against his face finally lowering her and moving up her body, lying on her fastening his teeth loosely across her throat. She could smell herself on his breath, feel his tongue hot against the skin of her neck; she brought her arms around to wrap him against her body and rocked him gently like a new born, shifting to accommodate him as he enters her enjoying the urgent roughness of his thrusting, holding him tightly as his body tenses and splashes his seed deep inside her. She's aware of having enjoyed him, enjoyed him enough to dismiss concerns of what would happen if they were caught by another from the settlement. They slept briefly, the child's cry awakening them. She pushed him away fetching and comforting the child, watching the man empty himself nearby then cleanse himself in the stream wondering at his fascination with water, no one else in the settlement bothered, except to remove insects that could burrow under the skin. He gestured she should do the same, waving his arms and growling at her until she complied, taking the opportunity to empty her bladder while she sat in the stream. He signed that he was leaving to hunt, she watched him go wondering if he'd return and repeat their exploits, shrugging, knowing he'd be unlikely to take the risk, the price of mating the Leader's woman being death or exile. Toward the end of the day he returned, the small animal across his shoulders significantly elevating him in her opinion, a successful hunter the most admired quality in a mate. Crooning a greeting, he placed the animal on a rock and began to collect fuel for the fire ensuring sufficient for the night. She knew he wouldn't be staying, too risky, she thought about returning with him to the settlement, decided it would be unwise, most likely trigger a fight, another night or two alone wouldn't be unusual, at least she had food here, better to eat what he's providing rather than suffer the meagre remains she'd be given after the Leader had taken his fill. He left her with a well-built fire and meat roasting as the sun began to sink below the horizon taking the remains of the first carcass and the latest kill to the settlement. No questions asked, a hunter returning with food. She wondered who'd warm his body this night. She chewed some meat feeding fragments from her mouth to the child, knowing he needs the nourishment, her breasts dry. Her sadness for the child wells inside her, unlikely to survive, too weak, too sickly but she wasn't ready to leave him, not yet. The sky blackened rapidly into night. She slept long into the night, the child cradled close, she could barely remember a night without a child at her breast, a comfort to feel him there, breathing quietly, sleeping head pressed against her heartbeat. The sound of the fire woke her, a sudden explosion of sap in the heat of the embers sending a shower of sparks into the black sky. She knew he'd returned to replenish the fire. He must have left the settlement to hunt with the dawn, easier kills sometimes possible at waterholes in glimmer of early morning. She wondered if he'd passed through the camp before, seen her sleeping, walked by or stopped to watch. She tried to turn without disturbing the child, craned her neck to see if he was near or already moved away, smelt him before she saw him, felt his warmth before he touched her, heard him breath before his body slid alongside her. She shifted, moving into him, craving his warmth, heard the softest of croons in his throat, to sooth her; no need, she had no fear for herself, not of him being near her, not of his stiffness pressed hard against her buttocks. She did fear for him, one glance in her direction and the leader would take his heart, and quite possibly hers; even that fate had attraction, daily existence terrified her, as an outsider she was almost a slave, only the older women showing any degree of ambivalence to her origins. She felt his arm move over her hip down across her haired belly, she lifted a leg slightly to accommodate him expecting him to probe, feeling him settle, just wanting to touch. Wide-awake, she waited for more, only to hear him snore gently, leaning against her. She couldn't sleep now, he'd stirred her, she wanted more but knew better than to initiate, he'd move at his pace, not hers. She did sleep again and when she woke he'd gone, never felt him move, only a void where he'd lain, where he'd touched. Later in the morning two men from the settlement passed through the camp, they carried a body, bloodied and beaten. She couldn't recognise who, and it wasn't her place to go looking, she'd be beaten herself for her troubles. When they returned they gestured she should go with them, she shook her head, signed she would go the next day; if this person had been beaten senseless by the Leader she didn't want to return now, he'd be exuberant, he'd take her violently not caring if he hurt her she'd be just another person to subjugate, to impress his power upon the others. She waited a long while after they'd departed and walked in the direction they'd taken the body. She didn't go far, she heard beasts snarling, already arguing over the corpse and stole back to the shelter of the rocks to find the comfort and security of the fire wondering who the body was, fearing for a moment it might be the one who'd mated with her, then realising she would be dead herself if that was known. The day wore on interminably despite her busying herself, collecting berries from the nearby trees, bringing more fuel for the fire from the undergrowth, there was always plenty of wood to burn, scrub fires raced through the area most dry season leaving stunted dead shrubbery, new plants springing green from the soil with the rains. When he returned - she expected him to return - she wanted to be able to show him she could organise a camp, collect foods, she even washed herself and the child. As dusk fell into night she knew he'd not be coming and wrapped herself in the sleeping skins for warmth, resigned to spending the night alone with her child. She'd finished the meat he'd left for them and eaten the berries, it was scarcely enough to sustain her let alone provide nourishment for the child, he whimpered most of the night hungry and unable to settle keeping both of them awake, in the pre-dawn she decided to return to the settlement. If the man were coming to her, she'd meet him on the way, if not... she had to return anyway. She walked slowly and quietly to the foot of the cliff, being careful where she trod, not wanting to alert anyone, or anything, to her passage, and began the long climb up the steep path to the caves. The cliff cut back where the caves were, a broad shelf forming an apron fronting the overhang that provided their shelter. The caves were not deep, more a recess than a network of tunnels. At the top of the path a night guard soundly slept, 'you'd better wake,' she thought, 'before the Leader sees you. He's had more than one guard beaten for sleeping instead of watching.' She thought to wake him, a kindness, but he'd stir in fright and alert others, she wanted to arrive unseen, meld into the group, go about her chores, hope not to be immediately noticed. The child had other ideas, his sudden crying busting onto the silence during the time when the brain is waking and the body still sleeps, any noise sufficient to awaken the whole. No one stirred though noises rumbled from where people lay. She felt naked, exposed standing more or less in the middle of the apron, lit from behind by the dawning day. The Leader cried out to her, a demand, an order to join him. She hesitated looking around to see the man who'd joined with her, earning another barked call. She didn't want this, didn't want to be violated within minutes of returning and spend the day sore and sick with disgust. She took a few steps backwards. The Leader moved with astonishing speed, on her before she realised, fury braying at his throat, spittle flying from his mouth flashing gold as the sun burst the morning clouds and lit the scene. She cowed down shielding the child with her body waiting for blows to rain upon her. He kicked her, winding her, making her gasp for breath, kicked again knocking her onto her side to expose the child screaming on the ground. If she'd not been so frightened for the child, she would have seen others rising edging around the apron watching the display. She scrambled, wincing in pain, toward the child, saw the Leaders foot swing back and threw herself over the child before the blow landed, receiving the full impact of his heel on the side of her head, stunning her to drop across the child's body. The Leader pushed her away with his foot and bent to take pick up the child. The young hunter came from the edge of the crowd roaring his displeasure, stopping a few metres short of the Leader, screaming at him to stop. The Leader looked round from where he bent, saw the younger man and continued to lift the screaming child from the ground, his intent clear, they were metres from the cliff edge. The younger man charged head down knocking the Leader off his feet; he released the child and turned spitting fury, launching himself at the man knocking him to the floor sprawled across him. Not giving any quarter, the Leader immediately began to pummel the younger man around the head, blood spraying from his mouth with each blow, the younger man weakening under an onslaught that bordered insanity. She opened her eyes, the child's crying competing for her ears with the sickening thud of fist on face. Looked around she saw a rock, head sized, capable of real damage and crawled to where it lay, gathering it to her, rising and moving toward the brawl. The Leader sat aside the younger man braying with triumph, the young hunter is beaten, bloodied, and defeated, his face a mess, his arms no longer capable of protecting his head. The Leader sits upright head thrown back roaring his victory; out of the corner of his eye he catches sight of the rock raised above her head, about to strike, he has no time to move, just a flash of fear in his eyes as she brings the rock down on the back of his head with a sickening crack. She sinks to her knees, emotionally drained, no longer caring for her fate, just wanting an ending. The sound of the rock striking the Leaders head silenced the members of the group watching the fighting. No one moved until one man stepped forward roughly pulling the Leader off his victim, looking closely to see if the young man were still alive. He looked up at the people watching, barked a call for help, bringing the men of the tribe to life. I would be delighted if you can take the trouble to register a vote and more delighted to receive your comments on this story