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Rising

By: Crouching_Buddha



The sky was painted with smoke. It cast a heavy gloom, promising a sizable downpour of hail laced rain, a stinging sleet that would smother and sap the strength of all. The dark and suffocating drear of the sky had already sapped their spirits.

Methaniel stood upon the small rise of a hill, his hand resting on the hilt of his broadsword. His armor gleamed in the rare flicker of light to penetrate the smoke and cloud. A large dent graced the left of his breastplate. It had originally been much larger, but had since been worked out as well as the smith could manage. The smithy was crowded with more heavily damaged equipment, so Methaniel did not mind. The damaged plate pressed inward against his pectoral muscle till it ached. It was one of many minor discomforts that he couldn't find the heart to complain about. His life remained and he stood without any heavy wounds or handicaps. It was more than most could say. After nearly a year waging war on the battlefield, only the luck of the goddess could explain his relatively unscathed state.

The land before him stretched on, a bloody and scarred field with thick mud that had been trampled by countless boots. The coming rain would only worsen it, and footing would be difficult when the rain lifted and the armies met on the field. It could be tomorrow...it could be a week. Winter storms in the mountainous regions were never certain. Beyond the field he could make out the hastily erected tents of the enemy encampment. They too would be counting their dead today, re-grouping and rearming their remaining soldiers and horses. Upon the morn, battle would commence anew. 

He swept a shining copper lock from his face, pushing it back to hang down to his shoulders. His hands grasped his cloak and pulled it tighter around his body in a futile effort to ward off the chill and damp breeze. He stood motionless a moment longer, a tall and proud figure atop the small rise, gazing on at the grim truth of his world. He turned and his cloak whipped back and billowing out in the slight breeze that filled it. He walked back to his tent.

Before he could reach his tent Grimlock intercepted him. 

Grimlock was a physician, though he was a dwarf, and a burly one with massive, gnarled hands that looked better suited to the smithy than the delicacies of medicine and healing. He was something of an oddity in that he was one of the very few physicians in the army. With clerics and priests to neatly tend the wounded through divinities, holy spells, and sacred relics, physicians were deemed messy and unreliable. However, in recent months the war had become more costly than ever, and the death toll was on a steady climb. The clerics and holy men were overwhelmed by the dead and wounded, and a call had gone out to those who healed not through magic, but through science. 

"A moment m' lord," Grimlock rumbled. He wiped blood from his meaty hands with a rag heavily splotched in red.

"What news, Grimlock?" Methaniel asked quietly.

"Arthas din'a make it. The lad's taken 'is place in the gods' kingdom," said Grimlock somberly. "I be sorry, Methaniel. He was a good lad. I couldn'a help him."

"I understand, Grimlock. I held little hope that he would survive. The wound was grievous," Methaniel replied. He patted the dwarve's broad shoulder gently and began to walk to his tent once more.

"Methaniel," Grimlock spoke after him. "Ye need to see this."

The Dwarf pulled a large arrow from where it had been tucked into his belt. Methaniel turned and approached Grimlock. He took the arrow and turned it slowly in his hands. The shaft was slightly bent, either from the impact with which it slammed into Arthas' chest or by Grimlock when he extracted it, which one Methaniel couldn't tell. It painted black and had no other distinguishing features. The arrow head, bent and chipped from thudding into Arthas' sternum, was made of steel, which would penetrate deeply if the aim was true.

"Thank you, good Dwarf. This makes some things clear...and others less so."

Methaniel would say nothing else and walked into his tent with the arrow clutched tightly in his fist, leaving the physician to scratch thoughtfully at his beard.

*

Chapter One

An hour before dawn Ahma awoke. The seven other women in her room were in the same process of waking; they were all used to years of the routine. A chill breeze rushed through the cracks between the stone walls, causing the women to shiver as they dressed and braided each others hair. Hannah, the only other Wingling in the house, helped Ahma to braid her thick brunet tresses. Ahma returned the favor and carefully groomed the older woman's delicate, dainty wings.

The two Winglings scurried out of the servants quarters and tailed the others to the kitchens. The fires were burning in the stoves, the only light coming into the room. Soon the kitchen would be fully lit by sunlight streaming through the windows. The cook put out the servants food.

Breakfast was only ten minutes these days, a merger meal of crust and scraps of last night's few pieces of meat. Very few words were exchanged during the meal. Ahma sat in sullen silence and tried to calm the grumbling of her stomach demanding more than what had been set out for it. She finished her thin, gruelish porridge and started the hard crust provided for her. The bindings holding her wings tightly to her body chaffed at her. The discomfort and pain ruined her appetite as it always did, and she forced herself to eat even the little amount of food she had.

After the morning meal the servants split apart and began their duties around the manor. Hannah went to the foyer at the front of the Manor to clean. Ahma made her way toward the library. It had been her desire for some time to be the servant assigned to the library. Cleaning the room, dusting the shelves, polishing the desks and chairs took a full week to complete, but the room held fond memories for her, from the times before the old Master's death. 

The study was massive. The Master had been an advocate of books in a realm that was only marginally literate. Aside from the royal library (which from what Ahma had heard from Gareth, a Halfling man who once worked in the palace, was largely unused), Master Daelen's study was one of the single largest collection of text in the north most reach of Durinum. Bookcases stretch from ceiling to floor, worked from rich, well polished oak. The volumes gracing the shelves ranged from barely an inch thick to being almost too big for Ahma to properly carry. The well-dusted volumes were written in the native script of nearly all the races that coexisted in Durinum, and even some that did not. Two great, spacious windows occupied the only wall that was not crowded by bookcases. The windows overlooked the richest of the Manor's south gardens. The sun crept through the window and edged the well-trimmed hedges and brightly blooming pants in the glowing orange of dawn.

First, she dusted and polished the master sitting chair, as she had every day for more than a decade. It was a tall backed, well crafted chair befitting nobility, carved from cherry wood with intricate and fine vines and wildlife along the back and a true rarity: a padded, feather-down seat. She could still see him, sitting upright and proud in his comfortable chair, gesturing to a book he wanted to read. Often, he would read aloud to her, letting her neglect whatever duties she had that day.

But those were different times. She now had to finish her duties before the evening meal or there would be consequences. Not just for her, but for everyone. The death of the Master meant hardship for everyone and personal grief for herself.

She didn't have time to think about it, and her state of mind would only deteriorate if she did. She emptied the shelves on the west wall today. She tended each wall and its respective shelf on a daily rotation; there were simply too many books in the study to tend and clean in one day. The Wingling girl dusted and polished the wood. It gleamed with the care of dozens of servants over the years. The manor had stood for hundreds of years. It was rumored to have been built and first inhabited by an extension of the royal family itself, and later given as a gift by the king to the Master's grand father for his service to the throne. With proper care, this library would stand for another hundred years or more, and Ahma felt an odd sense of pride for her role in keeping it in shape. 

She put the books back on the shelves in exact order. The Master had spent countless hours organizing the library, with her help, after his retirement from the knights. He had been the first in generations of his line to organize the room, really to even care for it. He had declared a need for a hobby once his retirement was official, and with his son so far from home, he had set about busying himself fully with the study's organization and refurbishing. He was not a man comfortable in idleness, that much had been sure. Even with his attention focused upon the study, it was obvious he was not comfortable no longer having an active role in Durinum's army. The Master had always struck her as being somewhat lonely...His wife, the love of his life, had passed away before Ahma had even come to the Manor, and he had never taken another woman to her knowledge. His son had rarely been home...she could hardly even remember seeing him in her youth. Perhaps that was why the Master had always talked to her and been kind to her. Ahma had become something of a strange companion to him...and he, a father to her. Some of the other servants had been resentful, especially the Stewart...but the Master had told her to pay no mind.

Ahma sniffled softly. She clenched her jaw and willed the wave of misery to pass. It had been nearly half a year since the Master had passed, and with him, the only bit of kindness in her life. She would not give in to self pity, and the period of mourning for the Noble had ended four months ago. But how could one confine one's grief to a set period? Humans and their traditions confounded her sometimes.

Quickly as she could, but much attention and care, Ahma finished with the shelves and books before moving to the Master's desk. It was large, also carved out of cherry wood, and during the Master's life, surprisingly cluttered and messy considering what a neat and orderly man the Master usually was. Now it was clean and neat, with a pen set beside a capped inkwell and a stack of unblemished parchment beside it. The Master's favorite book, written in elvish (which he had spoken fluently) and bound in leather sat on the left side of the desk, placed there intentionally by her. He had often read it to her. It described Dragons, the fearsome creatures that were feared and hated the realm over. The mountainous reaches of Durinum had once housed many roosts of the wyrms, but the spreading nation had chased the massive creatures away with raiding parties too large for even their impressive might to contend with. Ahma had never seen a Dragon of course...No one had, except for perhaps the oldest of Durinum's elves, but she was as secretly fascinated with them as the Master had been.

Ahma let out a heavy sigh and stood up. Her wings were stiff and achy from all the bending and stretching she did while she cleaned. The sun filled the room, stifled by the gloom of heavy winter clouds hanging across the sky. At first Ahma thought it would snow, or perhaps sleet, but the heavens began to open and a light drizzle began to fall across the gardens below.

She placed her dusting rag in an unoccupied drawer in the Masters now empty desk, and shut the door to the study quietly behind her. She was done before schedule, and the study would not be inspected till just before the evening meal. She could stay in the Study, undisturbed, and continue to attempt to finish learning how to read, but without the Master to finish teaching her where he left off, reading felt hollow. And the rain called to her.

The crisp grass tickled her bare feet as she shut the door to the side gardens behind her. She walked deeper into the gardens, taking a deep breath. The day smelled of gloom and greenery and rain, and Ahma was glad the Manor was uphill of the city commons, and thus upwind of the stench of Durinum's masses. The rain was coming down steadily now, a soaking but gentle downpour.

The east garden was much more natural than the southern garden overlooked by the study. This garden was more of a clustering of trees and shubbery, and had been allowed to grow in a more natural and wild way. The grass was tended and weeds removed, and the trees and undergrowth had been cleared out so that people could walk through the trees and bushes, but the plants and flora were allowed to otherwise grow as they would. Many of the trees were naked and spindly looking, their green cloaks having been shed for the winter, leaving their gnarled and branching bodies to cool in the winter winds. The snow had been cleared away from this part of the gardens, but another shower was sure to come along in a few days and leave the ground white. The limbs of the trees were still fairly heavy with powder.

The rain was chill, but Ahma did not mind cold, and the day was surprisingly warm for the season. She would have to spend time warming herself by the kitchens fires when she went inside, but for now she was unconcerned. She wandered deeper into the garden till she came near the small lake the Master had been so fond of. He had fished therein his youth, but as age came upon him took to simply watching the ripples on its surface. A layer of ice covered it now, and snow was piled on its smooth surface where it had fallen from the overhanging branches in great clumps. She didn't trust the ice as stable enough to walk upon given the mildness of the season.

The Manor was still in sight, but the men would be busy tending to the animals and bringing them out of the rain for the day and harvesting the winter crops on the west side of the Manor as quickly as they could before the approaching winter rains and snow ruined them. The other servant women had enough sense not to be out in the cold rain.

Ahma undid the bindings on her dress as she approach the lake. She smiled when she spotted Hannah and nodded a greeting.

"We Wingling have no sense, you know," Hannah said by wave of greeting. "I think the Humans may just have it right with their bathes and warm water."

"It is our way," Ahma replied. She pulled her dress off and placed it under a pine tree that still had most of its needles.

Hannah handed Ahma a rag and a sliver of dirty and worn soap. Ahma thanked her.

The young Wingling was a vision as she bathed. Her hair was long and thick, a shining, healthy chestnut shade with shocks of gold along her bangs. Braided it hung down below her buttocks and was so thick it took several minutes out in the rain for it to completely soak through. Her skin was the snow white shade of her people, as if untouched by the sun, though she bore light tan-lines from regular tending of the flowerbeds. Her face was perfection. It had a gentle oval shape and large, wide eyes of a deep brown. Her nose was small and delicate and slightly upturned and her lips were full and had a natural purse with a pronounced and dainty cupids bow.

Ahma's figure was that of her people as well; slender and slim with pronounced, extravagant curvature. Her shoulders were slightly wide and her hips round and supple. Her breasts were full, perky, round, and enormous, hanging high and surprisingly firm on her young chest. They were as all Wingling women were; Hannah, too, had an oversized bosom, and it remained tight and perky despite the graying around her temples. Wingling women could support their generous chests due to the powerful flight muscles needed for flight through their backs and chest. Ahma's took on a firm teardrop shape, with just a touch of pull along the heavy bottoms. Her nipples were hard and throbbed softly from the cold rain splashing across her bosom, a pleasing cherry blossom color. Her areola were of the same color and stretched across her generous breasts. Her bosom jiggled softly as she bathed.

Her stomach pulled inward slightly and her ribs could be seen through her flesh. Hannah had the same look about her middle; all the servants did these days. Belts had been tightened alarmingly since the Master passed away. No one could complain...it did no good for any of them, and had only been met thus far with even more ration cuts. 

Her womanhood was soft and plump, and smooth as silk from top to bottom. This, too, was the way of her people, both the men and the women...Some Wingling grew a small path of downy feathers over their genitals, as Hannah had. Ahma and Hannah had both been puzzled upon seeing a thatch of pubic hair the one time a human servant woman had joined them in their bathing ritual, and agreed that humans were quite odd. Ahma's buttocks were full, shapely, plump and meaty with a perky and round shape.

Finally, Ahma's beautiful wings lent her an exotic, fabulous beauty.

Or rather, they would have if they had not been bound down against her back.

Wingling servants and slaves regularly had their wings clipped and their flight taken away so they could not escape. It had been so with Hannah, who's wings were beautiful and delicate, but useless for anything but their aesthetic value. Hannah had been sold to the Manor by another, but Ahma, who had been directly taken in and cared for by the Master, was spared this fate. The Master had delighted in Ahma's flight, watching excitedly as the child soared through the clouds. In her later years, he had even taken her out on the hunt with him, letting her fly high above as he rode down his quarry.

Ahma tried not to choke on the bitter-sweet memory.

The Steward would have nothing of the kind. As soon as he was able, he had her wings bound to her back with a kind of corset he had made just for the cruel function. It scooped down around her middle, just under her breasts and over her navel, and lapped over her wings. It was locked in the back, and the Steward was the only one who had the key. The corset flattened them tightly to her back, making them chaff and sore and ache from disuse. Ahma was afraid her feathers were going to fall out soon. She bit her lip. She would not dwell on the injustice, and she would not give the Steward the satisfaction of making her miserable.

"Why do we even follow the old ways?" Hannah asked sadly as she soaped her generous breasts.

"Because it is who we are. We bathe in the sky's gift of rain, and we say silent prayers to the turning of dawn and dusk," Ahma replied hollowly.

"We are long removed from our people," Hannah reminded.

"We are our people. We are not removed from each other. It is enough," Ahma said, as she always did.

"You are young," Hannah smiled, and there was resignation in the smile. She cupped rainwater in her hands and splashed it across her bosom to wash away the soap. She began to rub her last bit of soap into the feathers above her womanhood.

"I am not so young anymore," Ahma said, allowing the hint of a smile to curve her lovely lips as she lathered her inner thighs and buttocks. "I've seen Twenty-Two years."

"Not so long, in the grand scheme of things," Hannah chuckled.

Ahma was silent for a moment before looking up at Hannah. "How much longer do you think the Steward will go unchecked?"

Hannah stared at the younger Wingling woman for a moment before letting out a soft sigh. She began to bring her wings forward to clean them then, remembering Ahma's inability to do so, folded them back. "I do not know Ahma. The war is long, and it is terrible, and everyone's attention is occupied by it. Compared to the war, our situation is nothing. You know this."


Rising



"I know," Ahma admitted grudgingly. "But that does not make things okay. That man has no right to do the things he does."

Hannah shrugged. She hated talking about this. "Who will stop him? You? I? He has been seated over us, and there he will remain until someone over him says otherwise. And who is to say anyone will? You know the nature of nobles."

Ahma nodded wordlessly and finished rinsing the soap away in the rain. The two Winglings turned as a servant woman approached from the Manor. She was a Human, as most of the servants and slaves of Durinum were.

"Ahma, the Steward asks for you," she said as she drew near. She looked down; no one envied Ahma the Stewards summons. No one knew what he wished from her, but the Steward was not a kind man, and it was certainly no favor to her.

Ahma swallowed and nodded, pulling on her thin, soaked dress. She said farewell to Hannah, who watched her go sadly before returning to her bathing.

The Steward's quarters were supposed to be on the first floor with all the other servants. He had, since the Masters death, taken the liberty of moving into the Master's wife's room, which had been undisturbed since her death. Until the Steward had his way, that is. This, more than almost anything else, made Ahma hate the Steward. He was a cruel man, he was a selfish man, he was an oaf and a pig and a bully, but all that Ahma could accept, and even expect to a degree; servants who grasped power abused it nearly as much as nobles, in her experience. What she could not accept was the callousness with which the Steward had disrespected the departed, both the Master and his wife as well.

The Steward was sitting in his dimly lit room, staring out his window, his chair facing away from her. His bed was enormous, loaded down with pillows and silk sheets and blankets of nearly every color, with a huge canopy engraved with rare silver threads. The bed that had been in the room before was not rich enough for him, so he had had it thrown out and replaced with the current one with no thought to the disrespect he did. A large hearth was set opposite the bed, and a dull fire crackled inside, burning low from not being tended. A large desk sat before the window, facing toward it, and it was littered with piles of documents and management information that he was responsible for but hadn't been touched in weeks.

"You summoned me?" Ahma said softly, her voice barely a whisper. She hugged herself tightly as she stood just behind the Steward's chair. Her stomach was in knots.

"You Wingling Women have no shame," the Steward's scratchy voice came.

"I do not understand," Ahma replied. She felt like there was a trap before her, and she was setting her foot into its jaws.

"Of course you do," the Steward snapped. "You women have no decency and self restraint. Animals of the basest instinct. You caper about tempting and corrupting good Men and poison our Human society with your obscene practices. Like those right there."

The Steward pointed with a thick finger out the window. Ahma drew closer and glanced out the window. Her breath caught. Gazing through the gloom of the rain and the naked branches of the trees, Ahma could clearly see Hannah rinsing the last of the soap from her body and slowly pulling on her dress. Neither of them had realized the Steward's window overlooked those gardens! Ahma had only even been inside the room a handful of times before, and on those occasions the draperies had been pulled to block the view outside.

"You do not understand," Ahma began, but the Steward cut her short with a wave of his hand.

"Come here," he demanded as if speaking to a dog.

Ahma swallowed the bile in her throat and walked around to the front of the desk to slowly face him.

The Steward was not an entirely disgusting man. He was short, overfed, but not quite fat. His hair was beginning to recede, but he wasn't balding yet. He wasn't young, and he wasn't old. His face, though a bit heavy through the jowls and over red through the cheeks, wasn't misshapen or marred by any particular faults. But his appearance was set in a perpetual scowl. Every finger on his hand was clad in a gaudy and fake ring he had bought with a large part of last months food budget. Ahma hated him.

"I understand all I need to," the Steward said. "I understand you people are filthy low bred scum, and that you need me to keep you in line. I understand that you have evil ways that corrupt the soul of Man and we Humans were right to chase your people out of their little nests. And I know you understand what you have to do to keep what little feed you and the other bird get."

Ahma swallowed and nodded, once. She willed her mind to go blank and make herself go numb inside. If it was just for her own good she would never comply with the Steward. But Hannah would be suffering too, and that she couldn't abide by.

She pulled the Stewards cock from his trousers and began to trace her tongue over the head, forcing herself not to shudder in revulsion and get the task over with. Her tongue swirled around the head as he had taught her to do and she licked her way down the shaft, leaving a trail of sticky saliva along his flesh. The Steward leered down at her and leaned back in his chair.

Ahma moved her mouth back up the Steward's cock and slid it between her lips, sucking slowly on the head before easing more of his meat into her mouth. She wrapped her pale, slender fingers around the bottom of his shaft and began to jack him off. She sucked at his prick, her plump pink lips gliding wetly along the fleshy pole as her cheeks hollowed to suck at him. She bobbed her head along the Stewards dick, trying to please him as thoroughly, and thus quickly, as she could.

He thrust his hips forward, sneering as she almost gagged when his cock slid deeper than before. Ahma swallowed her bitter humiliation and slurped on him harder, her tongue sliding firmly along his underside as he thrust his manhood in and out of her mouth.

"Use your bosom, bird," the Steward commanded. Ahma pulled her mouth from his throbbing cock and undid the front of her thin, plain dress. She pulled her enormous breasts out and wrapped them firmly around the Steward's saliva coated cock.

He thrust hard, driving his cock between her heavy, bouncing breasts. Ahma bit her lip, trying not to give him the satisfaction of hearing her gasp at how his cock pumped roughly between her tender breasts. The steward fucked her breasts for several moments, his slick, saliva coated cock sawing in and out between Ahma's soft plentiful breasts, which easily swallowed up his rather average sized manhood. She gripped the sides of her breasts together and squeezed them tightly around the Steward's pumping member. They quivered and jiggled with each thust. The Steward reached out and grabbed a handful of her breasts and held them tightly. Ahma bit her lip harder, nearly making it bleed as she suppressed a moan of pain at his bruising grip. The cock slid wetly in and out of her deep cleavage, making soft slurping sounds as her fleshy breasts crushed down around it.

Ahma saw the now familiar twitch in the Steward's face and quickly pulled her breasts free, cramming his cock back into her mouth. Never one to last long, the twitch always signaled the Steward's orgasm. The man had already cum on all over her breasts once and her face twice; she didn't wish to repeat the experience. He grabbed the back of her head and thrust in deeply, making her gag again and drool heavily upon his cock. She allowed herself to blush now that he couldn't see her face properly, letting her shame and embarrassment show through at last.

The Steward let out a scratchy groan as he began to cum into her mouth, his thin, salty semen splashing wetly down her throat and coating the back of her tongue. She swallowed quickly, having learned the first time how easily he could gag her with his seed if she didn't. He spurted several more small bursts of spunk down her throat before finally settling back in his seat. Ahma swallowed the last of the load, trying not to let her queasiness show lest the Steward become displeased and cut of her food despite her efforts. At least this time she hadn't been able to taste his seed well.

"Keep doing as you are told and you will continue to eat," the Steward said dismissively, and turned his attention back outside the window as if she had ceased to exist.

Ahma let herself out of the Steward's room and leaned against the wall for a few moments to shake. She wiped away angry tears, almost as mad at herself for allowing the Steward to do this to her as she was at him for doing it. But what choice did she have? She couldn't let Hannah suffer if she would help it. The older Wingling woman had been her support for years, and especially so since the Master passed.

She glanced out the window set in the hall. The sun was beginning to set, heralding the evening meal. She wasn't hungry...the feeling of the Steward's seed swimming in her belly made her want to rid herself of the morning meal and turned her stomach from thoughts of even more food.

She leaned her forehead against the windows cool glass, gazing longingly at the sky. She had told Hannah to keep faith and follow the old ways...but Ahma had not prayed to the sky in some time...not since it had been robbed of her and she had become grounded by the Steward's will. It seemed wrong, somehow, to pray to something you could not be a part of.

Tears flowed down Ahma's cheeks, unchecked this time. She mouthed a shaky prayer to Father Sky to deliver her from the misery she had been led into. It was a hollow prayer, and that hurt most of all.

Ahma felt her stomach churn and when she thought of what the Steward had robbed from her. She dashed down stairs and out the kitchen door to empty her stomach of the Stewards seed.

*

Chapter 2 coming soon. All comments questions or critiques should be sent to the address in my profile. 



Rising



This is my first time putting a story up on the internet. Enjoy, Everyone!

*

I woke up in a daze. The sun was up and a golden hue glowed through out the room, giving off blurry glares off the television screen, the drinking glasses, etc. It was quite hot and humid, one of those hot Belizean days where you can actually breathe and taste the heat. For those who don't know where Belize is; it's that small country right under Mexico, beside Guatemala.

I was lying on my side, facing the slightly opened bathroom door. My eyes now open, adjusting to the brightness breaking through the thin cotton curtains of the small motel room, the blur in my vision becoming solid as the rest of my senses try to wake.

I could taste the acrid taste of stale saliva in my mouth, with mixtures of liquor and beer residue. I hated the taste. That was the only bad thing about partying, the morning after. Not the hangover, which I rarely got, but the nasty taste of the night that you have drunk up. 

"I can't remember a damn thing." I thought as I threw my feet over the edge and sat up facing the bathroom door. My head swooned a little but as I closed my eyes and breathed deeply the disorientation went away. Groggily, I walked towards the small bathroom, twisted the knob of the tap and I bent down and washed my face. The water was scalding at first; I had to wait a while as the water cooled down. When it was cold enough I took a handful of water and washed my face. The water washing my face felt majestic. It woke up my senses and the skin of my face felt tight and thick. I rinsed my face thoroughly and slid some tooth paste in my mouth with my finger and gargled and rinsed my mouth. I toweled off, closing off the tap and turned to slip back into bed for an hour more of sleep. By the light in the room I would say it was about midday. I was about to walk up to the side of the bed, that's when I saw her.

"What happened last night?!" I wondered with bewilderment. I stood there looking down at a girl of about nineteen or twenty years. All I could remember were flashes of memories of the night before. I walked to the chair in the corner of the room and sat down. I didn't know what to do. My hear t was beating fast and became slightly frightened. She lay there, breathing with ease, feeling so safe and content.

I was wearing a light blue long jeans and a white undershirt. I took out a coffee flavored cigar, the thin ones, from its pack and lighted it and threw the pack back on the dresser next to me. I lighted the cigar and felt the smoke course through my lungs as small goose bumps spread over my chest and arms. I know I haven't done anything to her. I don't remember much right now, but I know.

God, she's beautiful. Not only is she lying there on her stomach, her lovely sides expanding with her steady breathing and her lovely, creamy, shoulders ever so lightly rising and falling. There's a tingle in my hands. I want to touch her.

Not only is she a naked goddess with the blanket roped carelessly and loosely around her body, but just the thought of an unknown beauty, discovered beside me, in a secluded room, where only a hand full of people know that I am in is very arousing....and that I could have her if I wanted to.

Really, I could, something tells me that I could. Not because of my looks and built. I mean I'm not ugly. I guess I have a pretty decent appearance and built. I have light brown eyes, and short wavy dark hair. My face is narrow but not too narrow; I do sport a respectable chin that sets in well with my face. I am six foot one, lean. I have defining lines and etch of my muscles on my upper and lower back, arms, chest and stomach. Not muscular, just fit. 

I looked at the girl and again the memories of last night, this time much more vivid and articulate.

I remember her now; I met her at the bar of a night club. I walked next to her to order a few drinks and as I waited I glanced at her to drink in her appearance. And what a drink it was. I assumed she was 5' 5". Very well proportioned and not skinny nor near chubby. Breasts that seemed more than a handful and an ass die or kill for. She had shoulder length hair, a hint of lip gloss and powdered cheeks. That's all she needed. She was a vision. 

I bought her a couple of drinks and her friends, we were talking and we were dancing. She moved so sexy against me. Her body pressing against mine, now and then she would straddle my leg and or caress it when we sat. I was enthralled by the way she moved as I felt, more than saw, her well curved body. Enjoyed her hips giving a smooth curve in that black little skirt; and as we talked, I fell in love with her voice and delightful laughter.

A deep sigh came from my sleeping beauty, almost erotic. It snapped me out of my memories and I looked at her again. I realized my heart was thumping a faster and there was a tingle in my pants now. My skin crawled and I began to harden.

Now I remember in the car. My friends were driving us to the motel on the highway. I began kissing her in the back seat of the care and she darted her tongue in my mouth and we rubbed our tongues in each others mouth to no content. I can almost remember the feeling, the echo of her lips on mine, again the passion flares in me.

I remember I slid a hand under her skirt. She opened her legs wider making me able to stroke her with enough room to delve into her. She was wet and so smooth. She wore a thong and she had them soaked. I wonder how long she was so wet. I knew she wanted me and she knew I wanted her. 

I slid the piece of cloth to the side and stroked her smooth mound with two fingers. I played and parted her lips and stroked her vulva and trailed it a little to the top where I found her button. My slick fingers stroked and pressed on her clit. I felt her tense under my arms and I felt and heard her sucking her breath in. She trembled and relaxed and continued suckling my lips. I inserted my index finger and I heard her gasp and moan and arched her back, letting herself fall a bit more onto my finger, digging deeper into her wet snatch. She clasped at my neck and chest and face, pressing her body against mine.

...again, I could almost feel her on my finger tips. Her wetness. If I smell my fingers would I catch her scent?

I remember us reaching into the room; she is fiercely kissing me again. We break our lip lock and she backs away a little; at this moment I am not sure if she is intoxicated or not, and at that moment I didn't care. Why would I even wonder about it? Wait, protection, no, in the car she told me she was on the pill. Right after she told me how much she wanted to fuck me.

She takes off her clothes and begins to take mine off. She was without her soaked thong and bra. Damn! I can't picture her without her clothes! But I know she was gorgeous. Something is telling me she is a treasure. I look up suddenly so see her, to heighten my excitement. My cock is pressing tightly under my jeans, making a too obvious hump appear in front of me. I must have her.

She was naked last night, and I was unbuttoning my shirt. I was quite dizzy with the liquor in my system and I see her lying there on the bed, beckoning to me and then I see her closing her eyes ..............and she's sleeps.

My passion raged, but she looked too beautiful, there to wake up. I took the blanket and covered her. I kissed her forehead. 

"Tomorrow, my sweet. Tomorrow you will be mine." I whispered near her ear. I lay beside her, with my pants unbuttoned and the fly open. I lay down with my undershirt and sockless. I slept. 

I smiled as I smoked my cigar, tasting the coffee on my lips and feeling the warmth from it. That's all I remember from last night.

Now, it is probably about 1:00 in the evening. I'm not hungry for breakfast, or lunch. I'm hungry for her

Feeling myself engorge in my pants, straining to be free and feel her flesh, a thought came to mind, something she said. She said she liked me smoking the cigars. She likes tasting the sweetness of my lips and the sweet taste of the cigar in my mouth and lips.

I smiled again and I pass my hand at the side of my straining cock over the jeans, feeling a great electric wave run through me. I stub out the cigar on the ashtray close at hand and I stand up. I look down on her and I see her delicacy. I look at the rising plump flesh rising from leg to her ass cheek. I want to slide my finger and hands and squeeze it. I advanced on to her, coming upon her on the bed, crawling lightly and kneeling, with one hand over her head, the other free hand pushing her hair away from her face. Yes. Very beautiful.

I stroked her cheek and she moved a little. She turns around, right under me, feeling her graceful movements, pressing her naked body against my chest and a nudge near my crotch. She's lying on her back. I just look at how she moves, sleepily. I will enjoy this moment and bleed what its worth out of it. I will take her as I please, and right now, I just want to look at her. I want to look at her as she opens her eyes and as she recognizes me.

I took in the great scenery of this muse of lust; her closed eyes, her smooth throat, lovely and delicate neck, full small lips, not too wide. I lean and I lightly lick her lips. She quivers, breathes out and opens her eyes.

She kept staring at me. At first it was the face wonderment. "Who is this man?" she must have thought. "Who is this man looking at me so intently?" I move the few strands of her light brown hair away from her eyes. Green, not a dark green, but a smooth green of sea. I smiled. She kept staring at me which it seemed forever. I began to get the feeling that she doesn't know who I am. She blinked twice. Then her face relaxed. I could feel her hand moving under me, passing her hand over her skin. She knows she's naked. But does she remember me? Does she remember what we were about to do?

Her eyes became soft and her lips widened as her sweet soft cheeks became small plump hills at the sides of her face. She was smiling. I smiled again and unable to stop myself, I shuddered. She had perfect lovely teeth. Those same teeth that are going to be nibbling at my lips and at my shoulders. She raised her head towards mine and with opened eyes she kissed me. I held the back of her head steady and close to mine, pressing lightly. Tasting her lips against mine was heaven and her tongue, rubbing against mine made me hunger for more, and just like that, we parted, vacuum broke. I breathed in heavily. I stood up on my knees and crossed my arms, taking the hem on my shirt and I raised my arms, taking off my under shirt. She looked at me. Her eyes were on my chest. I looked into her eyes and in my head I could see me. She wasn't smiling anymore. She looked at me with large eyes and a slightly gapped mouth. She rose to kiss me again but I held her down from shoulder. A small whine came from her throat. Oh she wanted me. Yes she did.

She stayed down after I let go of her shoulder. I sat on my feet, still kneeling. The bed was sturdy and a bit hard. There wasn't any headboard and the bed wasn't on wheels. It was made of heavy mahogany. A great bed for fucking. I bent down to her lips and lightly kissed it. Letting my tongue wander all over her lips and flicker the tip of her upper lip. She smiled and giggled. I grated my teeth down her cheek and chin as she raised her head. I suckled her neck and licked it. Taking little portions of flesh, running my tongue over it as I lightly sucked and let go before leaving any mark. She held me close, her hands clasping the back of my head and pressing me to her. 

She smelled so good. She didn't smell of roses, but she smelled of desire. Hot flesh and another sent that I can't quite place. The scent of her skin made me think of light, a white light that envelops you. I gave her neck giving little bites now and then. I placed my hands on her left breast and gave it a firm squeeze, feeling the firm tight flesh all over my hands and fingers. As I squeezed, I rubbed me over. I took both tits on both my hands and I squeezed them harder. I trailed suckling kisses down her neck and unto her chest. Coming down some more, I stopped to kiss and tongue the crevice where both breast begin. I moved up, picking up the pace a little, sucking harder and faster on her lovely breasts, alternating the erotic attention from left to right and right to left. My hands, down her body to her stomach and hips then up again. Squeezing her arms, her sides, her legs as I bring it and pressing and massaging her thigh and that little piece of tantalizing flesh I saw earlier as she slept the portion where her leg rises to the butt cheek. I kept on squeezing and pulling. I bring up both hands again to both breasts and squeeze them some more, feeling her small dark pink nipples hard under my palms. I lick them and suck them, catching on in between my teeth and roll it lightly, applying a little pressure. I kiss all over her breast, the swell flesh and the side of her breasts. 

I continue my journey south, kissing and licking at her stomach, feeling her abdomen clench. She's ticklish a bit. I lap at her belly button and to that she giggles. All through our foreplay she is moaning and sighing heavily, massaging my shoulders, my back and pulling my head to her body, nudging me, giving me signs of where to give the a decent amount of attention. She knew what she liked. 

As I continued downward, I kiss her hips, those sweet sexy hips. I slow my pace and I slowly lick the corner of her leg, right beside her pussy. I could smell her now, yes. Sweet. I kept on licking; she tried to move a little to the left so that my tongue would catch her drenched vagina. I held her stomach and she stilled. I propped my self on one elbow, as I bent down, centimeters away from her love hole. My tongue surfaced and lightly flicked at her outer lips. She tried to raise herself again and again I steadied her. She whimpered a little. It was torture for her, that was obvious, but I'm taking her as I please.

I bent down further and I kissed her taking her pussy lips between my lips and sucking. Then I stuck my tongue into her. She shuddered and gasped. I looked up to see her arching her back slightly, she was playing with her breasts, pulling them and pinching her nipples. I reached up and took a free tit and gave her a hand. I played with her left breasts as I kept on making out with her. Lapping up her juices, tonguing her threshold and I dug deeper into her. She pulled my head harder into her, drowning me into her sex. I pulled up a little and licked her clit. Long and steady. She trembled. I brought my hand from her breasts and dipped a finger into the flesh of her vagina to wet and lubricate it, and then I trailed upward to her clit. I rubbed it and pressed on it. She moaned. I clamped my mouth over her clit and began my sucking again, sending shocks from there, over her body. I held her legs with one hand, feeling goose bumps all over. I also began massaging her mound under my lips. I managed to press my thumb into her which was eventually replaced by two fingered, minutes later. I heard her moan, sigh and whimper almost all at once. At any other time, I would have laughed but I wanted to please myself by pleasing her, and I had a mouthful of pussy. She brought my head away from her, lips, chin and nose soaked with saliva and her juices. She clamped her mouth on mine and clung to my lower lips. She opened her mouth again and I stuck my tongue into hers and on we went, feverishly trying to eat one another. 

Her hands worked quickly and roughly on my jeans pants. She was rough but very quick about it. With one hand she unbuttoned my jeans pants and with the other she unzipped me. She opened my pants downwards and my boxers covered cock sprang out. She brought down my pants above my knees, where I was on. I got off the bed and stood on the floor and brought down my pants and boxers. She looked at my penis and reached out and held it. She squeezed it and ran her thumb and finger at the tip and felt the pre cum as she smeared it across my cockhead. She palmed and clasped my cock and pulled me a little closer to the bed. Still standing I stood right at the edge of the bed. 

She lay down on her stomach and she brought my dick up to her face. She stuck out her tongue and licks my cockhead all around. She kept licking until it was nicely coated with her saliva, then she put me in her mouth. First just the head, then sucking on it as she took it out, making that slurp sound as it exited her mouth. She sucked it as if it was a sweet or a Popsicle. She took me into her mouth again; I felt my balls constrict a little, a shock in my sack. This time she took more of me into her mouth, her lips not close to touching the base of my cock. She kept sucking on it. I had pulled her gorgeous long brown hair away from her face. I loved watching her suck me. She took me out and held my cock upward, pointing towards the ceiling as she licked the underside of my penis, then my balls. I couldn't take any more of this. I need to be in her. I need her wet pussy wrapped around my throbbing cock.

I held her suddenly by the shoulder, pulling away from her mouth. She looked up at me and I looked at her and we both knew what would happen next. She turned and lay back, with her legs opened slightly. I went on to her. Taking her legs higher. I positioned my rod at her threshold and paused.

She held my cheek next to her lips and she whispered with a slightly husky voice, very sexily, "Don't worry, I'm on the pill. I want you to fuck me so bad." She said "bad" like a whimpering little school girl. That drove me wild last night. Now, I'm looking down at her, into those eyes and yes, even the memory enraged me with lust. No, I'm not going to tease her. At first, I slowly and steadily thrust into her. I breathed in sharply as I felt my penis being enveloped by her hot inner flesh. She arched her head backwards and moaned. Then, I pulled a little outward then plunged into her a little harder. She was delicious. I could feel her through my penis, her vaginal wall cradling my dick.

She held me tight, pulling me into her. She wrapped her legs around my waist. I kept on thrusting into her. Our skins slapping against each other as I clasped her breast on my hands and kissed them and made love to them with my mouth. She brought her head down to my ear and suckles on it for a time or two. I kept thrusting. Harder, now. Faster, now. She held my chest on her hands, her legs tightening around my waist. Her eyes closed and opened to look at me. She moaned and groaned and throated her pleasure. She kept on encouraging me, urging me. 

"Yes!"

"OOOO!"

"AAAA"

"YEAHH"

"UHMMM" Her breathing quickened, I felt her tightening and relaxing. She was close. I never slowed down my pace, maybe once or twice to adjust. I fuck her harder, now. She begins moaning louder, almost a hushed scream. God! Such a sweet cunt, making me delirious with every stroke! With every stroke I am pleased and yearning for more. She digs her heels into my butt to urge me deeper and harder. I comply. I hold to her legs and I thrust in and out, in and out, in and out. Her breather quickens. Her moans are now light throated screams. "UUGHH! UUGHH! UUGHH! UUGHH!..." The quicker she breathes the quicker she moans her chant of pleasure. 

I the underside of my cock tingle, feeling that I am soon to come. Will she come first? I wanted her to come first. I looked at her as I worked. She had her eyes closed twisting her head from left to right. She grabbed at the sheets and pillows pulling them and squeezing with all her might. She kept chanting, urging me. She's telling me she's' coming. And so was I. 

I had only need to thrust a few more times, when she breathed in and "AAAUUGGHH"- ed. She kept bucking at me, love organ against the other, she came up and bites on my shoulder, she shuddered and clawed on my back. She threw her back suddenly and arched her back. I dug in deeper, the deepest that I could, that threw her over the edge. She stood rigid, and shuddered under me again moaning loudly. She came. But I haven't. 




Rising At The Crack Of Dawn



GLEN'S SIDE: 
------------

I'm lazily taking my time falling awake, lingering in the bed, eyes closed, the smells of our love all around me, half dream, half reality, memories of you all over me in the softness of the sheets and the calm of the hour. 

Then I quietly hear a faint echo of you starting to run the shower and I think of you standing there, naked, waiting for the water to warm.... I stir a bit more awake and listen to the water rain and I stretch and sigh and my thoughts begin to react more to the scents of our heat spread round the bed.... 

The after smells are intoxicating to me and I begin to remember how we created them, but still the sound of that water in the shower cannot be silenced. I drift open my eyes and take a deep breath, close my eyes again and now see only you under that hot shower, your glistening flesh, your silent savor, your powerful beauty of face and form.... My mind's eye swirls over all this and I find myself almost sub-consciously, by sheer will alone, getting out of bed.... 

I am gently awake now and I stand calmly, but with purpose, my strong naked body becoming more alive and demanding.... I slowly walk the short distance to the bathroom and look in.... 

The steam from the shower has risen into a most impenetrable cloud, but I am determined to see through it.... Behind the diaphanous curtain I can just make out your silhouette and it is so blatantly naked I can't control my body's response, my cock fills and grows strong, my balls recede tightly and I know that I cannot ignore the urges of either. 

I ripple through the steam without a sound and ever so lightly sneak into the shower behind you.... You are lost in the stream of warm water cascading over your face and none of your senses are aware of my presence.... You arch your neck back to catch the water and as you do so I crawl my hungry hands around your back and cup your breasts.... You are startled and you open your eyes suddenly and you gasp, but the feeling of my palms and fingers grazing your nipples lulls you just as fast back to the warm water, eyes closed, sigh after sigh. 

I feather the back of your neck with kisses, all the while caressing the form of your breasts and the combination begins to sweetly insinuate between your legs.... I murmur your name with breaths ever heavier, "Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer, I want you so bad...." And you mmmmmmmm in reply and your body folds back into me, the jut of my rock hard cock probes the delicate crack of your wet ass. 

I continue to stroke your breasts and now lick your neck, your shoulders, your ear, my breaths increasing with each new taste of you. I let my tongue glide down your back in such long lazy licks and you shudder a bit when my mouth finds your beautiful cheeks.... I push my lips all over them and with my hand I steal around to the front of you and easily find your aroused clit.... Yes, that's what I've wanted all along, that delicious little inflamed button awaiting the soft purr of my fingertip... And as I begin to massage it, I let your cheeks spread and bury my face in your delectable butt, licking the crack with such grace and reverence, until my erect tongue finally finds your most secret hole.... 

Now you are buckling and must grab onto the shower wall to keep your balance.... All of your consciosness is centered on my tongue bathing the exotic cavern of your ass and the spin of my pillow fingertip flicking your hot rosy clit. You moan then and it's loud because you hadn't taken a breath since I began to feast on your dark hole.... Now you moan again and my finger has found a rhythm and you are breathing out my name and pleading with me not to stop.... 

You feel me behind you, in front of you, surrounding you, your pussy is on fire with each new stroke, the hot water gushing over your hard nipples, which you grasp now and squeeze with wild pain. Inside you the rush begins to build and I can almost hear it and I lick at your rosebud even harder, fuck it with my tongue, as my hand grasps your cunt, my finger continues to love your sweet clit.... 

Oh now it's almost here and you are afraid of falling when it hits you, but you trust my hand, you place all your faith in my tongue and you give your nipples one last powerful grasp.... The orgasm wracks you and you scream out in pleasure and I fuck your asshole once more with my tongue as hard as I can and let my fingers slip into your overflowing pussy and you are utterly filled and cumming again and your breaths are shouting over the shower stream and you feel nothing but absolute Heaven....

-------------------------------------------------

JENNIFER'S SIDE: 
----------------

Oh, my sweet, sweet lover.............imagine my surprise when I felt your hands upon my breasts...........I thought I was alone in the shower!!! What an exciting surprise!! 

I had awakened early and softly kissed your mouth............pressed my face against your chest.........deciding then not to disturb you after a very long night of discovering all your secret places........and you discovering mine. We had fallen asleep exhausted, basking in the wonderful afterglow of our unbridled passion, our union leaving nothing untouched, our minds and bodies so satisfied, yet still hungry for more. 

It was so hard for me to find the strength to pull myself away, leaving you alone in the rumpled sheets, pillows everywhere..........and yes those wonderful scents that only lovemaking leaves behind. Still, I wanted you to rest a bit longer while I readied myself for whatever the day had in store for us............and so, I crept out of the bed and into the bath for a lovely hot shower. 

My mind was replaying the thrusts and moans, the passion, the pleasure............as the hot water splashed over my still buzzing body.............I was lost in my thoughts, and when I felt your touch it seemed that it was just part of the erotic replay going on in my mind...........my body stirring at the thoughts I was having. 

As your mouth touched my neck and your tongue started softly licking, exploring.............and oh, those nibbles.........turning into soft bites.............I could feel myself beginning to melt..............hot pulses of pleasure stirring in my very wet pussy.............body tingling, wanting, hoping..........I realized that it wasn't imaginings..........but you were really there!!! 

I felt your hardness pressing urgently against me..........oh, how I wanted you to enter me right away, all I could do was moan................your name...........Glen, please don't stop........please, please, Oh God, Glen please don't stop. Oh, that magical mouth...........tongue.........mmmmmmmmmmm, oh yes...............yes............the touch of your finger on my clit, combined with the passionate thrusts of your tongue in my most secret of all places.........I forced myself not to surrender to the explosive orgasm that almost immediately erupted throughout me. I was lost............the world fell away beneath my feet..........as your tongue insistently fucked my ass and your hand urgently pressed and rubbed my hard, tingling clit........

I could hold out no longer, and surrendered to the most intense orgasm I had ever known........thank God your arms were strong enough to hold me as my hot wet pussy, ass, clit......entire body was wracked with spasms of pure pleasure and I screamed out your name. The pleasure was almost too much to bear as your fingers entered my very wet pussy and I felt myself cum again.........oh, Glen, Glen, Glen.........ohhhhhhhhhh, Glen! 

You held me tightly, still from behind as I regained the strength to stand........and I turned around, pulling your mouth to mine........greedily.......savoring the passionate meeting of our lips and tongues thrusting, plundering each others mouths. Now it is my turn to pleasure you.........silly man, you try to resist............thinking that you will get away easily..........not so.........I will not be denied. 

My hands reached down to grasp your magnificent hard cock........now it's you that gasps sharply at my touch.......I looked into your eyes as I knelt before you..........the water splashing over us both now............I hungrily took your magnificent manhood into my mouth. 

You shuddered as I took the entire length of your delicious hard cock all the way into my throat.......my tongue teasing the bottom of the shaft.........my hands reaching to grasp your tight balls and ass. Sliding you in and out of my mouth...........tongue swirling around the tip...........softly at first...........more urgently now..........your straining member pulsed as you began to growl a deep guttural sound. Primitive urges take over........and again we are lost in the pleasure..........both yours and mine..........mine in the giving, yours in the taking. 

Your fingers tangled in my hair, pulling my head back slightly so that you can not only feel, but see my lips and tongue..... licking, tasting, sucking.........you watched my excitement as I taste the first few sweet droplets of pre-cum. I took my time with this......savoring your sweetness...............allowing your juices to moisten my lips and my tongue. Your hips found a rhythm............your hands held my head tightly and you began to fuck my mouth. 

Gently at first.............sweetly plunging and plundering my mouth.........your cock harder than it seemed possible.............my moans and sighs combined with my quivering body intensified your pleasure...............you struggled to control yourself, but your beautiful hot dick began pulsing and spasming until control was no longer possible. 

Gentle turned into rough, deep thrusts and you roared into my mouth............your cock wildly explodes, spilling your seed deep into my throat, cumming with an orgasm so powerful that I could hardly swallow all of the spurts of your delicious man cum..........ohhhhhhh how delicious, how sweet.............how full of you I was. 

You pulled me up and into your strong arms, lifted me off of my feet........and carried me to the bed...................

---------------



Rising Ch. 02



Ahma woke to the same routine. But Ahma did not feel the same. She was usually able to go through her days with a surprising measure of cheer and grace for her station. Her stomach felt as if it had half devoured itself. She had never gone to eat after yesterday's unpleasant events. Despite the gnawing of her belly not a tingle of appetite came to her this morning. 

She felt heart-sick with loneliness and misery, sitting upon her bed while Hannah's deft fingers worked her hair into a braid as they always did. The Wingling girl missed the tattered remains of her family sorely. A man was preying upon her, using her for his pleasures at threat of starvation for her and her only real friend. The days moved on, endless and bleak; the Manor that had once been cheered by and centered around the Master's presence was now a husk being sucked dry from the inside by a wretched and vile leech. And one of the few people who mattered to her was gone, taken by Father Sky or whatever God watched over the Humans. At least now he dwelled in a better place. 

The thought comforted her little.

"What troubles you?"

Ahma sighed and shut her rich brown eyes. "It is so hard without him here, Hannah."

"I know," the older Wingling replied softly. "Best we let him go though. All we can do is what we're told and not cause any trouble. The last thing anyone wants is irritate the Steward."

"He was so young," Ahma whispered, as if Hannah had said nothing. "Older than I...older than you even...but he had not even lived a quarter of full life by our peoples reckoning."

"He is not of our people," Hannah reminded. "By Human standards he lived for a reasonable number of years...a good number if you consider the war. At least his death wasn't wrapped up in the war. Thank father Sky for that."

"Perhaps," Ahma conceded. She stood as Hannah finished with her braiding. 

"Are you sure you're ok?" Hannah asked as she stood and smoothed the wrinkles from her drab skirts.

"I will be," Ahma replied. She took a deep breath and gave a soft smile to her friend. "I just need to get up and about. Tending to the study should brighten my mood."

Hannah nodded and smiled, though she still worried about her friend.

Ahma took another deep breath, and her mood was genuinely lighter as she followed the other women to the kitchen. Hers was a miserable lot, possibly more so than the other servants with the Steward's lecherous attention focused upon her. But she had a roof to shelter her from the harsh world, a home to reside in instead of being homeless in the dangerous streets, and a reliable source of food and clothing, even if it was being threatened by the Steward. It was more than most had, especially in this war-torn time. Misery was the prevalent mood across the Kingdom, and Ahma felt the Manor's misfortunes was a small lot to live with compared to the suffering that thousands were experiencing. Those who did not die at the front were suffering the secondary affects of the war. The Kingdom coffers were being steadily drained by war expenses. The common folk were taxed heavily in an attempt to bring more resources to bear against the Naemer invaders. The farms in the farthest reaches of the Kingdom had been raided and sacked systematically. Those safely set away from the borders had a large portion of their harvest and livestock confiscated to supply the war effort. With winter slowly settling in, the farmers would be hard pressed simply to survive. 

The capitol of Durinum itself was not much better. Ahma often looked out at the city sprawling at the foot of the hillock the Manor was situated upon. The war was visibly taking its toll...where once thriving markets and trading squares had thrived now sat lonely stalls with a thin measure of wares. Few had the spare coin to afford the liberty of browsing through wares, especially the finery of imported goods that normally sold so very well in the Durinum capitol with all the noble and high born people that flocked to the royal court. Many shops now stood out of business and abandoned by all but the homeless that huddled seeking shelter from the early snowfall. As the winter progressed, even the buildings warmth would do little to keep the chill from the poor folks bones unless they could find something to burn.

Lawlessness had broken out in the capitol as well which bespoke just how heavily the war was taking its toll. The city guard had been substantially thinned in recent months after its majority were sent to the front to act as reserve soldiers in the seemingly endless war. The skeleton crew left behind to man the largest city in the northlands was inadequate at best.

"Far better to be caged than free to the worlds fickle mercies," Ahma whispered. In some ways, she believed her words. Mostly she did not.

Perhaps it was due to not eating since yesterdays breakfast, perhaps not, but Ahma was starved. Her meal was meager and tasteless as ever, but she ate it with a hunger and energy she hadn't felt for days. It drew comments from Cook, who was pleased that the Wingling's appetite had returned.

"Your spirits seem lifted," Hannah commented.

Ahma shrugged and glanced at her friend. Hannah was staring at her closely, a curious look in her otherwise blank face. A lock of thin, graying hair hung across her face. It was still a beautiful, fair face, but it was lined now about the eyes and creases pulled her lips downward into a soft frown. Ahma suddenly realized just how much her friend had aged in the last six months. It was not a natural thing, for a Wingling to show their age in such a way. Hannah was into her one-hundred and forty third year, but it was almost unheard of for Winglings to age in such a way till well into their three-hundredth year. 

"I told you I'd cheer up," Ahma reminded.

Hannah smiled softly and spooned the thin porridge into her mouth. "It must be that you're young. Only the young put aside their troubles and concerns to make such a complete turn of mood. It's good to see you have accepted the way of things."

Ahma looked down at where her hands rested upon the table. "I've no more acceptance today than I did yesterday. Or the day before. I just do not see the point of fretting. But I still say this is not how the Master would have wanted, Hannah." Ahma looked up, her brown eyes intense and sharp as they cut into the older Wingling's gaze.

Hannah met her young friends eyes and shrugged before returning to her gruel. "Our lot isn't his concern anymore, dear. He's left it to his son."

Ahma pursed her lips bitterly. "His son. Who has abandoned us and all his responsibilities to an unthinking pig of a man."

"We should not speak of this," Hannah whispered urgently, her eyes darting about the kitchen. Even though the whole household suffered under the Stewards hand, many servants sought to better their ordeals by catering to the Stewards bidding.

Ahma fell silent and finished her small meal. Hannah was rarely one for gossip, but she would hear no ill word spoken against the young Master. It was one of the few points upon which they did not agree. She knew better than to really bother her with the issue. Ahma put her plate on the counter to be washed for the kitchen servants before making her way to the Master's study. She shut the door behind her and for several moments stood motionless, eyes shut, breathing in deeply. The room smelled of books and paper and yellowing parchment. The wax polish that had been applied to the bookcases and desk had been lightly scented with pine sap. Her wings tingled unpleasantly where the bindings bit into them. Seven feathers had fallen out this morning. While it was normal for Wingling kind to shed feathers ever so often, it was typically done one or two at a time. She feared she may have begun to malt. She pushed away the thought of how her once beautiful wings would look after another month. Another year. It made her belly roil if she thought of it, and she could ill afford to lose the small breakfast as she had yesterday.

The conversation with Hannah still weighed on her, particularly the way it ended. She felt a swelling of bitterness, like bile in her mouth. The Master's son had inherited the estate after the death of the father. Despite the honor and privilege of a well established house and family name to run, the young Master's hand was not present in the governing of the Manor, leaving the Steward to act on his own selfish whims without a Lord to keep his ambition and greed in check. 

Part of Ahma hated the young Master. He had not directly abused or mistreated her or the other servants, but he had placed them under the care of the Steward, who had no reservations about doing so. She hardly knew him; she had only seen him a handful of times when she was a girl, and then only fleetingly...he had never been around his own home much. She blamed him for at least a part of the heartache and loneliness his father tried so very hard not to show. He never checked on his servants to be sure of their well being, never returned to the manor to monitor his assets, and never tended to the estate his father had left him. He allowed the land and Manor that had been passed honorably into his hands to lessen. She knew the young Master had duties and responsibilities elsewhere...but aside from a three day visit to attend his fathers funeral and be sure that things were properly in order and transferred to him, he had never even as much as checked on them in all these months. To her, it seemed as if he was running away. She thought him a coward.

With a deep breath Ahma firmly put the matter from her mind and began the endless task of keeping things clean and in order. She started on the northern book cases, taking the thick volumes and brushing them down with a clean rag before carefully wiping what little dust had manage to accumulate in its place on the shelf since her last thorough cleaning. The Wingling woman hummed to herself softly, a melodious sound that filled the chambers. Her voice was moving, nearly ethereal in its lilting song. Ahma had never been properly taught or instructed in the art of a minstrel or bard, but she had the gift of song that nearly all of her race carried. The Master had often asked her to sing, taking simple pleasure in her young voice that seemed to bend any song into a perfect musical performance. More than once he had commented that she would shame a number of court bards if given the chance. He had even taught her a number of his favorite songs in the common tongue and a few of the shorter human ballads. 

But now she simply sang for the joy of it. If her wings were unable to give her the joy her heart craved, then song would suffice well enough. Her hands worked lovingly along the leather bound volumes of the library, and a peace settled over her. She was content, for a moment at least. She was in her Masters study, she was busy with the efforts of her duty and secure in this place of words and knowledge and pages and ink, and the notes of her humming filled the room as it always had. Almost she could see him sitting in his chair, looking over a volume of words written in a tongue Ahma could neither speak nor read, one hand to his ear to better hear her melodious voice, a smile upon his lips.

A loud thud shook her thoughts back to the present. Her lovely brow furrowed slightly as she glanced toward the closed door of the study. The noise echoed through the hollow halls. The sound bounced this way and that, confusing the source and direction of its origin. Ahma straightened, book in one hand and her dusting rag in the other. She wondered what such a racket could be...then it came to her. The front doors of the Manor were extremely large, a door befitting the regal and lordly estate. Someone had thrown them wide, causing them to crash against the walls hard enough to be heard all the way upstairs and a good bit removed from the front foyer. It would take a mighty person indeed to move the enormous doors with enough force to cause such a clamor.

Ahma tried to resume her duties, minding her business. Before she had lifted the next book, however, her attention was taken once more by a deep, strong voice called out. The distance and the shut study door muffled the words, but she could tell the voice was smooth and rich. Moments later came the scuffling of several servants marching past the study and down the stairs. Their curious murmuring crept, somewhat smothered, through the cracks of the door.

Ahma hesitated a moment. When no further commotion came she turned back to the towering shelves and swept the cloth attentively across the rich wooden surface, leaving it clean and shining with a healthy polish. She pulled a book from the shelf and glanced over it. It contained the records of the ancient rising Faldrin clan and how it came to be integrated into Durinum society, if she recalled correctly. A short lock of shining brunet hair flopped across her brow. She glanced up at it and smiled wryly, blowing it up and out of the way.

She jumped and gasped aloud as a shrill scream ripped through the manor. Shouts and cries followed the scream, all filled with panic and edged with fear. Ahma let out a shakey breath. Someone had hurt themselves, probably either out in the fields with a farming tool or in the Manor while carelessly handling knives in the kitchen. The shouting and arguing and the sounds of bodies moving and jostling about was likely other servants coming upon the injured person and butting heads about how best to handle the situation. Surely that was all. Nothing more exciting than that had ever happened at the Manor. But Ahma was shaking, trembling violently really, and she was not at all sure why. She hesitated for a moment, then put her rag down upon the Masters desk. With a badly shaking hand, the Wingling servant opened the study door.

Her head stuck out meekly. She glanced around, down one way of the hall and then the next. Empty. Steeling herself, she crept slowly from the study, walking down the wide halls toward the front of the Manor. As she reached the stairs she spotted a rush of servants frantically charging upstairs and away from the foyer just below. Their faces were panicked and terror stricken. She opened her mouth to ask them what the noise was about, and jumped aside as a man stumbled and went sliding across the floor, nearly bowling her over before coming to a stop at her feet. He glanced about, scrambled to his feet, and dashed out of the room to catch up to the other fleeing servants.

Ahma shook her head, her brow furrowing once more, baffled at the bizarre behavior. Her stomach felt as if a pit had opened in it and sunk downward. Her dark chocolate eyes suddenly flew wide as the distinct, violent ringing of steel crashing upon steel filled her ears.

For several moments Ahma did not move. The sound was coming from directly below, in the foyer at the bottom of the stairs. She swallowed and gathered her nerve before she stepped toward the railing overlooking the foyer below. She tryed to be as quiet as possibly, though she was sure her heart was beating and pounding loud enough for the whole house to hear.

Her heart picked up an even faster beat when she gazed into the foyer. Despite her efforts not to, she began to tremble in fright.

Propped against the wall a few feet before her, sat one of the servants, a young boy she recognized as a runner who often carried information and food from the Manor to the men working the fields. He was young, a fair youth who would make a fine man one day, tall and lean and quick of foot. 

Or he would have, at least. His eyes were gazing out into nothing and his face had lost its color. The front of his jerkin, normally a dull and worn gray, was stained crimson and torn along the belly. A pool of dark, sticky blood grew around his body as she watched.

Ahma's eyes, shining with tears, glanced around the room. They stopped upon a tall man standing with his back to her, taking up the center of the foyer. His body was clad in light battle mail, the kind used by warriors who did not favor the hampering and heavy weight of full plate mail, but wanted a bit of extra defense than simple chain. Chain covered the body from shoulder to foot and left the arms bare, with a light plate mail breast plate over the chain. A long, flowing cloak with several rends in it was upon his back, hanging nearly to the floor from his tall shoulders. A naked and gleaming blade was grasped in his gauntleted hand, an enormous great sword that almost seemed too large to be wielded with any effectiveness. Locks of copper hair hung down his back. It was tied back into a warriors tail but had come mostly loose from the hasty attempt to bind it.

She watched, frightened and dry mouthed as six men stepped through the ajar front door, squaring off with the lone man. Their bodies were shrouded in darkness and cloaks, their faces hidden. The only part of their body open to view was their hands. They were small and bony, void of any color save splotchy gray blemishes. Like the hands of the dead, Ahma couldn't help thinking. She shivered, developing an intense dislike of them immediately. They too held swords theirs short and little more than enormous daggers. One blade was stained red and dripping heavy droplets of syrupy scarlet liquid onto the polished marble floor. Ahma shuddered to look upon them, her stomach growing tight as they stepped forward.

Shifting her glance once more to the man squaring off against them, realization struck her. This was the Master...the new, young Master. She was sure. Besides his distinct coppery red hair there was the silver dragon emblazoned upon his blue cloak the family crest and colors. Despite the situation, Ahma felt a bitterness upon seeing him. He had brought violence to the house. What was he doing there in the first place?

Her Master's enemies did not notice her. All their attention focused solely on the nobleman. Their eyes bore into the man intently, but they were hollow and void of any emotion. Ahma did not like the young Master, nor did she feel he should even be at the Manor. But she knew her duty, and did not like the odds of him facing six men. He would be slaughtered. She had to help him, somehow.

Quickly, Ahma sprinted back down the hall. She quickly found the back stairs and rushed down them, turning left and dashing to the kitchen. She found most of the maids and kitchen staff huddled behind the massive wooden dinning table One woman clutched an arm gingerly to her chest and one of the kitchen boys looked to have scraped his head against something, though by the looks of the cut it seemed more likely he got it fleeing too clumsily than from any act of violence. She looked desperately around the group.

"Has anyone sent for the guard?" She asked

"The city guard?" One of the maids stuttered nervously.

"Yes, someone get them up here, quickly now," Ahma instructed firmly.

The fever of her words caused Cook to gather her wits at last and send one of the kitchen lads running out the back kitchen door. Ahma looked at two girls, both maids responsible for the upkeep of the dining hall and the corridors closest to it. "Get the men in the fields, have them bring their hoes and forks. Hurry!"

The human girls scattered frantically at her words. As the room fell silent, the clashing of steel echoed down the halls. Cook asked, "What else should we do?"

"Take the children," Ahma answered, pointing to a handful of wide eyed young in training for eventual duties, "Into the wine cellar. Hannah, prepare bandages. I think we may have some wounded before this is through"

Hannah nodded quickly, not entirely certain what was going on but trusting in Ahma's judgement. "I'll take care of it, dear."

As Hannah started to move, several women followed her and the small group rushed to do what they could. No one questioned Ahma's taking charge of the situation; all were used to doing as someone told them, and it mattered little who issued commands as long as they were issued. Of the Steward, there was no sign.




Rising Ch. 02



Ahma rushed quietly back to the foyer, this time approaching from one of the halls leading from the kitchen. She clung to the shadows, trying to keep hidden near corners or in the little niches and cubbies to be sure she wouldn't be so easily seen. As she got a clear view into the foyer, she saw her efforts at stealth were largely unneeded.

Two of the cloaked figures were sprawled face down on the polished floor and only one of them still had its head. The remaining four men were upon the Master, their blades cutting and thrusting at him wildly. They were clearly desperate to get through his defenses. Even to Ahma, who had no knowledge or experience in matters of battle or combat, they seemed well trained and skilled with the sword. To defend against all four seemed an impossible task.

Ahma's eyes were wide with disbelief as the Master did just that. He skillfully, gracefully maneuvered his blade, turning aside every slash and parrying every thrust, stopping with seeming ease blows that should have been impossibly close to felling him. In a blur of motion he worked his huge blade this way and that before him with more speed than seemed possible for the bulky weapon. He blocked a strike, knocking the weapon wide and away, then rolled his blade across and opened the leftmost attackers belly.

Ahma, mesmerized, slid along the wall, certain that the men were too occupied to notice her. The Master sidestepped an unbalanced thrust and, flicking his powerful wrist, brought his blade down in a curt, quick chop that cleaved the man's arm off at the elbow. A gout of blood spattered across the Masters gleaming armor, but he did not flinch. Before the man had a chance to scream his head was lopped from his shoulders by the Master's arcing blade.

Now down to two men, the attackers were doomed. The Master lunged forward, knocking the nearest cloaked man's sword wide before roughly thrusting his great sword through his chest. Three feet of steel erupted from the man's back. The Master gave the sword a vicious twist, making Ahma flinch at the sudden brutality. She looked into the Master's face, seeing the grim, hard set of his features. Burning flames kindled in his shining silver eyes. A shudder ran through her. Even standing just outside of the foyer she could feel the rage and power radiating from those eyes. They seemed almost unnatural, the way the fires burned and crackled in their depths. Ahma was momentarily not at all certain who she feared more, the shadowy men or her Master. The remaining man noticed he was now alone. Deciding he held little chance against the apparent juggernaut he turned and lunged for the door.

In an explosion of movement the Master whipped a dagger into the middle of the would-be assassin's back. The man fell, gurgling, and twitched for a moment before settling more fully into death.

Stillness filled the room. Ahma watched him, awed. He breathed a bit heavily with the exhilaration of the battle, but seemed largely unmoved by what would have brought most men to their knees in exertion. A scowl marred his face as he stared at the carnage at his front door. 

Ahma dared not move. Emotions roiled within her. At once, she still hated and loathed him...possibly even more than ever, that he would bring such danger upon all of them. But at the same time, she was fascinated by him. Never had she seen a battle, but she knew she had just seen prowess that was nearly unheard of. The Master had an amazing level of competence and mastery. Not only had he been able to dispatch six men at once, but he had been graceful and mesmerizing to watch, his every movement precise and purposeful. To Ahma, whose world consisted of duties and chores, cleaning and trudging through life day by day, he seemed a great hero, a warrior from the old tales that the elder Master had told her so often. He seemed so much more than the simple boy who she had glimpsed so briefly as a young girl.

The moment was shattered as several of the field workers came barreling into the room, hoes, picks, and forks raised high to defend their home. They fell short however, stopping several feet behind The Master. One of the older men, the head planter Marts, glanced at the Master with wide eyes. "M'lord? M'lord Methaniel? Is that you?"

"Indeed," Master Methaniel replied evenly. He pulled his eyes from the scene of carnage and nodded to the men, who gawked at him for a moment before hastily bowing and muttering 'M'lord' and 'welcome home' with downcast eyes.

"Master, are you injured?" Marts asked awkwardly as he pulled his hat from his head respectfully.

"No. But I believe someone else may have been," the Master responded. He turned to look at the servant boy slumped against the wall, his eyes gazing out into nothingness. "We have dead. We should tend to the wounded first and then prepare the lad for proper care and his death-rights."

Marts turned to a younger man. "You heard our lord! Get the women folk over 'ere. We've fallen to tend to and grieving to begin, and the Master needs be welcome home more proper than this!"

He turned and nervously glanced at Master Methaniel, though his eyes remained low. "We 'ad no word M'lord...we would have prepared proper like 'ad we known. Yer return 's'prised us all."

"I know," Methaniel replied evenly. He nodded to the lifeless youth. "He was supposed to arrive shortly before me to inform you. I did not expect...this unfortunate happening to come upon us."

Marts nodded and wrung his had nervously. "What would you 'ave us do, Master?"

"I would have you return to your work," Methaniel said after a moments silence. "Let the servants who tend the Manor worry about what to do here. In the next few days I will call on all of you men to speak with you about the state of my lands and our crops. For now, return to your work and know that this incident will not be repeated. That is all."

Ahma silently crept forward and knelt beside the dead boy. She swallowed hard and shut his frozen eyes for good as the men bowed and mumbled their acknowledgements to Master Methaniel before filing out of the building, talking excitedly among themselves. 

The Master reached down with his blade, wiping it on one of the bodies till he was satisfied it was clean for the moment. Scowling once more, he shoved the blade roughly into its sheath. He turned as Cook and her helpers crept into the Foyer. All gasped at the grisly scene that greeted them. One of the kitchen lads began vomiting noisily into a kerchief. Methaniel nodded curtly to them, his mouth set in a grim line. Blood dripped from his mail.

"Take this lad into one of the spare rooms be sure someone with some level of experience with this kind of thing tends him and dresses his body, and prepares to give him his death-rights. Find his family, whether they are servants here or not. Inform them I wish to offer my condolences and whatever compensation I may for his loss. Then return to your duties for now. I will make an announcement considering these events at a later time. For the time being, please go about your lives as usual."

"Aye, M'lord," Cook replied softly. She and the two kitchen lads gathered the fallen lad, showing the same tenderness and care they would to one of their own family members. They carried him slowly and carefully from the room and down the hall.

He turned his hard gaze and his eyes fell upon Ahma, still crouched where the boy had slumped against the wall. He met her eyes, and some of the agitated look faded from his face. His body untensed slightly, but she could tell his temper remained frayed, if a bit more controlled now. She realized she was meeting his eyes and quickly cast her gaze downward. 

"Fetch some servants to clean this. And where is the Steward?"

Ahma kept her eyes upon the floor. "I do not know, Master. He is probably in his rooms upstairs."

Methaniel arched a brow. The rooms on the second floor were for the family itself. His lips pressed into that thin line once more, but he otherwise seemed not to have heard her "Tell him I have summoned him to the Foyer."

Ahma could hardly believe it. He should be outraged! He should be demanding the Steward's head! A Noble should be having the man executed on the spot for such disgrace and dishonor. The measure of growing respect and awe Ahma had felt moments ago suddenly dropped. Her guts twisted into bitter knots. He was going to let the fiend get away with his foul treatment.

She rose and dropped a curtsy. When she reached the hall she glanced back at the Master. Methaniel gathered three of the torn, bloodied bodies in one massive, bulging arm and a fourth in the other, putting the pile of them on his shoulders and hauling them to the street with no apparent effort.

Ahma went upstairs and knocked briefly on the steward's door. When there was no answer, nor an answer to the second knock, she opened the door and ventured into the room. She expected to be cursed for her disrespect and threatened with a number of unpleasant, lewd punishments. Instead she found the Steward crouched under his desk, hands tearing at his thin hair. She peered down at him.

"The Master would like to see you."

"What was that noise? Are there robbers in the house? Call the guard you stupid girl!" he shrieked.

"I already sent for the guard, but Master Methaniel disposed of the intruders himself. He wishes to see you right away," she replied.

The steward crawled from behind the desk. His eyes were enormous and his jaw hung open limply. "Wait. You say the Master is returned? It is he? Truly?"

"He is," Ahma replied. 

"If this is some kind of stupid trick I'll have you sold to a brothel."

Ahma said nothing and exited the room.

Downstairs, Methaniel spoke briefly with the captain of the city patrol while two guardsmen removed the remaining bodies. The captain took a brief report, promising to give the details of the incident to one of his superiors before excusing himself and leaving.

At the same time, several of the maids cleaned the foyer. The room had been lovely, wide and open with rich blue marbled floors veined with silver, the house colors. Tapestries in blue hung down the whitewashed walls, and a painting of the Master's mother hung on the right wall, resplendent and beautiful. It had been drawn before the illness had begun to claim her, and her hair was like fire burning about her lovely pale face. A massive, sweeping stairway was stood across the foyer from the doors and led upward to the study and family rooms, including Methaniel's own. The top of the steps were covered with neat marble slabs and the railings were polished oak wood. Paterns and lines ran along the banisters like vines creeping upward. Now the floors were covered in blood and splotches marred one of the white walls.

Ahma moved to aid the maids. She took up a rag and began to mop the bloodied floor. She glanced up as the Steward shuffled his plump body into the room. The Master stepped up to him, his massive arms crossed over his broad chest. He said nothing, only stared at the Steward mutely. The Steward dropped into a shaky bow.

"How are you, young Master? Are you harmed?" The steward sputtered. Sweat beaded across his brow already.

Methaniel's scowl deepened and he shook his head, his coppery locks swishing slightly. One of the servants carrying a bucket of fresh water suddenly slipped on a sticky smear of blood, spilling water across the floor.

"Fool!" The steward bellowed, moving to kick the woman. One of the Masters huge hands moved in front of him, stopping his forward waddle. The Steward made to stammer out an explanation, but Methaniel motioned curtly for him to be silent. 

The tall man's gaze swept the room, sliding over the servants, looking closely at their thinness, their pale and sallow skin, the sunken set of their eyes, the hollowness of their gaze. Their clothing was old, several had dresses and skirts that were torn and worn away in places, or ripped, or stained and unwashed. His gaze found Ahma, and she saw the anger boiling behind his eyes.

The Master spun upon the still sneering Steward. His hand suddenly closed around the man's fat neck. Though the man was overweight, the Master showed no strain or effort as he lifted the pudgy and thoroughly terrified Steward till his fat feet dangled some two feet above the ground.

"Tell me, Steward. Why is it that I ordered my servants and workers to be well cared for and treated with respect and humanity, yet they seem to have wasted away while you have doubled in size in the months I've been away?"

Ahma's breath caught, as did nearly all the servants. She could hardly believe what she heard. The steward tried to gasp out a reply, yet could force no words past Methaniel's iron grip.

The Master shoved him away when the man began to turn a sickly shade of purple, sending him sprawling across the floor. He stared down at the coughing, stuttering Steward and spoke with a voice of calm. He sounded dangerously emotionless.

"You will tend to these servants, give them proper garb and clothing, and make sure their lodgings meet my satisfaction. And you will now eat only after the servants eat, or you will not eat at all. Am I understood?" His tone left no room for argument. The Steward nodded meekly, his body shaking at the consequences of his actions and a suddenly dangerous Master.

"See that each and every man, woman, and child serving my house is better cared for and lighter of heart before the week is out, or you will be cast from the Manor. Even then, your position as Steward will be tenuous at best. The happiness of my servants will decide whether or not you keep your job from this point on, and if I hear too many ill words from them, you will be gone from this place. Mark my word well, for I will not hesitate to make good on this threat. I suggest you start making friends. Now."

Methaniel jerked his hand in a motion of angry dismissal and the Steward fled the room in a panic.

Ahma felt her heart leap within her. The Steward was being punished! And they were being given reprieve from his cruelty! She let out a heavy breath and tried to contain her excitement. She glanced at Methaniel, unable to view him quite as she had. All this time her impression of the man had been shaded by his negligence toward his servant. She should have known the Steward would have been behind the entirety of the suffering he had inflicted. The Master had sought to keep his people well provided and cared for, but that had apparently been too much for the Steward to bother with.

Methaniel crouched suddenly, reaching for a rag and wiping at the blood on the floor himself, stunning the servants, who froze at this unexpected behavior of the Nobleman putting himself on their level.

"I did not know this was happening to my folk," Methaniel swept his silvery gaze across the crowd of servants. "Had I known, things would have been corrected immediately. I did not know I had entrusted my folk and my home to such a man. I swear to you such mistreatment will not happen again."

He held their eyes one at a time, and all could see the sincerity in the silvery depth of his eyes.

"I would speak with you all of on another matter. I have found myself bereft of my personal attendant...he fell at the front. Would that I could simply do without one, as I would prefer, but you know that would seem unbecoming of me, and there would be...talk."

The servants held their tongue, though it was clear that most found the annoyed and bored expression on his face at once amusing and mortifying.

"Therefore, I must find another attendant. I will likely find a replacement trained for the duty at a later time, but for now I do not have the patience to seek a properly trained and schooled attendant out. I think any attendant will suffice. So I ask if anyone here would be interested in taking up the duty.

"It is a large responsibility," Methaniel continued when no one spoke. "And it is a duty and a burden I will force upon no one who does not wish it to take it on."

He stood slowly, his armor creaking softly.

"I want no one who does not wish this position willingly. None of you will be faulted for saying nay, so do not accept grudgingly. Will anyone accept this duty?"

Ahma teetered on the edge of uncertainly for a moment. For months she had disliked this man and cursed his name silently. She had believed him responsible for all the woes and misfortunes that seemed to be heaped upon her and all the servants of the Manor. She had believed him negligent of his responsibility, war or no war. She had believed him a coward. But in an hour all seemed different. She had seen him punish and rebuke the lecherous and cruel Steward, and placed him in a precarious and humiliating position deserving of his poor behavior. He had shown a level of compassion and care toward the slain servant boy and those servants that yet lived that was nearly unheard of from a Noble. And he had been so very brave and skilled, defeating six men with his own blade...Ahma had little doubt they would have hesitated to slaughter the servants when they had finished with him.

She stood slowly, gripping her hands nervously in front of her. "My lord, I would...that is...I would be honored to serve you."

She gazed at the Master for a few moments, then realized she was staring and dropped her eyes. "If it would suit you, Lord."

Ahma glanced up shyly a moment later, unable to help herself. The Masters eyes were upon her, studying her, considering her. She suddenly felt a blush creep into her cheeks. She fancied she saw something akin to recognition flicker in his eyes. He nodded slowly. The women around her let out a sigh, of relief or of envy, Ahma couldn't be sure.

"You feel yourself up to the task?"

"Yes, sir, I have some experience and will give any task all my energy."

Methaniel nodded once again and glanced about the group of servants. "Finish cleaning here, then cease your duties for a few hours and go rest and get some food. You may resume your duties later tonight, or wait till tomorrow, whichever better suits each of you. We will speak of what has happened today sometime in the next several days. For now, I wish all of you to feel safe and recover from the rigors of your lives over these hard months. I thank you, all of you, for your loyalty. You have all been wronged, and I apologize for that, and thank you for your patience."

The servants crouched there on the floor, mouths agape, scandalized. For a noble to aplogize and thank a servant! It was positively unheard of! The maids and servants slowly recovered their wits and bobbed their heads, thanking him humbly for his kindness.

Master Methaniel turned his eyes upon Ahma once more.

"I want you to go to the house seamstress...is it still Rema who sees to that task?" Methaniel asked.

Ahma nodded and glanced up at him, smiling softly. "Yes, my lord. She cannot walk without a cane these days, but her fingers are as clever with a needle as ever."

"Good," Methaniel mused. "Well then. Go to her and procure a more comfortable and less worn dress. Tell her to begin making new clothes for all the servants. She has my permission to get as many assistants to help her with this as possible. I want some new dresses made for you quickly, dresses befitting your new position and responsibilities."

"As my lord says," Ahma replied.

Master Methaniel looked slowly at the servants. He said nothing, but his eyes and stance seemed to say that all would be well. He turned and glanced over his wide shoulder briefly, catching Ahma's eye, then suddenly froze. He turned back to face her. He walked closer and motioned for her to step away from the other servants.

Ahma swallowed and nodded, following him a few feet away.

Methaniel looked down at her, his eyes searching her face for a moment. "You are Wingling," he said after a moment.




Rising Ch. 02



Ahma suddenly suspected the man was daft. "Yes, my lord," was all she could think to say.

"Your wings. What is wrong with them? All Wingling I have known display their wings proudly. Why are yours beneath your dress?" 

Ahma was surprised that he had noticed. She was surprised he had even said anything. She was also surprised by her own boldness when she looked up into his face. "The Master...that is, your father...he never had my wings clipped. He allowed me to use them and fly as I would. The Steward did not like this, but did not seem to think it was worth it to have them clipped. He ordered them bound to my back, always."

Methaniel stared at her wordlessly, meeting her eyes without reproach. "Go remove your bindings immediately. Take some time to stretch. If you are not ready to start your service, then take some time to let your wings adjust to being free again."

He reached out a hand and squeezed Ahma's shoulder. She wondered if he could feel the way she trembled at his words. "He will be punished," Methaniel murmured softly, that only she could hear his words. "I will not stand for this. He will pay for the dishonor he has done to so many."

Master Methaniel released her shoulder and nodded, briefly, then starting up the sweeping stairs to his quarters.

All the servants watched with open mouths as their Master left the room, ascending to the family rooms. As he disappeared from sight, a few began to chatter among themselves. They had waited for this. Some had lost faith that Methaniel would be a good man, the kind of man his father had been, but now there was no question. Already their hearts were lifted and they went about scrubbing the floor with more energy and drive than they had had since the Steward took over the running of the house.

Ahma felt the tumult of emotions swirling through her as she hastily made her way toward the leftmost rooms of the Manor where Rema the seamstress sat in her chair, sewing and fulfilling the Manor's clothing needs. A year ago, she had been busy mending clothes and making new ones for the servants and workers of the Manor. Over the last several months, however, her talents had been confined by order to swelling the Steward's personal wardrobes. As she headed down the hall to excitedly tell the old seamstress the exciting news, the Wingling girl's step was lighter than it had been in six months.



Rising Ch. 03



Ahma stared at the imagine reflected in the mirror. Never had she even touched so fine a dress as this. It was breathtaking, beautiful and finely made. Rema had truly outdone herself this time. 

When Ahma had entered the seamstress's workroom and told Rema of the Master's wishes, the seamstress had ushered her promptly onto a stool with hardly another word. It was clear by her face that she was pleased at having something more interesting to work at than patching the pants of the field workers. 

Rema and her two little assistants began taking Ahma's measurements, examining and inspecting her from all possible angles with tape and pins. The seamstress scribbled down the measurements on a thin leather pad with a piece of charcoal. The assistant girls stepped into a side room briefly before returning with such a variety of clothes and materials of so many colors, shades, and designs it made Ahma's head spin. These Rema had Ahma hold up against her body. The seamstress ran a clinical eye over Ahma, judging how each fabric and material matched with the Wingling girl's eyes, hair, shape, and complexion.

After several moments of this, Rema re-checked Ahma's measurements before nodding in satisfaction, her narrow face set firmly to her task.

"Luckily, we got a dress that would probably suit you already made up. Steward had me make it to be sold off for some friend of his out in the city. But it'd be better suited for this, methinks," said Rema. "Have to make some adjustments for it to fit proper like on you. Shouldn't be too difficult, no. Go on, and come back in two hours. If we get a bit of luck on our side, the dress may be ready then. Tight squeeze it'll be, but the Master mustn't be kept waiting any longer, no."

Rema shooed Ahma from the workroom, and she and her assistants began to whirl and move around the room furiously, gathering all that they would need and setting upon their task with spirit.

Ahma went to the women's quarters to find them empty. She quickly stripped down the front of her dress after shutting the door firmly behind her. She found the knife that one of the older servants had hidden away under a mattress and gazed at it. Her hands trembled violently as she gripped it. She reached around her back, her fingers feeling along the knotted cords that held her restraint so tightly to her, crushing her wings to her body.

She could have done this long ago. The thought made her belly pitch sickeningly. For the last six months, her birthright, the freedom, beauty, and grace of her wings, had been denied her. It was as if part of her had died, so deeply were her wings connected to the lives and souls of her people. And she could have been spared all of that, if only she had gathered her courage and cut these vile cords loose.

But for all her normally fiery spirit and defiance, Ahma had been afraid. The Steward was a cruel man and he feared her. Ever since the man had first set eyes upon Ahma's wings, she had known he feared the inhumanness of them. Had she defied him, Ahma had little doubt the Steward would have taken her already miserable life and made it entirely hellish.

No more. Ahma brought the knife behind her and slipped it behind the tight cords. She began to slowly saw the knife back and forth, working away at the cords with the blade. She clenched her jaw and growled softly as she jerked the knife and her slow sawing became frantic and desperate. All the bitterness and resentment festering in her so long lent strength to her arms. With one final, violent jerk of the knife the cords snapped and broke away. She let out a quivering, silent sob as the leather restraint just under her breasts came free and fell to the floor.

The Wingling stood, motionless save for her trembling. For a moment, nothing happened. She couldn't even tell that the vile restraint had come undone. Her wings were still as numb and useless as they had been while bound.

Ahma cried out sharply as the blood came rushing back into her feathery appendages. They throbbed and ached, beating as the blood finally filled them properly. She sank to her knees and sobbed aloud now, unable to hold back the tears.

Such feelings! Ahma could hardly put them in order. Overwhelming pain, more keen than any she had ever felt. It was as if her wings had been severed and then reattached, and now the nerve endings were coming back alive one at a time, all of them wailing at her for the abuse. Then came a lull in the pain, and such a sweet and natural feeling of life and wholeness filled her that she wept anew that she had ever been so crippled.

Ahma came shakily to her feet. She flexed her wings and winced. They still ached from their long imprisonment, but she would have it no other way. Such a marvel, to be able to feel her wings again! Already it felt as if the world had changed around her...her balance had been badly compromised by her wings being restrained and senseless, forcing her into displays of embarrassing clumsiness. Walking had actually become a challenge for her, for a time. Now she stood, poised, light footed, her wings slightly extended to the side, her sensitive feathers feeling the tilt of her weight and helping her to balance perfectly. How glorious would it be, to be graceful once more.

Her feathers felt the slightest of breezes and motions, allowing her to feel the very air around her in ways that she had long ago taken for granted and sorely missed once her wings had lost most of their feeling. Ahma shivered at the feeling of it. Joy spread through her so powerfully it was almost consuming.

Ahma spent an checking over her wings and preening them, reveling in the feel of them as the ache left them gradually. A few more feathers than she would have liked had been lost due to the restraint, but they would grow back, and their loss probably wouldn't even be noticeable to any but herself, or perhaps Hannah. The Wingling girl went to the pail of water in the corner and thoroughly cleansed her wings for the first time in six months. The water was almost brown by the time she finished, and her feathers looked worlds better.

After drawing a new pail of water to wash her face and body with, Ahma quickly returned to the Seamstress, just in time to find this amazing dress completed for her. Ahma still couldn't believe all that had happened in just the span of the last few hours. The morning had been entirely life changing. 

Ahma's attention focused once more on the mirror and the image staring back at her. The dress was cut from fine, soft fabric, far better than any she had ever worn. While not the silks and satins of a noblewoman, it was beyond anything of her experience. The fabric was a quiet, soft blue that, though pale, seemed lustrous and dark against the pale milk of her skin. It swept down her body, hugging tightly to her curvaceous form and dropping from her rounded hips to hang about her legs to the floor. The fabric stretched tightly around her generous bust. It pulled her breasts inward, pressing them tightly to her chest and making them look even fuller than they already were.

The neckline swooped in a low arc from the tip of one shoulder to the next. It sat on the edge of her shoulder, leaving the length of her graceful, delicate collarbone bare to the eyes. The neckline showed the top of her breasts and upper reaches of her cleavage, but was not as revealing as was currently popular among the ladies of court, for which Ahma was grateful. 

The dress had full-length sleeves, ending just over her wrist. They puffed out a bit on the end, giving her wrist room to breath and work should she need to go about tasks with her hands. The dress clung to her narrow waist, showing the flatness of her tight belly between the swells of her breasts and hips. Rema had even been thoughtful enough to cut slits into the back of the dress, allowing Ahma's wings to fit through the openings and providing a comfortable range of movement. 

Ahma turned to face Rema and smiled softly. Her dark eyes sparkled. "I can't believe this is for me, Rema. I've never seen such a beautiful dress."

Rema gave a crooked grin and nodded her thanks for the praise. "Isn't nothing. My girls and me had more time, we could've done better. But the Master can't be waiting for the likes of us. Wouldn't be proper, no."

The seamstress leaned back and studied Ahma, her eyes sliding along the dress and appraising her work. "Still, was a pleasure, it was. Something of a challenge, too. Never have tailored for the winged folk."

Ahma nodded and smiled softly. "Did the wing slits give you a problem?"

"Oh, that was trouble all right," Rema grinned, showing a missing tooth on the side. "But that wasn't the worst of it, no. The bust was what gave us such trouble, yes." She clucked softly to herself and didn't seem to notice Ahma's blush. "Most of the dress fit well with your measurements. But of course, it hadn't been made to fit such a blessed lass as yourself, no. Not that I've had a lot of experience, but you winged girls do tend to fill out so."

Ahma blushed softly and stepped away from the mirror. She nodded to Rema and her two girls. "I should go. I'll be sure to tell the Master what good work you did."

Rema thanked her, and Ahma stepped out into the halls. She walked carefully at first. The hem of her skirts were all the way to the floor, longer than the familiar dress she had worn for the past two months, which hung just above her ankles. She adjusted to the length quickly and was able to avoid stepping on the hem and stumbling like an oaf. She quickly came to the front foyer of the Manor and started up the stairs leading to the Master's room. Her footsteps were silent on the blue stair lining, but patted softly on the fine marble floor when she reached the second floor. By the time she reached the door, the windows of the Manor showed the sun beginning to set. Time had flown in a blur since the violent events of the morning.

Three times Ahma knocked softly on the massive pinewood door that guarded the Master's quarters. A large dragon was carved upon the surface, sitting nobly and staring outward, its great wings folded to its back. Ahma had never gotten tired of examining this marvelous door.

"Enter," the words called from inside the Masters chambered, muffled by the door. Ahma reached a shaky hand and pushed the massive door inward.

Never before had Ahma needed to enter Master Methaniel's room. It was not what she had been expecting. The walls were bare, hard stone, and there was only a plain blue wall-hangings upon each wall to lessen drafts. A single dresser stood against one wall, squat and wide, and beside it was a rack for armor and weaponry. The Masters sword already sat upon it. The Master's bed was large but simple and there was only a single pillow and two rough woolen blankets adorning it. Nowhere to be seen were the silk and satin bed things that Ahma had expected to find on the bed of a noble. A sizable chest sat at the foot of the bed, closed and plain looking. A large hearth across from the bed, a small fire burning softly in its opening. Thick blue drapes drawn heavily over the rooms single window, making the fire the sole source of light in the room. A small but sturdy square table was against the wall opposite the window and two chairs were drawn up to it. A large tub crafted from iron or tin by the look of it in another corner, along with several bathing supplies in a small box. The room was otherwise bare and humble. The Master apparently liked to live far more simply than the average nobleman. Ahma was somewhat confused by his lack of excess.

Methaniel stood by his rack of armor and was currently removing his right shoulder pauldron. He glanced up briefly as Ahma entered and placed the piece of armor upon the armor rack before turning to face her fully.

"I remember you. My father favored you, did he not? You have been with the house for some time."

"Yes, my lord. I mourned your father when he departed to the hereafter," Ahma said. She was not sure if it was something that he would want to hear, but she felt it was the right thing to say.

"Indeed. Many did." His words were simple, short, but Ahma could somehow feel a rich depth of emotions behind them. Silence settled between them, but it was not so uncomfortable and horrible as Ahma would have thought.

For the first time since his return, Ahma noted his face was bereft of a scowl. His eyes still danced with an edgy displeasure at the happenings of the morning, or perhaps something else, but she could tell his aggravated mood had brightened. He pulled his leather riding gloves from his enormous hands, placing them distractedly on the mantle above the fireplace. Ahma waited patiently, her hands folded before her as she studied this man whom she had scarcely laid eyes upon for more than an hour in all her years serving at the Manor. He seemed so strange, so different. He was not what she had expected, and he did not carry himself in the manner of any noble she had ever known. He was quiet, even more so than his father had been. Doubtless, he was a private, close man. But he was not arrogant or unkind as many nobles were. Ahma saw much of his father in him.

Methaniel shrugged one shaggy, gleaming lock from where it dangled across his forehead. His hands undid a buckle at his side, and Ahma suddenly jumped, remembering her new station as an attendant.

Before she could move to assist him, however, he had already slipped the heavy hauberk from his body, the last of his light battle armor. He did not wear a full suit, probably because of the traveling he had been doing. He stood in his trousers and undershirt, and turned to face her. His arms were naked before her eyes, thick and bulging with powerfully corded muscle. She couldn't help but stare at them. They were the largest arms she had ever seen, yet somehow did not seem so clunky and bulky as such arms normally appeared. They fit just right on the Master's large body.

His silver gaze turned on her. "I would like a bath, if you shall draw one for me. If I recall, down the hall is a water pump, and the tub is in the corner with bathing goods. I will light the fire and warm the stones."

"Yes, Master," she agreed with a short bow. She exited the room and entered another smaller room down the hall. The room housed a unique and useful water pump. Its pipes ran along the ever burning kitchen fires so the water kept from freezing in the lines. The pump made drawing a bath an easier endeavor, cutting the hauling buckets of water from the well outside and up the stairs out of the process entirely. 

The old metal lever hung on the wall. Ahma took a firm grip on the handle. It had stuck in place from disuse. Ahma flexed the powerful flight muscles in her back and chest, straining them and pulling with them. She yanked the lever down with all her might. It shifted and gave a loud protest to its first use in over six months.

And nothing came out, not even a drop. Ahma set her mouth stubbornly and worked the pump again, then again, pulling down on the old lever until water began to stream out of the pump once again. She pumped the old water out, then once the water was fresh and clear, grabbed a bucket from the corner and filled it.

She carried the bucket down the hall and back into Master Methaniel's chambers, where he had moved the bathing tub into the center of the room. Though simple and unadorned, the tub looked too heavy for Ahma to possibly lift. She poured the water into the tub and glanced at Methaniel. He was poking at the stones heating in the fire pit of the hearth. He glanced up at her, catching her eye. He nodded in approval, but said nothing.

The process was repeated several times, Ahma drawing water into her bucket and hauling it back to Methaniel's room to deposit into the tub. She went about it tirelessly until the tub was nearly full.

When she returned with her last bucket full, the Master had already placed the heated stones in the bottom of the tub. Steam rose heavily from the warming water and the stones still hissed softly as their heat was forced into the water. For a tense, awkward moment, neither moved. Ahma, trying to train her gaze humbly low, glanced up at him with questioning eyes. His gaze lingered on her for a moment before he comprehended her hesitancy.

"You do not have to stay if you don't wish," he explained, his voice deep and smooth, filling his warm, simple chambers. "I will not ask you to do such a thing if it discomforts you."

"It doesn't bother me," Ahma murmured softly. "I haven't performed bathing duties in some time...but I'm not a total stranger to them."

He nodded, causing his thick hair to bob behind him. He had pulled it from its confining warrior's tail and now it spilled across his shoulders, shaggy and thick and gleaming copper in the firelight. Methaniel's hands gripped the rough woolen undershirt and tugged it off, tossing it somewhat carelessly on the ground. 

Ahma stifled a gasp at the sight of him.

His body was toned and sculpted to perfection, a warriors body through and through and more powerfully built than she had imagined a man could be. His chest was broad and rippling with hard, bunching muscle. His abdominal muscles were sculpted and bulging, with defined lines between the fist-sized knots.

Ahma's attention, however, was not upon the impressive build of Master Methaniel, though it did not escape her notice. Her true attention was upon the huge, jagged scar extending from the top of his left shoulder to the bottom of his right hip. It looked as if someone had rent him open entirely, as if his body had been cleaved in two and mended back together. The flesh was upraised, a rough ridge along his chest and torso. Methaniel noticed her gaze trained upon the scar, but remained silent.

"Does it hurt?" She asked, half dazed. Methaniel shook his head.

"Does it require extra care?"

Again he shook his head.

Quickly Ahma turned toward the tub and stuck one finger in the water. "It's not quite ready yet."

Then, to Methaniel's puzzlement, Ahma walked to the small box in the corner beside where the tub had been and opened the lid. She rummaged through it for a moment and pulled out a small green flask. Ahma walked back to the tub and uncorked the bottle. She sniffed it. Methaniel still gave her an odd look, one brow arched upward questioningly.

"What is it?" He asked.

"It's yours," replied Ahma. "The spice from Mata Island in the great south seas." 

He couldn't argue; it was his. His father had ordered him a full crate of the stuff years ago. It wasn't particularly pleasing to the nose , but its ability to ease tension and wear away soreness and stiffness in the body, as well as speed the recovery of minor injuries and hurts was well known among soldiers and those who knew their herbs. His father had wanted to protect him in the few small ways he could. This had been one such way.

Ahma dumped the bottles contents into the water. Methaniel watched her closely, his eyes studying her. His father had spoken once or twice of a Wingling girl during Methaniel's short visits from the Academy. He had always said the young girl possessed remarkable insight and showed a sharp intellect and consideration for things most were not attentive of. How could the girl have remembered his father buying him the spices? He had forgotten about them entirely.

Ahma checked the water again and looked respectfully up at him. "It's hot. It may not be hot enough, though. Should I heat some more stones, my Lord?"

"That's not necessary," Methaniel told her. The Nobleman paused for a brief moment, his eyes tracing the wide avenue of the scared tissue upon his chest. Ahma saw something dancing behind his carefully neutral eyes just then, some memory or feeling that she could not yet comprehend.




Rising Ch. 03



His eyes rose to fix Ahma in his once more steady gaze.

"You are certain?" The Master asked one last time.

She made a curious face, wondering at this consideration from him. "Of course, my Lord. I find the thought of a female servant bathing a man much more acceptable than the thought of a male servant bathing one."

Ahma nearly jumped as the Master's deep, rich laughter filled the room. He smiled at her, his eyes finally losing the hard glint they so often carried to be replaced by a warmth and humor that made Ahma's breath catch in her throat.

"An interesting point. You've a fine spirit."

With that said, he undid the bindings of his trousers and dropped them to the floor.

Despite her greatest efforts, Ahma couldn't help herself. She looked.

Between the Master's thighs, which were thick and wide with hard muscles bulging across the surface, hung his cock. It was already fat and lengthy and larger than the Steward's fully erect member and it only showed the smallest hint of hardness. The head, a soft purple-pink at the moment, was thick and heavy looking, shaped vaguely like a bulbous mushroom. The shaft was pale and long, and quite thick.

Ahma worked hard to keep any facial contortions from her face, although she felt a slight blush creep into her cheeks. Methaniel didn't seem very interested in her reaction, though, and stepped directly into the tub. He sank down into the warm water. As his huge form lowered into the tub, the water sloshed over the side a bit. Ahma immediately placed a towel on the floor, cursing silently. She glanced at the Master to see if he was displeased, but he apparently hadn't noticed. Ahma pressed the towel into the small wet spot, then once she was finished she retrieved a small lump of scrubbing soap and a washrag from the box in the corner. Kneeling down beside the bath, she took the bar of white soap and the rag and wet both in the water. She swallowed softly, reminded herself firmly of her duty, and began to lather his arms. His arms were by far the most solid she had ever touched. The muscles were very firm. They had the natural give and warmth of flesh to them over the unbudging hardness underneath. They felt nice, healthy.

Willing herself away from distraction, Ahma lathered her rag again and began to wash her masters chest. She washed around for only a few moments, softly rubbing the cloth against him.

Leaning over the tub further to reach his far arm, Ahma extended her wings slightly to balance herself. After that she washed his back. Ahma scrubbed gently in tight circles, slightly massaging the stiff, tense muscles on his upper back and neck.

She cleaned his back for several minutes before moving on. She washed under his arms without pause. Then she slid down to the end of the bath. She reached into the tub and pulled out one of his feet. Ahma scrubbed it with great care, lathering down even his toes. After she finished with his foot, she massaged his large, toned calf with the washrag. She repeated with the second leg.

All the while Methaniel watched her silently, his eyes never leaving her, studying her with such intensity that, had Ahma noticed, would have surely made her blush. Normally he did not allow anyone to bath him, but she had not asked. That alone struck him as quite odd; most servants did not even move without asking it first, something that Methaniel had always been uncomfortable with. She, however, acted on her own accord. She showed no shame or hesitance while bathing him. Though Methaniel had not been bathed by a woman in many years, he did not recall them ever being so calm about the whole process.

Ahma knelt back on her heels as she finished and looked up to him, with no embarrassment in her eyes. "Is there anything else you wish?"

Methaniel shook his head and reached up to brush back his damp copper locks. He eased back in the tub and closed his eyes. Ahma ran her eyes unconsciously along his body, watching it gleam wetly in the light cast from the hearth. His chest quivered slightly, the huge corded muscle swelling and rippling periodically. His body remained tense, the muscles knotted up thickly, with great cords bunching against his smooth skin. 

The Wingling girl wiped the soap from her small hands and waited, not speaking for fear of disturbing what was doubtless the longest moment of peace her Master had experienced in a very long time.

"It has been ages since I've had a proper bath," Methaniel spoke up. His words were distracted, almost sleepy, and the lids of his eyes had sagged nearly shut. "On the front the best we can do for bathing is a splash in an icy, half frozen river, or a hand-basin full of similarly cold water. We do it more out of a desire to avoid being unpleasant than any sort of comfort or relaxation. A hot bath. It has been one of the things I have missed the most about home."

"I'm glad you enjoy it, my Lord," Ahma replied. She gazed at him, her hands folded patiently in her lap. She had expected the whole business of bathing him to be unpleasant. It was not. "Would you like me to wash you again?"

Methaniel shook his head and fell silent again. He let out a long, heavy sigh and sank deeper, his body relaxing further. The water rose up to his chin and the lower half of his thick mane of copper dangled in the water.

"Tell me," said the Master, his words breaking the silence. "This...ill treatment that the Steward heaps upon you and the other servants...how long has it been going? How badly has it gotten?"

He sat up, his torso dripping water down into the tub and his muscles flexing powerfully. He watched her, his eyes questioning, as he brought a hand to his left shoulder, rubbing it slowly where the scar began.

"Shortly after the estate was fully signed to you and you returned to the front," Ahma replied. "One servant has died of malnourishment, three more of sickness. Sickness curable by a few blankets, extra rest, food, and simple medicine and treatment." 

He nodded grimly, a hint of the hard edge creeping back into his eyes. "He will pay," he whispered, his voice so quiet that Ahma did not hear him.

Methaniel cleared his throat and spoke up. " As I said downstairs, many changes will be made, of that I assure you. You and every other worker and servant will be well cared and provided for, as you ever should have been. Had I known of this mistreatment I would have had it corrected long ago."

Ahma knelt at his left side. She reached up with her hand and boldly pushed his away, replacing it with hers. Methaniel glanced at her, his eyes registering surprise, but he remained silent as she began to rub and massage at the spot he had been idly worrying at. Her fingers were not nearly as strong as his, but her touch immediately proved more effective than his own. 

"Things could've been worse," Ahma said softly. "No one was sold. We worked hard together and did our best to keep the Steward happy, so beatings were avoided. Our harshest punishment has been cuts to our rations, which we've survived, somehow. To say something positive, the Steward kept your fathers hunting dogs quite well. He seemed to like them."

Methaniel submitted himself to her small hands, feeling her cool fingertips pressing against the taut muscle. He closed his eyes once more while her slender fingers worked at the hardness of his muscles, rubbing in slow, steady circles.

"I'm confounded as to how one can treat hounds with more decency than hardworking and good people. There is too much of the mind of a Nobleman in the Steward. Our nobility hasn't the proper respect for the very people who hold them up."

His head shook, and a length of coppery silk brushed her hands as they worked along the thick corded flesh of his shoulders. The knotted muscles slowly eased under her soothing fingers. She hesitated slightly then, steeling her nerve, moved her caressing fingertips to his broad chest. When he didn't open his eyes or offer any complaint, she began to rub more firmly. The muscle bunched and shifted under her hands.

"Speak to me. Tell me of happenings. Tell me of yourself," the Master spoke

Ahma considered for a moment, her hands becoming still for a moment. "I came to the house at eight. I trained as a maid and cook until I was eleven. Then I suppose I became your father's attendant. A strange job for a little girl, but I grew into it. He never really let me care for him fully until after the accident anyway. And by then it was...it was too late."

His muscles tensed for half a moment under her hands, hardening and jumping wildly before settling back into a relaxed state. It was the only sign that the mention of his father's hunting accident caused him any kind of distress. He buried it deep.

"How old are you?"

"Nineteen. My mother used to say I was born on the first full moon of spring. It meant something in the religion of my people but I...I don't remember what."

Her fingers caressed his chest, rubbing in quick circles. Now it was her turn to feel tense and bite her tongue regarding the past.

"Two women had children during your absence. Only one survived, though. The other was born too early and died. The woman was a human and her husband was a Fenrehr. He was one of the few cat-folk living here. Marta told me it's common for half-breed children to die upon birth. I don't know if that's true. The couple stayed together anyway."

Her wings fluttered involuntarily, still not quite completely under her control after being still for so long. A few small feathers of down fluttered down, landing in the water. Ahma turned bright red and started to snatch them from the bath. "I'm so sorry," she gasped.

The Master chuckled softly, his hand plucking one of the small, sleek feathers from the waters surface. Ahma watched in embarrassment while he absently twirled the feather between his huge fingers.

"No need to apologize," Methaniel murmured. His eyes rose, staring into hers, seeming smokier as the firelight grew dimmer for a moment.

Ahma's redness did not fade, despite his words. Or perhaps because of them. Or maybe it was the way that he looked at her with those beautiful, wonderfully unique silver eyes. Or his way of handling himself, the gentle kindness that at once contrasted and yet complimented his quiet intensity.

She snapped back to reality as the Master nodded and gripped the edges of the tub.

"I have had enough. I am going to get out now," he announced, then began to rise. Water poured down his heavily toned body, streaming down the groves between his solid abs.

And then it was there again, hanging just above the level of her face from her kneeling position. Her eyes locked upon the fat, shining cock. It seemed even larger than before, though she doubted it had grown any, and it obviously had not hardened.

Ahma felt heat rising in her body, making her flush a brighter red than before. The heat rose to an almost uncomfortable level between her thighs.

The Wingling girl rose hastily and retrieved a large white towel from the crate of bathing supplies in the corner. When she turned to face him, he gently took the towel from her hands and began to dry himself. She gathered up his robe, a rich piece of blue fabric with silver lining, holding it ready. He took the robe after a minute, handing her the towel back. Ahma put it in the small bag of dirty clothes to be washed beside his bed.

Methaniel grabbed the tub and lifted it, carrying it to the corner where it had originally rested without sloshing the water out. Chamber maids would come to drain it at a later time. Ahma could hardly believe he had lifted it; it had looked unbearably weighty before it had been filled, and with water in it the tub must have been painfully heavy. While Methaniel moved the tub back to the corner, two serving girls knocked at the door and then entered, carrying three trays of food. They placed the food upon the Master's small table and curtsied to him before rushing from the room. Ahma shook her head slightly and returned to her duties, walking straight to his wardrobe. Before she opened it, Methaniel caught her gently by the shoulder. "It's alright, I will take care of it."

She nodded, although she was slightly confused.

"What should I do for you, Master?"

He looked around. "You can pour us something to drink," Methaniel replied with a slight smile.

Ahma walked to the small table to do just that. The table was made out of pine as almost everything wooden in the region was but it had been stained a dark, almost reddish color that gleamed in the light. She poured a flask of wine for Methaniel, then a small mug of water for herself. She removed the brass covering from the dish when he made his way toward the table, now wearing a large woolen shirt and pants dyed black.

Methaniel nodded his thanks and took a sip of the wine. His gleaming metallic hair, still damp from the bath, was swept back and bound once more to keep his face clear. He took his seat. Ahma stood at the tableside, watching him gather some of the food onto the plate, trying to commit his apparent favorite sweet meats to memory. The Master glanced up at her with a furrowed brow.

"What is it my lord?" Ahma asked softly. "Dopes something displease you?"

Methaniel shook his head, inclining his gaze to a chair across the table from him.

"Why do you not sit?" He asked her.

Ahma lowered her gaze to the table. "It's not my place to dine with you, Master."

The Master chuckled and flashed her a rare, warm smile. It made her heart beat more rapidly, such was the way it lit his face. It warmed the very room.

"Nonsense. Please, sit. It isn't often I get good company to share a quiet meal with."

Ahma hesitated, then nodded and slowly took her seat. "I haven't done this in a long time," she confessed. "Eating with someone other than a servant, I mean."

She took a deep breath, reminding herself to eat slowly. The meal won't be taken from you after ten minutes, she told herself.

"Are you going to get anything to eat?" he asked.

She nodded and began to place a few items on her plate. Methaniel watched her, then took the plate from her hands. He piled on the meat and vegetables, along with several rolls and pieces of fruit, and handed it back to her. Her mouth hung open in shock. 

"You must be starving. All the servants are thin," Methaniel commented.

"I don't think I can eat this much, sir," she replied.

"Someone will have whatever you don't. You can take leftovers to the servants quarters," he told her.

A small smile came over Ahma's face. "That's most kind of you, my Lord. I will."

Master Methaniel nodded and returned her smile. They ate in easy silence, with the Master taking a second helping. Ahma surprised herself by eating a healthy bit more than she had anticipated. Still, after she had finished the Master piled more food onto the plate. Ahma's dark eyes widened.

"I couldn't possibly..." she began. Methaniel held up a huge hand, smiling softly.

"Fore the servants."

He leaned back in his seat, folding his hands together as he considered her.

"Tell me. What do you need? What can I do to improve your life? And I don't just mean the servants in general, though that will of course be taken care of. But I mean you, specifically. I want my servants well cared for, and my personal attendant needs to be especially tended to."

"All I lack are some decent dresses and dye...for my feathers. And more rations."

Methaniel nodded, his eyes still trained upon her, intense, piercing, their silvery gaze seeming to bore into her. "And what do you think needs to change in my house? What steps need to be taken to make this place the happy home my father once enjoyed?"

Ahma looked down. She could not understand why he asked something like this of her. "I wouldn't dream of offering my Lord counsel," she replied. It was what she expected he wanted to hear. Even his father had rarely asked her for counsel on matters so important.

But Methaniel surprised her. "Nonsense," he replied, his smile radiant and warm once more. Ahma nearly drowned in the intensity of it. "You are the very person I need counsel from most. I ask to know what needs to be done to make you and the other folk under me comfortable and happy, and no one but you or another of them would truly know. Now tell me what can be done."

Ahma hesitated a moment more, but when she looked up to meet Master Methaniel's gaze, her eyes were steady and strong. "I don't believe the steward will care for the people here, no matter how you punish him. He's become very comfortable. He's used to wanting for nothing, and doing whatever he wants to sate his ego and arrogance. People rarely change unless they want to."

Methaniel was silent for several moments, and his eyes settled upon her with such intensity and focus that it almost made her uncomfortable. At last he leaned back in his seat and smiled softly. One huge hand absently stroked his chin. "You are very wise, Ahma. I understand now why my father favored you so."

Ahma blushed more deeply than usual at his words. She rose, gripping her plate tightly. She was glad that her hands did not shake where they gripped the small platter. Night had fallen long ago outside the covered window, and Ahma was beginning to feel exhaustion tug at her from the many events of the day. "If you don't mind, my Lord, may I be excused?"

Master Methaniel nodded and stood up, his enormous frame towering high above her. "Of course. Tell the maids they can wait until morning to get the dishes and drain the tub."

"Yes, my Lord. Good night, Master," Ahma answered. She curtsied awkwardly, careful not to drop the contents of the tray, then quickly fled from the room, her heart pounding heavily in her chest.

Methaniel was more than Ahma had expected, quite different than she had envisioned. He was quiet, almost brooding, but not unkind as she had thought he would be. He bore many things in common with his father, and had obviously inherited his sire's humanity and kindness, though it was hidden under a rough exterior.

Ahma carried the food down to the servants quarters and wondered at what her life would hold in store for her now. In a day, things had changed exponentially. She prayed to Father Sky things would stay on such a positive course.

***

Methaniel stared at the door after it closed behind Ahma. His lips curled into a slight smile. She was unlike any servant he had ever met, respectful yet bold and self-motivated. She acted of her own accord. He could tell she did her best to keep herself restrained, but her spirit and will came through despite her efforts. He found himself wishing more servants were as bright and willful as her. It made things much more interesting, and he valued those who knew what they were about.

He rose and put the plates and utensils in a neat pile upon the table. He had decided Ahma's words were wise indeed; the Steward would have to be replaced. Most certainly immediately. He would speak with the Steward and tell him exactly why he was being dismissed before sending him out to the street with as paltry a sum of funds to live off of as he could justify.

Methaniel stood before the hearth, basking in the warmth of the flames. He tossed a thick split of wood onto the fire and the flames shifted and danced higher. His mind drifted to the war. His muscles bunched. Already he wished to rejoin his men. 

But of course, that wouldn't be possible, not for some time. His mind wandered to Arthas, who had taken the arrow for him in the last battle against the Naemer legion. And to the strange men who had come so boldly into his home, intent on assassinating him. By now the city guard would be watching his home closely, keeping it safe and secure from without. He would be sure to keep it safe from within.

Something was not right. Someone was most certainly trying to assassinate him, but he did not believe it was anyone from Naemer. The entire business did not feel like a plot from those straight forward and simple people. This reeked of conspiracy and subterfuge. Things were not as they seemed. He knew it as sure as he had ever known anything, though it was just an inkling tugging at the edges of his perception.




Rising Ch. 03



He crouched down beside his traveling pack that he had placed beside his armor stand. He rustled about in it and pulled out a single arrow, long and thick and black.

In the course of the war, Methaniel had seen many of the arrows the Naemer warriors used against his forces. Always they had been the same; smooth, slender, and crafted from the same brown wood. They never had a steel head, as this one did, but instead were made of sharpened rock or flint, filed so meticulously and closely as to make a deadly point and a razors edge. And always they bore the feathers of the same bird; a bird he had seen but once, a great hawk whose name he did not know and was sacred to the Naemer people. This arrow bore no such feathers.

Methaniel stood before the firelight, gazed upon the arrow, and pondered. 



Rising Ch. 04



Morning pierced the windows in the servants quarters to find Ahma waking as she usually did. She felt more refreshed and optimistic than she had in months. As she rose, stretching her wonderfully free wings as wide as the cramped quarters would allow, fluttering them a few times to get the remaining ache worked out, she noticed a large bottle sitting on the communal table. Normally it wouldn't have caught her eye amidst the clutter of brushes, flasks, and other personal effects scattered upon the table, but the bottle was made of clear, unblemished glass. Glass was rare enough in Durinum that few servants possessed anything made of it. Ahma sat up and took a curious closer look. Upon her close inspection, Ahma instantly recognized the bottles contents; feather dye. 

Hannah, just rising herself, apparently recognized it as well. Her eyes went wide with pleasure. "Where's this come from, then?"

"The Master," Ahma smiled. "He asked me what I needed. But I did not expect...at least not so soon..."

"Bless the day he returned," Hannah sighed. She glanced at the bottle and a bright smile swept over her face. "There is enough for both of us, even! Oh, it's been ages since I've had such pleasure as dye for my old feathers!"

"Old indeed," Ahma giggled softly. 

The Wingling girl picked up the bottle of dye and inspected it, turning it over in her hands as if it were precious. Which, indeed, it was. The dying of wings was a deeply important ritual for her people, rooted in the very beginning of their history. While dying was not religious in nature, any Wingling would agree that keeping their wings properly groomed and attractively dyed was as much a part of their lives as prayer to Father Sky or the deep joy of rising upon a gentle morning breeze.

"Do you think we could obtain permission to be late to our duties while we apply the dye?" Ahma asked.

"Would that be wise?" Hannah returned. "We don't want to displease the Master. He can take this gift away as easily as he's given it."

"I don't think he would do that," said Ahma. She felt strangely certain of her words. "It wouldn't hurt to ask."

"Fair enough," Hannah shrugged.

Together the Wingling women approached Marta, who had just finished delegating tasks to a handful of maids. The middle aged human glanced at them and noted the excitement that the two unsuccessfully attempted to contain.

"You're cheerful this morning," she said dryly.

"Marta, we have a request," said Ahma.

Marta wiped her work roughened hands on her apron and crossed her arms, her visage as stern as always, though they knew she was not so fierce as she appeared. "What is it?"

"The Master has given us dye for our wings," Hannah spoke up. Ahma held the bottle aloft for Marta to see, as if it would mean something to her. "May we have a few moments to apply it this morning? We...may be late for our duties."

"Oh, that?" Marta said. Her brows lifted, causing some of the severity in her face to fade. She made a shooing motion toward them. "The Master already instructed me to allow Ahma and any other Wingling in the manor some time this morning to themselves to do whatever they need with the dye."

"Really? That's wonderful!" Hannah exclaimed. She bowed to Marta and smiled. "I'll be brief, I promise."

"Don't fret too badly," Marta said, the barest hint of a smile twitching the corner of her lips. It was the most smile that anyone ever saw from her. "The Master has extended our time to breakfast before beginning our duties. Hurry up or there'll be none for you two."

"So much he does for us already," Hannah murmured as the other servants left. The two Wingling women uncorked the bottle of dye and helped each other prepare to apply it.

"He is his father's son," Ahma said softly.

***

The two Wingling women showed up almost a half-hour late, but Marta had indeed been correct about the extended breakfast. They were able to take a plate of food each and sit down to eat, albeit hastily. Hannah was shocked by the amount of food the servants had been given, a veritable feast next to the barest of servings they had been issued the past months. Instead of the thin gruel that was normally their lot, they had eggs, bread, fruit, thick porridge spiced with cinnamon, and even a slender cutting of roasted ham. Many servants were beside themselves with the generosity of such a meal months of the lean helpings that had brought them all to uncomfortable thinness.

Several of the serving women complimented the loveliness of Ahma and Hannah's newly dyed wings. Both Winglings smiled brightly with pride. Ahma looked particularly lovely, the robin egg blue a brilliant match to the paleness of her skin and the darkness of her hair. Her wingbacks remained their snowy white, while the feathers on facing her body held the lustrous, soft new blue. Again she felt as if a part of her long buried had been restored, and she basked in the satisfaction of it.

"The blue is very beautiful," Marta commented as the two Winglings carried their plates to kitchen's wash basin.

"When did you start complimenting people?" Hannah asked with a grin.

"The Master's returned, so I thought I should be on my best behavior," Marta said wryly.

Hannah laughed and bid the other women a pleasant day, then walked from the kitchen to begin her duties about the Manor.

Marta turned to Ahma and nodded toward the door. "The Master would like to see how the dying went once you're ready to see him. He should be in his father's study, going over some matters with the Stewart."

"Let's hope we won't need to call the corpse wagon," Ahma smirked.

Marta's face was expressionless as she replied, "I hope we will need to, personally. Now hurry up, you mustn't keep him waiting overmuch."

Ahma returned to the servants quarters and slipped from the old dress she wore to breakfast. She smoothed a few wrinkles from her new, rich dress, inspecting it. It matched well with her newly dyed wings, she decided. She would need more dresses than this one, as it would be a shame to ruin it from wearing it too often. But her brown and frayed dress would certainly not do. Her eyes trailed over her wings and she realized with a start the dye was exactly that of her favorite and most often choice in her girlhood, and even when the elder Master had allowed her to dye her wings before his death. 

Was it a mere coincidence, she wondered? Perhaps his father had somehow mentioned to him the kind of dye his favored servant had fancied. Would he remember such a thing? Ahma stood, puzzled, inspecting her wings yet again. There could be no doubt. The hue and shading were precisely as she remembered. As she left the servants quarters, she wondered if her favorite dye had been selected intentionally

The study was empty when Ahma arrived at it, though the chair had been moved and the desk showed signs of use. She felt a faint tug at her heart; the study had sat untouched by any hand but hers since the old Master had passed. It seemed strange that it should be otherwise. Ahma dismissed the notion and shut the door behind her. She checked the dining hall and the parlor, finding both empty. Against her better judgment she walked to the Stewards room to see if they had met there for some reason, but hearing the vileness of the Stewards curses through his door, she decided the Master was not there. She decided to check his room.

Find him she did, seated upon his bed. Methaniel's huge body was clad in simple garments of wool and cotton. He had the sleeves of a deep gray jerkin rolled up about his thick biceps. A pair of loose, dark green trousers were tucked into his sturdy boots. His great sword was draped across his lap and he slowly ran a rounded whetstone along the deadly edge, occasionally rubbing the blade meticulously with a soft, oiled rag.

Master Methaniel's head didn't lift as she entered, all his attention focused upon his weapon. 

"Good morning," he greeted, still working the stone along the edge.

Ahma curtsied and folded her hands in front of her, waiting for him to speak.

"How fare the servants?" He asked after a moment. He placed the whetstone on his bed and ran the oiled cloth over the portion of the blade he had been working on.

"Much better. Everyone ate their fill for once at breakfast. The Steward has not been about berating us. More blankets have been given to everyone. I've heard word that Rema is working on new clothes for those who don't have enough."

"Indeed she is," Methaniel confirmed. "Good, good. Everyone is pleased, then?"

"Very much so. I don't think any of us lacked a smile this morning. Everyone was quite happy," Ahma replied.

"Good," Methaniel nodded. He inspected his blade for a moment longer, then slid it into its sheath. He stood and returned it to its place upon the rack. 

"And your wings?" He asked. He turned and trained his eyes upon her.

Feeling slightly self-conscious, Ahma stretched her wings outward, displaying the richly dyed feathers of the underside of her wings. They were meticulously cared for and tended, largely restored to their previous beauty. Ahma fairly glowed with pride. 

"Hannah...the other Wingling here...she and I applied the dye first thing this morning. We still had time to breakfast afterward too; no one forced the servants to leave the kitchen before they were finished. It was a refreshing change."

Smiling, Ahma gave her wings a light flutter before tucking them neatly along her back. 

Methaniel nodded, pleased. He stood, and Ahma had to crane her head back a bit to meet his eyes. She did it with more assurance than most servants would.

"What will you do now, my Lord?"

The Master shrugged his broad shoulders and glanced out the window. The sky was pale, dreary even, but as clear and serene as any day was likely to get this far into winter. That it was not snowing was a blessing of itself. A few whispy clouds slid lazily across the sky.

Sunlight glinted dazzlingly in the Master's unbound hair as he turned to Ahma.

"It is not often the day is so fair this far north at this time of year. I haven't had a leisurely ride since I left for the front."

Ahma nodded and smiled up at him, her eyes shining at the mere mention of riding. She had always been fond of horses, ever since her father had first taken her for a ride on their plow horse when she was a little girl.

"Do you have duties to attend to?" Asked Methaniel.

Ahma did her best not to giggle. "Only those you give to me, Master."

A sheepish smile crossed Methaniel's face, showing a boyishness that Ahma found shocking in so hardened and fierce a man as he. "Of course. I am rather absentminded today, it seems."

"Not at all, my Lord."

"Very well then," Methaniel cleared his throat. "Do you know how to ride?"

Ahma's smile brightened despite herself and she nodded energetically, causing the thick braid of her rich brown hair to bob across her folded wings.

"Very good," Methaniel chuckled. "A ride, then. Up through the Kithicohr wood, to the cliff overlooking the Northern Pass. I went there often as I could in my boyhood."

"Are you sure you want me to accompany you, my lord?" Ahma asked. It struck her as odd, somehow, to accompany him. She had thought he would want privacy in a personal place such as he described.

"Quite sure," said he, then swept her briefly with his eyes. "You will need riding clothes. A cloak to ward the chill. Thick gloves for the same. The day is fair, but winter will pierce you to the bone clad as you are."

Ahma nodded. Her chocolate eyes shone with barely contained excitement at the prospect of this impending adventure.

"Go now. See that Rema gives you something appropriate for riding and a sturdy cloak," Methaniel instructed her. "I'll meet you in the stables. Check on the Seamstress while you are down there. If she seems overrun, instruct her to obtain more assistants till everyone's new clothes have been taken care of."

"Yes, my Lord," Ahma replied. She curtsied and left his room, walking down the stairs and toward the back of the Manor to find the Seamstress.

Rema and her girls were busy indeed. The seamstress seemed to flutter all about the room, doing this and that, grabbing garments, retrieving threads, rolling out a length of cloth. One of her assistants sat at the loom while the other did her best to keep up with the seamstress.

The commotion calmed when the three took note of Ahma. Rema placed her work down and walked to her, nodding slowly. "A good morn to you, Miss Ahma."

"And you, Rema," Ahma replied with a kind smile. She flicked her golden bangs from her eyes. She tended not to braid the shock of gold bangs back as tightly as she did the rest of her brunet hair. "The Master has sent me to retrieve clothing more appropriate for riding."

"Ah, yes," Rema nodded her graying head. "Sent word to me to have something of the sort ready for you he did, yes. Had to make the same alterations we did for the dress you wear now, of course, but it's done it is."

"Really?" Ahma's fair brow rose. She wondered if the Master had planned this, but surely he wouldn't have taken her so carefully in mind if he did. Perhaps he just wanted it to be taken care of for the future.

Ahma thanked the seamstress. A dress was brought out to her along with a pair of wonderfully warm riding gloves and a heavy cloak. Ahma had rarely ever worn a cloak; her wings made them a bit inconvenient. Given how quickly a winter could chill the bones, however, she was willing to try it.

"Master Methaniel instructed me to ask if you needed more assistants, with how busy you are making more clothes for everyone."

Rema looked thoughtful for a moment, glancing critically around the room at the piles of garments waiting to be started or finished. Finally she bobbed a yes. "Much as I hate to admit, we do. A lot of work, yes. One more pair of hands should do. We are behind and that won't do, not at all."

"Okay, I'll pass word to Marta to send along a girl who knows her way around a needle."

"Most kind of you," Rema smiled. "Hurry along, Miss Ahma. Mustn't keep the Master waiting, no."

Finding Marta was easy enough. Ahma told her of the Master's instructions and Rema's need for an extra pair of hands. Marta sent a girl along, and another just to be sure. Ahma bid her good afternoon and went into the vacant servants quarters to change.

She slipped on her riding dress, a simple but warm garment thicker than her beautiful blue dress and more suited to a day out in the cold. The material was a thick white cotton that, while breathable, helped to keep her body heat in. Over the cotton dress she wore a plain brown bodice that pushed her bosom upward and inward securely. The back of the bodice settled just beneath her wings. She was quite thankful Rema had the foresight to send a dress with a bodice; riding could have been an awkwardly embarrassing activity otherwise. Her skirts hung down about her legs, and she wore a pair of under britches to keep her long, slender legs warm. Her feet were clad in a pair of small, soft boots. While humble and plain, the boots were much more practical and comfortable than the small, thin slippers most of the servants wore.

After making sure her clothes looked presentable and orderly, the Wingling girl slipped out of the Manor, feeling immediately grateful for the cloak and the warmth it provided. The day was blustery, the chill winds shifting this way and that, but the weather was not overall unpleasant. Aside from the wind, the cold was fairly mild all in all. Ahma cut through one of the gardens and reached the stables on the west side of the manor. 

Weak sunlight filtered through the stables, illuminating the few pens and the racks of riding harnesses, saddles and various other gear and tack. Few people with riding talent resided at the Manor, and as such the stables had never been an especially busy place. With Master Methaniel absent and his father deceased it had indeed been nearly lifeless, with a single stable hand tending the handful of horses. 

Ahma had badly missed the stables in the last six months. When the elder Master had lived, the two of them often ventured to the stables to care for the horses or take them on short rides just outside the city. After his death, however, she had avoided the stables for fear of getting the stable boy punished for her own absence from her duties. The Wingling girl hummed softly, the sound lilting and sweet, echoing in the narrow confines of the stable. She reached to pet several horses, caressing one here, another there, stopping to dip her hand in a bag of oats and feed it to one especially friendly mare.

The last pen in the stable housed a horse beyond compare. The sight of it took Ahma's breath away. 

The horse was a white stallion, his coat shining in the weak sunbeam pouring into his pen. His mane and tail were thick and healthy, and glinting an unusual burnished gold of such rich color it was striking against his pale coat. He stood far taller than her at the shoulder, easily twenty hand spans high. His body was thick and powerful, muscles bulging with frightening power under his coat. He turned a dark equine eye her way. He gave a soft snort as he studied her. Surely this was a horse to take to war. Ahma shuddered to think what those massive hooves could do to a person. He was the largest horse Ahma had ever seen.

"Amazing, is he not?"

Ahma whirled to find Methaniel standing just behind her. Heart pounding, she could only nod. For all his large stature, the man was silent as a cat.

"He is of Fenlon stock, the land beyond the mountains to the west. We see little trade with them, and most of it consists of horses such as this one," Methaniel explained. He stepped past her and reached out to fondly rub the horses muzzle, which the stallion allowed most happily.

"These are the biggest horses in the known world, and they are bred so meticulously and carefully, they are passing rare. It would shock me if more than five hundred are alive at any one time. No other horse can compare to them in matters of intelligence, loyalty, power, or speed."

"Speed? From a warhorse, my lord?" Ahma glanced at him curiously. "I'm no stable master, but I do know that warhorses are valued for their power, not their speed. How can such a big horse possess speed?"

Methaniel smiled brightly at her, casting a glance at his mount and nodding. "Perhaps some day, I will show you."

Ahma returned his smile, folding her hands in front of her and looking down, feeling unexplainably embarrassed. "I would like that, my Lord."

"Well then," said the Master, his attention turned once more to his horse. "What say you, Lanion? Shall we go for a ride? It would be nice to ride together without a battle looming ahead for once, wouldn't it?"

The horse, Lanion, gave a soft whicker in reply and shifted anxiously in the pen. 

Methaniel smiled and patted his horse's neck comfortingly. "Good. In a moment we'll be off."

The Master led his attendant to her own mount, the friendly mare Ahma had fed oats to.

"I assume if you know how to ride, you know how to saddle a horse up?" Asked Methaniel.

"Yes, my Lord," Ahma said with a shy smile. "It's been awhile, but I think I can manage it."

"Very good," Methaniel replied, and left her to it.

Ahma quickly rubbed her mount down, talking to the mare quietly and introducing herself. The mare kept amiably still while Ahma saddled her and attached her bridle. Ahma smiled all the while. It was truly a joy to be around horses again. She hadn't realized how much she had missed it. It brought back memories, bitter and sweet all at once.

Snow crunched under her boots as she led the mare out into the stable yard. Methaniel had already mounted up Lanion and led the snorting stallion in slow circles, patting his long, muscled neck.




Rising Ch. 04



Ahma boosted herself into the saddle and praised the mare gently for how agreeable she was.

"I thought that mare would suit you," Methaniel smiled.

"This is Nemia, I believe. She's a darling," Ahma replied.

Methaniel led them out the gate of the manor and through the streets of Durinum City. Many folk milled about, taking advantage in the ebb of the snow and cold to do as much business as they could before the weather grew inhospitable again. The crowd parted as Lanion slowly marched forward, awed by the enormous horse and his tall, proud rider. Ahma followed closely, hoping the crowd would not somehow separate them.

It was past noon when they arrived at the northern gate. The guards nodded them through as soon as they recognized Methaniel for the nobleman and knight he was. The two horses trotted along once they cleared the gate, seeming to enjoy the ride out in the open reaches outside the city as much as their riders did. A rough road wound away from the city, off toward the northern pass. Deep, muddy tracks from passing wagons mixed with half melted snow. 

Ahma and Methaniel rode side by side, their pace slow and relaxed as they basked in the simple pleasures of the outdoors and a slow ride. They did not speak, but Methaniel wore a thin smile when she glanced at him, and his face did not seem as severe as it normally was. 

Half an hour later they struck off from the road, heading east into the forest. Trees stretched overhead. Many had shed their leaves and greenery for the winter, instead donning their white coats of thick snow piled about on their branches and pooled about their feet. The large majority of the trees clustered about the woods were pines, their soft green needles peppered with white. Various other evergreens broke up the nakedness of the forest. The packed snow crunched softly under the weight of the horses hoofs. Methaniel led them carefully forward, allowing Lanion some rein to pick his own way through the snowy ground. The horse's steps were careful but sure, and if there were any hazards beneath the blanket of snow he avoided them. Ahma led Nemia closely behind. 

The forest was quiet and still around them. Now and again a clump of snow would fall from the branches overhead upon their passing, showering them with a light fall of chilling powder. Ahma couldn't stop herself from laughing melodiously when the first pile of snow plopped onto the Master's head, and Methaniel's own wry grin spread wide when the same happened to her moments later.

The majority of the snowy underbrush and the thick, bare trees began to thin ahead of them. They stepped out of the forest line and halted at the ledge just beyond. Ahma's breath caught in her throat.

She could see why this would be one of his favorite places. The view was spectacular; the Northern mountain chain stretched across the sky, a jagged line of snow-capped peaks, like the bottom of some giant maw poised to swallow the world. Their slopes extended downward, filling the majority of the view, shades of earth and snow and small patches of stubborn greenery dotting their length. Small trees clung to the slopes, most as bare as the others save the clusters of evergreens spread about the mountain slopes. At the foot of the mountains, valleys and gorges opened, yawning expanses ranging in width from a horses leap to the breadth of the royal capitol itself. 

The sky hung over the white capped mountains, so pale and sallow as to be almost gray, set against the white of frosted snow and the brown of winter ravaged earth. The view was moving, a strange sight that spoke of death and winter and majestic beauty all at once. She wondered what a glorious sight it would be in the full of spring, with such a flood of greens and plants and colorful flowers spread along the mountains and valleys. The Northern Pass wound along just below their feet, leading far into the mountainous reaches and beyond.

"This is amazing," Ahma murmured.

Methaniel nodded, gazing out over the land, his big hands absently stroking Lanion's sleek, pale coat. They sat in silence, their mounts remaining placid and calm. Ahma pulled her cloak closer as an icy breeze began to blow off the mountains.

"When do you return to the front?"

Master Methaniel turned his gaze to his attendant. His face remained expressionless, neutral as it so often was. "I'm not entirely sure. Certain...circumstances prevent me from leaving home right now. I need to take stock of some things...assess the situation before I decide my course of action."

Ahma bit her lip softly, but she had to ask. "Does...this have anything to do with what happened yesterday?"

The Master turned his eyes upon the mountains. His face remained unreadable. "I cannot speak of this."

"I understand, my Lord," Ahma murmured.

Silent moments followed in which both took enjoyment from the view, the peace, the ease of this place. The horses had found a patch of ground under the snow and were idly munching at it.

"Master," Ahma ventured at last, her eyes downcast. "When you were at the front...that is...do you know of two Wingling men? They should be in your unit."

Methaniel turned to her and nodded slowly, his lips twitching into a momentary smile. "Ah, yes. Fahl and Kahr. Your brothers."

"So you do know of them," Ahma stated, relief obvious on her face.

"Indeed. Good men, both of them. My closest lieutenants, actually."

"Lieutenants?" Ahma gasped. "How did that come about?"

Methaniels face turned over the wide expanse before them, his eyes distant. He looked as if the memory pained him. "Not long after my father passed, I was serving at the front far to the south, garrisoned at Fort Balor, which guarded a stretch of land that is now enemy territory. I could have led my fathers unit then and there, but I felt I was too young, too inexperienced. I handed the command to another man, and took my place as a soldier below him with all the rest."

Methaniel squeezed his eyes shut. "It is a decision I deeply regret. The commander was...inept. The decisions he made as the Naemer army advanced upon the fort bordered on sheer idiocy. He had no real idea what he was doing, I've come to believe. As a result, we were soon cut off from our supply lines, and reinforcements were out of reach.

"The Naemer knew that we had enough food to last till reinforcements came, so they began a siege," Methaniel continued. "It was a massacre. We were undermanned and acting under a man who hadn't the sense to command us properly. Everyone was in disarray. The Naemerians outnumbered us horribly. If it hadn't been for the fort's heavy defenses, the slaughter would have been absolute.

"As it was, our numbers dwindled rapidly. The commander tried to flee and took an arrow through the heart. During a brief lull in the assault, I took up command. Fahl and Kahr had become friends with me long ago, and they were instrumental in rallying support to me. It was too late, though. The damage had been done.

Methaniel fell silent for a moment, nodding to himself before turning his eyes back to the girl. "We held as long as we could. Many died. Many Naemer fell, too. We retreated into the inner most ring of defenses and fought with all the passion and strength we could muster as the Naemerians came. 

"I took a deep slash across my chest..." here his hand came to briefly touch the area where his scar would be, "But I was too far into the rage and heat of battle to let it stop me. Your brothers... they swear I fought as a demon that day, but I believe we all did. I just knew that if I fell, more of my men would die.

"We thought ourselves finished. Of the eight hundred men stationed at Fort Balor, just over fifty survived. Just when we knew our deaths had come, reinforcements broke through the enemy surrounding the fort and routed them."

Ahma's heart pounded at the tale, her attention drawn by the emotion and memories heavy in her Master's voice.

"Those who survived swore fealty to me and vowed they would not serve under any command but mine. Your brothers were foremost of those supporters. I took up the reins of command, and new soldiers were distributed to me. Those who were with me at Fort Balor hold my highest regard, and your brothers are my closest advisors."

"So they are well, then?" Ahma asked anxiously.

Methaniel nodded, his eyes holding hers closely. "Do not fret, Ahma, I know how you wish to see them. I will send them on extended leave as soon as I return to the front. I would have allowed them to return with me, but I needed someone I could depend on to watch things in my absence."

Ahma bent down to rub Nemia's neck. "I'm glad they do so well for themselves. They make me proud."

"Surely you knew all this, though?" Methaniel asked, his brow furrowing with confusion. "I know for a fact that they write you often."

"Well, yes. They do," Ahma said haltingly. She sighed softly. "Once the Steward began running the house, he had any letters sent to me thrown in the fire pit."

A dark cloud passed over Methaniel's face. His bright eyes danced dangerously. Ahma shivered. She hoped he never had reason to turn such displeasure on her.

"Unforgivable. I should have had him flogged before sending him away."

"You sent him away?"

"Indeed."

Ahma suppressed the urge to clap her hands in delight. "I'm glad," she confessed. "I'm sure he would have gone back to abusing us all once you left for the front again."

Methaniel shook his head, his scowl fading somewhat. "I think not. I would not allow such a person to remain in my household. I will find a new Steward and be sure the position is well filled this time. I will not abandon my people to such cruelty again."

Ahma gazed silently at him for several moments. Nemia shifted underneath her. She caressed the mare's mane soothingly, her eyes never leaving Methaniel. His eyes glowed with agitation and his face still held traces of a scowl. He was so very big, his body packed with muscle, though he moved with a noble grace and agility that bellied his size. He was intimidating to be sure. Even now, she found him to be so. But his heart was that of his father, which was to say, not that of a nobleman. Warmth radiated from his rare smile, and his every action seemed dictated by conscious and justice.

"You are a very kind man, Master," Ahma said softly. "I didn't think I would be happy to serve anyone after your father passed. I was wrong."

His smile peaked, erasing all sign of displeasure from his face. "I try to do the best for my people."

The wind gusted up, blowing through the naked trees behind them. It pulled at the heavy braid of Ahma's hair. She shivered and pulled her wings tighter against her body and snuggled into the folds of her cloak.

"We should head back," the Master sighed. "The day wanes and it feels like the night will bring the cold in all over again. We'd best be back inside the city walls before dusk."

Ahma nodded and took the reins up in hand. Both gazed at the view upon the ridge for one last moment before Methaniel led them back through the quiet woods.

***

It was full dark by the time they arrived back at the Manor. Ahma was quite sore after dismounting Nemia. So long away from the saddle had taken it's toll on her, it seemed. Still, she enjoyed it thoroughly. She unsaddled the mare and brushed her down, clicking and murmuring affectionately to her all the while. She fed her another handful of oats for being so cooperative and amiable during their ride, then turned her care over to the stable hand and followed Methaniel back to the Manor.

As soon as they entered she changed from her soft riding boots into her more comfortable servant slippers. Methaniel turned to speak with a servant for a moment. Ahma's heart felt warm. It surprised her. It was the first time she had felt anything but sorrow and despair since the Master's father passed. She smiled softly as she glanced over at Methaniel, considering him.

The two men looked little alike. Where Methaniel was a massive, muscular man of such height it made her dizzy, his father had an almost diminutive stature and little physical presence. Methaniel had a closed, reserved way of handling himself, always keeping his expression neutral and unreadable, while his father had seldom been seen without a wry grin on his face or boisterous laughter at his lips. The differences were such that Ahma wondered what kind of a woman Methaniel's mother had been, that he contrasted his father so sharply in appearance and mannerisms.

But for all that the two men were different, the son resembled the father perfectly in matters of the heart. Both men had kind, warm, rich hearts. They adhered to a conduct of honor and generosity that was unheard of in either noble or commoner. They treated all with respect and kindness, regardless of their place in society. They both had strong convictions of justice and proper conduct.

The fond smile faded from Ahma's soft lips. Soon, Methaniel would have to return once more to battle. It wasn't fair, she thought. Whether the new Steward was a worthy and kind person or not, life would be lessened with him gone. His presence made the entire estate alive, just as his fathers presence had. The Wingling girl hoped he would stay for a few weeks, at least. Or perhaps, if he did not find another attendant, she could go with him to the front to see her brothers.

And, part of her admitted, to be with him. Methaniel was foreboding at first, but he had a humane and warm side once she saw past the gruffness of a military man. He was pleasant and enjoyable to spend time with. He also took care of himself rather than let an attendant or servant do every little thing for him. It showed a level of self-reliance that she found shocking in a nobleman.

Methaniel bid the servant a good evening and slid the cloak from his shoulders. He hung it on a sturdy wooden peg beside the door and then nodded to Ahma.

"Sorry about that," said he.

"Not at all, my Lord," Ahma smiled. She felt a yawn coming on and suppressed it, instead stretching a bit and blinking several times.

"You look tired," he commented.

"I'm fine, Master Methaniel," she replied despite the tug of weariness. She felt a tingle of sweat around her collar and the base of her wings.

The Master made to reply, but before he could speak a short young lad marched to him, a prominent look of apprehension creasing his face.

"M...m'Lord...I have news. Urgent news," The youth stuttered.

Methaniel glanced at the young man, his face expressionless. "Can it wait?" He asked.

The young man swallowed heavily. Methaniel noted the sallow palor of his face. "No m'Lord"

Methaniel nodded and let out a soft sigh.

"Take an hour to clean up and relax," he said to Ahma. "Then join me in my quarters."

"Yes, Master Methaniel," she replied. She curtsied and watched as Methaniel led the youth into the dining room.

Ahma returned to the servants quarters and spent some time brushing and re-braiding her hair. The tresses curled from the tight mesh of her daily braid, even after she brushed them. Her hair fell easily back into shape as she braided it back up.

Once she finished her hair, Ahma unlaced her bodice and removed the front of her dress. She grabbed a small rag and toweled off her neck and chest. Despite the chill, the exertion from the ride and day outside had left a light sheen of sweat upon her. She cleaned the droplets of sweat from her heavy breasts, wiping the undersides of them where extra sweat collected. She shivered as a draft blew through a crack in the wall and played across the beads of wetness on her bosom. She ignored the pleasant sensation as her soft pink nipples began to harden. She hadn't had time for pleasure in some time. Still, now was not a time for such things either. She pulled her dress and bodice back in place. She glanced over her wings, pleased with how well the underside of them had taken on the pale blue so well. She arranged and preened a few feathers into place before deciding they looked properly presentable. 

Nearly an hour passed before Ahma headed to the Master's room. She paused to admire the Dragon upon the door, appreciating the elegant and powerful form and the considerable skill of whoever crafted the image. She noted that Master Methaniel had left the door slightly ajar. Taking it as a sign for her to come in, she entered and shut the door behind her.

A dinner was placed on the table much like the night before, and the heart was again lit and crackling. Methaniel sat in a chair by the window, gazing into the dark night. The cheer of the afternoon was gone.

Whatever the messenger told him was bad news judging by the set of his posture. Ahma thought it must be about the war, or perhaps the attack yesterday morning. Still glancing at Master Methaniel, Ahma began to lay out the dishes and utensils upon the table.

"Master, are you ready to eat?" She asked after she finished and he still hadn't acknowledged her.

Methaniel jumped and noticed her for the first time. He glanced back out the window, then rose, stretching his legs as he nodded slowly. "I'm sorry, Ahma, I hadn't noticed you come in. Has it been an hour already?"

"More than an hour," she replied honestly.

Methaniel motioned for her to sit across from him as she had the other night. Ahma took her seat and he served them both. Their meal was taken in silence, but it was not the easy and comfortable meal it had been last night. Something clearly troubled Methaniel. 

"Did you enjoy the ride today, my Lord?" Ahma asked when she could stand the tension no more.

"It was pleasant, yes," Methaniel said. His eyes did not meet hers.

"Master? I was wondering about something," She said after another long pause. "How did you know which dye to purchase? My wings...this shade...I've been fond of it for a long time. I wore it often when I was younger. I know feather dye isn't very common, but...it seems strange that you would know." She was grasping at straws, anything she could think of to break the silence that felt suffocating and dangerous all the sudden.

Methaniel's gaze shifted to the hearth. "Azure tail drops. A rare dye, even in such a prominent market as Durinum. Your..."

His words faltered, he swallowed hard. A muscle in his cheek jerked. His eyes went suddenly cold.

"Your brothers told me of their little sister and her love for the dye."

Ahma's heart lifted and her wings fluttered softly. Her smile was bright and wide. "They speak of me! I am glad. I had hoped they wouldn't forget me too much."

The Wingling girl's smile died on her face as the Master turned empty eyes upon her.

"What is it? Something...to do with my brothers?" Ahma's voice quavered slightly.

Methaniel stood slowly and walked to her. He towered over her. She craned her head back to gaze at him, her eyes begging him to tell her all was well. Her mouth went dry as he laid a massive hand on her shoulder. It nearly covered her shoulder entirely. She began to tremble.

"I...I am sorry, Ahma. The messenger that came...he gave me a report. My unit has been wiped out. Slaughtered. To the man. They took no prisoners. And your brothers...no one escaped."

Ahma was frozen to her core. All the world disappeared before her. Her brothers were dead? How? How could that be? She knew they were always at risk, of course. They had served in the military since the three of them had arrived in the royal capitol when she was but a young girl. But they had remained alive and well for eleven long years, a span of time almost unheard of in such an intense war. To have them pass after all this time, both of them, was unreal.

Now she was alone. Her brothers would no longer write or visit her. Just like her parents, they were gone. The very last link to her old life was erased.




Rising Ch. 04



She choked down the food half chewed in her mouth. Her hands became cold and her vision swirled. Methaniel held her steady, but she felt her body shaking more violently than before.

"Their bodies will be coming into the city within a week. You may claim them, of course. I'll pay for a proper burial, with full rights and honors to them," Methaniel told her softly.

She shook her head, wordless. His offer was kind, but not needed. The Winged folk did not go back to the earth, but to the sky.

Methaniel watched her closely. Her eyes had glazed over, her entire mind shut down. He would need to take her back to her quarters. Looking at her, at the numb insensibility plain in her features, he decided to give her some time to collect herself.

Time passed, moments bending uneasily into what seemed to be an eternity. Ahma sat and continued to tremble. Her eyes shone brightly as she gazed into space. Three tears slid down her flawless cheeks. No sobs or wailing came. She was too heart broken and stunned for them. 

Just as Methaniel was about to collect her, he caught a whiff of something upon the air. He hesitated, inhaling through his nostrils.

Smoke?

A scream ripped through the hushed night, followed by a sharp crash and the sounds of a violent scuffle. A second agonized cry, then a third.

"No," Methaniel whispered, releasing Ahma's shoulders and rushing out into the halls. The haunting sounds of violence and death filtered into the room through the open door. A heavy, choking cloak of smoke drifting in thick puffs filled the room. 

Ahma froze anew when she heard the smoldering crackle of spreading flames licking close and closer through the house.

The Wingling girl scrambled back, falling out her chair and onto her backside. Her brown eyes slid up to the ceiling, to the tell-tale orange glow. Before her horrified gaze the flames began to swallow and spread through the ceiling, violently chewing through the wooden roof. Their shifting, undulating forms crept along the ceiling.

The Master leapt into the room, his eyes quickly darting about, ablaze with their own inner flame. His wool shirt was ripped and an ugly cut bled at his side, spreading a trail of red down his flesh. A dagger was grasped in his left hand, bloodied and nicked from where it had scraped bone.

He spun and slammed the door shut, bolting it firmly. He grabbed a chair and shoved it firmly under the door handle, jamming it into place, the only thing he could think to buy them precious time. 

As the flames spread and smoke began to slowly suffocate them, Methaniel rushed about the room and gathered things rapidly. He pulled on a new shirt after shoved a wad of cloth into his wounded side.

"We must leave now," he spoke as he quickly shoved whatever he could find use for into his traveling bag. "I don't have time to explain. All is lost if we are not gone, quickly."

He shoved his heavy boots on and belted his sword to his waist while he snatched up his riding gloves and shoved them into his pack. He tossed in a bulging pouch of coins as well. His brow furrowed as he turned to the unmoving Wingling girl.

"Ahma?"

Ahma's eyes darted around the room. She had a confused, scared look in her eyes, the look of a small, lost child.

In her mind, all Ahma could hear were the screams of her mother. Up until the soldiers lopped off her head, her mother had screamed, begging for mercy that never came. Ahma had stayed hidden in the feed shed until her brothers pulled her from the burning building. They dragged her from the flames and the death and the evil, horrible men. Fahl had one wing broken during the ordeal. Only later, when they returned to the charred remains of the small farmhouse that had been home to bid their final goodbye to their parents did they find how their mother's death had come.

The Wingling's had certain beliefs regarding death and the afterlife. When the soul left the body, it was said to ascend, rising to the heavens to serve Father Sky. A body without a head would never make the journey, however. The head was the guiding piece, and without it the way was lost. The soul wandered, aimless and blind, unable to see their way to heaven where Father Sky awaited his winged children. Without a head, their mother would be lost.

For one hundred days, amidst their mourning and heartache, Ahma and her brothers had prayed every night that their father's departing soul could somehow find their mothers soul and guide her to the heavens. Sometimes, when two souls were joined so closely, one soul would not ascend without the other, and could guide a blinded soul. They had all prayed the love of a mate would be enough.

Ahma whimpered. She hated her mothers screams. They echoed in her ears clearly, deafening her. She wanted them to stop. She hated the way the smoke choked her and the flames licked slowly closer to her skin. The sight of the flames burning through the roof had drawn her firmly into her horrible past. Now her world was reduced to that horrible night, sitting in the burning shed as all she had ever known was brutally destroyed by sword and flame. Blackness closed in around her, but her ears remained open, filled only with her mothers soul rending screams. 



Rising Ch. 05



The nobleman cursed under his breath, feeling the heat of the flames closing in around them. Already the walls had caught. Flames licked hungrily up the wood panels. The ceiling creaked and groaned in protest, the beams crackling lively as the flames caught along their lengths Methaniel shoved the bloodied dagger into his belt, shouldered his traveling pack, and gathered the frightened Wingling girl into his arms.

"Keep calm and don't move," he murmured into her ear. She shook and quivered in the circle of his arms but made no other movement. He couldn't be sure if she was complying with his orders or was simply in such shock that she was utterly motionless.

Methaniel picked her up and held her to his chest with one arm. He strode to the window and kicked it open. The swung outward on their hinges. A glance down revealed thick layers of snow padding the ground below. The drop was not so very long, but had just enough distance to damage someone who would take the plunge.

A long terrace laden with thick growths of vines clung to the wall, winding and twisting sinuously upward to create an intricate length of strong, healthy cords. Methaniel saw the flames creeping closer along the walls, and quickly swung his legs out of the window, gripped the length of vines, and plummeting downward.

The vines strained and snapped, separating from the wall and dragging along more of the thick creeping plants, pulling the wooden trellis from the wall along with them. Their decent was rough and jarring, and when they touched upon the ground Methaniel had to hold a grunt back as the shock of impact ran through his body. But their fall was slowed enough to take away the brunt of the landing, and the snow padded the ground just enough to keep the impact minimal. He stood straight and shifted the woman in his arms. Ahma had gathered her wits enough to wrap her arms about his neck and hold fast to his body, but was otherwise still paralyzed by fear and horror.

Master Methaniel sprung into motion, his free hand pulling his blade from his sheath in a quiet hiss. Snow drifted down through the sky, and the white powder was beginning to melt about the burning house. The nobleman crept silently through the darkness, his heavy booted feet surprisingly silent and smooth as he trod through the snow. Ahma clung to him and shiver, partially out of fear, partially from the chill of the night upon her body as her dress did precious little to keep her warm.

He brought them to the stables, holding back in the shadows, his eyes peering into the ring of light cast by the single lantern hanging on a post in the doorway to the stables. Three men stood within or around the lantern light, standing casually, their weapons sheathed and their attention lax. Apparently they were fairly convinced that the attacking force raging through the mansion would more than do their job.

Methaniel pushed the tip of his blade into the snow, propping it up and yanking the dagger from his belt. He sent it flipping into the farthest man, the blade sinking deep into the man's chest with a hard thunk, impacting so hard it sent the body jerking back and sprawling to the ground. The man gurgled and spasmed his life out.

The two soldiers stupidly turned to regard the body upon the ground, staring dumbly in shock at their dying comrade.

The leftmost soldier's head flew to the side, smacking roughly into the wall, smearing it with blood. The last remaining soldier turned to face the looming attacker, his hand almost closing around the hilt of his weapon before Methaniel's massive sword plunged into his chest, sliding hotly out his back and staining the snow with bright red blood.

Methaniel yanked his blade from the limp body and quickly wiped it clean before sheathing it again. Ahma yelped and jerked in his arm as the hot blood splashed across her angelic face and slender neck. She was still trapped in her own personal nightmare. She thrashed and struggled for a moment, haunted by memories of bloodshed and fire and agony. The Master pulled her closer, keeping a firm grip on her, and reached up with one hand to smooth her tousled hair as he stalked quickly into the stables.

The girl quieted after a moment, but seemed as removed from reality as ever. The nobleman thanked his luck that she had at least calmed and glanced around the stables. If he bolted out, a solitary form dashing through the lengthy yard and into the city, he would stand out like a beacon.

Thinking quickly, he ran to each pen in the stable and threw the door open wide, kicking the wall and jolting each horse into frantic action. The smell of blood and smoke and the orange glow of the flames a few yards away finished his work and the horses bolted, charging out of the stables and scattering in fright.

When he came to Lanion's pen and opened it the enormous warhorse sat calm and alert, his equine eyes shining wetly in the darkness as he gazed at his Master.

"Time to go Lanion. Out into the wilderness and as far away as you may carry us. We're being chased, so you must take us far and fast from this place."

Ahma shifted in Methaniel's arms as he gathered her and lifted her up, putting her onto the back of his tall, powerful horse.

"M...Master?" she stuttered, seeming to come out of her daze as if waking. She was groggy and uncertain and teetered upon the horses back before correcting her balance. She shivered and drew her wings closer.

"I know you do not like other riders," Methaniel whispered into his mounts ear as Lanion stamped softly on the ground. "But you will have to make an exception. Settle and prepare."

Having no time to saddle his mount, the nobleman gripped the horse's withers in one hand and put his hand on its rump with the other. He vaulted himself up as lightly as possibly, swinging his right leg over the horse's wide back and settling on his steed. Ahma was settled infront of him, and he reached around her with one arm and gathered her close to his body.

"Whatever happens," Methaniel whispered into Ahma's ear, causing her to instinctively huddle closer to his warm body. "Whatever this horse does, don't move. And don't panic. I have you. I will not let you fall."

His arms reached forward and lightly took hold of the massive horses withers then and he squeezed at Lanion's sides with his thighs. The horse quickly began forward and walked its own way out of the stables. Methaniel ducked low to avoid the beams cris-crossing the ceiling. Ahma's face paled from her creamy soft complexion to a sickly, almost gray-white as they exited the stables and the burning manor came into view. She felt herself falling toward a swoon, but held on, more in control now. As they passed the doorway the Master reached out and plucked the oil lantern from the hook on the door post.

"Take this," he instructed as he pushed the warm lantern into Ahma's frigid hands. She sighed, at first thinking him trying to help her warm however he could.

"Wrap your wings around it and suffocate the light," he continued. "Hand it to me when I say."

Ahma nodded numbly, somehow able to register what he told her even through her shock and vacant state. Methaniel bent forward as he squeezed his horse tightly with his thighs.

"Slowly, Lanion."

The horse trotted forward, jerking forward, carrying them quietly across the few acres of the front lawn. The estate walls soon loomed ahead, and Methaniel guided his horse right up to the wall before turning him toward the gate. Three men stood before the ornate gate, standing utterly still despite the bone-deep cold of the night. They were nearly invisible, cloaked in dark robes and hoods as they were, and would have escaped all notice had Lanion not slowed his steps suddenly to signal something was not right.

"Now," Methaniel suddenly breathed into her ear.

Ahma pulled her wings back and quickly handed the lantern to the Master. He took hold of the chain it hung by and twirled it several times over his head before launching it forward, his powerful arms pumping and bulging as he put all his considerable might behind the hurl. It smashed at the feet of the men, exploding as the glass shattered and the oil burst outward, ignited by the fire. It doused over their dark cloaks, igniting and catching up trailing garments.

The men screamed in shock and surprise, jumping and dancing about as they flailed wildly, trying to pull off their flaming clothes or diving into the snow and rolling about frantically in an attempt to snuff them out.

"The gate, Lanion!" Methaniel cried urgently. The horse charged forward, his head bent low and his ears tucked back against his head. A gasp caught in Ahma's throat as the looming gate hurtled toward them, promising a brutal and jarring impact.

At the last moment, as the horse leapt through the flames and his speed carried him through the licking tendrils of fire before they could do harm, Lanion reared back, neighing sharply. He kicked out with his front legs, his hooves plunging wildly and crashing into the gate with all twelve hundred pounds of muscled might behind them. The lock on the gate shattered easily under the grievous blow, and the gates swung wide. The nobleman upon his back grinned victoriously as Lanion settled back onto four legs and plunged past the Manor gates.

Ahma gasped as they jerked forward and Lanion charged down the road looping from the Manor's hilltop down into the main city. Her heart leapt into her throat. So fast he was! Ahma knew the Nehlendeim's reputation of being swift mounts surpassing any others, especially ones of their great statures, but had never thought such quick movement possibly from such a massive beast. The dark night around them blended into a dizzying swirl of movement and the stars overhead seemed to streak past.

They sped up the avenue and into the capitol city itself. The horse's feet were still shod with silver shoes that clinked against the cobble stones and kicked up a shower of sparks. The looming buildings of the industrious mountain city wrapped about them as Methaniel guided his horse into the heart of the city. He knew the easiest escape routes would be watched and guarded, and so he drove them deeper into the winding maze of streets in the city core, certain that he could work his way outward from there. 

"Hold tightly to me. Lanion will take us from the city and into the wild," Methaniel whispered into Ahma's ears. The young girl didn't argue, whimpering softly, still not recovered from the shock of it all as she pressed closer to the Master's broad chest.

The charger turned quickly down a side alley as a cry went up several yards ahead. Methaniel rubbed his hands roughly along the horse's long neck, urging him on as he clung tightly with his legs. He had stopped giving commands, trusting the horse's superior reflexes and intelligence, knowing that Lanion could work them through the dense heart of the city and back around to the northern part of the capitol, near the Royal Castle. It was a bold move, too bold, Methaniel hoped, to be considered as a sane route of escape by his pursuers.

And pursue him they did. Shadowy men lurked all about the city, raising a shout of alarm as the tell-tale horse, the only one of its kind in all the Kingdom, raced across their path. Methaniel would have worried that word of his progress would spread through the city, but he was confident that his trusty horses speed would outrun any report of his passing far before it could do any harm.

The market sprawling across the center of the city suddenly spread out before them as Lanion came barreling out from one of the many winding side-alleys of the city. The horse ran unconcerned through a large fruit-stand blocking his forward progress. Methaniel put an arm firmly around Ahma to protect the small frightened woman from the debris, shaking his head as a large board scraped over his forehead. He ignored the thin leak of blood from the new cut on his forehead.

Several of the shadowy men stood in the middle of the market, blocking their way. Blades gleamed in the torchlight of the market, clutched in sickly pale fingers. The nobleman narrowed his eyes at the group and squeezed his legs tightly around his horse's side.

The charger didn't hesitate even a moment, launching himself forward at the group. The cloaked forms tried to react, one even managing to raise his sword, but it was too late. The massive horse crashed into them, sending two men flying back through the air and smacking into the ground. The horse neighed his fury and lifted up, kicking out with his forelegs and cracking through the sternum and ribs of the nearest man. The warhorse danced and shimmied, knocking another man from his feet.

A hand suddenly reached up and gripped tightly around Ahma's wrist. The girl screamed, pulling frantically at her arm and wailing with fear. Methaniel reached down with one hand and grabbed the man by his face, lifting him off the ground as his other hand wrenched the dagger from his belt and plunged it into the cloaked man's throat. The attacker gurgled, his hand releasing Aham and going slack. Methaniel pulled his dagger free and dropped the limp body heavily to the ground.

He caught the shift of another man several paces away on the horse's other side, a sword poised to plunge into the horse's thick side as he lunged forward. Methaniel flipped the dagger at the man's face, the steel point smashing through lip and teeth, slicing his tongue and thunking into the back of his throat. A gurgled scream rose and Methaniel kicked Lanion into motion. The warhorse fled from the market, hurtling at dangerous speeds down the main street before turning down a side alley a moment later.

Methaniel glanced down at Ahma to be sure she was alright. She shook more than ever now and her eyes were shut, her face buried into the Masters chest as she willed the nightmare to stop. She seemed otherwise unhurt.

The sounds of pursuit wafted on the wind blowing through his ears, men shouting and scrambling to catch them and the clatter of many hooves beating along the cobbled roads. A crossbow bolt zipped past just above his right shoulder and shattered on a wall ahead. Methaniel grimaced and squeezed his mount's sides with his legs, directing him down a narrow side alley barely wide enough for the large horse to fit. 

Lanion carried them in a blur through the city and for the rest of their desperate flight down the twisting street ways and alleys. He darted and turned, moving down one side alley and another, galloping desperately up a main road before turning once more into the twisting labyrinth of narrow back roads. Methaniel guided his horse on a looping, turning path that for all appearances seemed maddeningly random, all the while slowly and subtly making his way north. His plan seemed to be working, as the further north they went and the more twists and turns they took, the more the signs of pursuit died away, the hoof beats and shouts falling away behind them. Methaniel smiled with grim satisfaction. He had to admit to himself, it had been a massive risk, for his home was by no means close to the northern Durinum gate, and he had risked further chance of being captured by taking the more complex escape route through the city. Luck had been with them to have made it this far. That the pair had escaped the ambush at the market was due only to the underestimation of Lanion's ferocity, and more than a little luck.

Still, despite the lack of pursuit or watch put up for him this far north he was taken aback upon finding the Northern gate open and manned only by the regular guard. A handful of nightly travelers were making their way in and out of the city.

Methaniel's instincts told him that the gate must be trapped, that surely they could not be so stupid and sloppy as to allow any exit, even a difficult to reach one, completely unprotected. But he shook his head as Lanion impatiently stamped at the ground, and loosed the horse, letting him charge through the gate. The single pair of night guards, a customary and pathetic pre-caution that had nothing to do with the hunt for him, let out a startled shout as Lanion ran through, charging past the gate and out into the brief plain lands surrounding the Durinum Capitol.

Now out of the city walls and fully exposed, the freezing wind whipped over them, chilling and bitingly sharp. Methaniel pulled the shaking Ahma closer to him, wrapping an arm around her and keeping the other at the horse's withers. Her teeth chattered and her flesh felt like soft ice against him, but he did his best to warm her and shelter her from the whipping breeze. The torchlight of the city faded behind and the Nobleman's eyes adjusted to the guiding shine of the brilliant stars and half moon. 

He hardly dared to believe that they had escaped. Hardly dared to think that they had passed the seemingly baited gate without incident. The more he thought of it, however, the more he wondered. An unreasonably large force had been set against him, from the soldiery invading his house and its surroundings to the men lurking in waiting through the streets, the small squad massed in the market and the doubtlessly even larger groups guarding the southern and eastern gates, the gates closest to his estate. Doubtless it seemed foolish that he should make for the northern gate, and nearly impossible that he could slip through the ambushes and patrols along the way.

Lanion ran on through the night, tireless and focused, knowing somehow in his sharp, intelligent mind that to slow would prove disastrous for his Master. Yet even without the pressing need, the night, the run, the open land had caught him fast in its grip, and he joyously ran, his heart racing and exhilarated at the wild gallop he made.

Methaniel let the horse run, knowing than Lanion was wise enough to keep them going in a straight line till he directed otherwise. His mind worked quickly through a number of possibilities. He knew not who the cloaked, hidden men were, but he felt certain that he would be unable to turn to his King and Country for support. This enemy that hunted him was too cunning, too subtle. They had infiltrated the city, burned his Manor down and pursued him relentlessly without a single guard appearing in his defense. Either they were skilled beyond compare at subterfuge and espionage, or...

Or he had been betrayed from within. Methaniel shuddered at the very thought, unable to accept that someone within his country would do such a thing to him. He had served King and Country faithfully for as long as he could recall, before he'd even reached his adulthood years. Why would he be betrayed? And even as his mind ran through these things, it slid back to the strange arrow that was even now tucked in his traveling pack. Did it too somehow play into these strange occurrences? He did not see how it couldn't. The attacks on him had been persistent indeed. 

He pondered where to slip away to for the time being. The southern roads were out of the question. They were doubtless watched even now, and most certainly would be as soon as his pursuers had gathered themselves enough to realize he had escaped. They would expect him to circle around the city and turn that way.

For the time being, Methaniel let Lanion continue north. The horse carried them away from the city for another three hours, slowing to a canter but still tirelessly bearing his riders on without complaint. Several times Methaniel reined the warhorse in and gazed at his surroundings, getting his bearings while scanning for any sign of pursuit at the same time.

Ahma shifted in his arms, her feathers brushing against his side. Methaniel glanced down at the young girl, who seemed to have fallen asleep for the moment. Still she shivered and trembled, but she seemed to have calmed some and adjusted slightly to the chill of the exposed night. Her face shone in the moonlight from the streaks of her tears. The Nobleman watched her for a long moment. She seemed to have withered somehow in the wake of the night's horror. 




Rising Ch. 05



And truly, so would he have but for the fact he had ever been a man of action, his life steeped in violence for the last number of years. He was able to slip into the mind frame of a solder, telling himself today was just another day of close calls and dangerous maneuvers. His heart ached for Ahma, for his men, for her brothers and all the gentle and good folk that had been in his service. But even more it burned, a fierce and shining fire in his eyes that required retribution and vengeance for the wrongs committed against the innocents who had simply been in the way of the men who sought his death. Those wronged would be avenged, he swore to himself. It was all that drove him now.

But, he realized, that was not entirely true. His eyes drifted down to the woman pressed to him. Ahma. She alone had been spared from the greedy hands that reached for him, cutting down all others in its way. She, too, would prove to be his salvation. 

His atonement. 

Gazing upon her soft, flawless face, Methaniel swore then that he would do all in his power to protect and preserve this gentle, kind, loyal woman. She had ever served his father, to the very end of his days, and she had given him a piece of the dear man back in the brief days that they had talked of him. 

Methaniel's silver eyes returned to the girl unbidden. She was lovely, flawless, beautiful beyond measure. She had the face of a queen, of a daughter of royalty, not of a humble servant. And yet she had ever been faithful and supportive to his father, and then to him after. Even though he had known her but briefly in his younger years, and spent even less time with her these last few days, he knew her heart to be gentle and pure, and her loyalty unwavering and sure. He would protect her. At least until he could find her a place to live a quiet, peaceful life befitting her gentle soul, and leave her in the safety and happiness that she deserved. Surely he could help her to a town where she could move on with her life.

As the night reached its midpoint, the horse and his two riders came upon a thicket of woods stretching at the foot of the Northern Mountain Pass. Lanion slowed to a trot, and then a walk as the trees surrounded them, the snow laden branches arching overhead to blot out some of the starlight. Methaniel waited for his eyes to adjust before leading the horse further into the woods. Ahma suddenly jumped,yelping sharply and jerking back, her wings flapping as she came out of her frightful dream and into an equally frightening reality.

"Calm," Methaniel whispered to her, his voice seeming loud in the hush of the forest. He gently caressed her hair till her eyes focused dazedly upon him, adjusting to the low visibility.

"We are safe, for the moment. We have fled from the city and we are in the wild. You are alright." He soothed. Ahma gazed at him uncomprehendingly for a moment, and then her eyes began to shine with moisture as the full weight of the night finally came crashing onto her.

She remained silent for a long time. The horse continued forward at a slow but steady pace and Master held her close. Her eyes gazed into the darkness, hollow and lost and wet with tearful memories. Even the freezing night air didn't faze her, hardly even registering in her senses. 

Her mind was shocked and raw. The torment of memories sucked away any will she had. It was the same, all over again. Mother and Father had died all over again in her mind. It was only due to her brother's love and refusal to let her die that she had continued living. Her brothers...they had saved her again from a horrible fire...only they hadn't, had they? She could only feel one body close to her, and it was far larger than either of her brothers had been. And she sat upon a horse instead of dangling between the two of them as they labored to fly her to safety. It was all wrong...confusion swam through Ahma's mind for a moment, a swirl of flames and blood and cries for mercy. It all finally came into perfect, heart-breaking clarity as Master Methaniel called our Lanion's name. Her brothers, dead. Her home, destroyed. The terror of the flight from Durinum...she was chilled to the bone, so cold that she ached all over. Her lips and ears felt numb. A violent shiver came over her.

Methaniel pressed his arm more firmly to her body. Though he too was cold, his meager warmth seemed to radiate strongly against her through their clothes. She thought perhaps she should not be so close to him; it seemed somewhat inappropriate for a servant to be so near her Master, but she doubted he would let her go. He seemed intent on keeping her near, and as cold as she was, she was hardly going to argue with that notion.

She wondered in the back of her mind what happened to her friends at the Manor. Given the severity of the attack, most of them probably perished. Given the loss of her brothers, it was a small blow on top of many others. The cold served to numb her pain and her thoughts. She was focusing most of her energy on how cold she was; it was a far better misery than dwelling on her thoughts.

The Master lightly tapped the horse with his foot, turning him to the right. Lanion plodded forward, his hoof falls muffled softly by the snow packed on the ground. 

"Winter is closing, fast...it will be two days, three perhaps before its full embrace is upon us."

After several moments they came upon a clearing. He dismounted and helped Ahma off the horses back, then patted Lanion's side affectionately. "Good boy, Lanion. You did well. Very good. Go find something to chew on before you rest."

Lanion snorted loudly and tossed his glistening mane, then walked slowly toward a grouping of trees at the edge of the clearing and nosed at their base, trying to find some remnant of old grass below the snowfall.

Methaniel turned his attention to the young Wingling girl, gazing down at her as he lifted one large hand to rub his jaw. "We're going to have to stay here tonight, Ahma. I'm not sure what to do yet, but we have to lay low till daylight, at the least. I need some time to think."

Ahma nodded numbly, gazing into nothingness.

Methaniel's hand rested suddenly upon her shoulder, the rough leather of his riding gloves stiff from the cold. "Are you okay, Ahma?"

Ahma turned her eyes up to his. Her great brown orbs shimmered softly with unshed tears, and red laced through their whites. She swallowed softly and realized how dry her mouth was. "I'm okay," she croaked.

"Be strong. We'll get through this," he assured her. "We have to keep an even head and decide what must be done. We do not have much time to come to a decision. Come, let us move under the trees. The snow is thinner there."

Ahma followed him silently as he walked to the trees just to the left of where Lanion nosed. She wrapped her arms and her wings tightly about her, trying to chase off the chill as best she could and find some measure of warmth. She shook still. Methaniel reached down and brushed the snow under the tree to the side, doing his best to push and shift it aside to make a semi-dry patch of ground under the tree.

Both of them sank down gratefully, ignoring the rough bark pressing into their backs as they leaned against the tree.

The Wingling girl drew her knees up to her bosom, shivering softly as she tuckered her feet into her gown. She longed for a coat, a cloak, anything to keep warm by. 

"What has happened?" she whispered softly.

Methaniel sighed, shutting his eyes as he shrugged slightly. "I am not sure...I can only assume that I have caught the attention of someone...someone powerful. They have tried to kill me, thrice now, and each time they become ever bolder and more persistant." 

"They...they're the same people who attacked when you arrived back home, aren't they?"

"I believe so."

Ahma shivered uncomfortably, feeling miserable and lost.

"Come here," Methaniel said softly as he put and arm around her and gently pulled her closer. Her gaze slid up to his face with great wide eyes.

"Master?"

"We have no cloaks, no coats, no thick clothing," Methaniel pointed out. "We may freeze to death tonight..."at these words, she began to shake even harder, "But the more body heat we share the better our chances of survival. I have no tinder box or flint, and without one the wood is doubtlessly too damp from the snow to catch by itself. This is the only way."

Ahma nodded slowly and sank against him, pulling one wing around to cover the both of them. She felt the Master sigh softly and his muscles untense slightly. His arms rubbed at her shoulder gently, trying to help return circulation and warmth. She could hardly feel his touch for how cold she was.

Several moments later, Lanion shuffled up to them. He shifted on his legs for a moment before sinking down to the ground in front of them, his large body pressing against them and sharing his warmth. Methaniel smiled and reached out one arm to scratch behind the horse's ear. Lanion turned one eye to catch Methaniel in his equine stare.

Ahma was lost in thought, trying to come to terms with the recent trauma of having her home and friends snatched and burned away, as well as the horrible resurfacing memories of her childhood. Her heart pounded as she struggled to keep calm and coherent. She would be nothing but a hinderance to Master Methaniel if she were a panicking mess, and while she wasn't sure she could do anything to help him, he had saved her life by bringing her along in his flight from Durinum, and she would certainly try to assist him.

"I do not think we can stay upon the mountain," Methaniel said suddenly.

Ahma glanced up at him, shivering and huddled against the Master and Lanion for warmth. "What do you mean, Master?"

"I believe those who seek my life are, at the least, able to operate within Durinum without fear of reprisal or interference from guards and royal authority. Why this is, I do not know. It is not important, just now. But I think it likely that they may be able to do this just as well throughout all of the Kingdom, and not just the capitol. I do not know if there is anywhere within the borders of the Durinum lands that we can count ourselves safe."

Methaniel fell silent, thinking as quickly as he could. He needed to make a decision, for the longer they bided they stayed in one place without a clear plan, the easier it would be for those who hunted him to close in on them. He was convinced now that they had to flee the lands of Durinum, to get out of the mountains.

But how to do that? He did not trust the southern roads. They had been allowed to escape through the north gate far too easily...he had known the moment they passed through it was a trap. Likely, they sought to draw him into the open, thinking he would take the southern route to escape. They likely lay in ambush along the way even now. If not along the southern Mesenla road, then at Stonefall Gorge just southwest of that, where he would be forced into an area they could easily trap him. They intended to coral him, for he honestly only had one other option. 

The north. The only other true way for him to flee off the mountain. He would have to cut north through the Northern Pass and deeper into the mountains, and then follow the largely forgotten eastern trail till it looped around south and began its downward climb and emptied out of the mountains and into the flatlands the neutral land at the foot of the Durinum mountain chains and the tribelands of the Naemer to the east, and the city-states of Belingor further south.

The eastern, and even more so the northern reaches of the mountain were a hard and punishing land. They were almost impossible to traverse, with little in the way of resources and even less in the way of settlement. Few knew of the pass's very existence, as it was so treacherous it was only traveled by the most desperate of people. The most desperate, or the most foolish. The only reason he even knew of its existence was because of his military experience, his station as a commander in the Durinum royal army having given him access to the most detailed and up to date of maps. It was a wild, unconquered reach of the mountains, with even harsher weather than Durinum suffered. And with winter fast approaching, it would be a nigh on suicidal journey.

Of course, death was equally as sure should he turn south, or remain in Durinum lands. At least if he turned north, he had the smallest glimmering of a hope. And with hope, Methaniel would push himself stubbornly beyond any obstacle. The mountains would prove treacherous and difficult for him, and for Lanion, and truly any ordinary horse would never have been able to navigate the uneven, sloping, rocky paths and passages of the mountains. But then, Lanion was far from ordinary, in any respects.

And what of Ahma? He glanced down at her, his eyes playing over her pale face. Could she possibly make such a journey? And would she even want to? No, he thought to himself. He couldn't possibly endanger her so, especially after all she had already been through.

"Ahma?" he spoke.

"Yes, Master?" she said through chattering teeth. He pulled his arms closer around her.

"I will leave this land. But I cannot do this without the proper supplies. I...I do not think that I can show my face in Durinum without being recognized or watched."

"Okay?" Ahma said hesitantly.

Methaniel swallowed. "I know that what I ask will put you into great danger...and if you are not willing to do this, I understand; this is a request, not an order. Would you go into the city tomorrow and buy a list of supplies for me if I provide you with the coin?"

Ahma didn't speak for a moment, thinking it through. He was right, it would be dangerous. There was a risk someone might recognize her as a servant, or worse, believe her a slave, and apprehend her. There were precious few free Winglings in Durinum these days. But it would be far safer for her than it would be for Master Methaniel. The searching attackers would likely recognize him immediately. She had a far greater chance of slipping in unnoticed.

"I will do it," she nodded.

Methaniel let out a soft sigh and shut his eyes once more. "Thank you. As soon as we get the supplies, I will try to find some way to get you to a village where you can start a new life. I will do this before I leave the land, I promise."

"Leave the land?" Ahma asked softly.

"Yes," Methaniel nodded. "It is as I said, I do not think I can stay here without these men who pursue me noticing my presence. The best thing I can do is to slip off the mountain and out of their grip. I will decide what to do beyond this when I can breath a little easier."

Ahma nodded, resting her head against his chest. She felt numb inside. He was leaving her? She did not want that. She did not want to serve another Master, in another estate. Master Methaniel's land had been her home.

"Do you think you can find a house that will take me? I know many places do not encourage Wingling servants."

"Servant?" Methaniel repeated, then smiled softly. "No, Ahma. I won't be taking you to serve in another house. I will provide you with enough money to live off of. You will be free to do as you like."

"Master?" she said softly as she turned her gaze up to him.

"This is something we should worry about later. For now, we need to rest," Methaniel said quietly.

"Very well, Master," Ahma murmured, and laid her head back on his chest.

She would be free? What did she know about freedom? She had been working as a servant for years...it was almost all that she knew how to do. And she did not want to leave Master Methaniel...

It was all a bad dream, or so she told herself as she squeezed her eyes shut. Perhaps, in sleeping, it would all go away, and she would find herself waking to the world she knew and understand. She told herself this repeatedly in her head as she drifted into a cold, restless blackness.

End Ch. 5

*

This took awhile for me to get to, but I think it turned out pretty well. More excitement and adventure to come, so stay tuned, and please let me know what you all think!

All comments questions or critiques should be sent to the address in my profile.



Rising Ch. 06



Ahma woke, the screams of her nightmare finally given voice and filling the clearing. She trashed and kicked, her eyes unseeing. All her senses were consumed by that terrible night of her childhood. She heard her mother's screams instead of her own, and her nose was filled with the acrid smell of smoke. In her eyes, the sky was painted crimson with the blood of her parents.

"Ahma, Ahma! Calm yourself, you're okay!" Methaniel said, reaching out to grasp her shoulders. She shoved against him, trying to push him away. Unable to do so, she began scratching and pulling at his hands. He let her panic play out for a moment, holding her and refusing to budge.

"Ahma! Stop!"

Ahma's eyes finally came into focus, fluttering around the clearing before settling on his face. Tears streamed from her wide chocolate eyes as she took one ragged breath after another. Her dream had been so real...so painful...

"I am sorry," she breathed, her voice barely more than a whisper. "I...had a nightmare."

"Don't apologize," he said softly. "It's okay. No one is going to hurt you. Are you all right?"

"I don't know," she replied honestly. "I feel so lost...everything is wrong." 

He released her, and Ahma curled in on herself, pulling her knees up to her breasts and wrapping her arms around them. Her wings folded around her body, as if she were trying to make herself as small as possible.

"I know. I know," Methaniel sighed, leaning back against the tree and shutting his eyes. "It...it's not easy. I'll be honest with you, Ahma, I'm not sure what's happening either. I'm as lost as you. But I know for the moment, at least...we're safe."

Ahma nodded and turned her face away. "Please...give me a moment. I think I need to collect myself."

"Take your time," Methaniel said, patting her shoulder gently before standing up and stretching his long limbs. "Lanion's wandered off somewhere around here. I'm going to go find him."

Ahma looked up a him, a sudden glimmer of fear in her eyes.

"Don't worry, I won't go far. I'll be within hearing distance, okay?" he assured her.

"Okay," Ahma swallowed.

Methaniel walked slowly through the snow and between the trees.

Ahma let out a heavy sigh and leaned her head back against the tree. The sky was gray and somber, promising nasty weather and a cold day.

But at least it wasn't tinted with blood.

She shuddered and willed the horrible nightmare from her mind. She had to pull herself together. She didn't understand why these nightmares of her past were haunting her now. That day had been years ago...she'd had ample time to come to terms with her parents deaths. 

Now, however, she had lost her brothers...her dear, dear brothers. They had always been in danger, it was true...most the men who joined the war effort as long ago as they had were long dead. She had always known their safety was a fragile thing at best. Their demise was always a real possibility.

But it didn't seem real. She could hardly imagine a world without her brothers in it. Though she'd seen little of them in the past several years, their presence seemed to always be with her, a comforting, soothing knowledge that they were out there, somewhere, and she would see them again. 

Now, they were gone.

And so were her friends. And her home. Hannah, Marta, Rema, Cook. How many of them were dead? She imagined some of the servants and workers of the Manor had escaped the flames and assassins, but the attack had been so sudden and violent...she was sure that more perished than not. All of it was gone in one horrible night. It was just like before; one single moment, and her whole world shattered. Why did these things happen to her?

Ahma began to sob softly, burying her face into her hands as the hot tears ran down her face. She cried for what seemed like an eternity, an outpouring of such intense and painful emotions that she felt as if her chest were splitting. She cried for her parents, for her brothers, and for her friends. She cried for both the homes she had lost, and the lives that had been shattered and snuffed out so needlessly, for the horrible deaths of good, decent folk. She cried for herself, now twice left to collect the pieces of a broken life. 

For a time, the world was reduced to the narrow window of her grief and the seemingly endless mourning she felt for so many.

Soon, no more tears would fall, and she felt better in the wake of the outpouring of her sorrow. She took a deep breath, allowing the crisp, cold morning air to cleans her lungs and wash some of her grief away. She shut her eyes and said a silent prayer for all those who had passed. She prayed that they would be safe and find their way to whatever afterlife awaited them. 

When she opened her eyes, she gazed upon the land around her, the trees with their powdery white coverings and the scraggly undergrowth of brush spaced out between them. She saw one bold red cardinal hopping along on a branch overhead, ignoring the cold for a chance to embrace the morning. The weather was poor, the sky overcast, and the day would be a cold one. 

But it was still a good day, Ahma realized. She was alive, and unharmed, and those were tremendous blessings in themselves. She clung to those thoughts, letting them bolster her spirit.

"The heavens know what they do," she whispered softly. "All I can do is to trust in that."

Ahma lifted her face to the sky, and began to sing her morning tribute to the Sky and all its wonders. It was a wordless, lilting melody, and as her voice grew in volume her heart swelled with a peace she hadn't felt in some time. She was surprised at the calm that filled her. She felt a connection to everything as she sat there under the tree, her voice praising the heavens for the gift of life they bestowed upon the world. 

By the time her morning songs were finished, Ahma felt much lighter. The enormous tragedy of last night was still weighed upon her, a powerful sadness and despair on the edge of her consciousness. She was certain soon enough it would revisit her and send her into deep sorrow again. But for the moment, she knew that she must gather herself and be strong. She was in a dire situation, and now was not the time for grieving.

She stood up, stretching out the aches and kinks in her limbs. Her wings fluttered several times before settling nearly on her back again. She glanced around, looking for any sign of Master Methaniel. He'd said he wouldn't be far.

Ahma picked a direction and began walking, and after only a few moments she spotted him standing at Lanion's side behind a tree. She approached, then stopped short as he glanced up at her. He was standing with his shirt tossed across Lanion's back. He was dabbing at his side with the bloodied rag he had shoved into it, toweling away the thin seepage of blood from a small cut.

Last night returned to her with a jolt, the fuzzy edges of the awful events coming into clarity. 

"Master, are you okay?" she said as she walked forward and stared at him in concern.

"I'm fine," Methaniel nodded. He dabbed at the cut with the rag for another moment or two, then tossed it to the ground. "It's already sealing itself off pretty well. It's a shallow cut, anyway."

"Have you been able to wash it?" Ahma asked, fearing the wound would become tainted and unclean, and he would develop a fever.

"As well as I can right now," Methaniel nodded. "I used some of the snow." He reached up and brushed his copper hair from his eyes, then patted Lanion's shoulder. The horse turned a glowering look on him.

Methaniel smirked. "Yes, I know, I know, you're hungry. Be patient."

The horse snorted and pointedly ignore both of them.

"You have a lovely voice," Methaniel commented as he pulled his shirt back on.

Ahma turned scarlet. She hadn't even realized he could hear her. "Thank you, Master Methaniel."

A silence stretched between them for a time. Ahma shivered as a breeze blew through the trees, easily cutting through her thin evening dress.

"We should get going," Methaniel said at last.

"To the city, for supplies...right?" Ahma asked.

"Yes," Methaniel nodded. He walked toward her and set a hand on her shoulder, gazing down into her face with his stunning gray eyes.

"Are you going to be able to do this?" he asked gently.

Ahma searched his face and found no judgment or pressure there, only the honest question he had asked. She nodded, her hair falling before her eyes with the motion. "Yes, Master, I will."

Methaniel nodded, then pulled his riding gloves from his hands and gave them to her. She looked at him in puzzlement.

"To hide your mark," he explained.

Ahma glanced down at her right hand, her eyes settling on the small inkwork of a Dragon that identified her as a servant of the Ohren estate. She had almost forgotten about it. She did not think about it often.

"Thank you, Master," she murmured, and slipped his gloves on. They were horribly oversized and threatened to slip off if she wasn't careful, but it was better than her mark being on display for anyone to see. 

Methaniel nodded again and reached up to pat Lanion's side, then vaulted up onto the horse. Lanion snorted and tossed his head irritably, but otherwise sat still. Methaniel extended a hand toward her. Ahma swallowed and gripped his hand, and climbed up onto the horse in front of him.

"Master?" she said softly as Methaniel nudged Lanion into motion.

"Yes, Ahma?"

"I'm scared," she confessed.

"Me too, Ahma," he sighed. "Me, too."

***

Ahma wiped the sweat from her brow and suppressed the instinctive urge to run as fast as her feet could carry her from the market. It was a crowded and bustling place, full of life and excitement and a variety of goods both exotic and mundane. She had often come to the market with the old Master in the past, and it was one of the places she had missed visiting most after his death. 

But after last night, it filled her with foreboding and dread.

Stalls stretched around the open square in the middle of Durinum with their wares on display. Merchants hawked their wares, heckled over prices, and assured customers that their merchandise was the highest quality in all the kingdom. The sights and smells were nearly overwhelming in their intensity and variety; roast meat and fresh bread, newly harvested vegetables and plump fruits prepared with such a variety of spices and techniques that Ahma's stomach growled. Richly dyed fabrics of blue and green and red and glittering jewelry lay out on one long table, all of such a quality that only the Noble women could afford to flaunt them. One man was selling a small flock of goats. Ringing the stalls were shops, small squat buildings that housed the merchants and artisans who were either wealthy enough to afford their own store, or had been selling their wares for long enough to establish themselves and make one. 

There wasn't a trace of the men who had died in this very market just last night, and she saw no sign that the city guard were alert beyond their usual bored state.

Ahma took a deep breath and advanced into the crowd, hugging her still tender wings to her back to keep them from catching on any of the peoples careless gesturing and shifting. She tried to be as inconspicuous as possible but she felt as if every eye followed her, watching, judging.

Finally she cleared the crowd and stepped into the Friendly Fare, the shop Master Methaniel had advised her to visit.

It was a small shop, but it was packed with goods placed on shelves, walls, tables, counters, racks, bins, barrels, and even the floor. Everything a traveler could want was in this room, including rations, clothing, blankets, weapons, and more. It was an overwhelming sight, and for a moment it all seemed like one big mess to Ahma, one she had no idea how to shift through to find the things Methaniel had asked for. 

A grizzled man stood behind the cluttered counter at the back of the store, his skin tanned and cracked like the leather he was busily polishing. He had a great barrel chest, but an otherwise small stature, and a bristly white beard. As he walked to place the leather on a rack behind the counter, Ahma noticed he moved with a slight limp.

Without any kind of paper available, Ahma had memorized the things Master Methaniel asked for on the ride to the city. After watching the man for several moments, Ahma began to walk around the store and gather up various supplies: A pair of boots for Master Methaniel and herself, two cloaks, A pair of heavy winter pants and a thick tunic, a warmer dress for her, a dagger to replace the one Methaniel had lost, a hunting knife to skin kills with, two blankets, an extra pack, a short bow and a full quiver of arrows, a flit and tinder box, three bags of oats for Lanion, and some travel rations. She carried all these to the counter, which earned her a raised brow from the man behind it.

"Plannin' on a trip, missie?" he asked in a voice as rough as his face.

"Yes sir," Ahma said meekly. She slid the gold coins Methaniel had given her across the counter and helped the man place all her purchased items into the pack Methaniel had sent with her, and the one she had just bought. 

After they finished Ahma glanced at a saddle and harness behind the counter and then back at him. "How much for the saddle and tack?"

The merchant turned to regard the saddle for a moment, then looked back at the Wingling girl. "Seven gold coins for the saddle, and two for all the tack."

Ahma winced and glanced at the money in her hand. All she had left was one gold and two silver shillings. "Is there any chance you could barter lower for either of them?"

" 'Fraid not, Missie. Leather prices be goin' up this year, what with the war lingerin'."

Ahma nodded and shouldered the two packs as best she could. She hadn't thought the man would budge, but it had been worth a try. Master Methaniel hadn't been very optimistic about getting riding gear anyway.

The overburdened Wingling walked out the store, clenching her jaw as she struggled with the weight of all the equipment slung over each shoulder. She worked her way free of the crowd and started toward the Western gate, beyond which Master Methaniel awaited. Her back and shoulder muscles, abnormally strong from the flight muscles unique to her race, worked to support the heavy load as she slipped down side-streets and byways, avoiding the main roads and its crush of people and carts. Every time she emerged out in the open she paused, looking carefully around, and whenever a patrol of guards came clacking down the street her breath caught in her throat.

She said a quick prayer to Father Sky to watch over her as she shuffled out onto the open street directly in front of the Western gate.

The western gate was the busiest of the four gates as it most easily accessed the Market. Thus, all manner of Merchants, artisans, and farm folk made their way through at nearly all hours of the day. More guards were stationed at this gate than the others but the security was, if anything, more relaxed compared to the other gates to allow for the heavier traffic flow.

The great gates of the city rose up overhead, stretching to their full thirty foot height. The gates were swung wide, ever open save when a siege threatened them. The capitol city was built for defense, and it was the nations stronghold should any invader ever get so far into Durinum territory. The walls of the city had never fallen, nor had the gates ever been breached by any enemy in memory. 

Only perhaps they had, Ahma thought. An enemy subtle and cunning, able to hide and sneak around the watchful eye of the guard, but an enemy nonetheless. Who else would attack Master Methaniel but an enemy of the Kingdom?

Her heart was in her throat as she approached the gates, doing her best to blend in with the crowd and be as inconspicuous as possible. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the crowd worked its way forward, closer and closer to the gates yawning mouth. Though all seemed well, Ahma was intensely nervous. If she were caught, she would likely be punished as a runaway servant, which would at the least involve a flogging. And worse, what if, somehow, the Master's enemies found her and recognized her? She felt certain that what they had in store for her would be far worse. The whole trip into the city had been a frightening thing.

She swallowed hard as the man directly in front of her moved through the gate. She fixed her eyes on the ground as she walked forward. The muscles of her back burned painfully from the burdensome packs.

"Stop," the guard on her left said as she reached them.

Courage, Ahma, she told herself as she grew very still. She glanced up slightly at the armored guards scrutinizing her.

The men studied her for a moment, glancing at the packs shouldered on her back. Ahma's breath caught in her chest as they scrutinized her. She had done something to give herself away, she knew it. She would be arrested. She would be punished. She would be sold as a slave. And what of Master Methaniel?

The guard on her left pulled a scroll from his belt and unfurled it. Though it was hastily drawn and somewhat lacked talent, there was no mistaking the depiction of Master Methaniel presented to her.

"Do you recognize this man?" the guard asked.

Ahma struggled hard to hide her surprise, schooling her features to neutral curiosity. She leaned forward, feigning a closer look. "I'm afraid not, sirs," she said, and nearly winced at the hoarseness of her voice. "Sorry."

The guards glanced at each other once more before they nodded and stepped aside.

"Move 'long," they ordered, and Ahma hastily complied.

The tension drained from her as she walked out of the capitol city and onto the westbound road. Though she kept herself alert and aware of the few people around her making their own trek along the road, she felt lighter and more at ease than she had since she and Methaniel had begun making their way toward the city. 

Nearly an hour passed and the sun was at its midpoint before Ahma finally arrived at the small gathering of trees where Master Methaniel waited. She suppressed the urge to call out to him until she was fully into the cover of trees and she caught site of him.

"I had began to think something had happened to you," Methaniel said as he helped her set the packs on the ground. "Are you okay, Ahma? Did anyone take notice of you?"

"No one paid me any attention. But Master, we need to get away from here, quickly. I don't think we're safe."

Methaniel looked down at her, his jaw tightening. "What happened, Ahma?"

Ahma rubbed at her sore shoulder and flexed her wings to see if they'd been bruised by the packs weight. "I will tell you as we ride, Master. We have to be gone from here." 

He stared at her for a long moment, then nodded curtly and shouldered both the packs as if they weighed nothing. He whistled sharply, and a brief pause later Lanion came trotting up from behind a few trees. Methaniel reached out a hand to him, murmuring gently into his ear before vaulting up onto his back.

"Come," Methaniel bid, extending a hand down to her. He helped Ahma up onto the horses and settled her in front of him, then nudged Lanion into motion. They eased out of their hiding place, surveying the road for any sign of life, then quickly skimmed across the worn path and into the hills.

Ahma told him of all that had happened since they parted, recounting the events of the day as clearly and concisely as she could in her shaken and exhausted state. 

Methaniel paled as she told him of the poster

"Damn," he muttered, his grip tightening on Lanion's fine mane. The horse gave a soft snort of protest and Methaniel's grip relaxed. "This is worse than I imagined. I did not think they would be this efficient. This only convinces me all the more that I must escape Durinum soil entirely."




Rising Ch. 06



"Master?" Ahma said softly, glancing up at him. "Why would the guard have that poster? Why would they be connected to the men trying to find us...you?"

"Did they seem to be investigating the deaths in the market?"

"You mean the men who attacked us last night?" Ahma asked. "I don't know...I don't think so. I...I honestly saw no sign of them men who died...no bodies, no investigators...there were no guards in the market except for the usual patrol. And...and there was no blood."

"Strange...I do not know then," Methaniel replied slowly. "All I can think is that there is some sort of traitor in the city. Someone with enough authority or influence over the guard that they could manipulate them."

"A traitor?"Ahma asked with wide eyes. "You think so?"

"It is possible," Methaniel nodded. "I think, someone has gained some influence in the guard, but is not who they appear to be. A spy is most likely."

"What do you think is said about the Manor?" Ahma asked.

"I don't know," Methaniel shook his head. "Perhaps they say that I did it. Perhaps that is how they are explaining my being wanted. Either way, I intend to find out. But it will take some time." 

They fell silent as Lanion carried them around the parameter city, heading northward. A light snow began to fall around them, drifting lazily to meet the white washed world below. The sun briefly peeked from behind the dense clouds before being tucked away again in their gray embrace. The afternoon become briefly warmer, then cooler still as a chill breeze began blowing off the mountains. While Lanion briefly paused for a rest, Methaniel fished the cloaks from one of the packs and they both donned one.

"I'm sorry I wasn't able to get a saddle, Master," Ahma spoke after some time.

"Huh?" Methaniel muttered, then jumped slightly as he broke from his thoughts. "Ah. Yes. Don't worry about it, Ahma, I didn't think the money I gave you would be enough. And I don't really need the saddle or riding gear to ride I only thought to look for them to make my ride through the mountains less difficult. We cannot use one right now with both of us riding, anyway."

"I understand," Ahma said as they mounted back up. 

After several more moments of riding along, Methaniel said, "I am sorry for all this, Ahma. You should not have to suffer this grief."

"You need not be sorry, Master," Ahma said softly. She swept a long lock of chestnut hair from her eyes as she glanced up at him.

"I am nonetheless," Methaniel continued. "If not for me, you wouldn't be involved in this misfortune."

"I would be dead without you," she countered firmly.

Methaniel glanced down at her, studying her face. The corner of his lips twitched in a barely perceptible smile. "Perhaps. In any case, we shall need to get you away from here. And I think I know a good place."

Ahma tilted her head slightly as she glanced back at him. "Where's that?"

"There is a town at the foot of the Northern pass called Ertil. It is a small village, little more than an outpost at the edge of civilization, but it is a good place. The people are fair and decent. I think you would be able to find a fresh start there." 

"Are they accepting toward Wingling?" Ahma asked.

Methaniel rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Honestly, I do not know. When we reach the village, I will go and check for you. I am sure you would be welcome."

"I hope so," Ahma sighed. She closed her eyes. The thought of parting with Methaniel made her feel nervous, but she didn't want to say anything to him on the matter. She was sure he was right, anyway; it would be best for her to try to start over with her life.

"How long before we reach...Eril, was it?" she asked.

"Ertil," Methaniel nodded. "It will take about a day in a half to reach, should the weather remain favorable."

Ahma's brow furrowed. "How can that be so? Didn't we come upon the pass in a few hours just yesterday?"

Methaniel nodded. "Yes. But Ertil is at the foot of the pass, where the trail first begins. It is some ways west of where we stood yesterday."

Ahma considered for a moment, then said, "I can find my way to it on my own, Master. You don't have to bring me to the village, you need to leave the kingdom as quickly as possible."

"It doesn't matter," Methaniel replied, smirking softly. "The ledge we stood upon was far too high above the pass. It would be impossible to lead Lanion down from there. No, I've no choice I'm afraid. We'll have to make our way to Ertil one way or another."

***

The pair traveled for the next two days, riding along on Lanion's sturdy back. The first day a harsh wind began to blow, and soon a wild, whipping flurry of snow and ice followed in its wake. They sat close together, bundled in their cloaks and heavy clothes as they shived miserably. Several times during the long day they dismounted and trudged along on foot, giving Lanion a rest and letting him simply clop along after them. Every time they remounted the horse refused to continue on until Methaniel gave in and fed him several handfuls of oats.

"Damn his stubborness," Methaniel grumbled as he rubbed his hands briskly together, trying to return some measure of feeling to them.

"I don't blame him," Ahma said through chattering teeth. "I wouldn't want to carry anyone through this storm, either."

Methaniel smirked wryly and reached down to pat his horse. "It doesn't have anything to do with the storm. He's just greedy and wants more oats."

"We won't have enough to feed him for long," Ahma pointed out.

"I know," Methaniel nodded. "He'll have to forage for most of his food. There's plenty of grass beneath the snow, and he's competent enough at finding it.

"I had intended," Methaniel added with a half-hearted scowl at his mount, "to bring the oats in cases that he cannot, for whatever reason, find enough food when he forages, but he's quickly ruining that notion."

Aham smiled softly despite her misery.

The storm swirled its chilling powder across the land, finally abating just after nightfall. Methaniel and Ahma shared an uncomfortable and cold night. Unable to find any real cover, the pair settled down out in the open. They dared not make a fire for fear of attracting potential attention, and they slept in shifts through the night. It was cold and damp, and the food rations were tasteless. Methaniel felt the snowstorm had likely delayed any organized pursuit that may have been on their trail, and while the prospect that they were being followed frightened Ahma, she trusted Methaniel to protect them, and she took heart from his optimism.

The second day of traveling was less difficult; the overcast lifted to show a surprisingly clear and sunny day, painting the land bright and reflecting off the smooth fresh packed snow. Lanion seemed more agreeable and it took little urging to bring him up to a steady canter. They traveled for most of the day in relative silence. Though they were fairly comfortable around each other, the tense situation and lingering memories of smoke and bloodshed burdened their spirits. Near nightfall, the weather turned for the worse, and before long a steady fall of snow settled around them. They managed to find a measure of shelter in a dense crop of trees before the flurries settled in too heavily. Methanile decided the woods would give them enough cover to risk a fire, and the pair gathered small branches and bits of wood. He struggled with the damp wood as Ahma sang her night devotions to the darkening sky.

"Why do you sing?" Methaniel asked softly, looking up from the pile of uncooperative wood as Ahma's lilting song came to an end.

She blushed darkly and glanced at him, studying his face in the dimly lit night. There was no judgment there, no disapproval or prejudice, only curiosity.

"For Winglings...the sky is something of a...holy thing. It is not a god exactly, but we believe it's because of the sky that our world is as it is. We believe it's because of the sky that life even exists. We attribute many of the gifts we have to the sky...air, water, light...so we praise the sky. My people sing thanks for its gifts, mostly at the turning of night to day, and day to night. At least, that's what my mother taught me."

Methaniel nodded, reaching his hand up to rub at the stubble growing on his chin. "I'd always heard that Winglings had interesting customs. It makes my people seem bland by comparison."

Ahma smiled slightly at him and shook her head. "I don't know about that, Master. It seems to me that Humans are often the most unique race."

"Perhaps," Methaniel shrugged. "Or perhaps our short years just makes us different somehow." 

Ahma didn't know what to say to that, so she remained silent.

"We should be close to Ertil. We've made good time, even with the little storm we went through. I don't see any reason why we won't reach the village tomorrow. Ah, finally," he smiled as at last the wood caught and began to smoke. A thread of flames licked outward.

They settled down around the tiny fire, Methaniel watching it with a degree of paranoia as they each took half a loaf of hard, crumbly traveler's bread and a dried apple. It was a tasteless meal, but after the long day of riding it was more than welcome. They again took shifts through the night, watching for signs of anyone approaching. 

Even as she lay down to sleep, however, Ahma remained awake. She did not nightmares revisiting her resting hours, and she was willing to forego sleep in order to avoid them. It was a long, uncomfortable night for the Wingling, and much of it was spent staring off into the calm, endless dark around them, wishing her dreams could be as still.

***

Ahma heard the hoof falls coming before she saw the rider and, despite herself, she grew afraid. She shifted quickly behind one of the larger trees, her heart beating painfully in her chest as she peeked into the clearing.

The tension drained from her body as she caught sight of Lanion's enormous white form and the Master sitting tall astride the horse's back. She chided herself for her nervousness and stepped out into the clearing to greet him.

She immediately knew from his face that something was wrong.

"What is it, Master?" she asked.

"Trouble," he said curtly.

As soon as day broke that morning, Methaniel had risen and, true to his word the other day, went ahead to the village to scout out their disposition toward Winged folk. He'd been gone for most of the afternoon, and Ahma had been growing more and more anxious the past several hours.

"What's happened?" Ahma asked as Methaniel dismounted. She glanced at the pack he pulled from Lanion's back; it bulged far larger than when he had left. 

"You bought supplies already?"

Methaniel nodded, his face tight and grim as he began gathering things up from around their small campsite. "We're not safe, Ahma. Word has reached all the way out here that we're to be found. Wanted posters have been placed around Ertil for our apprehension."

Ahma's eyes widened as his words sank in. "Our apprehension?"

Methaniel nodded. A muscle twitched in his jaw. "I'm afraid so. Their information on you isn't nearly as reliable as it is on me, and the sketch of you is horrible, but it still stands. And it's enough to cast suspicion on you, which will probably mean your capture in the end either way."

Ahma slumped back against a tree, her heart pounding again. The danger was suddenly very real once more.

"Did anyone notice you?" she asked in a thin voice.

"I don't think so," Methaniel replied, shaking his head. "I kept my cloak very close and did my best to be inconspicuous. No one stopped me, in any case, which I take to be as good a sign as any. No one followed me."

"And the supplies?"

Methaniel shrugged as he shoved one of the blankets into a pack. "I did not think it was wise for me to return to Ertil. I decided to get the last minute supplies I needed for the journey through the mountains while I was still there. There was less chance for a misstep that way."

Ahma nodded and wrapped her arms around her sides. Ever since the snowfall last night, the temperature had been steadily dropping. Now it was almost freezing, and her breath fogged thickly every time she exhaled. It had been snowing for the past two and a half hours. "You got more than I thought you would."

Methaniel stopped his packing and turned to face her. For a long moment he watched her, his gaze unreadable and steady. Finally, he stood up straight and walked toward her. The closer he came, the farther back Ahma had to crane her head to meet his eyes.

"Ahma," he said softly, and he took her hands gently in his. "I do not think you will be safe in Durinum at all anymore. I had hoped you would escape notice, if we but moved you from the city, but that is not the case. If they are truly looking for you, and it would seem they are, and word has reached all the way to Ertil, then I do not think there is any place within the Kingdom you can feel safe. It just isn't possible anymore. I'm sorry."

Ahma stared at her tiny hands encased in his far larger ones, letting his words sink in. She had guessed as much, but to hear it so honestly and bluntly put from his lips...it made it real, somehow. She tried to still her trembling. 

"What can I do?"

"The only thing I can think of is to take you with me," he said after a long pause. "It will be dangerous, have no doubt...the way through the mountains is deadly, and far more have perished along its way than not. But it is a surer bet for safety than staying here. I think, perhaps, we could find some place for you beyond the Kingdom's borders."

Ahma hadn't been outside the borders of Durinum since her parents died and her brothers took her up into the mountains, searching for a safe haven from the war. She hardly even remembered the valley her family's farm had been nestled in. Somehow, though Durinum had become a place of great danger to her, it was still her home. Leaving the capitol city had been hard. How difficult would it be to leave the entire Kingdom?

"Ahma?" Methaniel spoke.

Ahma's jaw firmed and she looked up at him with all the determination she could muster. "Okay, Master. I will come with you, if you'll have me."

"Of course," Methaniel smiled. He gave her hands a squeeze, then stepped away. 

"We should hurry," he stated. "I do not like biding here like this, especially if our enemy has gotten word about us out this far. It will mean they may consider this a viable escape route, and if they do, they are likely watching."

Ahma began to help him pack up their things and took the opportunity to check what supplies he'd gotten. There were extra blankets, two extra cloaks, a second quiver of arrows, three lengths of rope, a pot, pan, and ladle for cooking, several waterskins, and more dried rations.

"Oh, yes," Methaniel said as he turned to face her. 

He pulled a dagger from his belt, still snuggly fit in its sheath. He pulled it free, revealing a slender, long blade with a slight curve to it and a wicked tip. It wasn't the highest quality dagger Ahma had ever seen, but it looked quite capable and efficient, and study as well. It was obviously not a tool, but a weapon.

Methaniel placed it back into its plain leather sheath. Ahma thought for a moment it was yet another dagger for his use. Hence, her eyes widened drastically as he handed the sheathed blade to her.

"This is yours," Methaniel explained, "In case you should need to defend yourself, and I am for any reason unable to do so."

Ahma nodded wordlessly as she took the dagger. For how slender the blade was, it was heavier than she expected. "Thank you," she stammered at last. Never before had she ever been given a weapon. It wasn't something that was often given to a woman, and it was never given to a servant. She didn't know what to make of the unexpected gift.

Methaniel walked over to Lanion and spent a few moments feeding him several handfuls of oats and brushing over his coat with the other hand. "Are you ready, my friend?"

The horse flicked his tail back and forth.

"Good," Methaniel smirked, patting his steed's back. "We must move."

He shouldered two of the three packs, the bow, and one of the quivers of arrows. Ahma put the rest onto her shoulders, then grabbed one of the waterskins and the tinderbox. Methaniel helped her pull her cloak on over the packs and pulled the hood over her head. The towering man turned and draped one of the wool blankets onto Lanion's back. Lanion shifted slightly and turned his head to watch Methaniel.

The Master then helped Ahma up onto the horse. He grabbed another blanket and wrapped it around her, looking up at her as he did so.

"It's going to get colder sooner than later," he stated.

"That's reassuring," Ahma murmured as she pulled the blanket closer. She already felt as if she would never be truly warm again. Methaniel leapt up behind her onto the horse.

Lanion set off, his gaint even and smooth as he worked steadily through the small grouping of trees, moving on a northern course. 

Methaniel pulled Ahma close, and the heat of his body reached her even through the blankets and cloak. "Tired," she murmured, pressing the back of her head into his chest. Now that the excitement of his news had worn off somewhat, she was feeling the effects of a sleepless night. She unconsciously nuzzled closer to his warmth.

Methaniel nodded, his gaze sweeping ever vigilant along the gathering hills as Ahma sagged against him. She stirred for a moment or so, then suddenly stilled.

Ahma had struggled to keep the sleep at bay, teetering on the final moments of consciousness. She didn't want to drift into a terrible nightmare all over again. She feared any rest would be lost among the terrors of her distant –and more recent- experiences. 

Still, with her body growing warmer, she couldn't resist slumber's pull. Sleep took her with open arms. 

She woke up on her bed at her parent's farm. She was still fully grown and not a child, though her bed somehow was big enough for her. Her brother's beds, capped with red quilts, were across the room. The three siblings shared the attic because their house was so small, but it was a comfortable way to live.

She climbed down the ladder and walked to the small kitchen. Her mother stood at the counter, mixing dough for bread. The woman had to knead it quite roughly, but when the bread was finished it would be soft and perfectly formed.

Ahma said hello to her mother just as she did every morning, and her mother returned the greeting. A part of Ahma's mind wanted to cry with joy and fling her arms around her mother, but she didn't.

Instead, Ahma went outside. Her father was plowing the spring fields, only Lanion had taken the place of their normal horse. The massive warhorse looked awkward and somewhat silly pulling the normal sized plow. 

The same urge to smother her father with affection raced along the back of her mind. Her father waved. She returned the gesture. 

As she moved on, the frantic part of her mind grew louder. She couldn't remember why she should be so happy to see her parents. She saw them from dawn to dusk every day. But the urge was there, and strong, and it made the moments she shared with them all the sweeter.

She found her brothers behind the house. They were putting a wall up for an extention on the house, a small room behind the kitchen. Master Methaniel was there, helping to construct the room he was to move into some time in the next several weeks.

Her entire mind buzzed. She wanted to tackle her brothers to the ground. Instead, she helped pull the rope to raise the wall. Methaniel, although Human, was part of the family now. She remembered. He defended their farm against a raid from the strange men. He refused to allow harm to come to them, slaying twenty men alone.




Rising Ch. 06



After that, her parents adopted him. They adored him and he loved them in return. His own parents had passed away years ago. He taught her brothers the ways of combat, and for some reason Ahma spent time bathing him after their exercise routines. That seemed strange, and she certainly couldn't figure it out with the commotion going on in her head.

They ate breakfast together, a small meal of dried meat and bread from the day before. The new bread rose by the stove. For some reason, her parents spent most of the meal going on and on about the mating rituals and beliefs of the Wingling people. Ahma would've ignored them completely, but she couldn't concentrate enough to stay focused in the first place. 

One of her brothers, or maybe it was her father, suggested Ahma teach Methaniel to fly. No one seemed to think this was an absurd or impossible idea.

Ahma put her head on the table. Her mind felt ready to burst. Her mother rushed to her side, feeling her forehead. Ahma closed her eyes. When she opened them, everyone was gone. 

She sat alone at a charred table, surrounded by the ruins of a long forsaken house.

A child once more, Ahma began to cry.

End Ch. 6

*

This chapter presented me with some challenges. I felt a lot of things needed to happen for our heroes to realistically prepare for this journey, but those kinda things are rarely as interesting as the journey itself. I struggled some to try and make it interesting. I also had a lot of ideas and thoughts for this chapter that were scrapped, and a lot that were added or modified. 

All comments questions or critiques should be sent to the address in my profile. 



Rising Ch. 07



Ahma finally awoke just as Master Methaniel carefully lifted her from Lanion's back. Her dream was still fresh in her mind. It was an odd, confusing dream, and she felt a conflicting range of emotions from it.

It was full dark with a large moon hanging in the sky. She did not recognize her surroundings, and they were far different from the hilly land they'd been in when she'd dosed off. Had she slept all day?

She looked up at Methaniel as her feet settled on the ground. His eyes were bloodshot and he looked very haggard. She forced a smile to her lips. "Are you okay? Can I help?"

He handed her a few items, mostly the blanket and his water skin as he shouldered his pack.

"Follow me."

Methaniel, with Lanion plodding behind him, led her to a small rocky outcropt along the path they stood on. Ahma glanced around, taking in the sight of her surroundings. They had already made their way into the Northern Pass, Ahma guessed by the looks of things. They were on a path that wound its way along behind and before them, a rough, narrow trail that looked as if it saw very little use. This part of the Pass had dipped into a short valley, with rocky cliffs rising up on either side. The cliffs to the left rose up into the sky as far as she could see, its top concealed in the dark while the one on their right rose just past Methaniel's height and then ended in jagged, uneven stone. Ahma couldn't see what was beyond its lip. Several small, scraggly bushes dotted the trail and two trees clung to the rock face a few yards ahead.

On the right cliff face was a rough overhanging, jutting away from the rock wall just far enough to provide a measure of shelter. Methaniel had to crouch to fit under it, and Ahma crept beneath it to sit with him.

They began to eat a small meal, almost finishing the last of the cheese, and eating one strip of dried beef each. They sipped sparingly at the water skins. The night seemed less cold than it was before she'd drifted off.

"How long did I sleep?" She asked as she rubbed her slender hands together, trying to get them warm.

"A day and half that again," Methaniel replied softly.

Ahma's eyes widened. "Have you been awake all that time?"

Methaniel's drooping lids answered for her. He sipped more water from his skin. He sagged back and placed his back against the rocky wall.

"I must rest," he murmured, barely conscious at all. "Please feed Lanion and be sure he rests some. He has not stopped his march since we left..."

The Master's shining silver eyes gazed at her a moment longer before closing as he slipped firmly into oblivion.

Ahma watched him for a moment longer, studying his face. Normally stern and hard, his features softened in sleep to show calm, gentle features. Several long strands of gleaming copper had fallen across his exhausted face, having escaped the leather thong he used to hold his hair back. She brushed the hair away, then covered him with several blankets before tucking the water skin in the blankets with him. She rose, dusting her hands off as she walked to Lanion's side. The great horse stood just outside the overhang, his head bent to the ground as he munched at a thick patch of grass he'd found under the snow. Ahma grabbed another of the blankets and threw it onto his back. Lanion turned his head to her, watching her with his wide liquid eyes while she stroked his neck and did her best to smooth out his mane. She patted his muzzle affectionately. 

He leaned forward and nudged the water skin she carried. Ahma smiled widely and uncapped the skin, then poured some into the horse's mouth. He snorted and nuzzled her hand in thanks. She felt bad for him, having to eat on such a slim diet. But then, all three of them would be getting a bit thinner on this trip, she knew.

After eating awhile longer, Lanion shut his great eyes and promptly went to sleep standing beside the overhang. Ahma returned under the rocky ledge and huddled next to Methaniel, pulling the last of their blankets around herself. He was warm, and his chest rose and fell with the rhythm of sleep.

She lay still and quiet, shivering with the cold and thinking on the events of the past week. She was lucky Master had pulled her from the house. She had froze up so suddenly as the news of her brothers and sight of the flames trapping her in the past. She had been little more than a burden so far, she thought glumly. She had to maintain her composure and be useful, she told herself, or Methaniel may decide to leave her behind. 

Her mind turned to her brothers. How she missed them already! She only hoped they were on their way to heaven to meet Father, and hopefully Mother as well, and be happy with them again.

Her heart ached thinking about them, all of them, so violently ripped from this life. It was probably best Fahl and Kahr had died together. That way, they wouldn't be lonely. She counted the days in her head. Three more, and their journey to heaven would be complete, and her family would be reunited in the afterlife. She hoped Methaniel wouldn't mind her observing their entrance into Father Sky's domain. His Father had never stopped her from observing or performing the rituals and beliefs of her people and thus far neither had he, but she could never be sure, could she?

Ahma felt a well of sorrow building inside. She strove to force it down, to ignore the hurt and despair she felt, but it was impossible. She had lost so much, so many. Despite Methaniel's comforting presence beside her, Ahma felt very, very alone. 

Tears rose in her eyes and spilled silently down her smooth cheeks. 

***

From that point on, the days passed in a long, uneventful blur. Methaniel had allowed her to observe her brothers passing to heaven, and had shared in her silent observation of love to her brothers. 

The weather grew worse and worse, and the Master pushed them hard through it, keeping Lanion on a constant northward course. Ahma was more conscious and collected during those days, but even still the whole exodus seemed no more than a strange dream. The pair talked relatively little; there wasn't much to say, and all their focus was bent on continuing on as quickly as possible. Though the Master was ever tense and hard, his eyes anxiously scanning their surroundings every other moment for any sign of ambush or pursuit, whenever he did speak his words were gentle and kind.

It was a harsh, difficult journey. Ahma soon realized just why so many avoided this pass. The path was treacherous and the danger only grew worse the higher into the mountains they went. Frequently they found themselves on a path leading along the side of the cliffs, with a deadly drop of hundreds of feet to their right and the steady rock wall to their left. Lanion, though amazingly sure-footed and steady, was nearly too wide for the trail, and they often had to dismount to let the horse pick his way along at his own pace and without their encumbering weight. It slowed them, which visibly upset Methaniel, but he refused to leave his beloved horse behind. The weather more often than not went from bad to worse, and a freezing wind and overwhelming swirl of snow and ice compromised both visibility and footing, two things they desperately needed in those tense days. 

Several times they'd barely avoided being buried in an avalanche, only escaping with quick thinking and fast feet. Twice they came upon massive gaps in the trail where the ground had crumbled and eroded away. Ahma's wings had healed adequately to carry her across. If not for Lanion's jumping ability, Methaniel would have been stuck.

Food was scarce. Methaniel managed to bring down a good number of mountain hare and other small game, as well as two mountain goats. He skinned them with his hunting knife and salted the meat for future meals. They had already consumed nearly all the travel rations they'd bought. It was nearly impossible to keep a fire going when they settled for the day. The wind and snow snuffed it out easily. Methaniel finally resorted to propping the small pelts up on several sticks he'd found in a ring around the fire to shelter it from the driving wind. It only moderately helped. The freezing temperatures, blistering winds, and harsh weather sapped their strength by the day, slowing their progress and threatening to make them make deadly mistakes.

For two weeks they traveled deeper into the mountains, following the rough and often almost nonexistent trail at a gradually slowing pace. Soon, they were barely making any progress at all, the harsh conditions and treacherous path making their way agonizingly slow. Finally, the path turned east, which both pleased and alarmed Methaniel at once. They had reached the only real marker of their progress that he could think of. Yet they were now only about a third of the way through their journey out of Durinum lands, and the travels from here on would only get worse.

A week and a half after they'd turned east, their progress came to a dead halt.

"We can't go any further," Methaniel yelled hoarsely over the screaming wind that assaulted them. "This weather only gets worse! This blizzard will worsen soon, and it'll only sweep us from the side of the mountain if we try to push through it!"

"What can we do, then?" Ahma shouted back at him.

"The cave we took shelter in this afternoon," Methaniel replied. "I'd hoped we could continue on, but until the weather turns for the better we'll have to use it to wait this storm out!"

The cave was as they left it, dry and nearly featureless, with several stalactites reaching their stony fingers down from the ceiling. The mouth of the cave was high enough for Lanion to stand comfortably under, while further back it lowered till Methaniel had to bend slightly to fit. The cave was spacious enough for all of them to fit inside, with just enough room to move around. 

By the time they reached the cave's shelter, enormous chunks of ice were pelting the cliff face outside. The intermittent, booming thud could still be heard inside as both of them dropped their packs to the ground.

"How long do you think this storm will last?" Ahma asked.

"I don't know," Methaniel shrugged. "I hope it abates at least a bit in the next several days. I do not know how long our supplies will last if I cannot hunt for more soon."

Upon a quick survey of the cave, Methaniel noted a small hole in the roof that extended into a shaft leading out to the open air beyond. This was something of a curse and a blessing all at once, as it allowed gusts of chilling wind to blow their way into the cave, adding to the draft from the cave mouth, and made a large pile of snow directly below it. It was a boon, however, in that it allowed smoke to more effectively leave the cave, which meant he could build a fire in the middle of the cave, far enough so that any snow falling at the cave mouth or from the shaft in the roof wouldn't hamper the burning wood.

Soon a small flame was crackling. They sat around it, and Lanion stood as far into the cave as he could without grazing the sloping roof. Methaniel handed out food, giving their last apple to the horse and sharing a shank of hare with Ahma.

The day passed slowly. As the violent storm raged on outside their little shelter, the temperature plummeted even lower than before. The cold numbed them, making them feel sluggish and lethargic as their limbs lost feeling.

"M-master," Ahma whispered through violently chattering teeth. She was bundled up in her cloak and two blankets, her wings folded around her and her arms and legs pulled as close to her body as she could. She was as close to the fire as she could safely get, and still she felt as if she was on the verge of freezing to death. Her people were not well suited to the cold.

"I'm s-so c-cold," she said miserably.

Methaniel himself was not unaffected by the cold, though he fared better than his companion. He couldn't feel his toes, and his ears felt as if they were being lanced repeatedly by fiery needles. He looked to her and nodded slowly. "The best thing we can do is get closer, Ahma. Body heat is all that can keep us from hypothermia now."

He scooted closer and pulled her into his arms. She did not resist. He rearranged the blankets, sharing his with her and visa versa so that both of them were wrapped tightly in them. Ahma shivered violently as his warmth washed over her. He was definitely right; already the agonizing cold was more bearable, though it still filled her with misery. Methaniel reached for another hunk of wood and placed it on the fire, building it higher and hotter.

Ahma sighed as warmth finally penetrated the cold that seemed to fill every pore of her.

It would be a long, uncomfortable wait.

***

A new challenge faced them during their days in the cave, beyond that of simply surviving the overwhelming, numbing cold or their steadily dwindling rations; boredom. One could only sleep for so long before even that became impossible. Sitting there in the dark cave doing nothing was even worse, as the inactivity and isolation drove their attention constantly back to the miserable conditions they were living in. After spending several hours in personal thought, both began to dread the silent, still times they'd fallen into. It was an agonizing wait, and the conditions were a constant tax on their bodies and a drain on what little energy they had. They couldn't get up to do much and couldn't even separate for long. The first time they'd tried, Ahma had begun to turn a faint blue from the oppressive cold around them. 

Eventually, attempting to alleviate some of the tedium of the day, Methaniel said, "I've heard tales of a great Wingling Kingdom. If the legends are true, once it was the greatest civilization in our world. But they say it has fallen into ruin. It was supposed to be some place where it's warm almost year round. I often wonder if it truly exists."

"It's a real place," Ahma nodded. "Or at least it was. My parents came from that Kingdom. I don't think it's a ruin now, but I don't know. My parents never said anything about it falling. They lived in the capitol city of the Wingling land. Everything there is always green, and it snows very little, even on peaks of the few mountains they have."

"Perhaps that is why the cold affects you so," Methaniel suggested.

"My family was the same way," she said slowly. 

"Yes," Methaniel nodded, staring at the far wall across the dimly lit cave. "Your brothers never liked the cold."

A silence stretched between them as they both remembered Fahl and Kahr in their own way.

"I wish we were there now," Ahma smiled softly. "I'd prefer the warmth over this horrible cold."

"As would I," Methaniel smiled.

"Why did you say the Wingling Kingdom is a legend?" Ahma asked.

Methaniel's brow furrowed and he glanced down at her, nestled in his arms so that she wouldn't freeze to death. "It's regarded as a legend in Durinum culture...we don't have much contact with Wingling, so we know very little about them. There is quite a bit of speculation about your people. Wingling are very rare these days, as I'm sure you well know. My father searched with all the resources he had for three months before he finally found Hannah to help raise you. Even then, he paid double the normal wage for a servant."

Ahma was silent for a brief moment. She shivered slightly, and he pulled her closer, rubbing her arm to try to warm her. She shut her eyes and lowered her head, several long strands that had escaped her braid falling about her face.

"Do you think rain and snow are the same, Master?"

Methaniel stared at her curiously, thrown off guard by the sudden, strange shift in conversation. "What do you mean?"

Ahma's eyes opened and focused on the small fire in front of them. "Hannah probably died in the fire, hiding with the women and children or helping to get them out. When...when a Wingling dies in smoke, we believe their eyes are clouded and blind. And if they are blind, they can't find their way to heaven. We believe that this is one of the reasons Father Sky makes it rain...so the smoke and soot may be washed from the deads' eyes, and his blind children can see again and find their way to him. It is his blessing to us..."

She faulted for a moment and bit her lower lip. "But it won't rain for months. So I'm scared Hannah won't be able to find her way, and she'll get lost. If she loses her way, she may never find it again...she may never ascend to heaven."

Methaniel thought for a moment, then said softly, "Snow melts on your face, yes?"

"Well...yes," Ahma nodded.

Methaniel smiled softly and patted her shoulder. "Then she should be fine. We've had plenty of snow, and in the end, snow is the same as rain. I think she will find her way."

"I hope so," Ahma said, returning his smile. "Thank you, Master."

"You're welcome," Methaniel replied. "Your brothers told me a bit about your religion and customs. I find them fascinating."

"My mother used to tell me stories every day as I helped her with chores. She told old stories that Wingling have used for generations as teaching tools for their children. She also taught me almost everything about our ways and how our religion ties to our lives. I got the impression our religious ways are very important to the Kingdom."

Methaniel made no reply. The fire crackled and shifted, sending shadows crawling and swaying across the walls. The smell of burning pinewood and fresh snow permeated the cave. Lanion sat against the far wall, his great eyes closed and head dipped slightly. The wind whistled violently outside the cave, a constant reminder of the foul weather that surrounded them just outside their shelter, threatening to keep them pinned in till their death.

Ahma glanced up at him, and her heart suddenly beat harder at the pain that swam thick in his shimmering silver eyes. Hardly even conscious of her actions, she raised a slender, pale hand to his handsome face and lightly touched his cheek.

"What is it?" she breathed. She had never seen such emotion, such pain and vulnerability in him in all the time she'd known him. Somehow, she thought it made him look more handsome than ever before.

"Tell me..." Methaniel began, then trailed off for a moment. He clenched his jaw, then tried again, "Tell me about your mother." He turned his bright eyes to her and smiled. She knew it was for her benefit alone; it did nothing to diminish the pain in his eyes. Her hand trembled slightly for a moment before she made it still again.

"Well...she was very tall, or at least she seemed tall to me...she had blonde hair. It was cut much shorter than mine. I always found it strange that she insisted I keep mine long while hers was short. I'm sure that had some kind of meaning, but she never explained it to me if it did. She used to dye my brothers and my wings green when I was very young. She used grass as dye. It wasn't until...until the last few years on our farm that we could afford any other kind."

Ahma's eyes turned to the fire and her hand dropped unnoticed to her lap. The flames reflected in her deep brown eyes as she watched them dance, her thoughts now firmly on pleasant memories of her mother. She smiled softly, and her face looked as if it were in a trance. "Her favorite thing to do was to tell us stories about the homeland and school us on the old faith. It was very important to her, I think, that we knew where we came from. She lived for us...she adored my father, and she was very proud of my brothers. And she cared for me and nurtured me every day, even when she was ill."

Her words trailed to a halt and she swallowed. Bad memories tried to mix with the good ones, but she firmly forced them out. She glanced up at Methaniel nervously, realizing that she'd touched his cheek. It was not something a servant did.




Rising Ch. 07



The Master hadn't seemed to notice her liberty. His thoughts were far away, and his eyes showed this quite obviously.

"I never knew my mother," he murmured, his own eyes now locked in the fire, caught by its mesmerizing sway. What was it about fires that so brought the mind and all its memories to life? 

"She died giving birth to me. I never saw her face...never heard her voice. My father said she had the voice of an angel. He said she was a very happy woman, that she was a woman with energy and life.

"She had quite the temper," Methaniel said with the barest of smiles. "Father said she was a fiery woman. She was quick to anger, but quick to forgive as well, and she tried to restrain her quick temper and sharp tongue. When her anger passed, she would laugh and smile, as if nothing in the world could ever be wrong, and she had never been upset to begin with. She loved jewels...loved shining things and unique things. Not as most women do, or so my father told me. She loved them not for the status they represented or the power that came with such finery, but she honestly loved them for their beauty. She was fascinated by their brilliance and coloring and drawn by their sparkle.

"And she coveted him just as strongly," Methaniel continued. "She coveted him as if he were a treasure all his own. Father says she coveted me as well....that she told him...she told him the greatest joy of her life would be being a mother to his child..."

Ahma watched as silent tears spilled down his face, shining in the firelight. His face remained set in neutral calmness, concealing the roiling emotions she knew forced those tears to the surface.

"In the afterlife," Ahma said softly, "All are reunited. This is true for almost all religions of the races. I know your father has gone to a good place because he was a good man. And I'm sure your mother was a good woman. She must have been a very nice person. I know one day you'll be with both of them again."

She tried to reach an arm around him. It spanned just past half his back.

He pulled her to him tightly, his arms surrounding her. No sob or sniffle escaped him, and from what she could tell, no more tears slid down his face. Ahma shivered at the closeness to him. All around her in the shelter of his arms, muscles bunched and rippled against her chilled body. Her cheek pressed to the corded muscle of his wide chest and his big, powerful hands rested upon the small of her slender back. His warmth and heat washed heavily over her. She could feel the steady, comforting beat of his heart against her cheek. His heartbeat was strong, good.

Ahma pulled her wings back slightly. She was unsure of what to do, but he was warm. Even his hands were warm. She could smell him quite well pressed close to him like this, a warm, slightly sweaty smell. It was actually somewhat nice, she found.

"Master?" she asked softly.

Methaniel pulled back a bit, and when his eyes met hers, some of the sadness in the silver orbs had been pushed back down. Still, his hands lingered on her back, just below where her wings stemmed from her shoulder blades. His eyes bore into hers, intense and strange. Her hand had fallen upon the broad plain of his chest, and the muscle flexed under her fingertips.

"Are you hungry yet? It's almost time to feed Lanion," she said in a thick voice. She cleared her throat quickly.

"Yes," Methaniel nodded slowly. "Would you like to feed him today?" 

Ahma smiled, feeling genuinely delighted at the prospect. "Certainly."

She hand fed Lanion the last remaining oats and two old, slightly molding carrots Methaniel'd bought at Ertil. That day seemed so long ago, somehow, as if years had passed since they'd begun their trek into the mountains. After today, Lanion would likely have to scavenge for much of his food, trying his luck out on the trails at times when the storm died down enough for the horse to survive out in the open. They'd gathered bits of bark and twigs as they were able, but it would only go so far.

Methaniel checked the weather, quickly pushing his head outside the cave to assess conditions and then jumping back from the lash of icy cold wind and snow violently whipping around outside. More than a moment in a storm such as that would surely strip the flesh from ones bones. He took stock of their supplies and rationed out their remaining food accordingly. Ahma mindlessly rubbed the horse's chin and neck. Lanion gave a soft whicker and rubbed up against her.

Ahma smiled at the horse, "I'm glad you like me."

She found herself wondering if Lanion was the only one.

Her mind wandered somewhat. She couldn't help but wonder how Methaniel thought of her...something about his actions and attitude toward her made her wonder...but no, he would never have such feelings...would he?

A shiver ran through her and she realized she missed his warmth. At the very least, he'd saved her life. For those first days after the attack on the manner, and the news of her brothers' demise, she'd been in such a state of shock she almost hadn't cared if she lived or died. She'd even briefly entertained the notion that death would be better than life without her family and friends. 

Master had kept her together and pushed her through that, whether he knew it or not. He had protected her and kept her safe, and given her time to heal and come to grips with her life as they'd traveled on these last weeks. He'd also guided her and watched out for her on the treacherous journey, and she wasn't altogether sure she would have made it this far if not for him. In fact, she was sure she wouldn't have. He had done much for her. 

And why? Perhaps her cared for her. Or maybe it was simply that he felt responsible for her somehow, maybe because of his connection to her brothers. In either case, she was content being with him in the moment. 

Things could, after all, be far worse.

Lanion nudged her again and gratefully accepted a hunk of bark to chew on before lowering his head and shutting his shinning equine eyes. She patted his neck and smiled at him, then rose and brushed off her knees. "Sleep well," she told him.

She returned to Methaniel's side and sat beside him. He handed her a strip of dried meat and nodded toward his horse. "You handle him well. He doesn't usually let anyone feed him but me."

"He seems a bit restless," Ahma observed.

Methaniel nodded, his copper locks falling before his face. His hair had grown even more unruly from their days in the wilderness, and a fairly thick growth of beard roughened his face. He chewed at a bit of their dried provisions, but kept mostly to the last bit of hare meat they had left. It was old now and stringy, tough to eat and largely tasteless, but he was intent on making it stretch before it went bad to spare as much of their provisions as possible.

"He misses activity," the Nobleman explained. "Not exactly used to being cooped up and stuck. He might be able to step out of here when the storm is a little more subdued, but those are only a few moments, and it doesn't exactly compare to running through plain lands. Part of him probably misses the battlefield, too. He was quite at home there, more so than any warhorse I'd ever seen. Or perhaps not. In any case, he's probably feeling just as cramped and stifled as we are."

Ahma nodded and finished her bread, taking a small draw from her waterskin. 

"Lanion will be fine," Master Methaniel continued after they finished their meal and scooted closer to one another for warmth. "No doubt he will be grouchy and irritable for some time, and likely to try to bite me in a fit of ill temper."

Ahma tried to suppress a giggle at the annoyed way Methaniel's face twisted. "He bites you?"

"Tries to, at least," he replied. "But not really. It's always a half hearted attempt, and the one time he even managed to catch me he barely nipped. He has a pretty mild temperament, especially for one so vicious on the field. He is a well disciplined horse. He just has a healthy dose of personality as well."

Ahma chuckled and smiled up at him. "Personality is right."

"He'll be over it soon enough," Methaniel insisted with a smile of his own. "If my instincts serve me, this storm should be over in another week at the most. It'll be just in time for me to go out and collect extra food and water, and I'll take him with me to stretch out his legs."

The days passed slowly, and the young woman couldn't tell if she was thoroughly and utterly miserable or more happy and at peace than she had been in recent memory. It was a complicated and strange time. 

Physically she wasn't faring too well. Her joints felt swollen and achy from the near freezing conditions in the cave. She shuddered and shook constantly, the chill penetrating into the marrow of her bones even through the cover of her clothes, cloak, blankets, and her own wings. Sometimes she lost feeling in her fingers and toes, in the tip of her nose and her ears, and the chill sapped any energy she had. It even seemed to muddle her head, making her thoughts sluggish and fuzzy. 

Yet she remained well covered and unexposed to even the meager flow of wind pushing into the small cave, and no frostbite found her. And at the same time, she was grateful that they had even this small shelter, for she knew if they had been caught out in the open with the full wrath of winter pounding down on them this far into the northern mountains, no amount of preparation and warmth would have been able to save them. In addition, the Master was always near, his body radiating forth a warmth that at times struck her as impossible. He seemed far too warm and comforting to come from one man, no matter his size, and especially one sitting in such freezing cold. He warmed her blood and infused her with a light feeling that often made her head swim. 

She had to contain the giddy spread of emotions he pulled to the surface.

She was confused and conflicted in her heart and mind. She still grieved for the loss of her brothers, and the knowledge of their absence from the rest of her life left a hollow ache in her chest. Her thoughts returned to them often, and her memories were bitter sweet. The loss of what had been her home and family for so long stung her keenly as well, and she prayed for all the poor souls lost in the disaster of the manor, even the Steward, that they could find peace and rest in the afterlife.

The emptiness and sadness, however, was not so very piercing as it had been. Time had taken some of its bite away. She came to terms with all of it, and the desperateness of their situation helped to remind her that their own safety was of primary concern. 

Also, she admitted somewhat unsteadily to herself, more and more the Master was a cause for her calmness. His powerful, steady, comforting presence was ever close and assuring. His beautiful eyes and kind smile, the strength of his body and gentleness of his heart shown to her more and more through the days spent so close to him, went a way toward filling the emptiness of her heart. Ahma tried to deny it, to pretend that she wasn't filled with warmth and assurance every time he was near and that deep silver gaze was trained upon her, but it was becoming more true and apparent to her with every passing day.

She wasn't sure what to think of this. It was unsettling and thrilling all at once. She knew nothing could ever become of her feelings, that they were from different worlds. But sometimes, she wondered...he showed her such kindness, and he often went out of his way to see to her comfort. He was warm and gentle to her, though it was shrouded under a façade of cool practicality. 

Ahma spent more and more time wondering.

And so, in the blink of an eternity, the storm had mellowed enough for Methaniel to venture out with Lanion into the snowed over passes of the mountain, seeking out any of the bolder wildlife that had come out of hiding to find whatever food of their own they could locate. Though Lanion had ventured out to scavenge for food once or twice, he seemed in high spirits to be able to walk without the storm tearing at him and sapping his considerable strength. He practically broke into a gallop as soon as he was out of the cave, very nearly sending his Master tumbling from his back in the process. Ahma giggled loudly as the pair rode down the path and out of view.

The girl lingered outside the cave for an hour or two, simply sitting with the thick blankets and furs about her and gazing out at the mountains stretched out before her. Snow had fallen thickly all about, blanketing the world in a heavy layer of snow and frosty whiteness that would likely reach at least to her knees in most places. The world seemed empty and dead, and the sun gleamed down weakly through an overcast sky to shine upon the reflective snow. Still, despite the disquieting stillness, there was a peace and tranquility to it. One look at the sky told anyone with a keen and schooled eye that that stillness would not last long. Another buffeting storm was gathering for the coming days, and this one appeared even more ugly and angry than the last.

With the cessation of the storm, the temperature had risen. Still painfully cold, compared to the chill during the storm it seemed quite pleasant and much more bearable. While Methaniel and his mount were away, Ahma took the time to briefly prepare their supplies and organize the cave before stripping out of her dress. She hadn't properly bathed since the night of the incident, and while she still couldn't do a complete and proper job, she quickly decided to clean anyway. Shivering in the cold, she took the opportunity the rise in temperature provided and doused herself with some of the water from the single skin that Methaniel had left behind for her. For lack of another option, she scrubbed at her skin with her bare hands, rubbing the water around her body roughly. She knew it would do little in the way of actually cleansing her, but at the very least she could rub and scrub some of the stale sweat and surface grub away. She scrubbed her pale, porcelain skin until it was raw and red, then pulled the dress back on and piled each one of the furs and blankets around herself before her body temperature could drop dangerously low.

After she had warmed slightly she finally undid the ragged remains of the braid her hair had been in and took up the small bone comb she had made from some of the smaller thin, curved bones from Methaniel's kills and bound together with some of the denser and sturdier hairs from the various pelts and manes of the beasts he had felled. She ran the shoddy makeshift comb and her fingers through her long, rich hair, working out most of the catches, tangles, and knots that had formed in the weeks since she had last brushed it. When she had finished her hair, still slightly oily, fell straight and free again, looking worlds better even without a proper washing.

Methaniel returned later that night to find her seated beside a small, steady warm fire at the cave mouth, the smoke billowing out into the sky. Her body was wrapped in the warm layers of blankets and furs and her eyes turned up to the sparkling stars of the freshly revealed heavens. Her mind was on her parents and her brothers, and her prayers went out to them, for she knew somehow in her heart that they were now together.

She caught the Master's eyes lingering upon her as he stood before her, an enormous hunting cat draped across his shoulders. Its weight was something that would have surely brought a normal man to his knees. Several conies were strapped to his belt with short lengths of rope, and his right hand held a young buck by the neck. Ahma blushed softly in the firelight, her cheeks turning a delicate pink the color of a rose petal. She wondered distantly what he must be thinking, looking down at her, her face and hair cleaner and more tended than they had been in the past weeks. She realized dimly that he had never seen her with her full, thick mane down and loose before now.

"Those will help us nicely through the storm. The cat must have been a difficult kill." She wasn't even fully aware of what she was saying, trying more to distract herself than to make any real conversation.

The Master put his kills on the ground, turning slightly and petting Lanion as the horse nudged him indignantly. He moved and allowed the horse to shuffle into the cave and settle down out of the wind.

"How long before the next storm, Master Methaniel?" She asked. He glanced at her and smiled as he seated himself beside her.

"Two days by my reckoning. It'll be...a very big one. Anyway. Provided there isn't another on the way directly after it's passing, we'll move on from here and continue on our eastward course."

Ahma nodded, leaning slightly against him, no longer considering it an action of over-familiar ness, but merely necessary for both warmth and comfort.

"And by the way, Ahma," he said suddenly causing her to glance up at him. His eyes shone into hers with all their silver brilliance, and his gentle smile was upon his face once more.

"Call me Merie. Your brothers did. As did my father."

Ahma's brow rose in confusion. "Merie? I do not understand..."

Methaniel smirked softly and shut his eyes. "Father named me after his brother who died in a border skirmish a few months before I was born. He said he was honor-bound to do so, as my Uncle had no children of his own to carry on his name. On learning of my Uncle's demise, Father made up his mind and announced my name. But my Mother wanted to name me something else. She'd had her heart set on Merie, for what reason I don't know. In the end, she relented and allowed my Father to honor his brother as he wished. But even until my birth, she referred to me as Merie.

"When my Mother passed, my Father was deeply grieved. He called me Merie for as long as I can remember. It was his way of remembering my Mother, I think. I bear both names proudly, though only those close to me call me by my Mother-given name."

Ahma felt a choke of emotions welling inside, a mixture of sadness and joy. She knew this name bore both happiness and pain with its use. And it touched her that he would trust her with such a personal part of him. 

"Yes...Master Merie," was all she could think to say.

***

The next two days were busily spent preparing for the next storm. It seemed Methaniel's estimate of it was accurate by the way clouds gathered in the horizon. By the second day, the land was more thickly snowed over than even before.

Ahma hastily salted and dried the rations as quickly as possible while Methaniel trudged through the snow outside, trying to find any last moment hunting, as well as searching for branches or twigs or any other kind of serviceable wood before the storm settled fully around them. Lanion furrowed through snow piles outside, looking for twigs and bark and dead grass. At one point he dragged three entire bushes into the cave, its roots dangling behind. Ahma had never heard of a horse stockpiling food, but then, Lanion wasn't your average horse.

The night before the storm fell upon them they were up late, organizing their supplies and preparing for the long days of waiting ahead. The sun had barely risen before it was hidden from view by the sudden screaming storm crashing down on their small shelter. They retreated deeper into their little cave, and settled in for the night.

Methaniel woke first. He gently loosened his arm from around Ahma, bundled her deeper in the blankets, and rose. Though he still couldn't stand fully upright, it felt good to stretch and move about a bit. The cold was overpowering, but for the moment he didn't take notice of its sting. He glanced at the cave mouth. The wind was howling violently outside and a steady thunk of falling hail pelted the mountains. Snow had already matted and piled at the cave mouth and plugged it entirely, sealing them in and cutting off all view of the outside world. This storm did indeed seem more violent, by the sound of things, and the snowfall was obviously much heavier. Methaniel shook his head slowly and his brow creased with worry.




Rising Ch. 07



Things did not look good. The storm had seemed massive when he'd spotted it heading across the sky toward them, and he didn't think it would end for a very, very long time. And even when it was over, he dreaded having to dig their way out of the snow that would accumulate outside the cave. Even after that it would impede their further progress along the trail. Their food supply, though he'd just gone hunting, would dwindle rapidly. He did not see it lasting out the storm, nor the difficult days thereafter when hunting was likely to be slim.

He turned back toward the small fire to find Ahma still sleeping. She had curled into a ball and hugged one of the blankets to her chest. He sat down and watched her sleep for a time. He knew he should tell her about the direness of the situation, but somehow he couldn't. She'd already been strained badly enough by the harsh traveling through the deadly pass. Though they'd managed well enough thus far, there'd already been several close calls. He couldn't bring himself to crush the little hope she had remaining.

He shook his negative thoughts off and his eyes returned to focus upon her sleeping face.

She was beautiful, he thought. She lay on her side, her slender form curled tightly. The blanket had fallen away from one wing and he watched the intricate feathers layered down their length, fine and delicate. They were smudged ever so slightly with dirt, something he knew she badly disliked but could do nothing about. Her face, too, was smudged from their long days away from civilization, though she had apparently cleaned it a few days ago while he'd been away from the cave. Even with the smudging of dirt, however, he snow white face was perfection.

Methaniel realized he was staring as her eyes fluttered open, and quickly looked away. She stretched, then smiled up at him as he sat down beside her. "Good morning, Master Merie," she greeted.

"Good morning, Ahma," Methaniel smiled. "You look like you've had a nice rest."

"Yes," Ahma nodded as she sat up more fully. "Better than I've had in a while, at least."

They ate some dried meat together for breakfast. Methaniel grabbed their water skins and rose, walking to the snow packing into the cave mouth and stuffed some into both the skins. It was the best they could do for now.

"What shall we do today, hmm?" Methaniel said with a touch of dry humor.

"I could clean the cave," Ahma giggled softly.

Methaniel smirked and sat down again beside her. 

Ahma's smiled faded to be replaced with a more serious look. "I think we've gotten the last bit of activity we're going to get for now."

"So it would seem. My blade is going to rust if this goes on much longer," Methaniel grumbled.

"Master Merie?"

The nobleman turned his gaze to her. "Yes?"

Ahma glanced away for a moment before turning worried eyes up to meet his. "What did happen exactly? Who attacked you...attacked us?"

Methaniel let out a soft sigh and looked away. For a long moment he didn't reply, simply staring across the cave instead, as if studying the rocky patterns on the cave wall. 

"I do not know," he said at last. "There are many questions I have, a lot of things I don't understand about that night. Someone wanted me dead, and wanted me dead badly enough to burn my entire house down and slaughter my servants to ensure I died. I don't know who is responsible, or who would even want me dead...Perhaps it was someone in league with, or even from, the Naemer nations. Perhaps they thought to gain some kind of military advantage if I were dead. But...I do not think so. 

"In either case, whoever it was had to have had some kind of influence or hold over the City Guard. None were to be seen at all that night, and they should have been about. Likely they were manipulated into staying out of the picture, somehow."

"How is that possible?" Ahma asked, her eyes wide as she watched his face. "Aren't the guardsmen more reliable than that?"

"Who knows what kind of spy or manipulator has gotten to them" Methaniel shrugged. "I can only think that this enemy I have made is very powerful...three times they have tried to assassinate me. First, at the battle field, by firing an arrow at me. Everyone assumed it was simply an arrow shot by the Naemer, but I do not believe so...the Naemer have proud, skilled archers, and they use very unique and specific arrows. None of them would have touched the one fired at me. And then assassins attempt to kill me in front of my own home, hoping to catch me off guard and relaxed. And then...that night."

Methaniel shook his head as one of his hands closed into a fist of frustration. "They attacked boldly indeed, burning my house down. And on top of that, I cannot help but think that perhaps this group that so seeks my death was responsible for the slaughter of my unit...how they would do this, I do not know...but it fits, I think."

Ahma swallowed heavily and began to tremble. Methaniel put an arm around her and she sank gratefully against him. "Why? Why you? Why my brothers...?"

Methaniel squeezed her shoulder, trying to comfort her. "I do not know, Ahma, but I can promise you this. I will find out. I will know why these things happened, and who these men are. And I will bring vengeance upon them. I will avenge those we have lost. The innocents. Your brothers."

Ahma still didn't really understand what had happened, but she took comfort from his assurance. She knew he was a just and honorable man. He would find a way to make things right, she was certain. 

"What are you going to do with me?" she asked after sitting with him for awhile longer.

Methaniel watched her. She was unusually curious today, he thought. 

"I want you to be safe. If I am able to find you someplace to continue your life unthreatened and without the kind of risks we're facing right now, then I will help you settle and establish yourself. Then I will continue on to do what I must to bring those who seek us to justice."

"And if you can't find a place like that...somewhere I can live peacefully?" Ahma ventured. 

Methaniel smiled comfortingly and gave her shoulder another squeeze. "Then I'll keep you with me and protect you. I'll watch out for you and be sure you aren't harmed."

As he gazed down at her, she knew he spoke true. 

His eyes traced the shape of her flawless, beautiful face, the smooth skin and her big, chocolate eyes, her stunning, gorgeous smile. Her face was innocent. And suddenly Methaniel realized that his need to protect her and keep her close stemmed from more than a sense of guilt or responsibility toward her. 

He returned her smile and tried to shake the sudden thoughts and feelings he hadn't expected to experience.

"Servant work is all I really know to do," she said worriedly. "I suppose a noble somewhere could use my help..."

The thought of serving a new family made Ahma uneasy. She had no idea how servants were treated in other lands. And they could sell her before Methaniel returned to find her.

If he returned to find her.

And if he didn't return, or she was sold, he would return to his normal life without her. The idea scared her, almost as much as the idea of him riding into danger without her did. 

Methaniel noticed the far away expression on Ahma's face. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine," she replied. "I'm sure I'll find work...somewhere. I can read and write, so that should make me useful."

His eyebrows raised in surprise. "You can read?"

"Yes," Ahma smiled softly. "Your Father taught me to."

"How very unusual," Methaniel mused.

"He told me there should be at least one servant in his household that could read, so that they could keep the library organized. He used to have an old Half-Elven man who could read too, but he died when I was 13."

Methaniel arched a brow. "He must have been very old. Half-Elves inherit many years from their Elven parent."

"He died of a wasting disease," Ahma explained.

"Ah," Methaniel nodded, then frowned slightly. "I knew nothing of this practice of my Fathers, of his teaching servants to read and write. I suppose he intended to tell me, but I was never away from training or the front long enough for us to discuss household business beyond the basics."

"I can't read as well as some nobles," Ahma confessed. "He taught me, but some words and symbols are still strange to me."

"Between you and I," Methaniel smirked, "Many noble-bred don't even know their letters. Many think reading is below them and is more of a task or chore than a privilege."

"Foolish," Ahma giggled. "I've always been very proud of my ability to read."

"As you should be," Methaniel nodded.

"Well. That was my job, I suppose; the Master was very serious about his books and his library, and he wanted them to be well cared for. I took care of them and organized them for him. It was a slow job, and organizing took very little time as no one but your Father used the library."

Ahma kicked herself inside. She knew this conversation was dull and empty, but she couldn't think of anything else to say. There was little she felt she was truly knowledgeable about; servant work and Wingling practices and ceremonies, mostly. And somehow, more and more she felt as if she were tongue tied and couldn't find the proper words when she spoke with him.

Methaniel saved her the trouble and changed the subject. "I could teach you to do more than just servant work, you know."

Ahma looked up at him to find a playful gleam in his eyes.

"I don't know what will lie before us. But there is a very good chance we will be involved in violence before I'm able to get you to proper safety. We will come out of the mountains into Rojinla lands. They are a loosely aligned bunch of towns and cities overseen by a council of representatives by each settlement. The council does a poor job of enforcing any kind of real law between the villages. Each village follows their own ways. It isn't the best way of keeping order. Generally, they're largely lawless and dangerous places. Durinum has been attempting to entice the people into the war, but they've had no luck so far. They have something of a presence there, but it's flimsy at best. It won't be very safe for us. This is why I would like you to be prepared, in case things turn for the worse."

Ahma blinked at him. "You mean..."

Methaniel nodded, a smile spreading across his face. "If you would like, I can teach you how to handle yourself as a warrior does."

"But I'm a woman," Ahma pointed out needlessly.

Methaniel chuckled lightly. "Anyone who says women cannot rage war has never seen one do so. I have. A warrior is not determined by sex, but by skill and discipline."

Ahma hesitated a moment. "Won't weapons skills make me less desirable as a servant?"

"We won't mention that," Methaniel grinned.

End Ch. 7

Chapter 8 coming soon. All comments questions or critiques should be sent through the link below.



Rising Ch. 08



For weeks the days crawled by, growing progressively more uncomfortable and frigid. They were hard days, harder even than those of the last storm. Their supplies dwindled. They sat miserable and cold. Soon the rationing of their meals and the cold had driven both of them into sickness. Methaniel developed a wracking cough and Ahma was always shaking violently. Her lips held a near constantly light shading of blue. Neither of them left the shelter of their blankets and skins and the body heat they shared unless absolutely necessary, which was thankfully rare. Icicles had formed on the ceiling. 

Though they'd gathered as much fire wood as possible, both were aware it was a finite supply, and there was no certain way of knowing how long the storm would last. Their fire was as small as it could be while still providing enough warmth to prevent them from freezing. Though it was enough, they were still desperately cold, and every day their wood supply slowly but steadily shrank.

Still, despite the brutal conditions and their dampening spirits, the cramped cave, and their declining health, it was far better than being trapped outside to die in the violent storm.

So they spent their days huddled together, the heat of Methaniel's body warming the Wingling girl as they spoke softly and pleasantly about this and that. A comfortable bond formed between them. The more he grew to know her, the more he appreciated her wit, her intelligence, and her uniquely insightful thinking. Her gentle and kind ways and innocent disposition grew on him, and they became closer.

For Ahma's part, Methaniel showed himself to be a surprisingly warm-hearted and open minded man, especially for a Noble. She had always thought him different, generous and kind, but now she saw just how unusual he was. His heart was good, honest, and he had a calm and warmth about him that she would not have expected from a man so steeped in war and violence. And while he was often times serious and focused to the point of severity, he also showed a light, humorous side that brought out a twinkling gleam in his eyes.

Still, things weren't looking good. The storm raged on day after day with no end in sight. They were malnourished and bordering on outright starving, and the clutching cold paralyzed their bodies and sapped away what little energy they had. Their fear that they would die sitting in the cramped little cave grew by the day. The storm had been raging on for what seemed like an eternity; it was difficult to judge time in the dark cave. This only added to their frustration and fears. The only thing they had to calculate time passing by was their dwindling supplies, which only served to drag their spirits down all the more. Weeks passed, and soon they sat together in a cave faced with their supplies looking pitiful indeed. In another day or so, they would be gone entirely.

Soon the storm raging outside and the assassins hunting them wouldn't matter anymore.

***

Ahma woke one day to find the constant noise from the screaming wind that buffeted the mountains had been replaced by silence. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and sat up, pushing the suddenly too warm blankets away. It took her several moments to realize that the world was quiet around them.

She looked wide-eyed around the cave and was further startled to find that there was sunlight filling it. She gazed uncomprehendingly at the previously snow-plugged and blocked cave mouth. Now empty, she was able to see out into the mountains. It was covered in white, true, but the snow seemed much lower than it ought to be, barely up to her shins most likely. The world outside was calm and peaceful, with hardly any sign of the storm that had been raging for weeks, nor of the storm before that which had initially pinned them down into the cave. It was as if neither had ever happened.

"Master Merie!" she shouted as she sprang up to her feet, her wings fluttering wildly with excitement. She started as she noticed the shape of a large, brilliantly white snow owl perched on a rocky lip in the wall. It flapped its wings several times and its feathers bristled outward, making it seem even larger than it was. She watched it watching her, gazing at her with round amber eyes, before it suddenly took wing out of the cave and rose into the sky outside.

Methaniel sprang up, surprising Ahma as he came to his feet with a dagger in his hand and began to lunge for where his sword was propped against the wall. As he glanced around and realized there was no danger he shot her a puzzled look. Then the changes to their little cave dawned on him as he glanced around. 

He slid the dagger back into its sheath at his waist and stepped around her into the cave mouth. He gazed out over the mountains, eyeing everything around them. He shook his head, causing his long, tangled hair to whip about.

"This is impossible," he stated. "The snow should be up to my shoulders, at least! How can this be?"

"I don't know," Ahma said as she stepped out onto the mountain path beside him. "But I can only think it must be a blessing from the gods. Any longer in there and we would've been done for."

"Indeed," Methaniel nodded. "We had another days worth of food left...two, perhaps, if we stretched the rations even thinner."

"I know," Ahma said softly. They hadn't talked about the direness of their supply situation, even when things had become abysmal. She simply had no wish to dwell on something they couldn't fix, and she was sure he felt much the same.

"This makes no sense," Methaniel shook his head again. Then he sighed, shrugged, and decided it was best not to question this bizarre turn of fortune for now. He stretched his long limbs. It was good to be outside, and it was considerably warmer as well. He took a deep breath of the crisp mountain air, then coughed thickly. He hoped they would both recover from their fatigue and illness soon. Though they were both badly drained and they felt horrible, were partially malnourished and on the edge of hypothermia, all things considered they were in comparatively good health.

"We should be thankful, I suppose," Methaniel murmured. "We'll have more time to decide what's happened here later. For now, we need to move. No telling how much closer pursuit has been able to get while we were pinned by that storm.

"Do you think they've chased us up here?" Ahma asked worriedly.

"I don't know," Methaniel shrugged. "I hope not, but I can't be sure. If they have, they're probably much closer now than we'd like. We have to go."

"Where's Lanion?" Ahma asked.

Methaniel's brown furrowed as he too noticed his horse's absence. He glanced back into the cave, then swept his eyes up and down the trail.

"Oh hell," he muttered, then pressed his thumb and index finger to his lips and whistled shrilly.

After several moments, Lanion came trotting half-heartedly around a curve in the path ahead, making his way toward them.

Methaniel smirked as the horse reached them. He patted the horse's muzzle affectionately. "Looks like you're not wasting any time, huh? Go on then, go get yourself some food."

Lanion looked at his master as if to say he'd been doing that very thing before he was interrupted, then turned and walked down the path.

"We have a few weeks reprieve," Methaniel announced after surveying the sky, watching the movement and formation of the clouds and judging them against his knowledge of this point in the season. He glanced down at Ahma. She stood serenely at his side, her lips curved in a lovely, distracted smile as she gazed over the land below them where the mountain sloped ever lower. Methaniel smiled softly.

"Time to leave?" Ahma asked after several peaceful, quiet moments. She was somehow, in a strange way, sad to see their stay end. It had been a miserable little place, and the weather and idleness had been taxing in the extreme. In a matter of days, they would have likely died from the hypothermia that had been gradually closing in on them, or from sickness, or starvation. But in its own way it had been the closest thing to a home they'd had since the manor was destroyed. While suffering had touched them, it had been a good time in other ways, a time of closeness and some intimacy with the Master being so near to her.

"I'm hoping to get out of the mountains before the next major storm," Methaniel stated as they turned back into their cave and began to gather their things up. "It's hard to judge exactly what the weather will do up here in the mountains, but I think everything will be clear for a bit. If we move fast, we can get through the pass before the last storms of the season begin to hit. Lanion will work hard to take us into Rojinla."

"And then?" Ahma asked as she pulled her thick cloak closer and gathered some of the furs together. She folded them and pushing them together, trying to generally make them easier to carry for when they would leave.

"We cross the flatlands till we find a village or town of some kind. I'm vaguely familiar with Rojinla geography, and should be able to locate one. From there, we'll see what happens."

And so they set out, leaving the cave after nearly two months all told trapped inside. They pressed hard, the powerful war-horse carrying them carefully through the treacherous mountain paths and trails. Snow drifted down gently, tickling Methaniel's head as it piled softly in his hair. He scowled half-heartedly and shook it from his thick shag of coppery, tangled locks. Ahma giggled and smiled cheerfully at him. 

He hunted on the move, stalking prey even as Lanion walked on and they made their way forward through the mountains. He felled small game every few days to supply their meals. They had precious little salt left, and Methaniel insisted they save it for leaner times, when their need for drying rations may become greater. Ahma was glad for it, as food freshly roasted over the fire seemed heavenly after going so long on dried strips of meat.

Their nights were spent close, settled peaceably around a small crackling fire. Lanion sometimes spent those times settled beside them, quietly eating at pieces of bark he'd stripped from nearby trees and the slender branches from naked shrubs. Other times he wandered around their surroundings, walking in and out from the flame's light before wandering off again. Sometimes a breeze would whip through their hair as the horse would go cantering and rushing by at random moments, a wild and strange look in his eyes.

"He knows what's expected of him," Methaniel said in reply to Ahma's questioning look. "He'll get enough rest, don't worry. He's been cramped in for weeks. He needs to get some exercise."

The fire was warm, comforting, the night cold and frigid but far less so than it had been. The sky was clear and blue. The stars shone down at them, bathing them in silver light. It was an all together welcome change from the numbing storms and weather that had plagued them their entire journey before now, and they reveled in those peaceful moments where old miseries seemed forgotten.

Methaniel sat close to Ahma, an arm draped over her shoulders as had become his habit. He smiled down at her from time to time, and he was glad for her closeness, for her companionship and company, and the pleasantness of their conversation. She displayed a playful, sometimes teasing wit when she allowed herself to speak her mind. It was a refreshing change, different from the gruff, simple companionship he was used to with his fellow soldiers. At the same time the Wingling offered a substance and intelligence that he found lacking in any relationship he'd had with a woman before. The only real time he had ever spent with a woman was his short stays at court. Those experiences had left a sour taste in him as far as women went; most Noble ladies were simple, shallow, uninformed, and thoroughly uninteresting. 

But Ahma had a certain spark of life in her that fascinated him. Servant women, in his experience, had lost much in the way of life and vividness, their spirits having been trampled and crushed under the weight of their hard, work filled existence. Yet Ladies had so little real personalities or valid, intelligent idea's that the effect was nearly the same in his eyes.

Ahma was different. She was bright, original, spirited, and surprisingly cheerful and lighthearted given the circumstances that she had gone through in the last months. He knew that sadness and distress lingered still, for he often observed her in moments of gloom and heartache, moments she clearly tried to keep hidden. But through all of it, she somehow kept her strong will and cheerful spirit. At first he had thought she perhaps put a front up for him, maybe in some misguided notion to spare him her feelings, but as time went on, he came to understand it was simply her uncrushed and innocent heart and spirit that shone through the dirty world around her. It was a quality he found curious and foreign in the harsh reality that life held, but something he secretly felt to be more precious and valuable than any trait he had ever seen.

Their days began to slowly change. Most of them were spent on horseback, trodding through the mountains toward the flatlands of Rojinla. However, as they drew closer to the pass's end and the skies over the mountains remained clear and the air cool and crisp, the threat of a rushing onslaught of violent, rending storms abated. They began to stop their forward ride early, while a bit of daylight still lingered, and often times Methaniel would leave Ahma to set up and prepare camp and feed Lanion while he took bow in hand and hunted for the days meal, most often returning with one or two conies or raccoons, a plentiful and filling dinner that stopped before it became wasteful or left over.

Ahma's training began. She was nervous about it, uncertain and shy and a bit apprehensive, but she reminded herself that it was necessary, that her old life as a servant had changed; while she may still remain and serve her Master, things were different, and being able to defend herself was going to be a concern. Also, she came to think that perhaps, if she tried hard and gave it her all, absorbing everything that such a skilled and able teacher gave her, she may even be able to become somewhat adept in combat, perhaps even enough so that she could be of some use to her Master should the situation arise.

"We won't be able to put you into full battle training right now," Methaniel explained as they began one crisp and chilly late afternoon.

"There is too much motion involved in combat, and you will need to wear a skirt with deep leg slits, or likely britches, before any reasonable movement can be made on your part. This dress just isn't going to do. Also..."

The Master shifted awkwardly and cleared his throat roughly, looking slightly pained.

"What is it, Master Merie?" she asked, trying to be helpful. A sincerely confusion painted over her flawless face.

"You have...uh....well, you're...you've a large bosom," Methaniel stammered. He shook his head as he heard how awkward and stupid he sounded. "We won't be able to try you in a realistic sparing situation until you are able to bind your breasts and secure them firmly."

Ahma glanced down at her enormous chest and smiled even as a light blush crept into her cheeks. She tried to keep from giggling. "Okay. What can we do then?"

Methaniel sighed, grateful to be moving on from the awkward topic. "Well, as I said, we can't do any real working with battle movement and strategy, but I can give you some pointers, tell you some things that you will need to remember, and I can show you some basic handwork with your dagger. You never want to go into battle with only a dagger, but you never want to go in without one, either. A dagger is an invaluable asset and tool in a battle, one that is often overlooked, and every warrior should be adept...more than adept...in wielding one."

Ahma tried her best to remember all that he told her. His lessons were hard and blunt, and had she been a softer woman and less focused upon absorbing everything she would have probably thought him harsh. But she understood he was being practical and straightforward with her, and making sure things sunk in to maximum effect.

"Don't ever shy away from a blow," he told her. "Go into every fight knowing that you are going to get hit, and you are going to get hurt. Sometimes you get lucky. Sometimes you get through your battles in one piece, but that takes luck and skill, and a lot more of the former than the latter. Know you're going to get hit, and prepare for it. Tuck your chin and tighten your muscles. Otherwise, grit your teeth, and be ready for it, because it's coming."

It took Ahma some time to get this concept into her mind, having seen Methaniel so easily and skillfully defend himself. During the battle at the mansion, he'd not taken a single hit, despite seven men being pitted against him. The more she thought about it, she reasoned that he was an above average fighter, a man who was hailed by the Commander of the Durinum forces as the most marvelous fighter ever seen. And her mind recalled the massive, wicked scar crossing his body. She'd come to realize during the days inside the cave, where he had barred his chest often to allow the heat of his body to fully seep into her, that it was one of many.

"When you understand this, you will understand that the best thing to do is to put energy into making a hit lighter than to try and escape it completely. If something gets in past your guard, you can't stop it. But you can move it, adjust it and push it away from vital organs. In this way, you can make a mortal blow a grazing blow. This is a key to surviving battles. If you are hit with something you can walk away from, then you've foiled that attack, no matter what anyone tells you.

"Pacing," he continued, "Every battle has its pace. If you are in a war, then things are going to be happening very fast. Death will be all around you, and it will be hard to focus. The best thing you can do is keep your wits about you, and listen to the orders being given by your commanders. It's unlikely you'll find yourself in such a situation, but it's good to always consider such things. If you are in a duel, or a more personal battle where you know what you face and can deal with things on a collected and calm scale, then the pacing is in your hands. If you come against an opponent that is over your head, then you can even things out by biding your time, focusing on defense and keeping yourself alive, and wait for your opponent to tire. The most common and crippling mistake warriors often make is to rush. Most think that a battle should be over in moments. Use this to your advantage, keep them coming at you with all their might, and as long as you defend yourself intelligently, soon they will tire and holes will begin to open, holes you can slip through with ease."

He told her much more, working over the basic concepts of battle, the subtle and often overlooked tricks and nuances of a fight that would give her a clear edge over most enemies. She absorbed it all, finding herself oddly fascinated and enraptured by his words. She would never have pictured herself as one for battle, and deep down, the thought of taking a life made her shaky inside. But still, a subtle excitement filled her as this new, strange world of knowledge opened to her.

They went over the basic handling and workings of her small, curving dagger. He showed her how to grip the blade, how to turn it and twist it, how to adjust it in her tiny hands to get the best angle for a slash or a stab, how to make a quick cut or a deep thrust. They had no time to get into the more advanced aspects of knife handling. But by the time her first lesson was over she felt less afraid of the weapon. Before that day, she had thought of a dagger or knife as a tool, a means to cut, skin, or slice food, rope, and a myriad of other simple tasks and functions. When it was used in battle, it would always be held by a man's hand, she thought. Now she wondered. Could she find the kind of comfort and ease that Methaniel displayed with a blade? Would her hands ever adjust to such work? By the end of the day, after practicing for hours, even as they rode, with the handling and gripping and maneuvering of the dagger, she had a myriad of blisters on her palms and slender fingers.




Rising Ch. 08



"It will take time," Methaniel explained, rubbing softly at her hands with his and slowly massaging in a thin balm that she had never noticed he had brought with him. Whether he had brought it from the Manor or bought it at Ertil she did not know, and she didn't bother to ask. The balm felt cool and fresh, and it soothed the ache in her skin and the joints of her fingers

"You see my hands. You feel them. Their callousness, the thick ridges of roughness. Yours may not become so roughened; I've had years for them to become this way, and I would hazard to say I've drilled more religiously and strenuously with blade and fist than most. I also handle a heavier and rougher weapon than you likely will. But still, in time your hands will have some toughness, and weapon work will no longer make them tender or sore."

Thus did Ahma begin her journey into the world of combat; unable to do any overall body movement, instead beginning on the finesse and more subtle skills of dagger work. It suited her, the Master commented a week later, and he smiled down at her and told her she was doing well and that her progress was pleasing and quick. It was the highest praise he had given her, and probably the highest he would give her for some time, but she knew that such words were sincere, and she understood that for him, at least in the realm of battle craft, such praise was rare and precious. 

Her blood warmed with pride at his words.

Nearly four months had passed after their initial departure from Durinum by the time they came down from the mountainous passes and into the flatlands of Rojinla. Their old life seemed worlds away. To Ahma, it seemed unreal, those days of seemingly long ago and the hard yet infinitely pleasant days they marched through now. She had grown more accustomed to the road, and to the outdoors, and her body no longer felt such sore stiffness from the hours on Lanions back, nor were her feet raw and swollen from walking at Methaniel's side.

The day was crisp and moderate, and the sky clearer and bluer than it had been in months. It was a lovely and peaceful day by all accounts, and not nearly as cold as it had been a week ago, or a week before that. While it was still frigid and biting this far north, with winters grasp far from weakened, they had left the higher and colder walks of the mountains behind and had worked their way several miles southeast through the flatlands.

Ahma beamed brightly with joy as she shifted through the sky, her wings beating powerfully and carrying her a touch higher. It was cold this high, but she didn't care; it was the first time she'd truly, fully taken flight since the Steward had ordered her wings bound almost a year ago. The wind whistled in her ears, caressing her face and shifting through her hair as she reveled in the flight. Her body felt light and her wings stronger than they ever had, extended outward to glide through the licking breeze. Her feathers felt wonderful, and for a time, everything seemed right with the world.

The land below was still painted white, the drifts of snow breaking into each other without a hint of green. While they were enjoying the let up in the cold and snow, greenery would still be extremely sparse and thin in the northern reaches of Rojinla. Methaniel had promised her that once they made their way into the south most reaches of the city-states that green and life and vital trees and plants would surround them. Ahma, who had only seen the greens of the brief thaw season in Durinum and never the sprawling rich forests and grasslands of the south, could hardly conceive the tales he told her.

Her hair swished at her neck, bound up on the back of her head to prevent it from getting further dirtied and tangled. She still had only had short bathes or scrubbings, always in cold and frigid waters, always without soap, and always without wetting her hair fully for fear that it would freeze in the chill air. She had not re-braided her hair since she had taken it down, vowing she would only do so once she had had a proper chance to cleanse her hair.

She gazed once more at the ground spread beneath her and spied Methaniel astride Lanion, the horse gleefully leaping in and out of a canter whenever the snow was thin enough to allow. The flatlands rolled along under his hooves. She smiled fondly down at them, then glanced back to the horizon. While they were in the mountains the sky had been always overcast or clouded. Now it was a beautiful blue, wide and open around her and dotted with soft, cottony clouds that were slowly dissolving into trails of hazy white. Ahma was happy, truly happy. She hadn't realized just how badly she'd missed flying until she'd finally been able to fully take to the skies again. It was as if a part of her very being had been taken and then returned. 

Ahma flew the skies more and more often the following days, scouting and searching, helping to guide them through the land and looking out for any settlements or villages they could make their way toward. Thus far the land was still bare and featureless, but their pace was slow and easy at the moment, and she was not altogether worried about it. In the evenings they halted and she came down to the land to spend the rest with the Master, continuing through whatever exercise, training, and knife practice they could with her unprepared state of dress. Though they could do no running or quick, athletic exercises, he began to take her through strength building training, and work with building her hand-eye coordination, reflexes, and awareness. She grew and progressed steadily. Her body ached badly from all the work, but she never complained, and Methaniel cared for her and helped her to adjust the best he could.

"You do well," Methaniel told her, and smiled down at her as he watched her manipulate the deadly edge of her dagger, twisting and turning it in her hands, switching hands and working it in an increasingly deadly, if somewhat untried, dance. Sincere admiration and approval danced in his eyes. "If you take to the sword or any other weapons as well as you do a dagger you might just begin to show up many of the men in my old unit."

He fell silent as the words passed his lips, old memories, some good, some bad, filtering through his mind. 

Through it all, he never ceased to be impressed by her progress. At times it seemed she was a born fighter, and he watched as the blade became more and more comfortable in her hands and her confidence grew. The real test lay ahead, however. Whether she could hold up so well once the day came for her to apply her basic skills against him. He would hold back, of course, but never would he give her the delusion of being skilled beyond what she was. She would know there wasn't any level of ease in a real battle. To do otherwise, he felt, would only endanger her in the end, and make her feel security where none existed.

The Nobleman glanced up at her as she glided smoothly, small and high in the sky, and his mouth curved into a faint smile. She was lovely as ever, more so when she was aloft and circling about in the sky, her proud and lovely wings extended in joyous flight. Her grace and elegance was breathtaking. Her form and the curving sweeps her body took as her wings extended and tucked, dipped and thrust seemed to be that of a timeless and infinitely pleasing art. His blood coursed as he watched her. 

She had come close, closer than he had ever allowed anyone to come before. He wondered at that. He saw much in her; her brothers, a touch of his father, and her own brilliant and shining beauty, both inner and surface. It had ingrained itself keenly upon him. She was ever in his thoughts, he admitted to himself. Never had anyone occupied so much space within him, not even his father. He felt good when she was near, and in a way, that disquieted him, for it was something he had never considered before. 

A military man did not waste time on attachments. 

He mulled over an absent thought for a moment before putting it aside for another time and reaching down with a grin to roughly pat Lanion's neck. The horse shook his head, snorting softly and tossing his mane in feigned indignance. Methaniel laughed.

"Run, my friend! The girl is starting to escape us!"

The horse needed no further encouragement, and with a wild neigh, plunged forward, cantering through the thin film of snow and clipping along rapidly, the land blurring into white field around them.

***

Ahma woke with a start, nearly sitting up. She let out a deep breath and sank back, letting the tension melt from her body as she stared up into the stars above.

She had that dream again.

Methaniel shifted slightly under their shared pile of blankets, his arm grazing her shoulder. He was so warm, his body radiating its usual comforting, soothing heat. 

She sighed and shifted slightly, rolling her hips to the left and moving her wings into a more comfortable position. How many times had she had this dream? At least four or five...likely more. Not that it was always identical, but the dream always resulted in more-less the same thing.

It always began the same, with Methaniel in the tub gleaming silver tub in his room at the Manor. Ahma would kneel at his side and wash him, running a rag along his chest or washing his hair with water and scented oils. She wore a short, simple serving dress that never seemed to have any particularly noteworthy color or features.

Then suddenly Methaniel would reach down, putting his enormous, muscled arms around her and lifting her from the floor. Her dress would be gone, somehow, without explanation, and she would be revealed naked before him. He put her in the tub with him, laying her body along his. Somehow he always felt warm, even warmer than the hot bath water. 

His arms encircled her waist, pulling her gently upward until her face was nearly even with his. His muscles rippled and bunched under her stomach and against her breasts. The generous, full orbs sparkled wetly with droplets of water, and her nipples were throbbingly erect, standing out from the curvature of her breast and pushing against his skin. She blushed at this, partly embarrassed, but mostly excited. She put her arms on his chest and propped her chin on her forearms.

She studied his face. He was calm, but obviously pleased. Desire danced in his eyes, changing his face to a softer expression as he smiled down at her.

For the last several cycles of this dream, he entered her. She wasn't entirely sure how this happened, but her legs would part and slide around his sides. Ahma didn't really know how a cock felt in such a place; the Steward had never made use of anything but her mouth. But in her dreams, it felt wonderful, an amazing sensation that drove her into ecstasy. Her body cried out with longing and joy when he filled her, and it was never long before she came awake, gasping and startled by the vividness of her dream.

Ahma sighed softly, annoyed at having woken up, like usual. It was such a good dream...

She closed her eyes and pressed her body to him, shivering as his arm instinctively pulled her closer to his muscled form.

It was going to be hard to get back to sleep.

***

Methaniel and Lanion stopped below for a brief rest. Lanion began to nose at the ground, searching for some food in the still snow covered soil. Ahma circled, fluttering through the cold afternoon air as she hummed softly to herself. Her wings danced along the breeze's edge, propelling her along at a slow, relaxed pace. She glanced down every now and then to watch Master Methaniel. He waved up at her at one point, and she waved back, smiling softly.

If Methaniel's impression of the area's geography was accurate, they should be coming upon a town soon. Ahma couldn't wait to have a proper bath. She'd recently bathed, as was her custom, during a brief, thin rain while the temperature had dipped low enough to keep her from freezing but it was hardly more than a drizzle. And while she preferred such bathing over the human's more thorough cleansings in a tub, the long weeks without regular bathing left her feeling the need for a meticulous scrubbing over with a good deal of soap. She could hardly stand the state her hair and wings were in. 

And a real meal...with bread! And perhaps some stew. She'd been living on roasted meat and roots scavenged from the land that she hardly remembered what it was like to eat something other than what could be found on hand.

Despite how she looked forward to these things, part of her hoped they wandered through unending wilderness and never saw another person again. Once they reached a reasonable settlement, Methaniel planned to find her a place to work and live. She knew going with him on his path of vengeance wasn't wise; despite his instruction, she had few fighting skills. She required extra provisions, and she knew he wasn't able to travel as fast as he normally would while she was along. She was only going to slow him down.

Though she knew this to be the case she still did not like the notion of their eventual separation. Ahma had a deep fear that she would never see Methaniel again. He could be slain, or detained somehow, and she would never know if she was left to a new life. If he found those responsible and avenged those they'd hurt, he would probably come to see her...or at least, she prayed he would. But maybe by that point, she would be gone from his thoughts, and he wouldn't consider her.

He would probably marry someday, as was the Human way, for love or for power. He would never even consider her.

That thought gave her pause. Did she want to be with Master Merie? To 'wed' him? Winglings didn't 'marry' in the Human sense of the word, she knew. They mated for life, with obvious exceptions for early widows or widowers, and the rare case of violent and abusive partners. With an average life-span of three hundred years or more, Wingling couples spent centuries together. The bond was different from that of Human marriages, in many ways far deeper and more meaningful. Could a Human ever hope to understand such a bond? Or establish one, for that matter?

Not that it mattered. Beyond her Father and brothers, Ahma had never met a male of her kind. Hannah had spoken of a few that had lived in Durinum at once point or another, all either actively involved in the war or long dead by it. Ahma figured her chances of mating with another Wingling, especially an eligible one she would find agreeable, were rare. 

Ahma hadn't given much thought to finding a mate...with her position as a servant and the constant work it involved, she hadn't had much time to dwell on such things. But now that she did think of it, a Human mate didn't seem such an unagreeable thing...true, her only experience at the hands of a Human male-or any male, for that matter- had been a horrid, revolting thing, but she was hardly prepared to judge all Human men by the actions of the Steward...especially when one such as Methaniel proved every day that not all Humans were so...abrasive.

Methaniel motioned toward her as he mounted back up and Lanion cantered forward along the flatlands. She followed slowly, drifting along the thermals as her thoughts wildly spun in circles...she knew she had feelings for him, but what did that mean? What could it mean, in the end? She didn't want to dwell on it overmuch...she was unsure about how he felt, for one thing. At times, he seemed so kind, so gentle and warm...but she wondered if that was simply his way, or if he behaved in such a manner because of some specific affection for her? And what would it matter, anyway? Affection or not, could there ever be something between two people as different and separated as they were?

In the end, she thought, it would come down to whether or not he would ever come back to her. That would decide it. If he returned after his mission of vengeance was through, then perhaps there could be something between them.

And if not...

Ahma snapped from her daze as she spotted the shape of small huts and buildings coming into view over the lip of the horizon. Her deep thoughts faded and for a moment, at least, the twinge of sadness from the thought of their parting was gone.

"Master Merie!" she called as she swooped down into hearing range. She laughed melodically in excitement.

Methaniel glanced up at her and smiled as he saw her excitedly motioning toward the horizon.

"A village! I see buildings ahead!" she exclaimed. She smiled widely and her wings gave an extra hard flap as she launched upward again.

Methaniel grinned and squeezed Lanion's flanks with his legs. "Let's go, Lanion! Finally, we'll be able to sleep under a roof for a night."

The horse seemed less than enthused at the notion of leaving the sweeping, open plains and being stuck into a pen again.

"Oats, Lanion," Methaniel whispered slyly into his mount's ear. "Fresh, crisp oats."

Ahma watched curiously as the war-horse went speeding past below her, kicking up a huge cloud of dust and soil in his wake.

It was evening by the time they reached the village, and the sun had began to dip toward the rim of the world. The settlement was a medium size, too large to be called a village, too settled and well built, but only large enough to be considered the very smallest of towns. 

It was a simple place with wooden huts and mortar buildings. Homes were scattered on small plots of land on the outskirts. The buildings grew larger and higher quality closer to the center of the settlement, some sporting windows of crisp glass and fresh coats of paint in white and blues, and darkly stained wooden panels. Portions of the road had even been cobbled, though they appeared somewhat old and out of regular repair.

The town square functioned as a small, lively market. Even in the evening hours the market remained open. As the day waned, candles, lanterns, and small torches replaced the dwindling sunlight. Several small shops and public establishments were scattered about the edges of the square, ranging from a bakery, a grocer, a cobbler and tailor shop, a blacksmith, a furnishing goods store, a tavern that was being slowly filled by the townfolk, and even a small inn. Though Methaniel couldn't recall which town this was, he knew it lay along one of Rojinla's busy main roads, which explained the thriving trade and shops, especially considering the relatively small size of the town.

The people were a short, busy folk. Many were occupied fully with their day to day lives, pursuing their own affairs and interests. Most appeared to be a rougher sort, and looked upon them coldly as they passed through. The majority of the people out walking the settlement were obviously travelers, and they looked around with sour faces. Methaniel kept one hand resting near the hilt of his sword; he didn't think there would be much trouble in a small settlement such as this, but he knew well Rojinla's reputation for lawlessness and unpleasant situations. The population seemed to mostly consist of humans, though an occasional Hobbit could be seen, as well as a Dwarf.

"Let me speak if anyone approaches us," Methaniel whispered to Ahma as they walked slowly into the center of town. They were drawing stares, some of them centered on Ahma, but most were gazing at Lanion's impressive form and the large variety of furs piled on top of him. Whispers of admiration for both followed them down the wide street.

"Take Lanion to the inn's stables. If they ask about payment, tell them your Master will pay at the counter when he pays for the rooms," Methaniel instructed, then he lifted the thick pile of furs and skins into his arms.

"The trade post still seems to be open...I'll get some funds for our travels. After you get Lanion put up in the stables, wait for me in the inn. They should have a tavern or a dining room; wait for me there."




Rising Ch. 08



He leaned forward and squeezed her hand briefly at the apprehensive look she gave him. "Don't worry, you'll be fine. Just try not to be conspicuous."

Ahma tried to force the worry from her face. She dragged Lanion away from their Master and headed toward the stables. The horse snorted two or three times until Ahma turned to the towering horse and rubbed her slender fingers along his neck. "Come on, I'm more scared than you are."

Lanion watched her closely for a moment before following peaceably along up to the stables. A gruff, squat man stepped up to bar their way, crossing his arms over his chest. A long scar ran across the bridge of his nose, and his hair was matted down to his scalp. He wore a patch over his right eye. 

"What d'ya want?" He asked shortly.

Ahma swallowed softly. For a moment, her nerves overwhelmed her. Then she steeled herself. She rested one hand along Lanion's flank and gazed up into the man's eyes. "My Master would like lodging from this inn. He'll be here shortly to settle his bill and register."

"Who's yer Master?" he asked.

"He's not from around here. He'll be the tall man with the copper hair and beard. He wears a blade at his hip. He's hard to miss."

"And you're?"

"His personal attendant," Ahma replied.

The stable hand raised an eyebrow. Ahma suddenly realized that probably hadn't been the best answer, especially judging by the way the man's single good eye roved along her body, pausing offensively long on her bosom.

"He don't pay, the horse is ours."

Good luck, Ahma thought. "Of course," she said tightly.

"I'll take 'im now," the stable hand told her.

Lanion shifted, tossing his mane and stamping one thick hoof. Ahma set her hand firmly to the horse's neck. "He doesn't like other people."

"No one 'cept the stable hands allowed in the stable," he scowled.

"I have to make sure your stables are large enough for him. And clean," Ahma insisted firmly. "Otherwise, we'll take our business elsewhere."

The stable hand glared darkly at her, then spat on the ground. "Fine. Follow."

***

By the time Ahma had finally gotten Lanion put up in a decent sized pen (the stable hand tried repeatedly to stuff the war-horse into a too-small enclosure. He finally began taking Ahma's protests more seriously when he narrowly missed a vicious kick from Lanion), her nerves were rough edged and she began to worry about how she was going to manage in a town like this without Methaniel there to support her. She'd been firm and sure of herself, yes, but she got the distinct feeling that she wasn't being taken seriously. She supposed she would learn as time went by how to deal with these folk.

Ahma had rarely left the estate once her brothers left her there. She had never been inside an inn, or a tavern such as this one featured. 

She stopped by the front desk and cleared her throat softly. The Wingling clasped her hands to her stomach to hide their shaking. A plump, dark haired woman was distractedly checking over an account of the rooms. Her face registering surprise at the Wingling's presence once she noticed her standing there. 

"Evenin', Miss. Can I get you anything?" she greeted her in a cheerful tone that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"My Master wishes to stay the night," Ahma explained. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves. "He's selling some furs at one of the shops right now. He should be in after a moment."

"Right," the woman said, her pleasant tone gone. She pointed to a small, worn out old stool in the corner. "You sit there."

"He instructed me to wait for him in the tavern," Ahma stated.

"You can sit there or get out," the woman snapped.

Ahma stared at the woman for several moments before she sighed softly and walked to the stool in the corner. A small sign beside it read 'attendants'. The stool was nearly blocked from view by a large, leafy plant.

This place was strange, Ahma decided. The people were very rude, and she felt quite uncomfortable around them. Her mind wandered as she attempted not to focus on the negative thought. Hopefully the furs would sell for a reasonable price. She was ready for a bath, and maybe a chance to eat some bread again. She sat, hands folded in her lap and wings jerking ever so slightly from nervousness. She tried not to fidget under the hostile look the serving woman shot her.

Methaniel entered several moments later, a large, swollen purse jingling at his hip. The obviously full coin purse would have likely attracted much undue attention if not for his intimidating appearance. 

He glanced around the desk area several times before finally spotting the winged girl sitting in the corner by the plant. He walked to her, giving her a puzzled look. Then his eyes glinted hard as he spotted the sign addressed to attendants.

The Nobleman spun and walked quickly to the desk. He smacked a large fist onto the counter top, causing the distracted woman behind it to jump.

"Sir?" 

"My servant was detained," he said, his eyes glinting dangerously.

"Sorry, sir. That's our policy," she said uneasily.

"Perhaps it would be best to embrace a new policy," he said grimly. Without another word he turned and nodded to Ahma. She rose and quickly walked to him.

Methaniel turned to the woman, his face hard and determined. "Show us to a table...a clean table...and get two menus."

The woman looked uncertainly at Ahma, incomprehension showing on her face, but she nodded and walked into the tavern.

"It's time for us to have some real food," Methaniel smiled to Ahma. They followed the woman into the tavern, and Methaniel handed her a silver coin to pay for their room. 

Few patrons were frequenting the tavern this night; most had probably congregated to the larger tavern across the street that was more heavily focused on servant food and drink than the small inn was. A handful of customers sat at the bar and one couple occupied a table. A bored looking man stood behind a short oak bar, glaring darkly out over the room at nothing in particular. Several dirty glasses were scattered on the bar-top in front of him, but he seemed to have intention of cleaning them. He made little effort to speak with his customers.

Soon two flagons of ale were placed on the table.

"I...don't like it here so very much," Ahma said softly as Methaniel gave her a questioning gaze. She knew that it was obvious she was upset, and she knew it would do her little good to deny it.

"We won't be staying long," Methaniel assured her. He sipped at his drink; it tasted like pig swill, but after months spent in the wilderness with nothing to drink but melted snow, it tasted better than the finest wine he'd ever sampled during his days at court. 

The bar maid came out, all smiles and smothering friendliness. Her face was painted cheaply, and her top was cut so low that the tops of her areola were exposed. She took their order and wandered back to the kitchens.

"Perhaps when we find a larger town we can find a more suitable environment for you to stay in for awhile. Either way, we need supplies and time to rest, so we'll be here for a day or so. No longer than needed, though."

As a look of uncertainty crossed Ahma's face, he gently told her, "I will be sure you are well treated, and we'll be on our way as soon as we are able. I like this no more than you, but it's necessary. I promise I will protect you."

Ahma nodded, taking a measure of comfort from her Master's words. Their food arrived, a generous serving of fresh breads and juicy fruits, sweet, seasoned meats and crisp vegetables, and even a mellow, rich stew. They ate in comfortable silence, ignoring the occasional stare and strange look from the few other patrons. Many seemed surprised that the apparent servant woman was dining on equal and companionable footing with her Master. Eyes were upon the alluring and rarely seen Wingling girl, but few of them stayed on her face.

They continued to eat, the comfortable silence of the meal punctuated every few moments by a sprinkling of pleasant, lighthearted conversation. Methaniel ate heartily, devouring his food quickly and efficiently. Ahma watched in mild amusement as she kept to a more leisurely pace. He always ate in such a manor, Ahma had noticed, and she assumed it was a habit of having little to no time for meals on a battlefront.

The bar wench returned several times, hanging about Methaniel and asking him annoying and pointless questions while she pointed ignored Ahma. The wench flirted and flaunted shamelessly, and at one point would have practically buried the Master's face in her displayed bosom had he not hastily scooted back. He payed little attention to the woman, ignoring her bold and blatant sexual advances. Ahma, more than a little bit upset by the woman's attitude, wondered if he was simply feigning ignorance or if he perhaps had that thick of a head when it came to the matter of women. 

He was, after all, a military man.

Their meal complete, they rose, leaving a few coin upon the table-top. After all, their service had been excellent. Too much so, in Ahma's opinion. The sun had gone down by then, leaving only the lighting of the many lanterns and candles in the small inn to light their way. After a brief exchange with the woman handling the front desk of the inn, she handed Methaniel a key.

Their room was small and featureless, though in better upkeep and condition than the dilapidated common rooms. It would have been cheaper to get such a run-down room, but Methaniel had decided, despite his concern for being conscious with their funds, that after such a long time in the wilderness a nice and comfortable bed would do them much better than the tattered and flayed mattresses of a common room.

The bed was probably the nicest feature of all the room, large and padded heavily with thick and clean blankets. A small hearth was set in the wall across from the bed, and firewood was piled beside it, ready for burning. A small table sat in a corner, round and pitiful, with a vase that held a single daisy. There was a small, squat chest at the foot of the bed. It was empty, most likely for putting possessions and items away if one were to rent out the room for some time.

Master Methaniel walked to the hearth, tossing several logs into the fireplace and fishing out his flint. He had a fire going soon, small but powerful and warm. It filled the room with a soft orange illumination. Methaniel stood and glanced about the room, his brows furrowing as he noticed that there was only one bed. He glanced at the Wingling girl, who had noticed his confusion, and blushed slightly.

"Ahma...what did you tell them when you informed them we needed rooms?" he asked slowly.

Ahma's eyes flew wide and she felt her cheeks grow hot with a deep blush. "Nothing of that sort Master Merie, I assure you! I told them you were my Master and I was your personal attendant."

"I see," Methaniel muttered. He tapped his bearded chin with one finger. "I believe I know why this may be. I found when I went to sell the furs that this is Sefar, a trading post along the northwest Rojinla highway. Sefar, like most of the cities in the Rojinla lands, has a slave based economy. They don't look well on servants and slaves, and do not treat them well. I did not know this."

Ahma nodded slowly, looking crestfallen. She reached for one of the blankets and draped it down on the floor. Methaniel's brows shot up and he stepped to her, quickly gathering the blanket up. Ahma gazed up at him, surprised.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

Ahma blinked, uncertain and confused by the question. "I was going to get some blankets and settle on the floor. Is that ok, Master Merie?"

"It most certainly is not," Methaniel scoffed, and Ahma winced at the tone in his voice. She wilted noticeably. 

"You'll take the bed, the floor will be mine," Methaniel continued. Ahma jumped and looked up at him in astonishment.

"N, no Master! You can't do that! I can't let you take the floor...you are my Master!"

Methaniel stared at her for a moment, disliking the panicked look etched across her face. "Very well then. If that upsets you, we will share the bed."

He smiled at her as he grabbed the blankets she'd put on the floor and placed them on the bed, then stretched his powerful limbs and rotating his shoulders. "It won't be all that different from how we usually sleep on the ground. And we're still likely to get rather cold tonight, regardless of the blankets and fire. May as well keep warm like we have been."

Ahma smiled brightly at him, though the blush still lingered in her cheeks. Somehow the thought of sleeping in the same bed with Master Methaniel, even though they'd been so close throughout their travels, sent a jolting thrill through her slender body.

"It's late," Methaniel said, looking up at her and smiling softly, "And I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted."

He pulled his tattered and ripped woolen shirt from his body and smiled at her. Ahma, her own thick dress in heavy disrepair and ripping in several places, climbed into the bed.

"Tomorrow we will tend to more business. We need some changes of clothes for you and I both, and a bath." He chuckled at the glimmer that crept into his Wingling companions eyes at the mention of a bath.

"We will deal with other businesses soon enough. I figure we can stay a few days to rest and recover before we travel again."

Ahma sighed softly as the Nobleman's warm body slid into bed beside her, and suddenly all was warm and wonderful as he pulled her gently to him, holding her close, his chest hard and warm under her face and his arms tight and strong around her.



***

The morning passed with little in the way of excitement. They slept late, and Ahma shivered in pleasure as she awoke from her intense, vivid dreams to find herself nestled firmly in the powerful warm arms of the Master. A thrill coursed through her and she fought hard to push it down, lest her feelings and desires should get the best of her and make her act strangely. He woke shortly after her and smiled down at her gently before sliding out of bed and throwing his old shirt back on. They walked down the stairs, Ahma trailing closely to his heels, feeling oddly meek and timid. She had always, of course, been a properly respectful and still girl, a necessity given her station in life, but through it all she had kept to her spirit and energy. Now though, in the midst of these people, she felt oddly uncertain and bashful.

They ate a small breakfast in the already open, but ultimately empty, tavern before walking out into the streets. The market was busy and bustling, mostly travelers haggling for supplies or goods, or the goodwives of the town, bartering for food to be served on that nights dinner table. For a short time the pair wandered and walked leisurely about the market, looking over the various goods, sometimes out of simple curiosity and others to remember where to find the goods and supplies they would need once they commenced their journey.

Methaniel led them into a small tailor shop, and they began to search through the clothes and garments already sewn and made, looking for some suitable traveling clothing. Methaniel gathered up a tunic, a new cloak, two sleeved shirts, two trousers, and a heavy leather jerkin vest.

The selection of dresses were limited. Forced to act on practicality, Ahma found a dress that was suited for travel after rifling through several racks of clothing. It had a double layer of fabric through the torso and arms. It was made of a course, tough material, the color an overall boorish brown with a small beige pock pattern.

Ahma abhorred the dress from the moment she laid eyes on it. She wasn't a particularly vain woman by any means, but the dress was plain and simply hideous, with no aesthetic quality at all. On top of this, it felt like a canvas sack, and itched her terribly.

Methaniel, for his part, was not completely ignorant of her woes. "The color is...terrible," he said sympathetically. "Not you at all. And I can tell just by handling it that it must be very uncomfortable. But it will keep you warm, at least, and hold up to some road wear. It will have to do, I'm afraid..."

Ahma sighed and stared at the dress. "I won't have to worry about staining it."

Methaniel tried to laugh and gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze. "We'll find something better soon, I'm sure. Wear this for now. It may help you blend in, too."

Ahma knew he was right; it was practical and efficient. It would keep her warm and it would take some considerable wear and tear before it deteriorated beyond use. 

They also bought a few pairs of leggings for her and two tunics, allowing her to pick the colors and materials. The merchant seemed puzzled by this; most frowned upon women folk wearing anything but skirts or dresses, and that a servant was being allowed to do so seemed passing strange. They also bought her a long cotton nightgown. It had a modest cut, and would be fairly warm at night. It was soft and the material breathed well; it would be nice to sleep in, she decided. At least she wouldn't have to wear her frumpy brown dress to sleep.

As Methaniel watched her shifting through the clothing in search of leggings, he noticed a great deal of white feathers spotting the blue ones of the underside of her wings. He suggested they buy some dye, if they could find some, and it wasn't too terribly expensive. Ahma's pleasure with this suggestion was obvious from the smile lighting her face.

They searched seven stores before deciding to wait until the next village to try. They simply weren't having any luck.

"We'll find some dye soon enough," he told her with the glint of promise in his eyes.

"I'm certain we will, Master Merie," she agreed. "What are we going to do now?"

Methaniel grinned at her. "I don't know about you, but I'm ready for a bath."

"That would be wonderful," she nodded. She'd been looking forward to just that all day.

On their way back to the inn they noticed a small shop that appeared to be a collection of odd, hard to find items. Shrugging, they stepped inside and were promptly greeted by an elderly gentleman.

"Good day, Sir. Can I help you today?"

"Would you happen to carry...well, feather dye?" Methaniel asked.

"Hmm," the old man murmured, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "I do have a few...just a small selection, you see...but you won't find even a modest few such as these anywhere else in town."

Methaniel nodded and glanced at Ahma. "Let's see the selection."

The old man brought out four bottles. There was a white, as well as a dark red, a brown, and a green.

Methaniel turned to Ahma, his brow raised questioningly. "Any of these?"

Ahma tired her best not to let her disappointment and worries show. She knew what the white dye was for, but buying that as well as a new shade would be far too expensive. If she bought one of the colored dyes alone, it would mix with the brown already in her feathers and turn them a putrid brown. "The brown would be okay."

Methaniel's face dropped in surprise. "You really want the brown? It...doesn't seem like you."

She shrugged. He pattered her arm, "Ahma, what is it?"

"This is the only color I can use. The others will turn my wings brown anyway." 

Methaniel glanced at they dyes and turned his attention to the elderly shop owner. "What does the white dye do?"

"That is a special dye that strips color away. Most of the winged folk use it to change colors without making the colors mix," he replied.

"Okay...I'll take one of those, and..." Methaniel glanced at Ahma, "A green?"

Ahma shook her face, her eyes wide with alarm. "Oh no, both of those together are far too expensive, Master Merie! You've spent too much already."

"Nonsense," Methaniel smiled. "Pick or I'll pick for you."




Rising Ch. 09



Methaniel was awake and about before her, leaving Ahma to wake to a cold, empty bed. Her heart froze. She trembled, feeling a strange panic and ache inside, then calmed suddenly as her eyes fell upon his beloved sword propped up against the wall. He would never have left without it.

The Wingling rose and tried to dispel the wave of panic fully. She quickly donned the new light gray wool britches and soft green tunic that they’d bought. They complimented the lovely shade of her wings. She brushed and re-braided her hair before arranging her wings neatly, preening the feathers into place. Then she softly sang her morning prayers, doing her best to keep her voice down enough so she didn’t bring any of the other patron’s attention. She took simple pleasure in this ritual and allowed it to relax and energize her for the day to come.

She began to walk outside when the door swung open. 

“Master,” she breathed, and she suddenly realized just how badly she had been crushed by the thought of him being gone.

Methaniel gazed on her in silent wonder. Though he was no stranger to the sight of her, he found himself amazed by her all the same. Her rich hair drawn into a thick, tight chestnut braid, sliding down her back and between her wings and down to her buttocks, the light emerald of the underside of her wings facing him, their brilliant colors fully settled into the soft feathers. Her flawless face stared up at him, her huge, beautiful chocolate eyes shining softly. Her pursed lips suddenly seemed so soft, so welcoming, so inviting…

He smiled at her, warm and sincere. The girl filled him with a feeling of life and vitality he’d never known with any other. She was a marvel in his eyes.

She smiled back, “Good morning, Master Merie. Did you sleep well?”

“Very well,” he nodded. “And you?”

“Of course,” she replied.

“I picked up a few last minute supplies and had the stable prepare Lanion,” he told her. He handed her two thick scarves. “Your brothers told me once that Winglings use things like these to keep the base of their wings warm.”

“Yes, thank you,” Ahma smiled widely. “I’ll definitely use these.”

“I also stocked a lot of salt for us, and some bread. I bought some extra travel rations should hunting be thin. Are you ready to leave?”

“Yes, Master,” she nodded.

But she wasn’t. Even he could tell. She didn’t want to travel to the next city. Since he told her of his plans to find her a place to work and stay in the next city, she’d grown quiet. Something plagued her mind, even if she tried to remain cheerful. Methaniel guessed that she was worried about the same thing he was: her safety. Finding a decent place to live for her would be difficult. He would never be sure her new Master wouldn’t prostitute her or possibly rape her, or any other myriad abuses. Life for a servant in Rojinla was grim at best. But they would find something, he was sure, perhaps a church, or one of the rare households who cared for their servants and workers properly.

Outside they found two stable hands trying to keep Lanion from bolting. Methaniel called to his horse. Lanion snorted at him.

The Master loaded their supplies onto the horse while Ahma adjusted her cloak. She watched the animal defy the man at every turn. The normally obedient horse could be very stubborn and rebellious when the mood struck him, apparently. As Methaniel moved to place a bag of dried provisions onto the horse’s back, Lanion side stepped into him, almost knocking him over.

Annoyance burned on Methaniel’s face, but he managed to load the goods. He turned to Ahma, “Are you ready?”

“Hold on a minute!” a voice called out.

They turned to see a rolly merchant approaching them. He was middle aged and seemed to have some level of wealth, judging by the cut of his clothes, but not stunningly so. 

“The stable hands informed me this horse coupled with my mare yesterday!” the man exclaimed.

Methaniel gave Lanion a dirty look. Lanion stared out of one equine eye at him, and nickered softly. Ahma tried not to giggle.

“She’s my finest horse! I demand compensation for this!” the merchant huffed.

Methaniel turned his gaze to the pudgy man, staring him down. “I apologize, sir, for my horse’s behavior. But I’m afraid I won’t be paying you. If anything, I believe you owe me a stud fee.”

“I wasn’t trying to get my horse pregnant!” the merchant snapped. “Oh, this will cause me great trouble!”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t have her around the male horses when she’s in heat. I’m not discussing this further. If your mare does have a foal, you’ll make up greatly in profit with such a horse,” Methaniel told him.

The merchant continued to argue, but Methaniel mounted his steed, then helped Ahma up in front of him. As they rode off, they could hear the merchant turn his anger on the stable hand for their ‘carelessness’.

Methaniel patted the Lanion’s neck, grinning widely. “You old bastard.”

The horse, already seeming in a better mood after getting out of the cramped stable, neighed loudly.

“Ah, I almost forgot,” Methaniel said, glancing down at the girl sitting before him. He reached behind him and ruffled briefly through their supplies, then put an item in the Wingling’s lap. Her eyes widened. It was a sheathed blade, a short sword if she guessed correctly.

“Unsheath it,” Methaniel instructed. He smiled proudly as she reverently slid the blade free. It was a fairly wide blade with a wicked, gleaming edge. It was smooth, unused and unmarred, but undoubtedly keen. It tapered into a fine point, perfect for stabbing and thrusting, though the blade was made to be a cutting weapon. The hilt was comfortable and easy to grasp, and a wide crossguard swept slightly upward.

“Th-this is mine?” she stuttered, gaping at the blade. Methaniel smiled and without even realizing his actions, reach with one large hand to brush back a stray lock of hair from her face. He absently marveled at the silken softness of the strands.

Ahma stared at the weapon for a long moment before she realized he’d touched her hair. She smiled softly. “Thank you, Master. I’ll do my best to learn how to use this well.”

Inwardly, she was somewhat nervous. The sword was so sharp it could probably slice through bone. It also thrilled her, as she hoped this meant he planned to keep her with him some time longer. He did have to teach her how to use the sword, after all.

They rode on through the day, traveling south. Methaniel had bought a crude but functional map before they’d left. He planned to travel through the plain lands and into the hillier regions, avoiding the major roads just in case any eyes were looking for them. About two weeks from Sefar was the major city of Fernum. 

It was a mostly eventless journey. Methaniel hunted as they rested the horse, and occasionally at night as Ahma prepared the fire. Prey fluctuated in this area, both in variety and number, mainly consisting of small game such as raccoon, hare, and wild squirrels. They ate a steady mix of the kills Methaniel brought in and the travel rations they’d bought.

During the two weeks of travel Ahma’s training became more intense. They used the scarves to bind her breasts tightly down to her chest. It wasn’t comfortable at all, and made it a bit hard to breath at first, but it kept her bosom out of the way and securely pressed to her body. That, combined with her new trousers and tunics, allowed her to move much more freely and without worry. 

Methaniel began training her in stamina and conditioning exercises. In the afternoons they ran for some time, working and traveling all at once. By the third day, Ahma was exhausted, and her body ached all over. It was a strenuous, hard, uncomfortable regiment and she plummeted into sleep each night. Methaniel pushed her and insisted that she give it her all. He was never cruel but always stern, making her go beyond what she imagined she could every day. He became somewhat gruff when he trained her, though not unkind; he simply slipped back into his role as a soldier when they trained. He was tireless, always demanding more, and if Ahma hadn’t had an appreciation for his fitness before, she did now.

In addition to her conditioning exercises, Ahma’s strength exercise continued every night after they’d made camp and before they ate. It was more intense than ever. They found rocks for her to lift and carry, working to make her muscles stronger and tougher. She trained in blade maneuvers in the evening as well with both her dagger and her short sword. She was able to practice with them in a more active and mobile manner. Her sword arm became heavy and exhausted day by day.

She was, however, showing definite progress. Methaniel drilled her through her sword maneuvers, and after the first week of running, she was able to keep pace with him for almost twice as she initially could before having to rest from shortness of breath.

Through it all, Ahma felt such a mix of emotions it was near overwhelming. She was proud of how well she was doing in her training; it was difficult, and painful, but she knew it would serve her well in the future. She was also happy, truly happy. She was so close to Master Methaniel and able to spend time with him, to learn more about him. The more she knew him, the deeper in love with him she fell. She had accepted this; there was really no way she could deny that she loved him, not to herself, at least. 

This love brought pain as well, however. She knew it would never be reciprocated. Oh, Methaniel cared for her, she knew. He showed his own form of kindness and caring to her every day.

But it didn’t matter. They were too different; their stations made any relationship unacceptable, and their race would make things difficult as well. Ahma had no problem with the thought of mating with a Human; she wasn’t so sure Methaniel felt the same about Winglings. And besides, he cared for her, yes, but she highly doubted he felt the feelings beyond caring that she was experiencing for him. 

And he was leaving her. Though she hoped he would let her stay with him for some time further, he spoke gently but firmly about finding her a peaceful, safe place to live in Fernum. She understood, of course; he was trying to protect her. In a way, that warmed her heart, that he would care enough to try to ensure her safety. But that warmth did nothing to sooth the ache at the separation looming just ahead.

The days passed, one fading into the next. They were filled with tough hours and times of learning. When Ahma wasn’t training, she occasionally rode astride Lanion’s back, sitting in front of Master Methaniel, but most often she flew overhead, scouting for any sign of life around them. Methaniel still feared possible pursuit, and she was keenly searching for any hint of hunters trailing them. She also helped Methaniel search out suitable camping sights, and watched for any sign of settlement or habitation along their way to Fernum.

They came upon the city a few days later than Methaniel had estimated, but given their early camping each day in order for Ahma to train and Lanion to rest, it wasn’t a great surprise. They arrived late in the afternoon, as the sun was beginning to dip toward the horizon and gradually turn the sky a brilliant orange.

Fernum wasn’t as large a city as Durinum, but it was massive compared to Sefar. It was walled in, though its walls were much more modest than those of their home city. The buildings were tall and largely made of rock. It was a tough, rough town, and it’d obviously seen some battle waged on its soil before. Many buildings still bore scars from past wars, and some were entirely abandoned. A shell of a building, crumbled and broken into half formed ruin was not an entirely uncommon sight. The town had a relatively developed guard force, though they seemed more interested in putting pressure on people for bribes and causing whatever trouble they could to break their boredom than actually upholding anything passing for a law. Not one of them looked at Methaniel and Ahma twice as they entered through the north gate, Methaniel on foot beside Lanion, who carried Ahma upon his back, their façade roles put up for the public to see.

The city was a cramped place full of closed spaces with buildings bunched together. The roads were crowded with people and branched off into narrow and waste cluttered alleys. Shops were set up and scattered around, but they bypassed these, searching for a favorable inn. The folk here were even less friendly than those at Sefar, and Ahma felt her heart tightening in her chest at the thought of living in this grim and oppressive place. 

It only became worse the further into the town they went. The slave trade was strong in Fernum. Men, women, and even children were shackled and led along, poked and prodded and beaten in broad daylight by Nobles and Masters. They hurried by a market square on one side of the city, where Humans and other races sat miserable and pain filled in cages, taken out to be sold on the auction block. The sight turned Ahma’s stomach. There were prostitutes frequenting the streets, their work unhidden and advertised. But these prostitutes were not free people; all of them, mostly women and young girls, were shackled and wore slave collars, and were branded. While Ahma bore a servants mark, these slaves had been scalded by metal, leaving scarring burns in whatever pattern their owners chose. They were much more clearly shown, marking the slave’s arm, chest, and even face.

They found an inn on the west side of town, a simple district of the city that was neither slum nor upscale. The inn looked favorable, but it had no stables. Ahma was fighting to hold her tears back by the time they reached it.

“I’ll go arrange our room,” Methaniel nodded. He jerked his head toward a stable yard down the street. “Take Lanion to the stables over there and get him comfortable. I’ll be by momentarily to help you settle the payment.”

“Yes, Master,” Ahma said softly. Distracted by Ahma’s distraught and wishing to get her settled away from the ugly streets as soon as possible, Methaniel walked briskly to the inn.

The Wingling steered Lanion toward the stables with a sigh. She was horrified at the wide spread cruelty that filled this city. She couldn’t imagine staying in this place. It seemed even more horrible than Sefar. She put the horse up in the stables, making sure he was as comfortable as possible. She made sure he had plenty of hay and oats to eat and rubbed his thick neck. 

“They’ll take care of you,” she told him as she caressed and rubbed at his shining coat. A stable hand stood in the corner, ignoring her; he’d been more pleasant that the one in Sefar, likely because she had followed their plan and claimed she was a Lady, and the owner of the horse. 

A few moments later a man came sauntering into the stable yard. He was clad in a worn leather hauberk and thick trousers, and heavy wool gloves. He had a rough look about him, and his features were hawkish and sharp. A blade was strapped to his hip and his hand rested on it firmly.

He glanced around the area, his eyes falling on Ahma. He stared at her for several moments, then gave a smirk and walked over to the stable hand. The two exchanged hushed words, then the stable hand shrugged, accepted a handful of coins, and left.

Ahma tensed as the rough man approached her, smiling widely.

“Nice horse,” he commented, glancing at Lanion in his pen. The horse neighed sharply and tossed his head.

“Um…th-thank you,” Ahma stuttered. She did not like this man.

He stepped closer still, making her take a step back. Her wings fluttered nervously. He smelled of state sweat and unwashed flesh.

“Where you come from?” he asked conversationally as he reach a hand out to pat Lanion. The horse made to bite him, his blunt teeth snapping quickly for the man’s fingers. He cursed under his breath and snatched his hand away, glaring at the horse for a moment before grinning even wider.

“Sefar,” Ahma lied quickly. She tried to subtly edge away from him, but it seemed as if he shifted with her, keeping her trapped against the pen fence.

“Huh,” he chuckled. “And here I thought you were a runaway servant from Durinum.”

Ahma’s eyes flew open in alarm. She lunged to the side, trying to slip past him and run, but as soon as she moved he pounced on her, shoving her back against the fence and pinning her arms to her side.

“Let me go,” Ahma gasped, trying to push him away.

“Hah!” the man laughed, “I don’t think so, girlie. You’ve got a big bounty on your head…enough to set this merc up for the rest of his days. I dunno who wants you so bad, little bird, but I plan to deliver.”

Ahma was cold inside. She knew what this meant. Those who sought Master Methaniel knew of her, apparently, and now they wanted her as well.

She was being hunted.

“You’re mistaken, sir,” Ahma said, forcing her voice to a firm but neutral tone. “I’m not a servant, and I’m certainly not wanted by anyone.”

The man grabbed her hand and held it up, smirking and showing her the betraying marking that labeled her as a servant. She cursed silently; they’d been careless.

“That’s the mark they described, all right. Wanted posters are around, you know, for a Wingling woman with a servant mark on her hand, a house symbol of a Dragon crouched with its wings spread. 

Ahma was in trouble.

“I remembered the whole thing because of how much money was bein’ offered. But I never thought I’d actually find you!”

“My Master will not be pleased by this,” Ahma said desperately. “He’ll kill you.”

“Your Master?” the mercenary gawked, then broke out laughing. “What are you talking about? You killed him! You killed them all, and burned that place down, too! It’s all on the poster!”

“No,” Ahma whispered in horror. She was being blamed for that tragedy?

The man suddenly yanked her forward, leering down at her, his hot breath against her face. “You’re lucky, y’know. The poster says they want you alive. I’d kill you, otherwise. It’s much easier to carry you back that way.”

“Unhand me. You can still walk away,” Ahma said through gritted teeth, her voice more steady and determined than she felt.

“Walk away from what?” he barked, his grip bruising her arms. “The reward? The good life? A chance to finally get off the gods damned road and have somethin’ to call my own? I don’t think so.”

He began to drag her away. She screamed, thrashing against him and trying to slip free, but no one was about to aid her, and his grip was like a vice. She lashed at him with her wings, smacking him with them, but he shrugged such blows off and only laughed at her. He smirked down at her and released one of her arms, reaching up to run his dirty hands through her hair.

“Poster says you’re to be alive. But it doesn’t say anything about being…unspoiled.” His eyes bore into her, lustful and predatory, as his hand reached down to close around her breast.

But he’d made a mistake, a stupid mistake, in releasing one of her arms. Ahma used her free hand to reach into a small slit she’d cut in the side of her skirts, and grabbed the dagger strapped to her thigh. She wrenched it free from its sheath and slashed out, dragging the blade down the length of the man’s forearm.

He howled and released her. Ahma stumbled back and raised her dagger into a ready position. The man clutched his bleeding forearm for a moment, then snarled cruelly and pulled the long sword at his hip free. Ahma trembled. She knew her dagger would do little good against a sword such as that. Her new shortsword was still with the goods Methaniel had carried into the inn with him. She couldn’t believe, after all the caution and forethought they’d used up till this point, they’d stumbled so badly. 

“Looks like you’ll have to be spoiled and scarred!” the man growled.




Rising Ch. 09



Before he could lunge for her, a thick, wide blade suddenly exploded out of his chest cavity, protruding almost a foot from his chest wall. Blood splashed onto the stable ground.

Ahma felt a touch of alarm, but mostly relief. She sagged backward, her hand suddenly trembling around the dagger clutched in her fist.

Methaniel pulled his broadsword free as he gathered the body up in one arm. He glanced out onto the streets, feeling suddenly thankful that they were in a more-less quiet area of town. He threw the body into the alley across the road then ran back to the stables.

“Don’t mention this,” he instructed her as he wiped the blade of his sword clean and re-sheathed it.

Lanion was neighing and snorting in his pen, tossing his mane violently in agitation. His flanks rippled; he was barely containing the urge to kick his way out of the pen.

“It’s okay, calm,” Methaniel said as he reached a hand out to Lanion’s muzzle. He pat him several times. The horse snorted indignantly, but his temper began to cool.

“We’ll be back soon, my friend. Calm yourself,” Methaniel instructed, then turned and put a hand on Ahma’s shoulder, gently steering her away from the stables.

“Act casual. Nothing is wrong,” Methaniel murmured to her softly.

“Master…that man…how are we going to explain?”

“We won’t,” Methaniel replied. “No one in this city will care. He’s a mercenary…they’re not particularly well liked here. No one is. As long as we don’t state responsibility, then no one will look twice at us. In a city like this a death goes unnoticed.”

“He’s dead,” Ahma said in a shaking voice.

“I know. But it would have been him or you. I chose him.”

“He was searching for me,” Ahma murmured. “There’s wanted posters up, he said. They’re looking for a Wingling woman with the house mark.”

Methaniel nodded grimly and walked them through the inn and into their room, passing through so quickly Ahma barely got a look at their surroundings.

“I’m so sorry,” Methaniel said as soon as he shut the door behind him. Ahma sat down on the bed, shaking now. “I should never have left you alone.”

Ahma shook her head numbly. It was wrong. Everything was wrong. Soon he was going to leave her in this horrible, ugly place, and she’d be alone, without him, and now she was hunted on top of it.

Methaniel paced the room for several moments, cursing under his breath. Their room was like any other in an inn, semi-spacious and mostly empty, with a large bed and a bedside table with candles stacked on top. A chest sat at the foot of the bed and a screen ran across one of the room’s corners to provide privacy for changing. A small brick hearth sat along the far wall.

Ahma hardly noticed any of this; her heart was too heavy. She felt as if she would burst into tears any moment. Their parting weighed heavily on her and now she feared for his life. She’d not been afraid for a long time, not really; after all, the Master was with her, and she knew he would protect her. But what about in a few days, when he would surely leave Fernum, and her, behind?

The Master suddenly stopped his pacing and knelt down in front of her. He took her shaking hands in his and softly squeezed them.

“I will never leave you like that again, Ahma. I promise you this.”

“You’ll have to soon,” she said, blinking away tears. “You must continue. You have to find who did those horrible things. You’ll leave me behind.”

“No,” Methaniel said firmly, “I won’t.”

Ahma’s head jerked up to his face. She was sure her ears had deceived her.

“What?” she breathed.

“I won’t leave you alone ever again,” he repeated. “I can’t. You are hunted, and you are in very grave danger. I felt that this was true for some time…but I always hoped I could find you someplace safe to live. Now I think otherwise. I don’t know when that will happen, but it won’t be now. You won’t be safe alone anymore.

“I know I’m going into violence,” he continued, “It’s almost assured. But I would rather you be with me, where I know I can keep you safe, and I can teach you how to keep yourself safe.”

His rough fingertips caressed her small hands with infinite gentleness. “Ahma, unless you ever decide you do not will it…I will never leave or abandon you. I will always protect and guard you against harm and danger. I swear this to you.”

Ahma nodded, unable to process this. She sat on the side of the bed as Methaniel released her hands and settled the room. He put their cloaks away and started a small fire in the hearth. He came and knelt beside her. “I’m going out for a moment, Ahma…I don’t want to, but I have to.”

She looked up at him in panic, but he patted her shoulder and handed her the short sword he’d bought her. “The door locks. I’m going to take the key. Don’t allow anyone to enter, not even a maid. If anyone tries to force their way in, attack them, make them leave, whatever you have to do. If there’s more than one person, slip out the window. Fly out to the thicket of woods out the north gate we saw this afternoon. I’ll find you there.”

“Where are you going?” Ahma asked softly.

“We need supplies. And I have to check some things. Listen, Ahma, I will be quick, but until we find a way to better keep suspicion from you, you should stay hidden in here.” He squeezed her shoulder gently and looked into her eyes. “Don’t worry. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

She nodded to his words, but she felt disconnected and completely removed from herself as she bid him farewell, promised to arrange their things further, and locked the door behind him.

Taking a few moments to put their garments and supplies away, she folded their clothes into neat stacks and piled them in the chest by the bed. A small cot sat by the door on the other side of the cot, by the door, and a single blanket folded on top of it.

It occurred to Ahma then that there were two ‘beds’. The cot was hers. She had to remind herself, suddenly, that she was a servant. She was a servant. Her mind had wandered too far these last several days to think otherwise.

She sat on the floor by the fireplace, feeling a wild mix of emotions. He had sworn to never leave her, just moments ago. That promise lifted her heart and made it beat faster with joy. She would never be without him. Yet her joy was tempered with fear from what she had seen of Fernum and the attack she’d been subjected to. She was hunted. How could she ever feel safe again?

Sorrow filled her, too. She would be with him, but only ever as a servant. He would be near her tonight, but she would sleep by herself. The days of closeness and intimacy were over, it seemed. 

Her mind flicked to the thought of the slaves wearing chains, and she shuddered. He didn’t plan on putting her in shackles, did he? Of course not…even if they were to be only servant and Master, she knew he wasn’t so cruel as to do such a thing.

But the damage was done. She’d somehow harbored thoughts that, in some way, somehow, they would be together. Though she told herself several times that she never thought it would really come to anything, she knew she was lying to herself. 

With all the strees of the day, the horrors she’d seen, and her tired, clattered state of mind, Ahma burst into tears.

***

When Methaniel returned he found the Wingling girl huddled by the fireplace, crying softly. He tossed the goods he’d bought onto the bed and quickly locked the door. He sat down beside her, gathering her into his arms. He held her close and warm as she cried into his broad chest. His heart ached for her. No doubt all the trauma and horrible events of the last two months, compounded by the attack earlier that evening, had finally been too much for her. He smoothed her hair, caressing it, once again enjoying the wonderful feel of it even through his sympathy and worry for her. He continued to hold her close as she hiccupped and sobbed softly till her tears slowed and began to dry on her face. 

“Ahma?” he asked tentatively.

Ahma scooted closer to him, until he pulled her into his lap. She wiped her face with her hands, sending tear stains all about. Softly she said, “I’m sorry, Master.”

“It’s all right, Ahma. Did something happen while I was gone?”

She shook her head slightly, her eyes still staring downward. “No, Master. I arranged our things and cleaned things up, then sat for a while.”

“You didn’t have to do anything,” Methaniel said gently. “I bought some bread and cheese, and a few fruits so we can eat in our room tonight. I thought staying inside would do us both some good. I’m ready to slay half the city after seeing how they’re treating…treating the slaves.”

“I know,” she sighed. “Even the children are treated horribly. I don’t understand how people can do that…how they can hurt a child.”

Methaniel remembered the young ones, ten of them in chains, forced to drag a cart loaded with goods. Another man sold a girl, no older than twelve, to a brutish man for three hours. When the girl cried in fear and tried to cling to her master, the man beat her to the ground.

Master Methaniel rubbed her hair, feeling its texture, better than the softest linens. “Maybe some people just don’t have hearts. Or souls. Would that I had the power to change these things.”

She shuttered and pressed her face to his chest. “Would…you really have left me here?”

“No,” Methaniel shook his head. “I began to have doubts in Sefar. After what I saw today, I realized there wouldn’t be a safe place in this town for you. And now I believe I will only ever know you are safe if you are with me.”

She smiled softly. A strange, content happiness filled her, chasing away all the negativity she’d been dwelling on. Just being in his arms broke through her despair. She knew he would protect her. She knew he wouldn’t leave her. And she somehow knew, by his closeness, by the way he held her and caressed her hair, that she was not to be a simple servant. 

What part of his life would she play? She was his servant, certainly…she still took pride in serving him and caring for him, and tending to his needs. But she was also, if nothing else, a friend, she felt. Beyond that…?

She turned her gaze up to his face. A small, serene smile touched her lips as she took in the sight of him. Her eyes sparkled in the light from the fire, shimmering off the tiny droplets of water in her lashes.

Then, before she could stop herself, she leaned up and gave Methaniel a soft, small kiss. It was simple, gentle. He barely had time to tell how her lips felt through his surprise before she pulled away and reburied her head into his broad chest.

“Thank you, Master Merie.”

He rubbed the back of her head, still surprised. “You’re welcome, Ahma. Are you ready to eat?”

“Yes, I am,” she agreed.

Methaniel brought the satchel of food to where they sat by the fire. He handed Ahma a waterskin and a piece of green fruit. She took a drink. By now her eyes had mostly dried, but tear stains glinted on her face in the yellow light. Somehow, they made her all the more lovely.

As he took a bite of some cheese, she suddenly asked, “What else did you get?”

He chuckled softly. “I almost forgot.”

He opened the bag on the bed and pulled out a small pair of gloves. He handed them to her.

They were a pale green color, slender and smooth, with small, triangular flaps at the cuffs to cover her wrist. As she felt them, she realized they were some kind of soft, supple leather. They were the nicest gloves she’d ever seen.

Her eyes widened and she looked up at him in surprise. “You…got these for me?”

“We have to cover your marking,” he answered, then winked softly. “Besides, I told inn keeper you were from a wealthy Wingling family, so you should look the part at least a bit.”

Ahma blinked for a moment, then burst into a fit of laughter. “That cot!” she giggled. “It’s for you!”

Methaniel broke into a grin. “I suppose it is, if you plan on banishing me to it.”

“Oh, Master, I could never do that. I’ll sleep there so you can have the nice bed.”

He took one look at the cot, then shook his head. “Absolutely not. The cot by the door is for the bodyguard, to prevent attackers from entering.”

“I understand, Master Merie, but you still get the nice bed,” she insisted.

He smiled at her. “Why are we discussing this? We’ll just keep each other warm as usual. Simple as that.”

She smiled shyly back at him. “All right. Thank you, Master Merie. I’m very lucky. You have been so kind to me…”

“You are more than deserving of such kindness,” he replied as he stripped off his shirt and climbed into the bed. Ahma blushed softly, lowering her eyes so that she would not stare at his muscled form as she knew she wanted to. He had not before slept in such a way, as it was usually too cold, but now with the fire crackling and warming the room, and the many blankets upon the bed, she supposed it was warm enough for him to sleep however he was comfortable. It was going to be…difficult to sleep, perhaps. She grabbed her nightgown and stepped behind the screen in the corner to change. She emerged looking beautiful and alluring even in the simple, modest gown. She snuggled into him as he held an arm out to her. She was no longer hesitating or anxious about the implications of such closeness. Now she simply enjoyed his warmth.

Though both of them felt there was more to say, they faded off into a comfortable silence, simply enjoying each other’s pleasant company. 

Methaniel gazed down at the Wingling girl pressed to his chest. She breathed smoothly, evenly, falling into a peaceful sleep in his powerful arms. The Nobleman idly reached down to brush a strand of hair from her face. He felt her smooth body pressing to his, her supple curves against him, her generous bosom, just how large and plentiful he could only guess, lightly crushed against his side. He shivered at the thought of it. Images and fantasies played through his mind, the feel of her enormous breasts, a feature he admittedly sought in a woman, her sensual curves and smooth flesh. He wondered if the skin was as pale and creamy all over her body as it was on her face and arms. He shivered slightly and tightened his arms about her as she stirred gently. She smiled in her sleep and nuzzled closer into him.

His mind thought of all the pleasures her flesh must surely offer, the delights of her slender form and bountiful curves…he sighed softly and shut his eyes, trying to force his mind elsewhere. His muscles bunched against silken skin and she pressed her body closer still. She seemed almost too good to be true. Doubtless she had a glorious body, one out of a dream, sensual and highly erotic, though she remained innocent and angelic in her actions. Her flawless face, her neat upturned nose, her huge, innocent, shining brown eyes, her delicate cheeks and rounded face, her full soft pursed lips… all harmoniously blended to create a perfect work of timeless art. 

He leaned back, settling into the bed more fully, his mind drifting as he slowly slipped into sleep. Her body was certainly enticing, but her gentle and kind soul her sharp and intelligent mind all made her the more alluring. Her personality was unique and her spirit was high, her heart gentle and compassionate. Those set her far apart from other women he had encountered, and were perhaps the most prominent things that attracted him to the girl.

The Nobleman dozed, falling into pleasant, intense dreams of just what wonders the Wingling woman might have to offer.

***

In the morning, after a brief breakfast Methaniel gathered himself and headed out into the city.

“I won’t be long,” he assured Ahma. “I need to gather some information. Perhaps I can find what has been going on in Durinum and just how hard they are trying to find us. You can walk around the inn if you’d like, you’re registered as a minor noble so you shouldn’t have any problems. If something happens, do as we planned last night. Wear your gloves and keep your weapons on your body.

“Just be careful,” he said at last, realizing he was babbling. “If you need some fresh air, I’m sure Lanion would enjoy your company. He’s taken quite a liking to you. He’s more tolerant of you than me these days.”

Methaniel chuckled and reached down to squeeze her shoulder softly and took her hand into his other one. “I won’t be long, I swear to you. I don’t want to leave at all, but where I will search for information will be… unpleasant.”

Ahma nodded slowly, understanding and grateful despite her nervousness. “Please hurry back to me, Master Merie. This place scares me,” she whispered softly. 

Methaniel bent down, and lightly kissed her forehead, murmuring soft comforts before quickly stepping out of the room, eager to finish his business and get back before the Wingling girl should worry too much.

***

“Hurry up,” Methaniel barked. 

The shady, sallow skinned man glared darkly at him but remained silent as he slinked into the run down shack of a building. Methaniel knew he would return, hopefully with some useful information.

He’d been directed to this dark corner of the city after asking around in the local pubs and watering holes. People tentatively pointed his way here. While these folk were hardly trustworthy, he was fairly sure he had intimidated the doorman enough to convince him of the stupidity of trying to pull something. Besides, the promise of the funds he provided should be enough to get him ‘quality’ information.

His mind began wandering again. It settled on the all-too brief feel of soft, silken, plump lips pressed lightly to his cheek. He had been surprised, but far from displeased, by Ahma’s kiss. On the contrary, for the brief contact with Ahma’s pink lips served to make him wonder what other pleasures they could bring…

The Nobleman mentally kicked himself. But he couldn’t seem to help it; the girl plagued his thoughts endlessly of late, and he seemed more and more to wonder what possibilities could be had with one was gloriously different and exotic as she. Though he was fairly certain of the innocence of her kiss, he had begun to wonder…

He snapped back to reality again as the shack door opened. The Nobleman dropped a few coins into the outstretched hand. The ruffian inside narrowed his eyes.

“The rest when I get the information I seek,” Methaniel stipulated firmly. The man spat at his feet, but his tongue suddenly became loose as Methaniel’s hand came down to grip the hilt of his sword.

“Carimshaw, to the south and three miles east o’ the road. Information’s better there. We don’t know nothin’ bout no Durinum nobles. That’s all I got.”

Methaniel cursed softly as the door slammed in his face. He shook his head, scowling away his anger. At least he had a lead, some lead, however minor it was. He turned on his heals and headed back for the inn.

***

Ahma headed straight for the stables the moment Methaniel left; he’d been right, she did need a breath of fresh air. She wore the hideous brown dress, though it stood at odds with the fine gloves she wore. Then again, she was also wearing a cloak too large for her that sat awkwardly on her wings, and a short sword strapped to her hip. She probably looked rather…eclectic. She probably fit the impression of a crazy Wingling Noble quite well. Her dagger was once again strapped to her thigh, hidden away in the folds of her skirts.

At the stable the stable hand, one different from yesterday, greeted her and showed her to Lanion, but otherwise took little notice of her. There didn’t seem to be any concern for the blood stain sparsely covered over with straw in the middle of the stable grounds. Then again, now that she looked, Ahma noticed several stains of a suspiciously similar nature.

Lanion stood in his small pen, furiously chewing on the fence railing. Apparently he thought this a clever way to revenge himself upon the stable in general. Ahma slipped between the fence rails. Normally she wouldn’t have fit because of her wings, but Lanion seemed to have the ‘jumper’ pen with extra high fences.




Rising Ch. 09



Lanion nudged her shoulder as she stood. She patted his nose. “Hello to you too. I suppose you weren’t too happy with what happened yesterday, huh?”

Lanion snorted and kicked a rail. Ahma smiled and rubbed his neck. “I thought so. I’m not worried, though. I’m safe with you.”

Lanion began to chew the fence again. Ahma sighed and smirked softly. “You’re going to ruin your teeth.”

A man walked into the stables from the small shack they did business out of and glanced around. He spotted Ahma and walked over. He was short and lean and had a relatively well groomed appearance. Ahma tensed.

“Excuse me, my Lady? Is this your horse?”

“Yes,” Ahma answered hesitantly, deciding her answer was close enough to the truth.

“He wouldn’t happen to be for sale, would he?” the man ventured.

“Um…no, I couldn’t sell him,” she replied.

“Before you make a final decision,” the man spoke, “I’m prepared to offer you a rich sum. I have much wealth, and I would gladly spend a generous portion of it to own such a horse.”

The man seemed surprisingly honest, and he didn’t appear armed. Still, Ahma crept closer to Lanion, feeling safer near the massive horse. “I’m afraid he’s not for sale,” she repeated. “This breed is unique. They will obey only those who have reared them from foalhood.”

The man seemed confused. “Interesting…but I don’t particularly understand. I saw a man riding it earlier.”

Ahma thought fast. “Yes, that man was my escort and horse master. He helped to raise the horse. The horse obeys no other but we two. He’s unable to do otherwise, I’m afraid.”

Lanion gave her a dirty look.

“Really now?” the man murmured, nodding slowly.

Ahma continued to talk to the man for some time. She tried to end the conversation several times, but he seemed intent on talking forever. Finally he stopped asking her questions, which relieved her as she finally didn’t have to make up answers anymore.

He looked at her and said slowly, “I am a Duke from a country south of here…Vetru, it is called. Perhaps…you would like to visit some time?

Ahma paused. This was becoming somewhat ridiculous.

“I will have to check with my m…father. But he hopefully won’t mind.”

He smiled. “I would be delighted to have you.”

Lanion snorted and Methaniel appeared around the corner. The Master took one look at the man and began to pull his sword as he snuck up behind him.

Ahma announced, “Ah, there you are bodyguard. I was wondering where you’d wandered off to.

The strange Noble turned to find Methaniel, sword drawn, giving Ahma a dirty look. He hastily bid her farewell and walked from the stables.

“Who was that?” Methaniel asked.

“He wanted to buy Lanion. I told him no, but he kept on talking. He claimed he was a Duke somewhere and would like me to visit him.”

Methaniel’s eyebrows raised. “What did you tell him?”

Ahma turned pink. “A few different things I…well, made up.”

Methaniel smirked and sheathed his blade. “You probably should try to avoid talking to people.”

“I know, but he wouldn’t go away,” she sighed.

Methaniel shook his head, realizing that Ahma didn’t seem to notice that inviting a “Noble” Lady to ones home was certainly courting. Given her soft beauty and fair composure, the poor man probably thought she was practically royalty.

Then again, given the strange blend of what she wore…

“If someone asks after you, just tell them you’re married. They’ll leave you alone. Or let Lanion bite them, whichever is quicker.”

Lanion bit the fence in reply. Ahma giggled.

“Did you find anything?” Ahma asked.

Methaniel nodded and, after patting Lanion for a moment, led her back toward the inn.

“A bit. All I really found was that we may be able to locate some information in a town to the southwest. We’ll spend a few days here and I’ll try to see if I can find any other leads.”

“Can I do anything to help?” Ahma asked.

“Yes,” Methaniel chuckled, “Keep Lanion from killing stable hands.”

Ahma laughed softly. Methaniel smiled down at her.

“If I find anything, I’ll let you know. In the meantime, try to relax and keep a low profile. Practice your dagger and sword work as well as you can in the room.”

“Yes, Master Merie,” she smiled softly. “Are you hungry?”

Methaniel nodded vigorously and elbowed her slightly. “Shall we, Mistress?”

Ahma blushed softly as she realized she’d let his title slip. “Indeed, bodyguard.”

***

After a brief lunch, Ahma went back to the room while Methaniel went back out into town to search for more information. She locked herself in and changed into one of her tunics and leggings, happy to be rid of her stuffy brown dress. Master Methaniel seemed very concerned that she spoke to the man, and she understood why, though she didn’t feel she had much of a choice. The stranger refused to acknowledge a finalizing statement.

Ahma sat by the fire for some time, mostly playing with her hair. She braided it around the front of her head, almost like a band, then left the rest down. It curled in every direction.

Master Methaniel promised to keep her by his side, always. That was a strong vow he made, but she believed him. He had more conviction than anyone she had ever met, and he was serious about his word.

She wondered, though, how he really felt about her. She couldn’t help it, no matter how she tried to tell herself it didn’t matter, that he was a Master and she a servant, and no matter what, nothing could come of it. She tried to tell herself that he was simply being kind because it was his way…but sometimes he was more than kind. Sometimes he was warm, and caring, and tender…and he looked at her in just such a way. Even as inexperienced and unknowing as she was, she felt that gaze had to mean something. Perhaps he cared for her more than it seemed. It certain was possible…they spent much time together, very close, his arms around her…and he hadn’t been the least upset by the liberty of her kiss last night. Did he have feelings for her?

She needed to find out. 

Her face was serious with thought as she ran an idea through her head. It might work…but the meaning would probably be lost, on a Human. But then again, the Master was intelligent…

It was worth a try, she decided. She would let him know of her feelings, her desire, her love, in a tradition of her people. She would have to see how he reacted. Perhaps he wouldn’t react at all, who knew? If he didn’t understand, it wouldn’t upset her. Master Methaniel was knowledgeable in Wingling ways, for a Human, but he still might not understand.

But…if he rejected her, it would likely break her heart. She loved him, she knew that for a certainty. He was the man she had always wanted, even before she’d realized she wanted a mate to begin with. He was caring, strong, kind, and exciting. She admired him and all the positive qualities he showed, from his gentle touch to his unwavering sense of justice.

Ahma felt a swell of excitement. He seemed fond of her…more than fond of her. She hoped this would go well. She risked much with this, but she couldn’t bear to contain her feelings for him anymore. At night her heart grew weak and the valley of her legs warm and moist as he drew near. She had barely been able to stop herself last night at such a simple kiss.

The Wingling girl jumped at the knock at the door. She rose and cracked the door open, then sighed in relief and let Master Methaniel entered. He shook his head, a tight, hard look on his handsome face as he unbelted his sword and propped it against the wall.

“Damn street hustlers trying to cheat me,” he grumbled. 

His face lost much of its irritation as his eyes fell on his companion, smiling softly at him in amusement.

“Hello, Ahma. I’ve never seen you wear your hair like that. Very regal,” he commented with a playful wink. “Quite Lady like. The court women will likely adapt it immediately as the latest fashion.”

“I wonder if they’ll adopt the frump brown dress look as well.”

He laughed. “Are you ready for dinner? The tavern is starting to get busy.”

Ahma nodded. “Yes, I suppose we should eat before it gets late.”

They went to the tavern and had a pleasant meal. The food was good, especially for how low the price was. Their bar maid sold them the house special wine for half price, though neither were particularly sure why. Ahma only drank half her glass, fearing what effects the strong alcohol could have on her body. It seemed to do little, however. She wished she had partaken more from the sweet stuff; perhaps it would relax her enough for what was to come.

Methaniel went to tend to the fire when they entered the room, throwing some logs on to chase away the chill. He turned to Ahma. The Wingling girl was fiddling with her hair.

“Are you ready to change?” he asked.

“Master Merie, can you help me with something?” she asked. Her back was turned to him as she sat upon the bed.

“Of course,” he nodded, watching her.

“Some of my hair has caught in my feathers…can you help me get them back in order, please?”

Methaniel stood, motionless, staring at her for what seemed like a long, long time. The Nobleman had an idea of what a request like this was truly about…piecing together conversations with her on the Wingling ways, as well as things her brothers had told him, gave him a pretty clear picture. Winglings did not allow those outside their family to touch their wings…especially someone of the opposite sex. And for a Wingling Maiden to suggest such a thing…there were implications to such a request.

He drew closer and slowly sat on the bed behind her. There was no hair stuck in the feathers.

The Wingling woman stretched her wings out more fully, offering them to him. She offered that which was most precious to her, her feathers, her wings, her bond with sky and air and all things graceful and beautiful. It was a precious gift she put forth to him in many, many ways. She showed her full, complete trust in him, and her submission to his care. 

Methaniel’s fingertips, calloused and thick, caressed along her sleek, smooth feathers in a light, soothing touch that gently smoothed the feathers into place. He shivered unconsciously, marveling at the soft, perfect feel of them.

“You…are certain?” he whispered into her ear.

Suddenly he was close, very close. His heart beat against her back and his warmth washed over her body. She could feel the solidness of him.

“Yes, Master…I am certain,” she breathed thickly. Somehow, she didn’t sound nervous. She was thankful for that.

Several moments passed in which he continued to smooth and caress her wings, letting her feel his gentle, loving touch and understand that he would not rush nor harm her.

His arms were around her, embracing her in a way that was at once familiar and foreign. She’d spent much time in his arms over the last several months. But this was not the comforting, friendly embrace meant to warm and sooth. This was intimate, erotic, and encompassing. His hands, his huge powerful hands, slid around the front of her body, stroking her flat belly and sides. They dipped under the hem of her tunic, tracing the soft, formed lines of her abdomen. 

She giggled at his touch, unable to help herself as she relaxed and enjoyed this new sensation. His hands felt comforting yet highly arousing. She sighed softly and leaned back against him. Her wings made this slightly awkward for a moment before she adjusted them in a way that allowed her to fit against his body perfectly. 

Methaniel’s lips were upon her neck, placing soft kisses on her silken flesh before gently putting light suction on her skin. His tongue and lips caressed and tasted her. His hands, massaging and caressing her tight, toned flesh, slowly slip up her supple body.

She pressed her head against him, turning to one side to give him more access to her sweet slender neck. His kisses sent chills down her spine and sparked nerves between her thighs. At the same time her heart began to beat very fast. She was sure this was what she wanted, but through her excitement she felt a twinge of nervousness. As his fingers crept under her shirt and up her stomach the hot, churning feeling in her grew.

His mouth became more insistent, tasting and slowly licking at her soft, hot flesh. His hands rose beneath her shirt, gently cupped the most prominent and generous of her sexual assets, and squeezed.

Ahma let out a noise, a mixture of giggle, moan, and surprised gasp. His hands continued to squeeze about her breasts, feeling the plentiful orbs. They were very soft and gave to his fingers easily. It seemed to him he could sink to more than a knuckle deep if he wanted. It didn’t hurt her; it only made her swoon more. He was amazed, confounded as to how such a soft, supple, fleshy bosom could remain so shapely and firm, holding to their perfectly rounded teardrop form. They were quite heavy in his hands, possessing a delicious weight and warmth.

His fingers moved across the ridge of her areola. Even crinkled inward they felt quite wide. Both her nipples were rigid with excitement and were large enough even for his fingers.

Ahma gasped in air, squeaking when he first squeezed her nipples. She felt a heavy splash of warmth between her legs. Her wings twitched and jerked slightly with her pleasure.

Methaniel gathered her into his arms and turned her to face him, settling her slender, light body on his lap. His lips pressed tightly to hers. One of his hands reached around her to stroke and caress the small of her back, his strong fingers working out the nervous tension. His other hand busily, gently, yet firmly fondled the juicy globe of her right breast. Despite the huge size of his hands he could only fit a small portion of the enormous bosom into his grip. His fingers tweaked and twisted at her thick thumb-sized pink nipple and tugged at it slightly. His arms were warm and strong around her, the heavily toned muscle rippling against her.

Passionately he kissed her, strong yet gentle and wanting without being overly demanding. His hand rubbed her fleshy breast in slow, sensual circles, lightly pulling at them as he squeezed. Ahma groaned into his kiss, her own hands sliding along his body, feeling the power of him, the warmth that radiated from his tight flesh. Her hand rose up to his head to slide through his thick hair of burnished copper. She reveled in his attention and she lightly slid her thighs together in unconscious pleasure.

Methaniel shifted again, gently laying her onto her back, waiting for her to adjust her wings. He gazed down at her, smiling lovingly as he slowly pulled the tunic over the swollen mounds of her bosom.

The Master took in the sight of her perfect torso. The intensive training she’d been undergoing for the last month or so had taken her already tight, slender form and shaped her into glorious fitness. She had all the softness and delicacy of a woman, yet her flesh was taught and firm around her frame, and her belly was lined with the feminine but well formed grooves along her toned abs. Her skin was even more pale and creamy than that of her face.

Her breasts were generous even for a Wingling maiden, by far the largest he’d ever seen. They were superbly rounded, full and perky and high on her chest, with a deliciously deep valley of cleavage. They were pale indeed, with thick, large nipples of a rose-pink color, and the widest, most alluring areolas the Nobleman had ever laid eyes on. The twin globes bounced and jiggled about, flopping softly, sensually as they sprang free of the tunic, which had somehow been squishing them down and holding them back in a futile attempt to restrain them.

Methaniel’s began to gently, sensually palm and massage Ahma’s aching tits, watching his huge fingers sink in to nearly half way to his second knuckle in the pliant flesh of Ahma’s tits. He marveled at the way the flesh popped back into perfect rounded shape as he pulled his fingers away.

Ahma sighed happily at the attention, arching her back to press her breasts into his hands. She smiled as he stared at her and savored his ministrations to her sensitive bosom.

Methaniel helped her sit up to fully remove her tunic. He gently guided her wings out of the slits in the back, which pleased her. Then she boldly kissed him, a firm, open mouthed kiss as he tossed the shirt aside. Her lust and need rose, guiding her into motions she didn’t fully understand but heartily embraced anyway. She sucked on his lips, separating them and sliding her tongue into his mouth. He felt warm and quite nice as he suckled on her tongue. To him her licks and wildly moving tongue offered nothing but pleasure and excitement.

As their kiss broke Methaniel pushed her back down to the bed, smiling at her. He lowered his head and traced a trail down her gorgeous body with his lips till he reached the deep, long valley of her cleavage. 

Methaniel’s tongue slid slowly but firmly down the crevice of bosom flesh then back up, playing his mouth at the upper slopes of her juicy orbs. He licked along the plump flesh, every now and then pausing to kiss or suck. The Nobleman took a large mouthful of her soft bosom flesh between his lips, licking and sucking at it before pulling back to gaze at her shining saliva coated orbs. 

His tongue found and began to lick her wide areola, loving the taste of her flesh as he lavished attention on the pink disk. Then his lips closed around her thick, throbbing nipple and suckled it firmly. Ahma moaned with joy and pleasure. She wiggled underneath him, sliding her body along his. His cock felt hard pressed against her abdomen, a stiff feeling even her dreams couldn’t match. It pressed against her, straining the fabric of his trousers.

She tugged on his shirt. Methaniel complied, peeling it from his body and tossing it off the bed. She shivered as his hot torso came to rest on hers. His warmth spread through her as never before. His muscles rippling directly against her sensitive flesh made her writhe.

His mouth returned to her heated bosom and sucked her stiff nipple back in. One large hand reached up and squeezed her free tit, kneading it and pulling at it gently as his tongue lashed against the nipple in his mouth. He wrapped his tongue around the huge nub and flicked it firmly. His free hand ran down her slender side. Her breasts and nipples tasted sweet. He gently pulled at the one in his mouth with his teeth and began to lightly, lovingly nibble at it.

One of Ahma’s hands found its way back to his head and tangled with his hair, swirling it around. She rubbed his scalp, a gentle approval of his actions. Methaniel glanced up at her. She smiled down at him, moaning lightly as she gave his head a small shove into her cleavage. 

He released the breast he’d been sucking and watched as it bounced and wobbled back onto her chest. The Nobleman shifted and sat up, smiling warmly as his hand slid down her body. His eyes gazed into hers as he slipped his hand under the waist of her trousers. He caressed her legs tenderly, gently squeezing the firm yet supple flesh of her inner thighs.

Ahma’s heart fluttered in her chest. Never before had a man’s hands gotten this close to her womanhood. 

Methaniel’s hands were gentle and careful on her skin. Perhaps he could sense her nervousness, or maybe he was simply savoring the experience. It didn’t matter to Ahma which was the case; she was lost in a world of jittery excitement. She couldn’t wait for what was to come. Part of her couldn’t believe it.

He pulled her leggings down. The milky skin of her belly gave way past her cute little belly button to the cut of her thighs. Nestled between them lay a plump, full, hairless mound. Unlike some Wingling, there were no feathers gracing her pussy, leaving it bald and naked entirely. 

The mound had a plump top that spread into long, full, engorged lips. It had a small dimple at the top where the lips met. They parted slightly, giving a peek into the soft pink inside.




Rising Ch. 10



Methaniel woke to find the Wingling girl's naked form pressed tightly to him, cuddled into his arm and resting against his body. Her flesh was warm and soft and the enormous curvature of her bosom squished against his hard torso. It was all he could do to simply control himself in that moment. He looked down at her, smiling softly as he watched the rise and fall of her bosom and the light play of a smile curving her soft lips. Her dark, silken hair shone richly in the sunlight beaming through the window.

Ahma was a wonder, and last nights activities had only further impressed that fact upon him. He had been with a virgin before, once. It had been an awkward and difficult thing. Though she was willing, the girl had been timid, extremely nervous, and a bit frightened. While he had been exceedingly gentle, likely more so than any other man would be, she had still experienced pain and he had felt guilty. This time was different. While he had been able to tell Ahma held some nervousness, she had nonetheless been welcoming, encouraging, and had clearly enjoyed herself, something that had only driven his lust on.

Her body had been perfection, the most thrilling and enjoyable woman he had ever been with by far. Her flesh was soft and supple, yet firm and tight, her bosom a wonder beyond words. Her womanhood was likewise lovely to look upon and joy itself to experience. He had enjoyed the hairlessness of her pussy, something he had experienced only once before, and then with one of the army whores. And her moisture...her cunt had oozed honey, leaking it liberally and soaking his cock thoroughly. This was a good thing, considering just how incredibly tight and firmly her passage had wrapped around him. Had she not been so wet, he cringed to think of what the friction would have done to her, and even to him.

Ahma shifted slightly and her wings lightly brushed over his body. She nuzzled into him, even in her sleep, and her hand pressed more tightly into the thick muscle of his chest. Methaniel smiled wider. She was lovely, beautiful, perfect. She was in so many ways a contradiction; she was innocent yet, as she had displayed last night, wanting and lustful. She was gentle and kind, yet brave, and learning to handle a weapon faster than some soldiers he had known. She was subservient and seemed to embraced her role as a servant, yet wasn't afraid to speak her mind and express herself.

Before he even realized what he was doing, Methaniel bent down and pressed his lips to hers. Ahma's eyes opened slowly, and then she smiled, softly returning the kiss as she pressed more tightly into him.

The Master pulled back, knowing if he didn't he would never get out of bed that day. He smiled down at her, tightening his powerful arm around her waist and pulling her close as he kissed her forehead.

"Good morning, Master Merie," Ahma smiled beautifully up at him. Her smile lit her whole face and made her beautiful and angelic features all the more lovely.

"Good morning, Ahma. Did you sleep well?"

The Wingling girl nodded earnestly, and, smiling shyly, craned her neck up to kiss him on the cheek. Methaniel pulled her close, holding her tight for a moment, caressing her back lightly with his large hands. His muscles bunched and quivered against her naked flesh, and Ahma shivered happily.

Methaniel sat up and slowly rose out of bed. Ahma watched him and stretched, a smile on her face, her wings extending to their full length and fluttered in an extension of the giddy energy she was feeling. She folded her wings back and smiled lovingly at her Master.

"I have to go out again," Methaniel said as he pulled on a pair of dark green slacks. 

"I promise I won't be long," he continued upon seeing the slight droop of her shoulders. He threw on a long sleeved tunic and stepped to the bed, bending down and kissing her fully, deeply. Ahma sighed happily, and craned her neck forward as he pulled slowly back, extending the kiss for as long as possible.

Methaniel smiled at her and caressed her face. "Rest for me. Relax and enjoy some leisure time. Be sure to get something to eat, too. I left some coin on the dresser for you. See Lanion and be ready for dinner when I get back." 

His eyes flashed mischievously, shining bright and silver, and he grinned at her. "And be ready for tonight."

Methaniel kissed her again and then pulled his boots onto his feet, strapped his blade to his hip, and grabbed up his cloak. He hesitated a moment, then grabbed one of Ahma's scarves, the soft gray one. Ahma gave him a slightly puzzled look, but she was too distracted by the overwhelming feelings of her own happiness to say anything. With a final smile and a wave to the Wingling girl who covered herself modestly with the sheets as he opened the door, Methaniel left the room.

Ahma braided her hair and put on her frumpy brown dress and her soft gloves. She strapped the blade to her hip and the dagger to her thigh under her dress as she had yesterday. She picked up the coins and left the room, locking the door behind her.

First stopping by the front counter, she discovered they offered room service. She decided she would stop by and see what they provided after visiting Lanion.

The horse was in the same pen. He was chewing on yet another part of the fence, having already ruined one of the rails. He sniffed at her as she walked near and snorted loudly. Ahma smiled and patted his neck. 

"I know I smell like him. You should be happy for us," she smiled.

Lanion gave her a look that could only be called a glare. Ahma spent some time brushing him. The stable did a decent job tending to him, but not as well as the hands at the Manor would have.. She took care to groom the horse carefully, spending extra time on the spots he seemed to enjoy the most, such as the hairline of his mane. It was a relaxing thing for both of them and a simple pleasure Ahma enjoyed. Lanion's coat was soft under her fingers and his flanks rippled with muscle. His clear enjoyment of her attention and the way she brushed out his mane and tail shone in his dark eyes.

As she rubbed the horse's tender spots, her mind began to wander...mostly in the direction of last night. The experience had blown her mind. Master Methaniel's cock had been beyond her imagination. The size, the thickness and the wonderful way it made her feel had been one of the best experiences of her life. It made the troubles and hardships of the past few months melt away and seem far worth it for the simple chance to be with him.

Moreover, his reaction this morning had made any leftover doubt float away. Not only had he been receptive to her body, but to her feelings as well. That relieved her greatly. She hadn't really thought he would simply use her, but to see that his actions and attitude toward her hadn't changed, that he was the same sweet, loving, affectionate man, was reassuring. She did not know the extent of his feelings...not quite...but she felt sure they were good.

She was also greatly relieved that she had finally expressed how she felt, and managed to do it in proper Wingling tradition no less. She had desired him for some time...possibly since she had even seen him. His being filled her dreams, and she had longed for his affection, his love, and his body. Finally she had expressed that, and nothing could have made her happier. She was his lover, and he was hers.

Ahma hoped desperately that after the whole business with their being hunted, after they found those who sought them and brought them to justice, that she and Methaniel could build a life together. Ahma was not sure if it was even possible between a Wingling and Human, but perhaps it they were able, they could have children. She hoped he would want something of that sort, but if he didn't, she could learn to accept that. Her life was his, in several ways now. She would do whatever he wished.

She patted Lanion and told him to behave himself as she finished grooming him. He nuzzled her hand briefly, then went back to chewing at the fence. Soon he would likely chew his way out of the pen entirely, the evil thing.

The Wingling girl returned to the inn and ordered herself some lunch. Though room service sounded appealing, she decided she shouldn't be allowing a stranger into their room. Master Merie probably wouldn't approve.

So to their room she went, carrying her plate. She ate and set the dish outside the door as the woman at the front desk had advised her. She changed from the grubby dress, now covered in Lanion's hair, and, after thinking about it for a moment and giggling, donned one of Master Methaniel's oversized tunics. It fell around her, down to her knees. It was even large enough for her Wings to fit inside relatively comfortably, folded against her back. 

She took her hair down again and spent some time brushing it out. All the while her thoughts dwelled on the Master.

He was much more gentle than she'd ever thought he could be...his sweetness and sincerity had made her comfortable and relaxed during their lovemaking. She was happy that he had taken her advances positively. Now she could look forward to 

more...interesting nights, to say the least.

***

Methaniel found himself standing in the shadows of the same dilapidated building he'd visited yesterday, gazing at the rough wooden door with his thick arms crossed over his chest. He wore his cloak with the hood drawn up and he'd tied Ahma's scarf across the lower part of his face. With his cowl pulled low, the features of his face were hidden from view. Had he been in a less dangerous part of town, the look would likely have drawn attention. But in these worn streets he looked like any other who wished to keep their features hidden from the many prying eyes. Anyone interested in maintaining law and civil decency stayed well away from this area of Fernum.

The door opened and the man nodded him in. Methaniel advanced with a slow, relaxed gait, but his every nerve was set on a razors edge. The doorman walking beside him was polite enough to keep his hand away from the large dagger at his belt. Methaniel knew every step he took was marked by many hidden watchers, each of which likely held a weapon poised to cut him down. It was a dangerous bid he took, coming here, but his desire for information, for a place to turn to, for something to act on drove him to the very edge of caution.

And here, on that most precipitous of edges, he balanced precariously.

A chair scuffed along the wooden plank floor as Methaniel pulled it away from the table and sat down. The Nobleman glanced around the room; it was a cramped little office, with nary a thing in it. It was dim; a single desk lamp and the weak sunlight filtering through the choke of dirt and grime on the single window provided the only light.

"Why're you here?" the man sitting behind the desk asked. He was a squat fellow. A long scar edging the entire length of the right side of his face added to a grim and serious appearance he purposefully maintained. He regarded Methaniel critically with small, dark eyes set deep in his pale face. His demeanor was calm, confident. He knew he held the cards here.

"Information," Methaniel said simply, his words muffled slightly by the scarf blocking his face.

The man leaned forward slightly and propped his elbows on his desk, gazing at him coolly. "That's it? You came to the Thieves Guild...for information?"

"If you can direct me to someone who has a more extensive informant network than a Thieves Guild, I'll gladly leave," Methaniel countered.

The guildman smirked softly. "How I know I can trust you?"

Methaniel tossed a small cloth sack onto the man's desk. It contained nearly all of the remaining coin he had left over from the bulging purse he'd grabbed before fleeing the Manor, as well as all the coin he'd made from selling pelts and meat along the journey. It jingled liberally; the man didn't pick it up.

"How I know you ain't with the guard?"

"Because," Methaniel replied, "If I was with the guard I would either be someplace else, or you would be paying me to be someplace else."

The guildman gazed at Methaniel for several tense moments. Finally, he settled back in his seat. "Talk."

"I want to know what interests Durinum has in this region."

"Fernum, or all around here?"

"All around."

The thief shrugged. "They ain't active in these parts. Since Rien's the closest thing to a capitol Rojinla's got, that's where the Durinians're puttin' their attention. Plus, Rein's the closest city in Rojinla to the new Durinum border."

"Their border has extended outside of the mountains?" Methaniel asked.

"They pushed their front right up to what passes for Rojinla borders last month," the informant explained. "Claim they need the room to maneuver troops 'gainst the Naemer, or some load of horse dung like that. Dunno why the council's lettin' it happen, other than they don't want to get shit on by the Durinum military."

Methaniel swallowed softly. The war was progressing without him. Despite the direness of his situation, he was very uneasy with not being involved in such things. He wanted to know more, but couldn't ask without arousing further suspicion. As it wasn't vital to him at the moment, he left the military matters alone.

"What are they about?" Methaniel asked.

"What're they ever about?" the man shrugged again. "Lookin' to recruit forces for their war. Seems they're trying to go through official channels to get an actual army put together from the city-states, but word is lately they've started callin' up any mercenaries who'll take the job."

"The council's allowing this," Methaniel stated instead of asked. "They've no way to stop the mercenaries from doing whatever they want, regardless of their official policies, any more than they can stop you."

"That's right," the man nodded.

"Go on."

"That's 'bout it. They trade and barter for goods for the war and they try to finagle for better border terms."

Methaniel nodded. "I want to know about two people. I believe they are wanted by the Durinum authorities."

"Why," his informant asked with narrowed eyes, "Are you so interested in Durinum?"

"I come from there," Methaniel replied. The closer he kept to the truth, the less likely he would be caught in a lie, he decided. "I find myself interested in their affairs, still. On this count, it's more a personal interests; these two fugitives are worth a lot of coin, and I'd like to see some of it find its way into my pocket."

A smirk played along the guildman's lips. "Who are you lookin' for?"

"A man...a Nobleman, I believe. He goes by the name of Methaniel Ohren. The other is a Wingling woman. I do not know if her name has been released."

"Name seems familiar," the man commented. "I seen the poster, I think. They want him dead, with his head brought in as proof, and nothin' else."

"And the woman?"

"Her I ain't heard about. But then, I ain't been lookin'."

Methaniel nodded and crossed his arms over his chest. "Any heads up on the kind of competition I'm looking at for the bounty?"

"Given the price? A good piece," his informant guessed. "It seems they're serious enough 'bout the whole business. . It'd probably be smart to move fast on this one if you want the coin to be yours."

"Indeed," Methaniel muttered. "One other thing. I'm interested in...a group. They're likely assassins, and possibly tied to some overarching organization."

"You'll need to tell me more than that," the man ventured.

Methaniel nodded. "I don't know how specific I can be. They've only recently come to my attention....they're good. They use bold tactics, and they don't seem to be worried about being caught. All I really know is that they operate out of Durinum."

He didn't really know that, of course. Those who sought his life could have their operations set up anywhere. But they'd attacked him in Durinum, twice, and that was all he had to go on.

"Sorry," the man scowled. "Should've asked a few years ago, before Durinum's war started getting' so ugly. That part of our informant network is gone."

"Where can I look to, then?"

The man considered for a moment, rubbing at the thick stubble at his chin. "Ever heard of the Cerlothlor Library?"

Methaniel nodded. "Yes. They are south of Rajinla...in the Airbend Plains, yes?"

"Right."

Methaniel leaned forward in his seat slightly. "If I go there, I wish to do so...discretely. I don't want to use the main road, or any well traveled roads, for that matter."

"And?" the guildman prompted.

"I'm sure you could suggest an...appropriate route."

The man smirked. "And what makes you think any route I suggest wouldn't be heavily preyed on by my guildmates?"

Methaniel reached forward with careful slowness and tapped the desktop directly in front of the bag of coins. "There is honor among thieves," he said softly.

"How you figure?" the man sneered.

"I'm useful to you for one thing; coin. You have all of mine now. And I'm still breathing." 

A soft snort came from the thief, but he didn't argue. "You got a good memory, or I need to write this down?"

"Actually," Methaniel said, "I was hoping for a map."

"A map?"

"Of the area," the Nobleman explained. "As detailed as you have, showing all the major settlements in the region and as much of the surrounding wilderness as has been charted."

The thief watched him for several moments, then reached down and took the coin purse in hand. He bounced it several times, weighing it distractedly before setting it back down with a nod.

"You got a way of handlin' yourself," he commented. "For that, I'll give you a one of our best maps."

He stood and walked to the small shelf behind his desk. He rustled through several velium scrolls, then turned and set it on the desk top. 

The scroll spread out before Methaniel, revealing a careful worked map. It was quite detailed, complete with markings notating rivers, valleys, hilly regions and forested thickets and groves, as well major landmarks, roads, and settlements spread out across the land. It showed from Fernum down to the bottom reaches of the Airbend Plains to the south of Rojinla lands. 

The disguised Nobleman nodded his satisfaction. "And the route?"

The guildman wordlessly pointed to a trail noted upon the map's surface. Methaniel eyed it for a moment and found it to be relatively safe. He'd take a closer look later.

"Very good," Methaniel stood and accepted the re-rolled map with a nod. 

"One more thing," the thief said. He reached for another rolled map on the shelf and handed it to Methaniel. "A map of the continent," he explained. " 'Case you need to find your way some other place."

"Why?" Methaniel asked frankly.

"You gave me a lotta coin for a bit of information and a map. I like bein' square with someone. If I ain't, it's bad for business."

The guildman whistled for his man to see Methaniel out and turned his dark gaze back onto the taller man. "You got guts. I like how you handle yourself. My boss would like you."

"Another time, perhaps," Methaniel replied to the unspoken offer. The guildman nodded, and his doorman escorted Methaniel out.

***

Methaniel opened the door to the room he shared with Ahma. She caught her sitting up in bed with the blankets pulled up to her stomach, clad in a tunic that looked oddly far too large for her, reaching for her shortsword.

She relaxed and beamed a happy smiled up at him as he stepped into the room. He returned her smile, put the rolled up map on the dresser, and sat down in bed beside her. He took her into his arms and kissed her, deeply. Ahma shivered in his arms and pressed tightly to him.

"What's that?" Ahma said, nodding at the parchment after he released her from his kiss.

"A map," Methaniel replied, smiling down at her. Ahma reached up and slowly, somewhat shyly ran her fingers through his rich copper locks.




Rising Ch. 10



"To?"

"Rajinla and the neighboring regions. In case we need to be someplace and don't know where it is."

"You were gone all this time to get a map?" Ahma asked in confusion.

Methaniel chuckled lightly. "Not quite. I was searching for information about our hunters."

"What did you find?"

"Not much," Methaniel sighed. "I think all the leads available here have been explored. I've decided the best thing to do now may be to search elsewhere. Have you heard of the Caelothlor Library?"

Ahma considered for a moment, then nodded. "Yes. Your father mentioned it a few times."

"What do you know?" Methaiel asked, smiling softly.

Ahma shrugged. "It's been around for many centuries. It's said the elves gifted the library to the first generation of Humans to settle in that region, though many races now frequent the archives, if I recall correctly. It's been growing since it was first erected. Your father said it was the most complete archive of information on the entire continent."

"Very good," Methaniel smiled, squeezing her hand. "My father taught you well."

Ahma blushed slightly. "I suppose. He wanted me to know as much about books and libraries as possible, since I was to be tending his study and he wanted his books to be as well cared for as any public establishment.

Methaniel leaned back against the headboard and smiled at her. "We'll gather supplies tomorrow and leave town the next day."

Ahma nodded, smiling widely and nuzzling into him even more closely. It came as a relief that they would be leaving the awful city. And besides, she felt a good measure of excitement at the thought of visiting Cerlothlor after hearing so much about it for all these years.

"So we won't be going to Vertu?" she asked.

"No. I think this may turn up better information," Methaniel replied. 

Ahma gazed at him as they fell silent, looking upon his face. Even through the cloth of his shirt she could feel his muscles rippling and bunching powerfully.

The Master bent his head to kiss her. He pulled her close, gathering her in his arms as the kiss deepened. Ahma practically purred with approval. She savoring his. Her lips parted and the Nobleman's tongue slid into her mouth, caressing her own tongue, slipping along it and writhing with it as she sucked ever so gently. Methaniel smiled and enjoyed the taste of his young lover's mouth. His hands slide along her back, caressing, massaging. She was enfolded in his embrace.

Lowering his lips to her neck, Methaniel sucked and kissed softly at the pale, sensitive flesh. Wishing to encourage him further, the Wingling lass sent her fingers playing through his hair. His tongue slid across her flesh and he nibble gently at the nape of her neck. Ahma's body began to race with arousal. A deep wetness formed between her legs.

Methaniel drew back, kissing her lightly several more times. He gripped the sheets, pulling them back to climb into bed along with her, and then froze in surprise.

Ahma smiled shyly at him, blushing softly even as she made no movement to cover herself. Methaniel gazed upon her, naked from the waist down. The Wingling girl spread her legs open slowly, revealing her perfect cunt, her flawlessly smooth, bald mound and lips. The rose pink inner flesh already shined wetly, covered in a sticky sheen of juices. A trick of honey leaked from her hole and spread along her inner thighs.

"I thought you might like a present, Master Merie..." Ahma said as he glanced up at her. Methaniel smiled, and shifted till he crouched on the bed in front of her. Ahma's heart began to race, sure that he would soon be inside her.

But the Master surprised her by sinking down even lower. His head slid between her legs. Her body jerked in surprise as his lips wrapped around her plump, fleshy mound, and sucked at it firmly. As his lips worked on her sex she tried to relax. He sucked and slurped at her pussy firmly, aggressively. He shifted back slightly and pulled one of her thick, hairless outer folds into his mouth. He sucked at it, nibbling ever so softly, tracing the ridge of it with his tongue. Ahma writhed at the unexpected new sensations. She had never thought of this, not really, but the Master had started this and she wasn't about to deny him. 

Especially when it felt so deliciously wonderful.

Methaniel lashed his tongue up and down the length of her slit, tasting her exquisite honey. He flicked his tongue over and over along her swollen pink inner flesh. His lips occasionally sucked or kissed at her folds and pulled at the soft flesh of her plump vulva. He traced circles around her swollen, throbbing clit with the tip of his tongue but avoided touching it directly, stimulating the hyper-sensitive flesh but teasingly leaving it unattended for the moment.

Ahma slowly gyrated her hips, not even thinking of what she was doing. Unbelievable sensations washed over her, similar yet so very different from the ones of last night. One hand snaked down her body to encouragingly caress and rub at the Master's hair, feeling the shaggy strands sliding between her fingers. Her other hand reached down to squeeze and lift her enormous, heavy bosom, scooping it up and pressing her fingertips to one of the orbs still covered by Methaniel's large tunic.

The Nobleman caressed and rubbed Ahma's thighs and occasionally reached down to squeeze and fondle her full sculpted ass, feeling the tight firm muscle under the soft layer of pliant skin. His tongue lashed about her pussy, sliding along the increasingly soaked flesh as he licked and nibbled. Her thighs and cunt quivered in pleasure. He smiled, swallowing a small mouthful of her sticky sweet juices. With one hand he spread her flower open, fully exposing her clit. The swollen nub popped out of its hood. Methaniel grinned, glanced up at her, then attacked.

His tongue lashed along her clit. Ahma jumped and let out a deep, quavering moan as pleasure shot through her body suddenly, sweetly, sharply. He continued to pleasure her, licking firmly and occasionally in quick, flitting licks, sometimes swiping the entire length of the flat of his tongue in a hard stroke. He wrapped his lips around the pulsing nub. He pulled at the little nerve bundle with his lips and sucked firmly. His tongue mashed at it, pushing it down and sending more and more pleasure coursing through her body.

The girl gave a buck of her hips as a powerful surge of pleasure consumed her. She moaned and then nearly screamed, pressing her pussy hard into his face and forcing her clit needingly against his prodding tongue.

"M...Master....Master Merie..." She moaned, running her tongue along her lips. She tweaked her thick stub of a nipple through her tunic, pulling at it, pinching it and making more pleasure flood over her.

Methaniel flicked his tongue rapidly along her clit as he strove to drive the girl crazy. He pulled back slightly and scooped some of her flowing cunt juice from her folds with one of his fingers. He spread it onto Ahma's throbbing clit before working his tongue along it once more. His pace picked up, his tongue lashing along her the pleasure bud harder and faster.

A massive explosion burst through her. A hard, wrenching tense of her body made her rigid with pleasure. Sunbursts flashed in her eyes and her mind, and her cunt and breasts ached with so much pleasure she thought she would never again come down from that enormous orgasmic high.

Ahma slowly sat up after her rapturous orgasm. Methaniel took her into his arms and gave her a hug, smiling down at her.

"Did you like that?"

"It was wonderful," she sighed, smiling beatifically. "I didn't know men...well...did that to women."

He smiled, caressing her hair gently. "Not all do, my love. Many find it...distasteful."

Ahma's brow furrowed as she gazed up at him. "Do you?"

Methaniel guided her hand down to his groin. Ahma gasped, her fingers instinctively curling around the fat bulge in his trousers. "Does it feel like I find it distasteful?"

"No," she breathed lustfully.

Methaniel tucked her hair behind her ears, his roughened fingertips tracing her cheek. 
"I take it you know that women can do...similar things?"

Ahma froze, staring up at him. She struggled to push the memories of the abuse at the Stewards hands from her mind, but it was impossible. She'd been able, somehow, to keep from thinking of such things last night. Perhaps it was simply that the acts were different, in her mind; Master Methaniel making love to her hadn't seemed the same at all to what the Steward had subjected her to. But this...

"Yes, Master," she said softly, trying to smile. She did not want to displease him. She would pretend everything was okay, and perhaps she could make it through this thing without him noticing her uneasiness.

But it was too late for that.

"What's wrong?" Methaniel asked, his brow furrowed with concern as he gently placed his hands on her shoulders. He searched her face, alarmed by the disquiet he found there.

"Nothing, Master," Ahma said. She felt a tightness in her chest as panic settled over her. She desperately wanted to please him, and she knew such an action would do so. But she felt such a swirl of other emotions that she could hardly think straight.

What if he could tell that she had been with another man in that way? Would he be angry? Would he think her spoilt, used? Would he think she was some kind of whore? What if he no longer wanted her? She felt sickened by the fact that her mind wandered to the Steward at all. She had thought the Steward's hold over her gone. But here she was months later with the man of her dreams, the man she loved, and that vile abuser had given her pause. 

She hated that fact.

"Tell me," Methaniel insisted, his voice gentle but firm.

Ahma stared into his eyes. Tears rose and spilled quietly down her cheeks. She began to softly cry.

Methaniel gathered her into his arms and onto his lap, cradling her and murmuring soft, soothing words into her ear. He rocked her back and forth like a small child as she clung to him tightly. Her crying was subdued, a slow outpour of her wounded feelings and the memories of the awful treatment she'd suffered.

"I'm sorry," she said after a moment. "Oh Master, I am so sorry..."

"What is wrong, Ahma?" Methaniel asked quietly as he caressed her soft hair. "What has upset you?"

Ahma hung her head and swallowed heavily. "You will be very upset."

"I would know what has made you cry," Methaniel replied, pulling back slightly so that he could look into her eyes. "Have I done something?"

"No," Ahma shook her head emphatically. "No, Master, it...it isn't you."

She wiped at her tears and took a deep breath, trying to gather her resolve. "I am sorry Master, I should have told you this before we became...close. I..."

Ahma faltered for a moment, sniffling as she suppressed her sorrow. Methaniel sat patiently watching her, caressing her hair with one hand as he held her close with the other.

"I have...been with a man," she confessed. "Not in the way we were last night," she added hastily at the surprise on his face. "I mean...that is...with my mouth."

Methaniel nodded slowly, watching her. By the expression on her face, he did not believe this fact was all that was responsible for her distress.

Ahma clung to him, bowing her head once more as she pressed her face to his shoulder. "The Steward, he...he blackmailed me, I suppose you would say. He told me that if I did not pleasure him, he would not feed me, nor any of the other servants. I had no choice, I could not let them starve because I was unwilling to do something distasteful. I would never have been able to live with myself. He seemed to think to fully mate with me was...dirty. He took my mouth for his pleasure."

Her tears began to flow once more, sliding down his chest. He caressed her hair, his jaw tightening. How he wished he had run the vile Steward through with his blade when he'd had the chance.

"Are you okay?" Methaniel asked at last. Ahma nodded, sniffling again. Methaniel gently cupped her chin, raising her face. He bent his head and kissed her tears, which brought a small smile to her lips.

"I love you," Methaniel said simply.

Ahma's heart leapt at his words, her ill feelings banished at such things coming from his lips. She had given her everything to him, shown her love by submitting her body to his ministrations. She had felt he thought more of their encounter than a simple night satisfying his lusts, but to hear him actually say those words...

"I love you too, Master," she smiled softly and nuzzled into him again.

"Ahma, please know that I never want you to do something you are uncomfortable with. I do not want to ever distress you. If you are ever uneasy about anything we do, tell me. I wish things between us to only be filled with happiness and pleasure."

She nodded and turned her eyes back up to his. "You aren't mad?"

He smiled softly down at her and caressed her hair. "Yes, I am. But only at the Steward. I only wish that I could fully punish him for the wrongs he did."

"He is gone now, along with the others," Ahma stated, and she suddenly realized that fact made her feel better. She did not revel in the Steward's death; she only felt sure that now he could not misuse her, and that she was beyond his influence. He would never be able to hurt her again.

"I am not unhappy with you," Methaniel said gently. "If you had been with a man in such a way by choice, I would still not be unhappy with you. I have been with women before you, and you take me as I am, do you not?"

"Yes," Ahma replied.

"Then who am I to do otherwise?"

"You are a man," Ahma pointed out.

"And you are a woman," he smiled, "And your sex does not determine whether or not it is acceptable for you to lay with someone, as far as I'm concerned. Your choices are your own."

"You are very understanding," Ahma said wonderingly.

"I try to be," Methaniel nodded. "As I said, if you had been willing, it would not have mattered, and that you weren't...well, how could I possibly hold you responsible for something you did not even want a part of?"

"You do not think I am...spoilt?"

"Ahma," Methaniel lightly traced his fingertips along her graceful jawline. "I think you are perfect. I do not think anything could spoil you in all the world. You are a precious and beautiful person, and I will not think any less of you no matter what is in your past. I love you for who you are, not who you have been."

Ahma wiped her eyes and smiled up at him. She hugged him fiercely, burying her face into his chest for a moment before rising up to press her lips to his.

"Thank you," she whispered into his kiss.

Then she pressed her body to his, deepening the kiss as she shivered at the feel of him. She slowly slithered down the length of his body, lowering herself toward his lap.

"Ahma," Methaniel said, his brow raised in worry as he placed a huge hand on her shoulder. "You don't have to. Please, don't do this simply to please me. I understand why you don't want to."

"But I do want to," Ahma said, and she knew her words were true. "I want to do this...with you."

"Are you certain?" Methaniel's voice was still edged with nervousness.

"Let me do this, Master," she whispered. "Let me see if this can be a good thing, too."

Methaniel released her shouldered and nodded slowly.

She pulled loose the ties on his pants. His cock pocked out of the fabric. It had deflated somewhat from the uneasy situation, but Ahma's attention and her kiss had already stirred it back to life. She stared at it, feeling her heart beating faster in nervousness and anticipation. She took it in her hand, wrapping her fingers as far around the incredibly thick shaft as they could go. The Master's member pulsed against her palm. It was very warm.

She moved his cock toward her face and slowly opened her lips. They shook slightly with nerves.

This was not the same, she told herself.

With a deep breath Ahma lowered her head. Her lips caught slightly on his skin, so she withdrew and wet them.

The second time his cock slid into her mouth easily. She took him in, working about four inches of the pole into her mouth before it slid toward her throat. She waited for a moment, adjusting to the feel. This was different indeed. Methaniel's cock stretched her lips widely in order to fit his imposing girth, something the Steward had never been able to do. It tasted distinct and powerful, a taste that was very Human, very male, but completely unique to him.

She found, with a start, that she rather enjoyed the Master's taste. All thoughts of the Steward and such unpleasantness faded from her thoughts and she became focused on what she did here and now.

Ahma slowly began to move her head up and down his shaft. His cock felt very nice, especially going through her lips. She increased her pace a bit. She knew what he would want; if nothing else, her past experience had taught her some things. She began to make soft, sensual slurps, the noises of her efforts filling the room as she took a firm hold of the base of his cock and sucked away. She allowed herself to drool on his dick, lubricating him and moistening his meat's passage in and out of her mouth.

His taste filled her senses and the feel of his swollen cock gliding along her tongue and against her lips drove her to enjoyment. Being this close to his wonderful cock made her pussy want it even more, and she became more energetic as the moments passed. She traced her tongue around his cock while she sucked, surprising him with her skilled touch.

Methaniel responded positively, lightly putting his hand to the back of her head and holding it to his throbbing cock. His fingers massaged her scalp in slow circles, gliding through her hair reassuringly. Oddly, Ahma liked that very much; it had always been a negative motion in her past experience, but now it was loving and encouraging. She even found that she liked the way it reminded her of their now rather complicated master-servant relationship. She sighed happily and bobbed her head in deep, long strides. 

The more she slurped on his cock the hornier she became. Within minutes she sucked furiously on him, moaning as her pussy put her in lustful agony. She very badly wanted a fucking, but she knew she would wait. Her Master deserved this, he deserved to see the lust he inspired in her and that he could make all her worries and pain better.

Her tongue lashed and swirled around the underside of his shaft in large circles, gliding up to caress along the swollen sides and press lovingly against the hard, thick flesh pole. Her fingers squeezed and massaged along the exposed portion of the Master's member. She occasionally gasped for a breath, but refused to release his throbbing cock from her mouth's embrace. She moaned and sighed pleasantly with each exhale.

Methaniel smiled down at his Wingling lover, caressing her soft hair and gently holding her. He relaxed and allowed her to set the pace and tempo, not wanting to push her or rush her before she had fully shown she was prepared to such things. Her energy and enthusiasm amazed him, and her eager and skilled technique made him shiver in pleasure. He hadn't expected her to so fully embrace this, especially given what had happened to her. He was pleasantly surprised, to say the least.

The Wingling girl slurped and sucked at him harder and faster. She sucked deeply, her cheeks hollowing with the force of her suction as she slurped loudly, sloppily on his cock. Saliva thickly coated his fat shaft and dripped down Ahma's plump, stretched lips, soaking them. The moaning whimpers she let out thrilled him to no end, vibrating his cock pleasantly and combining the sensation with the myriad other arousing feelings she was inducing upon him.




Rising Ch. 10



She slipped a bit more meat into her mouth. The head of Master's cock pressed against the back of her throat, almost making her gag, yet she continued her attention. Her lips worked at his cock greedily and her tongue lathered along the rigid flesh in broad, firm strokes. Methaniel shuddered, his cock quivering in her mouth, causing her to work it in and out even more.

A thick, stickly stream of gooey pre-cum leaked from the slit in his cock head and into Ahma's sucking mouth, pooling on her delicate tongue. She slurped it down and slid her tongue happily all over the drooling head of his cock. She was stunned by how sweet the sticky stuff was and moaned in delight. She continued to slide his cock deep in her mouth, occasionally pulling all but the head out so that she could feast upon his sweet, syrupy pre-cum.

Her full lips stretched around his meat. Even her hand was becoming slick and wet from the excess saliva leaking out as she slobbered lovingly all over his shaft. It made gliding her hand up and down easier, and she jacked on his cock firmly as she suckled.

Methaniel pushed her head now, helping to fill her mouth, though he did not force his way past her lips. His touch was simply encouraging and showing her what lust she drove him to. He thrust his hips forward. Slick movements of her tongue and moans of want filled his senses. He pumped her mouth as her lips clamped down hungrily on him. The warmth of her mouth encompassed him and she slurped hard up and down his impressive length.

Methaniel grunted as he began to cum. She plunged her head down on his cock and sucked as hard as she could. His cum blasted along the back of her throat in long, sticky ropes. Ahma'w tongue slid along the cum jetting into her mouth, tasting the sweet, slightly bitter, thick jism. She swallowed several times as it boiled and spattered into her mouth and down her throat, pumping in almost faster than she could keep up with. A thin trail of the sticky goo leaked out the corner of her lips as the Master's creamy seed dribbled to an end.

He pulled back, releasing her head. Ahma swallowed once more, taking all the cum piled in her mouth down her gullet. She coughed slightly but otherwise relished the experience. She wiped the cum leaking down her chin with her fingers and licked them clean.

She came to the decision she was going to come to enjoy taking her Master's seed in this way, as well.

Methaniel smiled softly as his eyes met hers. An unspoken understanding of love and adoration passed between the couple. Ahma's lips were still wet with saliva and her enormous bosom heaved softly. He reached down with one large hand to caress her cheek.

"How would you feel about that being one of your...regular duties?" he spoke, his voice teasing and mischievous.

"I wouldn't mind at all, Master...especially if you reward me for my efforts," she replied with a soft smile, her eyes boldly devouring his form.

Methaniel chuckled, loving her spirit. "And are you ready for that reward, now?"

Ahma glanced down, shocked to find Methaniel's fat cock growing once more to a full erection, becoming more and more engorged by the moment. It throbbed and pulsed with blood and life. She nodded, the haze of lust clouding her eyes more heavily. "Yes, Master...I'd like that very much."

Methaniel gently laid Ahma upon the bed, letting her adjust her wings comfortably as he eased his oversized tunic from her body. He kissed her deeply and Ahma sighed, moaning and trembling with anticipation.

He slid downward and his mouth played sensually at the enormous, fleshy mounds of her bosom. His tongue found her nipple and lashed over it, licking and stroking the thick nub before drawing it between his lips for a heavy suckle. He tugged and pulled at the pink nipple with his lips, then lightly nibbled it with his teeth as his tongue washed around it, bathing it with warm moist saliva. His hands squeezed and kneaded at the great orbs, sinking his fingers into the pliant, plentiful flesh.

Ahma moaned thickly and squirmed at his delicious treatment. She reached down to cradle her Master's head to her aching bosom, giving herself over to the powerful sensations his mouth and hands stirred within her. His teeth nipped extra hard at her nipple, causing her to yelp softly. Yet she pressed her breasts all the more firmly and insistently into his face.

After several long, luxurious moments with his face buried in his Wingling lover's superb cleavage, Methaniel pulled back. He dragged her nipple with him, stretching the heavy bosom slightly outward before letting it bounce and jiggle back into place. He smiled down at Ahma, who spread her legs wide, revealing her juicy, beautiful cunt to his hungry eyes. Honey leaked liberally from the slightly splayed slit.

Methaniel climbed onto her, rubbing his cock briefly along her soaked gash to get the head of his shaft moist and sticky. Ahma moaned and writhed. She arched her hips upward, attempting to force his fat cock into her tunnel and end his teasing. He gazed into her eyes, smiling at the utter want and need Ahma's chocolate gaze projected. Careful not to be too entirely rough or aggressive, Methaniel thrust his cock firmly into her, stuffing her hole with meat and stretching her recently deflowered womanhood all over again.

She squealed with delight as he entered her. She still felt slightly sore, but she didn't care; she'd endure anything to experience that heavenly stretched, full feeling. All she felt was pleasure and excitement as he filled and completed her, uniting with her body. It was as it should be, she thought; he belonged inside her. She wrapped her legs boldly around him. The walls of her pussy clenched on his cock firmly.

Methaniel began to thrust into her tight hole, slowly at first, but gaining speed steadily. Her cunt eagerly accepted his invasion. It pulled at his cock, as if begging for more. The warmth of her wet core made him groan in pleasure. 

Ahma cooed at the way he filled her. Her pussy juice was flooding out of her now too-full hole, dripping down her thighs and sprinkling onto Methaniel's balls. His cock was coated in the liquid mess. It made her cunt slippery, sticky, and easy to pound into.

Legs squeezing tightly at his sides, she clung to him through each thrust. Her walls milked at him. She was almost unbelievably tight. She felt wonderful, the subtle resistance of her muscled innards stretched taught around his dick like a water-logged silk glove filling him with equisite pleasure. 

They fucked for an immeasurable length of time, both too focused on each other and the pleasure of their union to take any kind of notice of the outside world passing around them. Methaniel propped himself up slightly to get extra leverage to use upon her body. His dick splashed into her flooded cunt, pumping along that sweet, sensual spot near the back of her passage. Ahma let out a pleased cry as her body quivered violently in pleasure, tingles of joyous ecstasy spreading through her entire being, even down into her toes.

As he thrust into her core Ahma's moans and cries grew louder and constant, escalating into tight screams of euphoria. The way she gave voice to her pleasure was sweet music ringing in his ears. 

"Do you like that?" he asked between deep, filling thrusts.

Ahma nodded enthusiastically. He smiled and shoved into her, hard, making her cry out at the wave of heightened pleasure. His cock throbbed as he slammed in and out of her smooth, silky pussy. He was less gentle now, taking her heavily and with more power though still he held back to avoid hurting her inexperienced body. Wriggling against him, Ahma arched her body. Her heavy, proud orbs were slippery with their combined sweat and slid against his chest. She pushed her cunt upward, pressing her steamy pussy into his thrusting dick, desperate to get more of him any way she possibly could. Her hungry pussy practically begged, producing obscene slurping noises for his cock. 

Methaniel responded by pounding her deeply. His large hands grabbed her curving hips, holding her to him as his body pressed against hers. His cock worked in and out of her pussy furiously, ramming her womanhood over and over. The head of his cock wedged hard against the sensitive spot, the spongy, blood engorged head giving her a feeling of hot liquid arousal. Thick girl-juices flooded down her ass, sticking messily in her crack.

A loud, jagged scream ripped from Ahma's throat as heat and delight exploded through her body in a seemingly never-ending burst of intensity. Her whole being was briefly consumed. Who she was, where she was, everything but that glorious cock pounding her faded from her perception. For a time, she was simply adrift in the rapturous, never ending explosion that blessed, beloved cock granted her.

She finally collapsed, shaking at the almost painful pleasure that was slowly sliding away, giving her a sense of self back. Her muscles twitched for a few seconds as she gazed up at him. "That...was amazing..." she gasped for air.

Methaniel reached to gently wipe the sweat from her forehead as he gazed down at her, smiling. The Wingling girl's body glistened and shone alluringly, her giant breasts sweat-streaked and wet. He bent down and kissed her deeply. He thrust forward, ramming his swollen cock into her to the root. Juicy, sticky honey exploded from her suddenly packed cunt and splattered on her legs. 

"Would you like more?" he breathed softly as he pulled his lips away from hers.

She gave another nod, staring into his eyes, her wide brown eyes shining softly. "That would be very nice, Master. It feels so good...you feel so wonderful. I could do this for the rest of the night and be happy."

Methaniel pulled back till only the thick, spongy head remained inside the girl's greedy little pussy before quickly, roughly ramming back in, stuffing her full in a single thrust with his thick dick. His cockhead smacked lightly against her cervix as the very last bit sank into her.

He smiled as she writhed in pleasure under him. Her heated, passionate moaning and whimpering mingled with the sloppy sucking and slurping of her hungry pussy. Ahma's moans grew even louder, filling the room again. Half the hotel could likely hear her. Methaniel grinned at that thought as his hand went to her wildly bouncing, flopping tits. He would fuck her until the other half could hear as well.

Methaniel's cock plunged deeper, harder and faster into her tight tunnel, stretching it even wider than before as his fucking grew more insistent and powerful.

She didn't seem to mind the new forcefulness of his stabbing cock. She eagerly thrust her bald cunt forward, eager to be filled. One of her delicate hands rested on her Master's broad shoulder. The other slid down to squeeze and pull on her enormous breast. It was far too large for her small hand, and the soft flesh spilled from between her fingers. She loved the excited glaze passing over her Master's eyes as she fondled her own breast.

"Tell me what you want, Ahma," Methaniel instructed between heavy pants. "Tell me exactly what you want."

"Yes, Master," she moaned, "I want you to fuck me a lot more. Your cock feels so good...I want more of it!"

Ahma cried out loudly as he thrust into her deeper still.

"Is that all?"

"Oh Master," she moaned, "I want more fucking, please."

A lustful smile spread across his face. She was quickly becoming hooked on sex. He pounded into her roughly and watched as she moaned and writhed. Her fingers found her big, thick nipples and started to pull and twist at them, making her big, heavy breasts stretch outward just like he'd done earlier. The Master reached down and pulled her legs open wider, pulling them up and holding them open.

Ahma surprised him with her flexibility, able to nearly go to a full split as he stuffed her greedy hole and stretched her wide open. She groaned and let out an even louder scream of ecstasy. She eagerly threw her legs open and took her pounding with pleasure, receiving his plunging cock and marveling at how it opened her. She could hardly believe, even now, that her little hole was able to take all of Master's impressive manhood. 

He thrust over and over into her, moaning as her fluids squished and slurped at him. Her pussy tightly sucked at his cock. He filled her with his cock as she gazed up at him. She watched the pleasure gathering on his face, the tightness of his muscles as his body tensed. His dick quivered and flexed inside her as he rammed her over and over, splashing juices out of her clenching hole and coating her thighs in the honey.

"Oh, Master Merie," Ahma moaned as she gyrated her hips against him. "All I desire is you...all I want is what you're giving me...I'm so happy just like this!"

She threw her arms around his neck, hugging her body to him, smothering her breasts to his chest. Her gasps filling his ear and the exciting sounds of her cries driving him on, the Nobleman thrust deep into her, sinking into her juicy quim. Her passage milked him firmly, surprising him with a wave of rippling inner muscle. Coupled with her tightness and the flowing juices dribbling from her hole, this created a sensation that was unlike any he'd experienced. She was easily the most pleasurable woman he'd ever had.

His body tensed and he lost control, his cum bursting forth from his cock in heavy warmth. Thick, gooey ropes of his seed fired deeply into her, splashing messily along her insides. Methaniel sank his cock in to the hilt as he emptied his jism into his lover. It coated along her rippling pink tunnel, warm, sticky, thick globs that filled her deeply.

Ahma orgasmed hard at the warmth being pumped into her body, the feeling driving her over the edge. She screamed her pleasure, arching her pussy into his cock, grinding herself on his pubic bone. Her pussy filled with his thick cream as her orgasm thundered over her.

Methaniel suddenly pulled out. Her eyes widened as the last three bursts of his cum spattered and spurted messily onto her body, dashing messily on her hairless mound and then splashing in long ropes across her slender belly. It even left a single gooey streak of white across one heaving breast.

The Master let out a pleased sigh and climbed off her. Sweat gleamed on his wide, powerful chest and his eyes roamed along her spattered, wet body, watching her now cum-stained bosom rise and fall, jiggling with each heavy breath.

"What did you think about that?" he asked softly.

"That...was wonderful, Master," she sighed happily. She rolled over, pressing herself to him and nuzzling his chest with her head lovingly. "You certainly know how to please a woman."

She looked down at her body, at the smear of white gracing her pale skin, threatening to blend in with it. "I've never heard of...this before. Of a man emptying his seed onto a woman. It looks nice..."

He smiled and rubbed a few locks of sweaty chestnut hair from her face. "It looks wonderful on you, my love."

Ahma blushed softly and gazed at him. "Thank you, Master. I enjoyed myself."

"I think most of the inn knows that," he chuckled.

Ahma blushed even darker. "You think so?" she squeaked.

Methaniel smiled and kissed her forehead. "Don't worry, we'll be leaving soon. Are you hungry?"

"Yes, I am," Ahma nodded.

"I'll order some food for us. Tomorrow we'll bathe thoroughly before we set out again."

"Okay," she agreed. Her eyes twinkled playfully. "Do you think I'll have permission to use the nice bath this time?"

"Of course," Methaniel laughed Perhaps we can get in the bath together." 

He rose from the bed and reached for his trousers.

Ahma's eyes lit up. "Really?"

He couldn't help but smile warmly at her. She was so lovely. "If I have my way, yes. Bathing you would be fun...and I would enjoy having a bath...somewhat different than you've given me in the past."

She sighed softly and pulled the blanket up to her chin. "I'd like that."

Methaniel smiled to himself as he tugged his shirt on. Strange things made her happy. "I'll return shortly," he told her. He bent forward to kiss her forehead.

"Rest, beloved."

Ahma drew the blankets closer and murmured loving words as he slipped away. She was looking forward to bathing her Master...her lover. She could only imagine what would happen, given the change in their relationship.

***

A stranger approached Methaniel as he headed downstairs. "Where did you get that one?"

Methaniel's hand unconsciously slid to the dagger at his side. "Excuse me? I'm afraid I'm not sure what you mean, sir."

"The whore!" The man grinned widely. "Where did you get her? How much was she? The whole place wants to know!"

Methaniel relaxed slightly and quickly lied, "I'm sorry, sir, I think that was the room next time mine. But let me know if you find out."

"Ah, my apologies," the man sighed, then grinned wider. "You'll have to get in line once we do!"

Methaniel shook his head and strode down the stairs. Most of the inn new of Ahma now, at least in a manner of speaking. He believed his lie was an effective one, and would deflect suspicion at least for a time. Still, he was uneasy; perhaps they should have tried to restrain themselves more. With the bounty still on her head, the attention did not bode well.

An enormous dish covered in an enjoyable assortments of food was balanced on his hand as he entered their room again. He smiled at Ahma, who sat up from her light nap and stretched. He beautiful wings fluttered energetically as she returned his smile, then stared hungrily at the food. Methaniel laughed softly and they began to eat. Their meal considered of two bowls of venison stew, a wedge of aged cheese to share between them, two hunks of bread, a dish of baked, diced apples, and a small jug of wine. The warm stew was the best part of the meal. The broth was thick and filling, and the meat had soaked up enough of it be tender to the point of being cut into smaller pieces with their spoons. The cheese was just a bit too sharp and biting, but was otherwise quite good. It was better when broken and eaten with the bread, which had been prepared that morning. It was no longer warm, but still fresh and good nonetheless. The apples were lightly spiced with cinnamon and something else with a gentle sweet flavor, perhaps honey or something of the sort. The wine was weak and slightly watered down, and obviously hadn't been chosen for vintage or quality. Still, it warmed their blood as the chill night crept closer, and went decently well with the cheese.

Both settled onto the bed with satisfied sighs after the food was consumed. With appetites for food and flesh both satisfied for the night, they began to settle into bed. Methaniel stripped off his gray woolen tunic and got up to place two more pieces of wood onto the fire softly burning in the hearth. He turned to find Ahma sitting primly on the bed, smiling widely at him, clad in his discarded tunic. He laughed softly and climbed into bed beside her. He bent to kiss her lips softly.

"You are amazing," he said softly.

Ahma beamed with pride and love, smiling up at him, her eyes dancing with the firelight. "Thank you, Master," she breathed.

"You don't have to call me that," he said softly as his heavy hand ran with loving gentleness through her thick chestnut hair.

"I know," Ahma said. He was surprised but pleased with her boldness. "But I like to. You are my Master...that has not changed. Our relationship has not lessened, only grown. Now you are my Master, and my lover."

"You say such things," he replied quietly. "I've never heard a woman say such things before. You are so unique, Ahma. You show yourself to be submissive yet equal to me, all at once. How is it that you could wish to be both?"

Ahma shrugged and burrowed her head into his chest, a soft smile playing across her lips. "I do not wish to be both, Master...I just am. I am happy with this."




Rising Ch. 11



The next morning the couple woke early and prepared for the journey. They gathered their meager things into their travel packs and said goodbye to their small room. Ahma felt a moment of emotion she hadn't expected as she stood in the doorway, looking back into the bare, simple room. She was glad that they would be leaving Fernum; the city still made her heart ache from the injustices of its slave trade and the harsh nature of its cramped streets. Still…she had said goodbye to her maindenhood in this room, and embraced the love and desire she had harbored toward Master Methaniel for months. It gave her a kind of hope, that such wonderful things could be found even in so dark and horrible a place. 

As the opportunity wouldn't arise again for some time, Ahma and Methaniel decided to take a thorough bath in the bathhouse before they left. The bath keeper, like most sane people, was sound asleep when they roused him from his bed. His sour mood lifted, however, when Methaniel gave him a silver coin in exchange for drawing a bath for them.

Methaniel and Ahma had the bath to themselves. All that lit the bathing chamber was a few candles the drowsy but pleased bath keeper had shoved into Methaniel's hand, and the very first glimmers of sunlight coming through the airing slits near the ceiling. The light was muted by the steam filtering through the room, giving it a soft, hazy look. 

"Ahh," Methaniel murmured as he sank into the water. "I'll miss this in the next few weeks."

"You don't think we'll find an inn along the way?" Ahma asked as she removed her ugly dress, folded it neatly, and placed it on one of the low benches lining the walls. She fluttered her wings and preened them a moment before she slipped into the water beside him. Methaniel put one huge arm around her. She scooted into his side and placed her hand on his chest.

"I doubt it," he said. "We'll only be on the main road for an hour or two before striking off into the countryside. Much of it is farmlands, so if we're lucky we might happen upon some folk willing to let us rest for the night in their barn. But we will try to avoid contact with people while we're on the move."

"I understand," Ahma nodded. She let out a soft, lingering sigh as the hot water eased the tension from her muscles. She sank against her Master's form and shut her eyes.

"Your lessons will resume as we move," Methaniel said. One of his hands rose to caress her back, rubbing gently at the space between her wings. 

Ahma shivered despite the warmth of the water and gave herself over to his ministrations. "I'll try to do well," 

"You'll do fine," he assured her. "You'll have more time to train as we travel. The weather will turn more hospitable the further south we go, so you won't feel the ache quite so keenly. In a little under a week we'll be out of the hills and beyond Rojinla's borders."

"That makes me glad," she admitted. "I…didn't like what I saw here."

Methaniel nodded. "Rojinla is a harsh place. It bothers me that Durinum courts them as an ally. We should be above seeking aid a group of rabble and cutthroats. There must be a better country to side with against the Naemer."

"Mmm," the Wingling girl mumbled as she relaxed into him. 

The pair spent several more long moments soaking together, luxuriating in the rare moment of peace. Finally, Methaniel sat up and grabbed the soap and a washrag.

"Please," Ahma said, taking the items from his hands and smiling softly. "Let me."

"As you wish," Methaniel nodded. He sat up a bit straighter.

Ahma enjoyed washing him. She did not feel it was a duty she was required to perform, but rather something she wanted to do for him. She enjoyed the closeness, the contact with his skin and being able to do something to relax and sooth him. It felt right.

Her small hands rubbed the sliver of soap over his skin. She started at his back, working until it was covered with suds before switching to the rag and using it to rub the soap in even more, cleansing any dirt or sweat away from him. After working along his back, she went down one arm, then the other. After his arms were clean, she stepped in front of him, standing in the bathing pool with the water lapping just under her navel.

"You have wonderful hands," he told her. His eyes briefly swept along her naked form and he smiled softly. "You have many wonderful things.

"Thank you," Ahma blushed softly, smiling. "I am glad I please you."

Methaniel smiled and reached out to run his fingers briefly through her rich brown hair. "You are very pleasing to me indeed."

Ahma giggled and after finishing with washing his torso and his calves, circled back around behind him. Her delicate fingertips began to rub at the corded muscles of his shoulders.

"Are you going to let me bathe you?" Methaniel asked.

Ahma hesitated a moment, then began to massage him again. "If you wish, Master…it, well…nevermind."

"Tell me," he suggested gently.

"It's nothing…just Wingling things."

"I would like to hear, if you will tell me. Your people's beliefs are important," Methaniel said.

Ahma brightened a bit. "If you wish…Wingling's just have particular views on bathing. It's the same as wing grooming…it's a social act. Traditionally it's only done parent to child, or, well…Mate to Mate. It's just…I never thought I would really find someone to bathe me like this."

Methaniel smiled as Ahma continued her massage. "Wingling culture puts a lot of emphasis on couples, doesn't it?"

Ahma blushed slightly. "I suppose. Some of the courting rituals are very specific and intricate. I'm actually kind of glad I won't have to go through some of them."

Methaniel chuckled softly. "Perhaps that is for the best. Some of it would probably be lost on me."

The Wingling giggled as she poured water onto his head and began working soap into his long copper locks. "I hope all my people's strange practices don't bother you."

"They're not strange," Methaniel assured her. "They're different, yes, but there's nothing wrong with that. Besides, I find them fascinating. If Human society encouraged closeness and sharing rituals as your people do, perhaps our husbands and wives would share stronger bonds."

Ahma's brow rose as she worked the soap into his scalp. "I thought Human mates were close?"

"Some are," Methaniel shrugged. "As in everything else, we Humans are a fickle lot. Some of our married folk are so close it surprises those around them, and are a shining example of domestic happiness. Others fight tooth and nail and are far more miserable together than they ever would be apart. But I do not think many are as close as Wingling couples are, from what I'd heard…from your brothers."

"My parents were very in love," Ahma said softly after a long moment of silence. "So much so they were happy to give up their old life in the Wingling kingdom so they could be together. I don't know if all Wingling mates loved as they did, but my mother made it seem like such love between Mates was commonplace."

"Humans could learn much from your people, if only they would learn to listen to them," Methaniel replied.

Ahma rinsed his hair and then moved to massage his chest. After a long moment of comfortable, relaxed silence, she said, "I hope this library grants me entrance. I once went with your father to the Royal Library and they wouldn't allow me in. Your father insisted we leave immediately."

"I'll be sure they allow you in," he assured her. "It's likely to be a boring stay. Nothing but endlessly rifling through books."

Ahma shrugged. "I like books. I used to read to your father after his eyes got bad."

Methaniel nodded. The muscle of his chest rippled under her soothing fingers. "My father loved to read," he said absently. His hand came up to lightly stroke Ahma's tight, wet belly.

Ahma smiled at his attention. "Do you? Like to read, I mean."

"I'd say I enjoy books more than most…but I'm not nearly the enthusiast my father was. For me, reading fuels knowledge and expands our minds. Books are…a tool, I suppose. For my Father, they were magical. Sometimes I think he would have made a better scholar than soldier."

She nodded and continued to work her soapy hands into his broad chest. She shuddered at the feel of the corded muscle under the skin. Her wings fluttered as sensual memories of the last two nights flooded her mind.

Methaniel smiled and drew her close, pressing her to him.

"I never knew baths could be so enjoyable," he commented with a mischievous smile. He bent forward and lightly kissed her.

Ahma smiled into the kiss and they lingered in that sweet embrace for a moment. "It's about finding the right person to share the bathing with," she said when they finally separated. "Hannah always told me that."

He touched her side, rubbing it softly and causing her to giggle. "I'll get you nice and clean whenever you're ready."

"Soon," she smiled. "I have to make sure you're clean first. You should relax more, Master. You've been working so hard these past months, for both of us."

"It's nothing," he told her.

Finally, after several more moments of her attention, he convinced her to allow him to bathe her. She settled down in the water, relaxing as he began to wash her back. He carefully worked the soap into the flesh between and around her wings and down the smooth sweep of her lower back. Her entire back was tight with muscle, powerful tendons anchoring her wings to her shoulder blades and overlapping flight muscle that allowed her to launch her graceful form into the air. Even as heavily muscled as her back was, it still had the appearance of neat femininity, packed in tight, trim groupings that avoided an overabundance of bulkiness. She was a testament to the graceful power of a Wingling's unique physiology.

Ahma noticed his ginger touch as he washed the base of her wings. "Don't worry, they aren't sensitive. Well, not in an unpleasant way, anyway. You can touch them however you need to."

"Just don't smack me with them if I do something wrong," he teased playfully. She laughed.

Methaniel helped her wash her hair as well, dipping the long, thick length into the water. Rinsing her chestnut hair alone took several moments.

"I'm never having such long hair," Methaniel stated as he ran his fingers yet again through the length of her hair, combing soap in as he went.

"Yours is long enough now, Master," Ahma smiled.

Methaniel chuckled and dipped her hair into the bath. "I wear my hair in the way of our warriors. Otherwise I would probably cut it shorter."

"Mine is as Wingling Maidens are made to wear their hair," Ahma nodded. Then she looked thoughtful for a moment and said quietly, "But I'm not a Maiden anymore, am I? Perhaps…perhaps I should cut it now."

Methaniel smoothed out her wet hair, getting the last of the suds out of it. "I like your hair like this. It is beautiful."

Ahma glanced back at him and smiled happily. "Then I will keep it as it pleases you."

Methaniel pulled the Wingling girl to him. Ahma smiled, giggling softly as his wet muscles slid against her flesh. She turned to face him, squished her glistening breasts to his firm chest. His arms enfolded her, holding her close to his warmth. Ahma's wings, damp but still soft and supple, wrapped about both of them. 

His soft smile brightened and he bent down to kiss her. Ahma sighed and leaned into the kiss, tasting his lips. She relished his gentle strength. His hand slid slowly, sensually along her flesh as the kiss turned deeper. She returned it in earnest. His tongue traced her lips and she happily allowed it entrance. Ahma quivered, her body becoming heated. She loved the intense response he kindled within her.

"Did you know," he whispered into her ear as they broke the kiss, "That you have the most fabulous breasts I could possibly imagine?"

"Thank you, Master…they are all for you, for your pleasure," she replied.

He drew her close and she nuzzled into him.

"Are you ready for another Journey?" he asked after they held one another for some few perfect moments.

She smiled contently at him. "Yes, Master. I'll be with you, and that's all I need. Besides, I like libraries. I'm looking forward to visiting such an old and well known one."

"I imagine you'll have a chance to read while we're there," Methaniel smiled. "If not, perhaps we can return someday."

Ahma made a face. "I don't know…if it means having to travel back through this…country…I don't really think I want to."

He gave her a reassuring squeeze. "Don't worry, Ahma. We can travel a different route next time. And anyway, no one will treat you as a servant as long as I have a say. Some day, I'll be sure to have your mark removed as well."

The Wingling glanced down at her hand. "This can come off?"

"There are a rare few people in the world that can remove it. Sometimes servants are released from their duties, and if they're able to scrounge up the coin, they pay well to have their mark removed," he explained.

Ahma looked at her marking for several moments. "Interesting…um, Master Merie, what are we looking for at this library?"

Methaniel shrugged. "I'm not totally sure, to be honest. I have very little to go on at this point. I'm hoping to find some kind of reference to known assassin groups and work my way from there. The people who attacked us are obviously professional…and somehow they went in and out of Durinum without being caught. There's something strange there, and I intend to find out what's behind all this."

Ahma nodded and sat up. "I'll do everything I can to help you find whatever you need."

Methaniel smiled. "Thank you, love. I just hope we aren't going on a wild goose chase."

After their bath, Methaniel helped Ahma to groom and arrange her wings as the Wingling sang her morning prayers and braided her hair. The green and white feathers were still slightly damp as the couple dressed, but Ahma assured him they would dry quickly. Dawn had broke an hour or so ago and the city was well awake by the time they were prepared to leave.

"That dress really doesn't suit you at all," he said as he looked on her brown wool dress.

"I want to burn it," Ahma said softly. "I don't mean to complain…but I can't help it. It itches."

"I know," he said, drawing her into his arms and squeezing her gently as he smiled at her. "Perhaps if the cold has receded, once we're away from the main road you can change out of it."

Ahma nodded happily at that notion. They gathered their things, talking quietly and closely as Ahma pulled on her cloak, gathered her dagger and short sword, the small pack containing her waterskin, as well as her changes of leggings and trousers, and the tunics and jerkins he had gotten for her. It also held an extra vial of wing-dye should she need to touch up her feathers during their journey, and her small hairbrush.

Methaniel had his blade strapped to his hip, and the longbow and two quivers of arrows on his back. His clothes, extra supplies, their flint and tinder box, small odds and ends, and emergency rations were stowed in his pack. 

The Nobleman pulled the Wingling to him, bending down for one last kiss before their departure. Ahma stood on her tiptoes, arching her back delicately, something she had noticed he approved of. His lips lingered on hers, tasting, savoring her flavor. His tongue lightly flicked across her plump pink lips before he drew back to kiss her forehead. Ahma smiled and he hugged her close, then they left the inn and started their way to the stables to retrieve Lanion.

***

He stepped into the busy trade station alone. Ahma waited just outside with Lanion. He felt he had to complete this errand alone. He was not happy with what he was about to do.

The towering warrior stepped up to one of the counters, the only one without a line. The graying man behind the scarred countertop gave him an indifferent stare. "What're ya lookin' fer?"

"Coin," Methaniel answered. "I have something to sell you," he hastily added at the wary look the storeowner gave him.

The man spat into a spittoon at his feet. "Lesse what ya got."

Methaniel grit his jaw as he reached into his pack and removed a small suede sack tied shut by leather thongs. He opened the sack, revealing a smooth, rectangular box of polished oak. 

He pulled two gleaming, perfect horseshoes from the box. The shoes shone brilliantly in the sunlight filtering through the store's window. He placed them on the counter, and the merchant quickly took one up into his hand. The old man stared at the horseshoe, his mouth gaping open. The craftsmanship was that of a master shoemaker and smith, the material the finest silver to be found in all the northern mountain chains.

"What's this then?" the merchant asked, pointing to the crest on both shoes. It was the insignia of the Durinum Knighthood, the fierce mountain lion standing in front of the crags that Durinum was founded upon.

"Smith's mark," Methaniel lied. He was glad the old man didn't recognize the crest; someone would, eventually, but that would take some time for the shoes to switch hands and wind up in the possession of someone who knew of such things. By the time someone actually recognized the shoes for what they were, he and Ahma would be long gone.

"How much ya wantin'?" The man asked.

"Every coin you have on hand."

The merchants eyes went wide and he placed the shoe on the countertop. "Yer mad!"

"No, I'm not," Methaniel countered. He leaned forward and spoke softly. "I'm betting I could demand you go to your storehouse and get twice the coin you have on hand, and I'd still be making a perfectly reasonable barter. That shoe could buy half this trade-house and you know it. Don't haggle with me. Take the generous deal I'm giving you before I walk out."

The merchant hesitated a moment, then picked the shoe back up. He looked at it closely, turning the shoe over and over in his hands as if to check every angle for imperfection. Methaniel knew he would find none.

"What's the catch?" he whispered suspiciously.

"No catch," Methaniel told him softly. "I need a good deal of coin, and I need it now. What do you say?"

The old man sighed and nodded. "Okay. Every coin I got on hand then."

Methaniel waited while the man stepped into a back room to retrieve his payment. The warrior hated that he had to resort to selling the shoes. They had been presented to him upon graduating with honors from the Durinum Knight Academy. The shoes, more than the Knight Crest, more than the Knight's uniform, more than anything, was a symbol of his achievements as a Knight. Only the most elite of Durinum Knights earned the honor of possessing the silver shoes forged by the King's own smith. They were precious to him, the very embodiment of all his hard work and sacrifice as a Knight, a soldier, and a warrior. Under normal circumstances, he would sooner part with his own hand than the horseshoes.

But the circumstances were far from normal, and he had no choice. Without coin, their journey would become impossible.

The gray haired Merchant returned a moment later with a large, jingling sack. He placed it on the countertop and poured the contents out.

"Count it up," he suggested.

Methaniel did so, counting fifteen gold, six silver, and twenty copper coins. The amount would have been enough to buy a functional house in the city. It still wasn't enough to compensate for the loss of the shoes. But it couldn't be helped.

He nodded and put the coin back into the sack. "Done."

The Merchant quickly scooped the shoes up and placed them in their wooden box, then scooted them under the counter as if he feared Methaniel would change his mind. "Pleasure, Sir."




Rising Ch. 11



"Sell them well," Methaniel advised. He walked out of the trading post with heavy steps.

"Are we ready, Ma…um, Merie?" Ahma greeted. Methaniel was too lost in thought to notice her slip.

"Yes," he nodded. He helped Ahma up onto Lanion's back and walked them toward the city gates.

The Wingling girl glanced down at the sack still clutched in his hand. "What's that?"

Methaniel handed her the sack. She gasped in surprise as she glanced inside. "H-how did you get this much coin?"

"I had a few rare odds and ends from the furs and pelts we gathered. The Merchant inside was a poor bargainer," he lied.

Ahma sensed he left something unsaid, but respected his silence. She stowed the money in their packs and watched her tense Master thoughtfully as they left the city.

***

Methaniel chewed the freshly roasted venison as he stared into the fire. Ahma was cuddled close to his side, her wing drifting lazily back and forth as she lounged against him. He smiled down at her as her feathers brushed his side. She had changed out of the hated dress and into one of her tunics and trousers almost two hours ago so that she could practice her swordsmanship while he hunted. He had hunted well, bringing down a fine buck for their dinner, and early enough to return and supervise the majority of her practicing while he skinned his kill.

It had been a long day of hard traveling. Perhaps he had been trying to push them forward along their journey. Or maybe he had been trying to put distance between himself and his actions at the outpost. Either way, he had moved at a pace far more ambitious than on their journey to Fernum. Ahma hadn't once complained, nor did she question his insistence that they keep on the move. He realized now his mood had been sour for most of the day. Despite this, Ahma had kept a cheerful attitude while allowing him the silence he needed to put his ill feelings to rest. Her presence had been comforting even though they did little talking.

His arm tightened around her and he took another bite from his food before setting it aside and turning his attention fully upon her.

"How do you feel?" he asked, gently caressing her shoulder as he gazed down upon the Wingling girl. She smiled wearily back at him, her face content as she nuzzled into him.

"A bit sore, Master, but ok."

"You did well today Ahma," Methaniel replied, giving her a gentle squeeze of encouragement. "I set a hard pace and you had no problem keeping up."

"We rode Lanion for most of the day, Master," Ahma pointed out with a smile.

"True," Methaniel chuckled. "But you still did well. After we stopped for the evening you pleased me with your efforts at training. I'm glad we bought you those trousers so you can finally practice footwork and maneuvering without that dress hampering you." 

Ahma beamed at the praise he gave her. She hugged him tightly, pressing her face to his side. "Thank you, Master Merie. I'll try my best to live up to your expectations."

"You'll do fine," he assured her. "Just keep working hard."

Lanion wandered into the circle of firelight and snorted expectantly. Methaniel grabbed a dried carrot and tossed it his way. The warhorse neighed and crunched at his treat. Ahma laughed softly.

"I figured I should try to make up with him after keeping him cooped up for so long," Methaniel explained. "Carrots are one of his favorites."

She nodded and sat up slightly, but still within his circling arm. "How long will it take to reach the Library, do you think?" While she looked forward to the possibility of reading some interesting books, she was enjoying her time alone out in the wilderness with her beloved Master. And part of her was afraid of the possible prejudice she might encounter at the Library.

"It will be some time," he replied with a light shrug of his massive shoulders. "A few weeks or so, depending on the lay of the land. We could probably make it in less time if we pressed Lanion hard, but I've pushed him enough for most of this journey, and I'd rather avoid getting him agitated at me."

Ahma giggled and nodded. 

Methaniel smiled softly down at her. "I can show you the map, if you like."

Ahma smiled and nodded. "I'd like that. I've always wanted to see a map of the lands outside of Durinum, but your father was more interested in literature and history than geography."

Methaniel fished out the two maps he'd received in Fernum and spread them out along the ground, careful not to get them too close to the fire.

"This is a map of the Continent," he said, pointing to the map on the left, "And this is a map of the area surrounding Rajinla."

Ahma scooted closer to him and carefully followed his explanation.

Methaniel pointed out the lay of the land on the continental map first, outlining territories and kingdoms. The Kingdom of Durinum was nestled in the northmost charted land on the continent, deep in the North Mountains. Its territory encompassed nearly all the habitable land in the mountains. Most of the Kingdom's settlements fell in the enormous plateau in the heart of the massive mountain chain, with the capitol city settled in the direct center of the plateau. The mountains extended far to the north, onward beyond any known settlement and into uncharted land. They swept to the east till they reached the great and stormy oceans, and a short outcropping of craggy peaks extended west until they ended in heavily forested lands. Two passageways led in and out of Durinum territory and the mountains themselves, the heavily traveled southern valleys and roads, and the deadly and abandoned eastern route they'd used to flee from their hunters.

The City-States of Rojinla was the nearest nation, situated mostly in the lands east of the North Mountains. Their lands wrapped around the foot of the mountains, their territory expanding ever closer toward the single Durinum city outside of the mountains themselves, the trade city of Gilea, settled at the mouth of the southern road leading into the heart of the North Mountains.

To the west lay the Naemer lands nestled deep in the wild forests beyond the west reaches of the mountains.

"Not much is known about these lands," Methaniel explained as he tapped the roughly traced outline of the Naemer forest borders. "Even before the war started the Naemer disliked outsiders and rarely allowed them into their forests. To them, their lands are sacred, like a living being. They don't believe non-Naemer will show their people or their land the proper respect. They say we defile the land. Now that the war is on, they've closed their borders completely. To step into their forests means death."

"It looks like their territory is much smaller than Durinum's," Ahma commented.

"It is," Methaniel nodded. "Even though our people are scattered about the mountains, their land and population aren't half what ours are."

Ahma's brow furrowed. "Why is the war taking so long, then? Couldn't Durinum just storm them by force?"

"I wish it were so," Methaniel shook his head. "To take the fight into their forests would be suicide. They use the land to their advantage, striking from the woods shadows and the vantage of the trees. The Naemer's greatest strength is their craftiness, their resourcefulness. They wield ambush as a weapon that would cut our armies to ribbons."

"Couldn't we set their forest on fire?"

"We've tried," he replied. "Every time, they use strange magic's to call down torrents of rain to extinguish the flames. Our own mages can't make the rains stop, so fire gives us nothing in the way of advantage. No, fighting them in their own land is futile. The best we can do is to draw them into the open. They're still dangerous, and it drags the war on, but it takes away their biggest strength."

The center of the continent was a flat, sweeping prairie land consisting of neutral nations uninvolved in the war. The plains were sparsely settled by small kingdoms and townships that kept to their own affairs. The Kingdom of Shalea held the largest territory in the Middle Lands, and was home to some of the most talented known Human artisans and craftsmen of goods, ranging from household treasures and valuables to great architects of buildings and temples whose splendor was said to be the pinnacle of Human skill.

West of the Middle Lands were the hilly regions belonging to the Dwarves, the great miners and metal workers of the Demi-Human races. They bore into the hills with gleeful purpose, harvesting a rich trove of pure and high quality ore they used to construct their heavily fortified Kingdoms. While they separated the hills and lands extending west from the Middle Lands all the way to the sea into independent Kingdoms and settlements, there was a solid brotherhood among the Dwarven people. The Kingdoms worked closely together, offering support and aid in times of need. It was said a Dwarven nation's back was never against the wall because its neighbors were always standing behind it with axe in hand.

To the southeast of the Middle Lands were the deep, dense jungles of the Nether Woods, expanding over the miles of unsettled land leading up to the Oria Mountains. These jungles had seen little exploration; there was simply nothing there but wild, untamed life. The great river Talin spawned from the Oria mountains, cutting just south of the Middle Lands and flowing to the western sea, cutting the continent in half. Its many tributaries branched out wildly all across the land, reaching as far north as the Northern Mountains.

South beyond the Talin stretched a vast wasteland, extending for leagues, ranging in severity from habitable drylands to scorching deserts that were nearly lifeless and devoid of water.

"Does anyone live in such lands?" Ahma asked softly.

Methaniel nodded. "The Fenrehr hail from those deserts and wastelands."

"They do?" Ahma's brows rose. She had never known much about Fenrehr, though some had lived in the Manor. They themselves had no knowledge of their people, however, having grown up on Durinum streets.

"Yes," Methaniel continued, "Most of them are nomads, roaming and hunting in small groups. Their ways are different than the ways of the Fenrehr who live in cities, from what I've read. They follow the ways of their hunting cat cousins. Some, however, have build settlements. The biggest that we have in our records is the city-settlement Timaneous at the foot of a great oasis lake of the same name. The city is built around Lake Timaneous and the rich life surrounding it. It's one of the only places where any society could possibly thrive in such a harsh land."

Methaniel continued his explanation, showing her where the desert lands faded away further south and began a short stretch of verdant greenlands leading up to the Syren Sea to the south.

"The Elvish people make their home here, right?" Ahma asked, tapping the map where the sea began.

"Yes," Methaniel smiled. "The great sea-fairing folk. Though they established Wave-Ridge Port along South Fahn Coast, they see more time on their boats than they do on land. Their race is few and almost all of them spend their long lives riding the waves of the Syren Sea. Probably why we so rarely see them this far north."

"I've often wondered at that," Ahma murmured. 

"Hmm?" Methaniel asked.

"The Elves are boatmen and women, right?" Ahma replied. "But your father said Durinum was founded on old Elven ruins and that a lot of our architecture was inspired by those ruins. Why would sea folk make buildings? That seems more a Dwarf's business. And why in the Northern Mountains?"

Methaniel smiled softly and reached out to squeeze her hand. "A very perceptive question, dear Ahma. The best I can tell you is…we don't know. The ruins were ancient even when Durinum was first founded. Now, even more of our understanding of them have been lost. Many say Elves harnessed strange magic's that were tied to their temples and places of worship. Perhaps that had something to do with the old ruins. Beyond that, I've no idea."

Ahma nodded and glanced at the map again. She pointed at a cluster of small dots off the southeast coast of the continent. "And these?"

"The Mata Isle chain," Methaniel nodded.

"Ah," Ahma smiled. "They've powerful medicine, don't they?"

"Indeed," Methaniel replied.

"Where are we now?" she asked.

Methaniel grabbed the map of the Rojinla region and held it before them, showing her the Route they'd taken since arriving in Rojinla territory, first moving into Sefar and then south to Fernum. He pointed out Vetru, the city northeast of Fernum they'd initially planned on visiting before Methaniel changed their destination to the Cerlothlor Library.

"The Airbend Plains are a week or so south of here, a few miles northwest of the northmost reaches of the Oria Mountains and northeast of the Middle Lands. Aside from the Library and a few farming communities the Plains are mostly empty.

"Here's the Bordin Road," he tapped the major road leading south from Fernum. It forked a few miles into the Airbend Plains, with the east branch leading to the Cerlothlor Library.

"And this is the route we're taking," he continued, tapping a second marked route.

The path followed close to the main road for several miles, just as they'd been doing, before breaking off to the east. It circumvented the winding, roundabout way the main road took, instead moving straight through the wooded land outside of the plains. Once inside the Airbend Plains, it cut east around a mile or so of dangerously rough terrain before looping back west toward the road, cutting through a farming settlement, and then along a short valley before reaching the Library. Though the journey would be more arduous, this route would shave almost a week off their trip that the main road would have added.

"Are we using this route to save time?" Ahma asked.

"No," Methaniel replied, "It's a nice added bonus, but we're mostly using it because it's discrete. See, we avoid having to cross the main road of any point this way, and almost all other major footpaths as well. I don't think our pursuers would anticipate us going to the Cerlothlor Library, but it's better for us to be extra cautious."

Ahma nodded and settled closer into him. "I hope we find what we're looking for."

"Me too," Methaniel agreed. He put the maps back into his pack and leaned back, draping one arm over his companion's shoulder.

"I'm cold," Ahma stated. 

He smiled softly and pulled her closer as he glanced down at her. His eyes slid over her lovely face. Her big round eyes shone in the firelight, and her hair was a great shroud of delicate brown silk. The nobleman ran his fingers through it, finding the rich locks just as marvelous and wonderful as he had the first time he had touched it.

The Wingling sighed her pleasure and arched her head into his caressing hand, her smile softening as she enjoyed his attention. She was perfection, the most beautiful and lovely woman he had ever met, Methaniel thought. She was kind, gentle, and generous of heart. Intelligent. Spirited. Lustful…

His lips lowered to hers. Ahma released a soft whimper. Her wings went loosely around his body, caressing, lightly sliding against his skin, each soft, fine feather imparting an intimate caress. Methaniel's arms tightened around her, his muscles rippling and bunching against her skin. He tasted her lips. Lightly caressing, his hands massaged her sides and back.

Their kiss deepened slowly, easily, no pressing consuming need descending upon them. Not yet. For the moment, they simply enjoyed one another, their lips parting to deepen the kiss and share in the intimate moment. It was an enjoyable, peaceful moment for him. He savored the moment; the Wingling had captivated him, utterly and surely, with her body, with her charms, with her wit, with her gentle heart, with her fresh and vibrant spirit. 

Ahma trembled in his arms, and he could somehow tell by the fluttering of her wings that she was caught in that instinctual place between lust and contentment, between want and tenderness. He was there with her. It was a sweet thing, and while they had certainly shared emotions and feelings and depth beyond just physical want and lusting in their sessions together, it had not yet been this deep. This was far more than the physical expression of desires they'd experienced thus far.

A part of Methaniel hesitated. He was, and had ever been, a practical man. A man of strategies and battles, a man driven by the need to defend all those dear to him, to fight for what was right, for justice, for honor. He had never let himself consider the world of love. Even as a lad entering into his adolescence, he had told himself that love was beyond him. He was bound by duty and honor, as well as by violence and blood. And by loss. Part of him was afraid that he was not the kind of man who could love properly. And he hated that.

But the fear, the hesitation, shattered as Ahma pulled back and gazed up at him with her great doe pools of brown and smiled at him softly. Tenderly. Lovingly.

Methaniel bent to kiss her again, now more passionate. Their souls touched through that kiss, and he couldn't be sure, but he fancied Ahma felt it too. His hands brushed her cheeks, and he felt tears upon them.

His heart swelled. His chest felt tight. A rushing feeling of giddiness he could hardly contain swept over him. Her presence pulled at his heart. His arms tightened about her, possessively.

His body felt incredibly heated. He was consumed, though whether it was by desire or by an aching need to be close to her, he couldn't be sure. Perhaps by both. Perhaps they were the same. He pulled back slowly, breathing deeply, feeling his entire body radiating heat as he gazed down at Ahma. She pressed to him tighter than ever before, drawn to his heat and the same pull at her soul that tugged on his. And in that moment, Methaniel realized fully, as perhaps he had known yet not recognized from the very beginning, that he held the missing half of his cold and lonely soul in his arms.

Ahma pressed her body against her Master, feeling his bodyheat radiating over her, warming her in the cold night. She stared up into his eyes searchingly. The mix of emotions there made her giddy. She wanted to be closer to him, as close as she possibly could be.

Methaniel wordlessly hugged her close, his hands caressing her back in a sensual touch. As he kissed her she felt more than the usual rush his touch caused. An intense emotion came over her, an overpowering sense of want, need, and love. She felt certain this must be the feeling of completion her Mother had spoken of…the completion of the soul when Winglings finds their Mate. This was why Winglings Mate for life, Ahma thought. Because to do otherwise would be like ripping your very soul in half after it had finally become whole. 

She hadn't told the Master just how important and significant their joining was to her…she knew it was different to Humans. He had said before that he loved her…but Humans sometimes said such things without a care, she knew. And even if he did love her, it may not be so deep and significant a thing as it was to her. Could he be feeling the same closeness and rapturous joy that he inspired in her? Could she be so lucky?

Ahma shook the question aside, telling herself to be patient. Master Merie had expressed a deep affection for her, there was no denying that. She knew now he would stay with her and protect her. She wouldn't be cast aside; he wouldn't do such a thing to her. Beyond this, she would have to bide her time and hope for the best.

Methaniel touched her cheek, brushing aside a fallen strand of chestnut silk. "Are you ready for bed?"

"Yes, Master," she nodded. 

Ahma rose and kissed her Master, then began to lay out their blankets on a bed of moss under the large oak tree they'd sought shelter under. Methaniel came to her side as she finished. His hand reached down and lightly caressed her backside. Ahma blushed softly and bit her lower lip, enjoying the attention.




Rising Ch. 11



They removed their boots and climbed into the bedroll and blankets together. Nestled by the fire, they both sighed happily and drew closer. He stroked her soft hair. Ahma curled closer to him and he held her tight in his protective arms. Methaniel bent to kiss her once more before gently rocking her slowly back and forth in a comforting motion.

Ahma turned her eyes upward. "The sky is beautiful," she sighed, eyes dancing in the heavens.

"Not as beautiful as you," he murmured into her hair. 

She blushed softly in the darkness and pressed closer still, soaking in his warmth. Her hands pressed to his tight muscles and she shivered as she felt them ripple in response.

Her gaze swept skyward again. The stars shined down at them, brilliant and stunningly vibrant. The moon was three-fourths full and low in the sky, bathing them in silver illumination. It shone on her pale skin, making it appear as fine porcelain.

"Have you ever heard of a Night Bird?" she asked.

He looked down at her. "Do you mean an owl?"

Ahma smiled. "No, Master. It's a small bird that nests in the Wingling homeland. Anyway. We sing a song…the Night Bird Song. It's supposed to protect those who fly at night and help those lost in dark places."

Methaniel glanced down at her. One hand caressed her face softly. "Is that the song you sing so often in the evenings?"

Ahma nodded slowly, her face becoming solemn. "One of them, yes."

"Who do you sing for?" Methaniel asked gently.

"My Mother…she is lost," Ahma whispered.

"How?" Methaniel asked, stroking her cheek.

She glanced up at him. "When she died, she lost her head. Wingling beliefs state that if her head is removed from her body, she can't see the way to Heaven. She's wandering. Lost. Alone. So I sing the Night Bird Song for her, and hope it will help guide her through the darkness."

"I'm sorry, Ahma," he said in a quiet voice.

"I have faith that my Mother will find her way. I sing for her with all my heart. And my father's soul is probably guiding her. Their Mate-bond may see her through."

"A Mate is a very powerful thing to a Wingling," Methaniel stated more than asked.

Ahma's eyes flicked downward. "Yes."

Methaniel's hand caressed her back, his calloused fingers massaging at the arch of her spine. She shiver softly and looked back at him.

"Will you keep me warm tonight, Master?"

Methaniel smiled softly and slid his hand lower to lightly cup her firm, curving buttocks. "Indeed…"

His hand circled to her front, reaching between her soft, toned thighs and caressing them through her leggings. Ahma spread her legs and his strong hand slid deeper between them, resting on her plump pubic mound and giving it a gentle squeeze through her clothing. "I intend to keep you very warm, and satisfied as well."

She cooed at his touch. The lust that had been building all night suddenly became overpowering. Her juices began to flow in earnest as her hand wandered to his crotch, stroking his half hard dick.

"That sounds wonderful…what should I do first, Master?" she asked, stroking him through his pants.

"What would you like to do first?" he asked with a grin. His cock thickened at her touch. He worked his hand into her britches and cupped her bald, silken mound. His other hand reached up to lift her left breast into his hand and test its weightiness.

"What do you prefer? It is your choice…I am here to serve you, my Master," Ahma purred. She undid the tie on his trousers and happily slid her hand right in. His cock was hard and enormously thick. Her pussy pulsed at the feel of it in against her fingers.

Methaniel smiled down at her and pulled her tunic off, letting her massive breasts bounce alluringly free. Her hand went immediately back into his pants the moment it was off. Her thick nipples were hard from cold and arousal. He tweaked and pulled them, watching Ahma's face flush in pleasure as she arched her chest into his warm hands.

"Well then, why don't you wet your appetite a bit?" he suggested.

Ahma smiled at him. "Gladly, Master."

She crept down the blankets. Her wings tented them up and over her slightly, but she didn't seem deterred by this in the least. She pulled his trousers downward and found his cock ready, full, hard and so thick.

The Wingling girl licked her lips, then ran her tongue along the top of Master Methaniel's cock, caressing the fleshy head. It tasted warm, delicious. It was a taste unique to him, she knew instinctively, the taste she was growing more and more fond of every time she experienced it; his taste.

Moving her tongue up and down the throbbing shaft, Ahma sucked here and there on the swollen side of his meaty rod. She gave a happy little moan as she worked her mouth along the Masters enormous dick. Her tongue lashed at his flesh, licking, tasting, running firmly up and down the luxurious length of Methaniel's dick. She traced a throbbing vein, then swirled her tongue in rapid, lustful circles around the crown of the cock. Droplets of saliva ran down his cock as she firmly swiped the broad flat of her tongue from the very root of his cock to the tip. A sticky rope of pre-cum clung to her tongue as she drew away, and Ahma mewled happily at the taste.

Finally she sunk her mouth around his cock. Her full lips grasped it firmly. Her mouth closed around his cockhead and her tongue lavished it with attention. Ahma began to needily suck on her Master's throbbing meat. Drool dripped from the corners of her mouth and she moaned contently, lustfully as she took him deeper still, filling her mouth and stretching her lips around the fat shaft. Her tongue danced along the fleshy pole, coating it in saliva as she gave a firm slurp. He tasted so good. Her cunt gushed, juices seeping from her slit and down her thighs as the taste of his flesh and feel of his dick in her mouth aroused her beyond belief.

A noisy slurping filled the air as Ahma's cheeks hollowed. Her lips formed a strong vacuum seal on the Master's oversized cock even as she bobbed her head up and down, dragging the length of his shaft between her lips. She pushed forward, pressing her lips down his shaft. The swollen head pressing against the back of her throat as she swirled her tongue wildly around Methaniel's blood engorged phallus.

Quickly, eagerly Ahma swallowed him, gagging wetly as his cock stretched her throat wide. Saliva leaked from wide stretched lips and she pulled back and took a deep breath into her nose before diving back down, determined to serve her Master to the full extent of her ability. Her hand reached to massage the base of his cock and cup his heavy swollen balls as she pushed two more inches of meat down her gullet. She moaned in pleasure, her throat vibrating around his cock, then constricting a moment later as she gagged again, loudly.

Abruptly she popped his cock out of her mouth and climbed on top of him.

"I can't take it anymore Master. Please, fuck me? I feel like I'm going to burst! Please!" she begged, her eyes lit with incomparable want. "Please fuck me, I want your cock so bad Master!"

Methaniel pulled the moaning girl to him, his hands pulling her trousers off completely, leaving her naked and bared to his eyes. He smild at her and scooted downward. Ahma gasped as he wrapped his lips firmly around her smooth, fleshy pussy. He sucked it firmly as his tongue plunged aggressively between her plump, hairless folds and into the sticky pink flesh inside. His big hands reached under her to squeeze and grope her firm, meaty ass, kneading the perfectly rounded globes with his powerful fingers, massaging the tight yet supple flesh.

"Master," Ahma whined, unable to contain herself. "I need your cock! I need it…"

"Be patient, or you don't get what you want," he instructed her firmly.

Ahma whimpered loudly, the thought of not getting his cock making her shake with even more need than before. "Y-yes, Master," she moaned.

He thrust his face down between her thighs again and slurped loudly on her juicy quim. Ahma rubbed her pussy on his tongue, spreading her dripping juices against his mouth.

The Master sucked and licked at her drooling cunt, lapping at her pouring honey. He felt her squirm and wiggle in pleasure as his hands squeezed sensually at her tight buttocks. He kneaded the generous cheeks, squeezing them firmly, his fingertips brushing the deep cleft of her crack. His tongue thrust up into her hungry hole, lashing roughly along her inner walls as he sucked on her plump womanhood. He opened his eyes to gaze up at the moaning, whimpering Wingling that gyrated her sweet cunt on his face.

"Ohhhh…" she groaned, "That feels soooo good!"

She panted between breaths. The pleasant sensation of his fingers touching her sensitive rear produced a pleasantly arousing sensation she hadn't expected. His amazing tongue plunging deep into her needy hole made her head spin. She arched her back, thrusting her hips down. Her breasts lightly smacked together as she humped her Master's face.

Methaniel smiled, took a few last sucks and licks at the girl's plump pussy, and slid back. He gazed up at her, his eyes tracing over the body of a winged angel in the moonlight. His hands reached for her heaving white breasts, squeezing and pulling at them. His hands roamed downward, caressing here, squeezing there, tweaking and pinching occasionally. 

He climbed on top of her and his enormous cockhead slid between her splayed thighs. It probed her loins, pressing between her sticky smooth, silken folds, prying them open and around the thick, bloated head. The head rubbed lightly along the length of her saturated pink slit.

"Please, put it in," she whimpered expectantly.

"Why?" he teased visciously.

"Master!" she whined, thrusting her hips up at him. "Please don't tease me! I want it…please, can I have your cock?"

Methaniel appeased her demands with a quick jab, ramming his cock deep inside her. Ahma shuddered gratefully, wrapping her legs around him quickly, almost to assure herself he wouldn't be taking that wonderfully thick cock away.

At last she had what she wanted. Ahma moaned in joy as the Master's cock worked in and out of her pussy. Her cunt drooled profusely, clenching hard on his shaft as juices leaked liberally down the cleft of her buttocks. The feel of him thrusting into her drove her wild. His cock massaged every last inch of her quivering walls, still stretching her even after their previous encounters. She wondered if she would ever not feel the burning sensation of her insides being widened out to make room for that monstrous flesh pole.

Ahma cried out openly that night, her voice piercing the night silence without restraint. She screamed her demands, her absolute desire to be taken by him in no uncertain terms.

"Good, Ahma," Methaniel panted. "Let me hear your pleasure! Let me hear your screams!"

He thrust into her hard, burying his meat into her greedy hole to the root. He smiled down at her as she cried out louder than ever, wailing in ecstasy as his huge prick smacked deeply in and out of her hot tunnel. He gripped her delicately rounded hips and pistoned his fat dick roughly into her slippery passage. The squishing sucking of her soaked cunt being stuffed with cock accompanied her wild screams of pleasure. He fucked her hard, driving his swollen organ into her body with a carnal desperation.

"Y-yes, Master," Ahma choked out as the breath left her for a moment. Her entire body was tingling with a burning fire that made her dizzy. Her legs clenched to him. As he drew back, her body lifted off the ground slightly as she refused to release him.

Methaniel gave her spike after spike of pleasure, making her screams rise to a pitched crescendo. Her pussy soaked both of them, coated her Master's cock in thick honey that allowed him to ram into her all the more smoothly. Her thighs were saturated in her sticky fluids. The fuck juice was beginning to coat the rounded cheeks of her buttocks as well. Her slick gash was so needy, so accepting of his cock. Her inner warmth was like a welcoming den to his invading flesh. 

He filled his screaming lover, stretching her tight, sticky walls around his plunging meat as she began to orgasm explosively. Stars burst before her eyes and her cunt squeezed down on him in spasming waves. Her voice quivered as her senses reeled into a world of pure and indescribable pleasure.

The Nobleman grunted, feeling Ahma's gigantic, fleshy breasts bouncing tantalizingly against his chest with her orgasmic convulsions.

"Gods, you're so tight," he muttered as he pounded into the Wingling woman's yielding hole. She cried out in bliss. Thick, warm honey flooded out of her convulsing fucktunnel as her orgasm exploded yet again.

Ahma was totally lost. All she could feel was the seemingly endless explosion as she began to cum again. His cock drove deep inside her, burying into her sopping cunt. Each thrust, each penetrating lunge made her orgasm climb higher. Her throaty moans and lusty squeals filled the air. Her arms clung to him and her fingers dug into the muscles on his back. She was so eager for him, dying for that feeling of being filled by him. She needed his cock.

As his cock pounded mercilessly into her, Ahma cried out a third orgasm. Her pussy gave a weak little gush of fluid, more dribble than anything, but it still came rushing from her pussy and soaked his cock, dribbling down her crack to tickle at her anus. 

Methaniel took hold of her and plunged into her completely. The spasms of her heated core washed over him. As Ahma gasped desperately for air and thrust her pussy onto him, he yanked almost completely out and then sank into her in one deep, hard thrust. His cock pumped into her.

"Yes Master, give me your cum! Give me your seed Master Merie, I want it! I want your seed inside me!" Ahma howled as spurt after spurt of hot, gooey cum blasted into her. It splattered inside her, coating her inner walls in thick, syrupy ropes of cock cream. Methaniel groaned and continued to pump her full of burst after burst of cum until, packed overfull, it came tumbling out of her stuffed hole to spatter onto her mound, adding to the mess of juices already coating her smooth flesh.

Ahma sank back onto the bed, cooing softly in happiness from the feeling of his heated seed inside her. She felt deep, body wearying satisfaction. Methaniel kissed her forehead, cradling her body to him. She clung tightly to her Master, nuzzling her head against his wide shoulder and sighing happily. A moment later she giggled.

"I'm all sticky."

Methaniel laughed and helped her to wipe the excess fluid and sweat from her body before taking her into his arms. As she cuddled to his side, something occurred to him. The excitement fell from his face and his brow furrowed thoughtfully.

"Ahma…I begin to wonder if this is a wise thing for us to do.

She stared up at him, confusion on her face as her eyes flashed with alarm. "What do you mean, Master?"

He heard the note of hurt in her voice. He gathered her onto his lap, holding her to his chest. He softly massaged the muscle between her wings.

"I am worried, Ahma…I care for you. I want to protect you. And so I fear how things would be for you if you should bear a child. You would be very vulnerable…and given our situation, and that neither of us know how long it will be before we are truly safe…it could be disastrous."

The panicked expression left her face. "Master Merie…you don't know?"

"Know what?" he replied.

"Wingling women have…well…it's like a 'heat'…a time once every three years when we become fertile and able to conceive. Beyond this time, we may never become pregnant. I'll know when the time comes. Until then, there's no need to worry."

Methaniel's face visibly relaxed. Ahma tilted her head and smiled slightly. "I thought you would have known. Why do you think Wingling women are so sought in Durinum as whores?"

Methaniel chuckled and lightly cupped Ahma's still slightly sweaty bosom. "I thought it was for…other reasons."

Ahma giggled softly. "Perhaps."

"That is a relief," Methaniel said, "For a moment I was beginning to fear I'd put both of us into a very precarious situation."

"You had me worried, too," she admitted. She bit her lower it, "I thought perhaps you changed your mind about…us."

"Nothing of the sort, Ahma," he assured her. He caressed her back gently, lovingly, trying to reassure her than everything was fine between them.

Ahma hesitated a moment, then took a deep breath and looked up into his silvery eyes. "Master?"

"Yes?" he replied, searching her lovely face.

Her words were meek, almost nervous. "Can I tell you something? You may not like it…or find it uncomfortable…but I think you should know."

"Of course," he nodded. "You can tell me anything."

Her eyes darted downward apprehensively. "Winglings…they mate for life," she said quickly. She let her words come tumbling out, ignoring her earlier decision to be patient with her Master. She couldn't contain it anymore. "When I chose to mate with you, it…I'm not just simply sharing my body with you. I am committing myself to you…as my Mate. Even should you leave me…should you marry a Lady one day…you will always be Mate, to me. You will always be the man I dedicate myself to with all my being. Our coupling much deeper than you probably realize…at least for me…and I thought you should know."

He gazed upon her apprehensive face. Ahma blushed up at him, scared and embarrassed and a little excited all at once. Her eyes shimmered bright and liquid as she stared up at him.

Methaniel suddenly pulled her close to him, his thick, powerfully muscled arms enfolding her naked body and cradling her close. "I would be honored to be your Mate," he whispered into her ear.

The Nobleman drew back to see shining tears of shocked happiness in the Wingling girl's eyes. "I love you," he continued, his smile spreading soft and warm. "I said that before…and I meant it, truly. You are unlike any woman I have ever known, beyond the most noble of Ladies or well-bred women. You are better than them all. And I very much desire for you to be my Mate."

Ahma, her face beaming, let out a melodious, heartfelt laugh as she flung herself into his comforting arms. "I love you too, Master Merie!" she exclaimed, nuzzling against his chest. She smiled up at him. Her cheeks glowed under the faint tracing of joyful tears. She pressed close to him and let out a sigh of utter fulfillment.

He caressed her hair, rubbing the silky strands idly. As he looked down on her face he couldn't help but smile. Her joy radiated from her and transformed her already stunning beauty into a sight both ethereal and simple in its perfection. He kissed her forehead.

Ahma was satisfied in so many ways as she relaxed into her Mate. She thought distantly of how lucky she was…Master Merie accepted her as a Mate. He was everything she had ever wanted…kind, intelligent, handsome, strong. He had a way with words and a smile that, while normally hidden by his serious demeanor, could melt her heart when he allowed it to be seen.

And he loved her. He said he wished to be Mate to her, and for her to be Mate to him. She had dared to hope, in her heart of hearts, for such a reply. But she hadn't expected it, not really. A feeling of bliss greater than any other enfolded her, and she now knew that no matter what may come, they would be together, sharing their lives as Mates. 

Mates.

Ahma fell into a restful slumber, the thought of her husband, her life, her Mate circling in her sleepy thoughts.




Rising From Nothing



I stopped caring the moment the divorce became final. She divorced me when I came out to her as bisexual, leaning gay. Fact was, I had not known had any leaning, other than being straight, until about three years after our marriage. 

I had married her after she told me the baby was hers. I stayed with her after a DNA test proved that the child was not mine. I wasn't intending to have what relationship we had destroyed by anything that I did. In fact, other than what little sex I'd had with her, I was practically a virgin.

Then, about three years into our marriage, I started getting some strange and scary desires. I wanted nothing more than a hard male body pressed against mine, and the musky taste of man on my lips. This was exacerbated by the fact that I was now working with what I considered to be the single hottest individual, man or woman, that I had ever encountered, or had seen in any picture, and this person was male. VERY male. 

His name was, I found out quickly, Dr. Kailen Erik Moran, and yes, he was a Doctor. Not a medical doctor, he made clear to everyone, but a Doctor of Divinity, and Ancient Religions. One would think that the fact of his learning would make him a stuck-up, over-moral ponce, but nothing could be further from the truth. He was a worldly-wise, honest, forthright man, with not a hint of religion-inflicted stiffness.

He could easily laugh, and was quick with a snarky retort whenever he was teased, or when the jokes flew at high rates. Often, his way with words would have his fellow workers practically paralyzed with laughter. To be frank, I was quickly becoming infatuated with this vibrant personality.

Perhaps I should introduce myself. My name, for what it's worth, is Sean Leigh Cleburn, and I am a professional recording engineer, one that owns a small recording studio. But that is not my regular job. During the day, I am the purchasing and logistics agent for a major musical instrument dealer in my city. 

I'm a bit tall, at 200 centimeters, and 95 Kilograms. I do my best to keep myself healthy, so what little fat is there, is kept somewhat in check. I have to admit, though, I do enjoy the occasional beer and pizza. I also love to cook.

But enough about me. 

About five years after the marriage, it ended in me losing everything I owned EXCEPT the studio and my car. I was reduced to sleeping, eating, showering, and practically spending all spare time at the studio. At least, because of not actually being the child's father, I was not subject to child support. What little alimony would usually be paid, was waived by the judge, bless him.

Now, I said earlier that I stopped caring the moment the divorce became final. That's true in everything except my studio and my job. Into those I put every ounce of energy I could muster. 

After about two years of this, I had an apartment built off the back of the studio, one that was large enough to do a small amount of entertaining. I was elevated to my current position as logistics agent of the Dealer, in addition to my purchasing agent position, something that really was not a change, as I was already doing the job. They just gave me the extra title, and recognized this with additional pay, almost double what I had started the position. 

Through all this, I had one small (read that as fucking huge) thorn in my side. I still was infatuated with one person. And that person was Kailen. Beautiful man, he was. He was still vibrant, and almost too handsome. I got to where I feared every time he and I met, as I would almost certainly develop a massive hard-on, and doing so was not a good thing, to my mind. I feared he would see, and it would jeopardize what little friendship I had with him. 

To this end, I poured myself deeper into my work. But this really did not help at all. I would wake up early in the morning, with the darkness surrounding me, realizing I had just had a wet dream of Kailen. This was all the sexual activity I could be said to be getting, and it really did nothing but make it worse. 

One afternoon, I was running some figures through the inventory computer's lists, when I felt a strong hand on my shoulder. I looked up, and there was Kailen. He smiled at me, and said in his beautiful singer's voice, "Hey, Sean. What are you doing tonight?"

I really had only one answer, because I had no work in the studio. I was all caught up. So, being an honest individual, I said, "Nothing. I had been planning to go get a six pack, and a pizza, and chill in front of a space movie."

Then, Kailen threw a wrench into that plan that had me sweating underneath my t-shirt. "Why don't you join me and my band at the 'Salty Dog Saloon' tonight? There's a jam, and we host it. You and your keyboard talent would be welcome." He then said something that had my heart racing a bit. "Besides, when we aren't playing, it'll give me a chance to get to know you. I've worked with you for eight years now, and I know next to nothing about you."

I sighed, and looked at him, forlornly, I am sure. "That was a bit of the point, Kailen. But, yeah, I suppose. Do I meet you here? And when?"

"Yeah. Meet here, and we pack into the trailer. Bring your keyboard and amp, and be ready to jam. Rock and blues, mostly. Meet us here at about six. You get off at four, right?"

"Yeah. What dress code?" 

"We usually dress in black. I'll get a t-shirt for you. And, by the way, what size do you wear?"

I told him. Then, writing it down, he smiled, patted my shoulder, and said quietly, "Thanks, hun. See you at six." Then he walked away.

I was really sweating now. I knew it wasn't really a date, but the man of my dreams had just asked me to go to an event with him. That alone was a bit more than I could handle.

Four O'clock couldn't come sooner.

=====

I got home and as soon as I stepped into the apartment, had my clothes off. I went directly to the shower and began to wash up. As I did, a rather powerful image of what I believed was my dream man, Kailen, naked, rubbing up against me, entered my mind. I couldn't stand it, and for the first time in years, I reached down and grasped my hardened shaft. I began to slowly fist it. 

The sensations were stronger than what I had ever experienced. I imagined his hand on my member, and his lips on mine. I imagined his voice in my ears, his breath on my skin. My eyes were closed, but I am sure if they were open, one could have seen them rolled back into my head. 

The heat in my body climbed, and I began to stroke faster. I braced myself against the wall, and panted with need. It was as if electricity had been applied to every sensitive spot, and I was shaking and stiff. 

Then, stiffening further, I came hard, with Kailen's name on my lips. Great ropes of cum hit the wall of the shower, and I shuddered as the intense pleasure rippled through my wet body. Never had I cum so hard. It was then that I knew what I wanted more than anything in the world. I wanted Kailen.

Cleaning myself up, I finished my shower, trimmed my goatee, and shaved the rest of my face. I clothed myself, and checked the clock. Surprisingly, it was only 4:45. I packed my two keyboards, a Roland RD-700, and Hammond XK33c with my two amps, a Roland KC-500, and a Leslie 3300 (Look them up if you are curious, those of you who are into music). I had paid dearly for them, saving up for several years, and finally getting what I wanted. I also packed my double stand, my bench, and my small suitcase full of cables. 

When done packing, I checked the time. It took only fifteen minutes to pack, because this was my gig rig. I had a similar rig set up in the studio as well. So, I ate a quick snack, and headed for the store, a simple 20 minute ride.

I must have looked a bit scared, because when Kailen saw me, he asked, "Something wrong, hun?" 

-Yeah, there is. I'm going out with you,- I thought, but instead I said, "Not really. Just a bit nervous, is all."

Then, he did something which threw me completely off balance. He leaned down, stuck his head into my car window, and very gently kissed me on the lips. Then, while I tried to get my breath from that slight touch, he whispered. "Hun, you do not need to be nervous around me." Then he walked back to his truck, and opened the doors of the trailer. 

In order to calm my now frazzled nerves, I jumped out, and began to unload my gear from my car. My encased keyboards and amps found places in the trailer, which was partially loaded with sound gear, a drum kit, and several guitar and bass cases. 

Once my gear was strapped in, I stepped out of the trailer to see a site that imprinted itself on my mind. Kailen had stripped his shirt off, and was unfolding a t-shirt. And, in response, I stumbled. He looked better than my dreams and imaginings had been. Luckily, I got my footing, and my shirt was long enough to hide my "tent".

Kailen pulled the shirt on, and looked up to see me staring, and smiled. He threw me a shirt, and said, "Get that shirt off, and put this one on." 

I did, conscious of his eyes on me. He smiled at my blush. He then said, "Sean, what ever you do, please don't hide from me, even behind your work. I want to know you. I already know you exercise at least three times a week." Then he leaned in, and grazed my exposed midriff with a finger. "Nice." I nearly came from that touch. I made sure to put my shirt down, and went to lock the door of my car. 

The "Salty Dog Saloon" was an amazing place. I'd not been there up until that evening. I really knew nothing about the place. But what I found out had me in a deep quandry, when combined with Kailen's words, and his touch. On several walls, I saw rainbow flags of varying sizes, and some of the neon had rainbow elements as well. The Salty Dog was a Gay Friendly establishment. 

-Oh my... Is Kailen gay?- I thought, and that thought didn't fit with the perception of the "typical" gay guy, as governed by what a lot of men considered to be a sign of gayness in my town. This is a sign of how much knowledge I really lacked. I had seen the effeminate types of men before, and that was the only picture of a gay man I had, despite my own preferences.

Kailen explained it this way, "This club is owned by a gay man and a straight man, and their spouses. It caters to everyone, and makes sure that no one is hurt by being gay. Also, it's the only blues club within sixty miles, so it gets a lot of business." 

I nodded, and looked around, somehow feeling amazingly comfortable with him. I asked for and received instructions on where to set my gear, and helped the band-mates empty the trailer. I set up and warmed up, limbering my fingers using my ever-present headphones, so as not to interrupt anyone's conversations. Once that was done, I went to the bar and ordered a Guinness and headed for an empty table to wait.

I was soon joined by a happy Kailen. We fell into easy conversation for the next hour, while waiting for time to start playing. My beer was cool and wet, and it helped somewhat to calm my nerves, as did the conversation with my friend.

As we talked, I took occasional glances around the club, and saw that more and more people of every walk of life poured into the place. I became more and more at ease, and was ready to play. I rose, and headed for my rig, and began sound-check with the band.

=====

The night was incredibly fun. It was about the most fun I'd ever had. Music pumped through an amazing sound system. I had so much fun playing songs I'd never played before. 

I had long and rambling conversations with Kailen, as well as with other members of the band, and with other musicians in the jam-session. There were many different musicians there, and the random bands that were created by selecting different musicians, made it possible to hear many different sounds and styles.

At the end of the night, I had drunk only two total beers, as well as coca-cola. I was quite sober. Kailen, as sober as I, walked up to me, as I sat at a table, outside, resting my ears, a strained look on his beautiful face. He sat down, and said, "I just got a call from my sister. I can't go home tonight. Their house, which I share with them, just burned down. I have no bed."

This was not good news, as you can imagine. So, I did the only thing I could. "You can stay at my house. I have plenty of room, and an extra bed."

"You'd do that?" He looked up at me with red-rimmed eyes.

"Absolutely, and you can stay as long as you like. And, it would make it possible for us to carpool to work." 

He looked at me with a new tenderness in his eyes and smiled, then nodded. "Can we stop by and see what got damaged? And perhaps see my sis?"

"Of course, baby." That affectionate word simply slipped from my lips unbidden, and the second I said it, I knew my face was very red.

"Thanks. And, you can always call me baby." 

When the night was through, we helped take down the system and pack it all away. We got our pay, and headed out. We delivered the band-mates and their gear to their vehicles, and I packed my gear into my car. 

When the band members had gone, Kailen stood in front of me, and looked into my eyes. "Thank you, Sean. For all you are doing." He leaned in, and kissed me tenderly. I could not help but kiss him back.

We pulled away, and I slipped into my car, and started it up. I watched him go to his car, and then followed him to his sister's house. After talking with his sister, I led him to my home, and indicated that he should park next to my car. I led him inside, and showed him around.

He looked with rapt attention at everything that my house had in it, and at every little detail of its build. I stayed still for a while, silently watching him take in everything in the property. As he looked at a painting, I finally yielded to the temptation, and slipped up behind him, wrapping my arms around him. I hugged him to me gently, but firmly.

I said quietly, "I'm glad you are here, Kailen. I can't stop thinking of you. I hope I'm not scaring you off."

Kailen turned in my arms, and wrapped his own around my neck. "No, you aren't. And you aren't the only one in this room that feels that way about someone in this room." With that, he kissed me again, and this time, I was ready. 

The feeling of his body against mine was a heady thing. I loved the taste of his tongue and lips, and savored his musky scent. I was getting more and more aroused by his touch. There was no fighting for dominance. There was just an equal yielding and pressing forward by both of us. 

We both came up for air, and Kailen said, gruffly, "One thing... I need to get new clothes, Sean. I don't work tomorrow, and neither do you. Care to shop tomorrow?"

"With you, I would love it." I was sincere, and he could tell. He kissed me on the nose.

"Then, lets get these clothes off, and make use of your bed. I think we both need the same thing."

That offer sounded like the most attractive offer I'd ever heard. I led him into the room, and began to gently strip the clothes off of him. I lifted his shirt, slowly exposing his naked chest, and followed my fingers with my lips and tongue, tasting his skin, and the fine hair on his chest and stomach. I gently nipped and sucked on his nipples, eliciting a deep moan from him, a moan that made me moan as well.

Once his shirt was off, he did the same for me, but did not stop there. He knelt, and pulled my pants down. I wore some boxer-briefs made of silk, since I love the feel. He leaned in, and kissed my hard, clothed member, and began to mouth the shaft, through the thin material. 

Sensations filled my body. Like waves of energy, the feeling of his mouth on me rolled through me and made me shiver and moan. I could not take my eyes off of him. He had me in his power, and he seemed to know this.

He pulled my shorts off of me, as well as my pants and socks, and leaned back in to gently lick my shaft. He took it slowly between his lips and began to suck tenderly on it. I was his, as far as I was concerned. I yielded to the feeling. I moaned deeply, and stroked his head as he moved slowly on my shaft. I saw his free arm moving, and saw that he was stroking his own member.

Seeing this, I pulled out of his mouth, and lifted him up, silently, and pushed him to back to lay on the bed. He gasped a bit, then smiled. I kissed that smiling face, then began to trail kisses and nibbles down my beautiful man's chest. I licked and kissed his stomach, then, giving his cock a miss, trailed kisses down one leg and foot, then up the other. 

I took his hard, leaking shaft in one hand, and licked the length of it slowly. He let out a mewl of pleasure, and arched his back a bit. I, for the first time in my life, took his member into my wanton mouth. I gently wrapped my lips around him, and began to suck him, taking into account everything I wanted done on my own cock. I sucked and licked every inch of his shaft and balls. He tasted so damned good, I wanted to savor the taste of his salty, sweet precum, and eventually his cum.

But he would not have any of that. "S-Sean... feels good, but it isn't what I want, babe." I got the point, I think.

I pulled off of his cock, and lowered my mouth, while lifting his legs, and began to lick his musky hole. He involuntarily let out a loud yelp, and then moaned deeply, his body alternately stiffening, and relaxing, his voice coming out in hitches. I slipped my tongue into his hole gently, and began to slowly tongue-fuck the tight hole. As I did so, I felt his body move a bit. Then I felt him press a bottle into my hand. I raised up, and saw that he'd found my jacking lube, the one I'd never opened, but had in case I'd need it. So, I poured some on my fingers, and squirted some on his hole, its chill causing a bit of a flinch in his body. 

I slowly grazed his hole with my finger, and massaged the oil in, careful not to hurt him. After a moment of this, I slowly pressed my digit into the palpitating rosette, and began to move my finger in short strokes. He gasped and moaned in rhythm with my finger's movements, and I could hardly bear it. I wanted to dive into him and deeply explore him long and slow.

He let out another deep moan, and taking a deep breath, and said, "Sean, I need you. I need you in me."

"You know I love you, don't you?" I had to make sure.

"Yes, and I love you back." He smiled, and stroked my face. "Now, babe. Please fuck me."

I almost couldn't speak. So, I did not. I lined up my cock with his hole, and gently pushed in. While the hole was tight, I had no issues entering my baby. The warmth and tightness were almost more than I could stand. I forced myself not to explode, and simply slowly pushed forward.

Kailen pushed back, and we soon were fully seated against each other. He wrapped arms and legs around me, and I began to slowly fuck him with long, full strokes. His breath came in gasps, and with each gasp, he spoke my name. His name on my lips made me harder and harder, and I began to move faster. 

Shorter firmer strokes seemed to cause him to leak more, and so I kept doing that. I was becoming more and more animalistic in my movements, and I began to lose control. 

I heard a cry, and looking at my love, I saw his cock spurting hard and repeatedly. His evident pleasure, and the repeated calling of my name set me off, and with a scream of my own, I came hard and long, filling him up.

I could not move for a while after, and when I began to get my strength back, I slowly pulled out. But, Kailen stopped me, so without fully pulling out, I rearranged our bodies so that we were on our sides. We told each other we loved each other, and then slept.

=====

I dreamed of a feeling of tightness moving on me, a tight warmness that was beyond any other feeling. I woke, and realized it was no dream. Kailen had started riding me while I was asleep. I smiled and let him continue, stroking his cock and his chest and stomach as he moved. 




Rising From Nothing



His sexy body moved and flexed, and the six-pack abs seemed to develop a rhythm of their own. He moaned and sighed as I touched him. His image made me so turned on. I couldn't stop him if I had wanted to. I began to gasp as he tightened around me. The feeling was too much, and I came inside him.

He came with me, a low moan on his lips. He wilted on my chest, and my cock slipped out of him, now softening slowly. We lay there in the sun-drenched bed for a while, our strength slowly returning.

I carefully got both of us up. "Care to join me for a shower?"

"Glad to, dear."

We walked into the bathroom, and I prepared the shower. Letting it run for a while to warm up, I asked, "What size of shirt and pants do you wear, babe?"

"Same as you, apparently." I looked at him, and he was holding a pair of my pants, and looking at the tags. 

"Really? That makes things easy," I said. "You can look in my closet for anything you'd like to wear."

"Thanks, babe."

We showered together. It was a sensual affair. We were not hard, but we were mentally aroused by this kind of closeness. Careful to touch each other tenderly, we cleaned every inch of each other.

Shower complete, we dried each other, then dressed ourselves. I smiled and said, "What do you want for breakfast?"

"Waffle House." I smiled, and took his hand. I led him to the car, then kissed him. 

I asked him gently, "Will you stay? Forever? Will you be my husband?"

He leaned back in and kissed me. "Nothing would please me more than being yours. The answer is yes, and always was."

That's all I needed to know.

=====

Life hasn't been a bed of roses, it's true, but I have someone now, that I know is going to be around for a while. Kailen took my name. We married about two years ago, and it's been nothing if not the most love-filled life I could think of.

When Kailen's sister found out about us, she was surprised, but supportive. I think she has been the single strongest supporter of our relationship that we could have asked for. Our company supported us. Kailen is still in sales, and I am still in my position. So, there's no real issue with us working for the same company. He is now a regular visitor to the studio, always keeping me stocked with my favorite energy drinks. 

And, my dad, the only family I have other than Kailen, has revealed that he is happy that I am happy and successful, a thing I never thought I'd hear from him.

So, if life has dealt you a hard blow, I urge you not to lose heart. Love will come your way.

======

Author's Note: This is my second work of fiction, and I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed telling it. I want to thank those that commented on my work. Thanks for the critiques and honest opinions. Much love, Aragon. 



Rising From The Ashes



Two years ago I discovered my wife Rhonda was having an affair. That led to a vicious argument that ended with me packing my bags and moving out. Of course my moving out wasn't due to the argument. I was moving out because I wasn't going to live with a cheating slut. Our marriage was over the second she let another man into her panties.

I checked into a motel near my office. It was kind of seedy but it would do until I found something more permanent. I put the two suitcases I had packed into my room and walked to a nearby neighborhood bar intent on getting drunk and drowning my sorrows. By walking I wouldn't risk a DWI. The place I chose was pretty much empty due mainly to the fact it was a week night. There were two couples sitting at tables and one older man sitting at the bar nursing on a bottle of beer. I found a booth over on the far wall away from anyone else. I wasn't in the mood for conversation. The bored looking waitress came over and I ordered a shot of Jack and a beer.

By the time I had finished my second round I had had enough time to do a little thinking. I realized that I could either sit around feeling sorry for myself or I could do what I normally do and meet this problem head on. I was a spec builder, building upper scale homes and it was at the height of the housing boom. I would always have two or three houses in progress at any one time and when construction problems arose I learned that it would cost me money if I didn't tackle them right away. With a new resolve I returned to the motel for a fitful night of sleep.

The next morning I went to the bank and moved all our money from our joint accounts into one in my name only in order to protect myself. Next I canceled all our joint credit cards, keeping two that were in my name only and the ones that I had set up for my business. My final stop of the day was to my lawyer to draw up divorce papers. Keith was a friend of mine as well as my lawyer and even though he specialized in real estate law his wife Shelley who was a lawyer and his partner dealt in family law. After they both told me how sorry they were at the circumstances I found myself in we sat down to go over the details. I was given the usual spiel telling me how this was a community property state and that she was going to be entitled to half of everything and that I would be responsible for paying child support.

I told them I was well aware of that but there was no way I was going to change my mind and to proceed with the paperwork. Because of our daughter I filed for dissolution on the grounds of irreconcilable differences rather than adultery. I had done well in my business and even having to give her half would still leave me well off. I just wanted to rid myself of a faithless slut wife. I slept better that night knowing that I was now taking charge of the situation. 

It was Friday evening, the second full day after I had packed my bags and left that I received a call from Katey, my thirteen year old daughter, telling me that she had not seen or heard from her mother since she got home from school and she was all alone and hungry. Cursing my hopefully soon to be ex I jumped into my truck and headed home. I consoled my distraught daughter then headed into the kitchen to fix her something to eat.

It was under a magnet on the refrigerator that I saw an envelope with my name on it in my wife's handwriting. As curious as I was at to see what was inside I tossed it on the counter to read later and continued to make dinner for Katey. It was only after we had eaten and watched a little T.V. and I had put Katey to bed did I return to the kitchen. I picked up the envelope and went into the den. I poured myself a shot of bourbon and downed it and sat down to read whatever was inside.

It was a note from my wife in which she said that I was crazy if I thought I was going to saddle her with a child to raise. It went on to say that she was leaving and for me not to bother looking for her. To say I was stunned is an understatement. I realized I had never really known the woman I had married. I just could not understand how in the hell a mother could abandon her child. I went up to what had been our bedroom and saw that most of her clothes and personal items were gone.

I waited until the next morning to call Keith and Shelley to talk over this new development and find out how it was going to affect my attempt to divorce my wife. Shelley advised me to wait until Monday and then she would accompany me to my wife's place of work. She would have the divorce papers drawn up and we could have her served there.

The hardest thing was sitting down with Katey to talk to her about what was going on. She already knew that her mother and I were having problems since I hadn't been home for the previous two nights. I decided that being honest with her was for the best and I told her that her mother had left a note saying that she was leaving. Other than that I really couldn't answer her questions about when she would come back as I didn't know myself.

We managed to get through the weekend and Monday morning I fed Katey her breakfast and dropped her off at school. I drove to my wife's place of work where I met up with Shelley. Together we went inside to inquire if my wife was there. At the mention of my wife's name we were directed to the Human Resources office where we learned that she and her boss had both turned in their resignations the previous Friday. Somehow I wasn't all that surprised as I had found out that the man she had been having the affair with was her boss. Her boss was stupid enough to have a sexual relationship with an employee under his direction but was smart enough to realize that when I made an issue of it he was going to lose his job for breaking company policy against fraternization between a manager and an employee under their supervision. 

Once outside in the parking lot Shelley advised me that it would be in my best interest to file a missing persons report with the police. As she had been gone for over forty eight hours they would be obliged to take the report and with any luck find her. 

She followed me down to the police station where a detective took my statement that my wife was missing. I was honest with him and told him that the reason I wanted to find her was so I could have her served with divorce papers and the reason for the divorce. I showed him the note she had left and told him what we had learned about her and her lover quitting their jobs. He wanted to know if I had an alibi for the Friday she was last seen on and I assured him that I had spent the whole day at one of the houses I was building and there were several contractors that could verify that. At the end the cop told me that if they determined that there was no foul play involved and she had left of her own volition there wasn't too much they could do.

I then offered to buy Shelley lunch and we called her husband and met up at the Olive Garden. We requested a table that was fairly private so we could talk.

"So Shelley, what does this do as far as the divorce if we can't find her to have her served?" I asked.

"What that means in this state is you are going to have to wait for a year before you can file on the grounds of abandonment. I'm sorry Steve, but that is what the law states," Shelley answered. "The reason I wanted you to report her missing is so that we have an official report of when she left to document it. Other than that, if the police don't locate her your only other option if you want to pursue it is to hire a private agency to try to track her down."

"Well, I guess that gives me something to think about. I guess I will wait until I hear from the police. Honestly though I don't know if I even want to know where she's gone. As I'm in no hurry to get married again if ever I guess waiting a year isn't that big of a deal as long as I don't have to deal with her."

I could see the look of sympathy in Shelley's eyes when I said I wasn't looking to get married again. She reached over and patted my hand. "Steve, I know how tough this is on you and I know you're hurting right now but as your friend please promise me that your not going to cut yourself off from life."

"For now my focus is on Katey. I'm sure she is even more shocked and hurt than I am. I have to be there for her." Keith and Shelley both nodded their understanding and told me they were both there for me and would help any way they could.

After lunch I went by one of my job sites and checked up on the progress and then went to Katey's school to wait for her to get out. As she exited the building I saw her looking around almost frantically until she saw my truck upon which she came running as fast as she could. I stepped out and she flung herself into my arms. I could feel her shaking.

"I was afraid you wouldn't be here," she sniffled into my neck where she had buried her face.

"Oh baby. I promise I'm not going anywhere," I answered, hugging her tight to me.

"Do you really promise," she asked staring at me with her big blue eyes shimmering with tears.

"Yes honey, I really really promise." I kissed her forehead and carried her around to the passenger side of the truck and seat belted her in. I again cursed my wife as I walked around to get in. With a little prodding I finally got Katey to open up about her school day on the drive home. Once home Katey wouldn't let me out of her sight. I continued to do my best to reassure her that I wasn't going to abandon her. Despite that she began to have nightmares and I would wake to hear her sobbing in her sleep. I would rush to her room and when I would awaken her she would throw her arms around me and hang on as if for dear life. When I asked her what she was dreaming about she said that she was lost and she couldn't find neither her mother or me.

The biggest saving grace I had at this time was my office manager. I had hired Renee to help me with the many mundane aspects of my work such as filing for permits and arranging for inspections so as to free me up to concentrate on the more demanding tasks. Since then I had come to totally rely on her. She now worked to keep the subcontractors on schedule and ordering and tracking materials as well as handling all the necessary paperwork. I might go several days without stopping in at the office but I never worried about it as I knew Renee was able to handle it. I had such trust in her that I even had her make out the checks to pay the subs or vendors. All I had to do was stop in on Friday and sign them and then she would see to it they got delivered. 

When I had decided I needed help running my business I had put out an ad in the local paper and had begun to interview people. I was getting discouraged with the respondents and couldn't find anyone who had the qualifications I felt were needed to handle the job. That was until Renee applied for the job. I still remember the day she walked in the door. Even though I was married I still recognized a good looking woman when I saw one. She stood only five foot four but she had such lovely big brown eyes and a cute button of a nose. I judged her to be in her early thirties and she obviously kept her self in shape by what I could see. She wore a blue business suit that even though it wasn't revealing did little to hide her trim figure. The interview went well and I was impressed by her qualifications. She had worked for her father who owned a construction company and was well versed in the business.

When I asked her why she no longer worked for him she explained to me that her husband had been transferred here so they had to move away. I also learned that she had a daughter the same age as my Katey and now that she was in school Renee wanted to return to the work force. We reached an agreement on wages and I had an office manager. Now don't get the wrong idea. Nothing ever happened between the two of us, not even flirting. On my part that was because I was married and took my vow seriously and and even if I wasn't married she was. I have a firm rule that I never mess with another man's woman. For her part, it was obvious she loved her husband very much and wasn't the type of woman to mess around.

I had let Renee know about what was going on with my marriage and when I told her about the nightmares that Katey was having she immediately suggested that I should put her in therapy. I quickly realized she was right and together we found a therapist who was willing to work with us. I had chosen a woman therapist because I believed that it would put Katey more at ease as she had always been extremely shy around men she didn't know. I met with Dr. Walters to tell her about all the things that had happened and why I felt it was necessary for her to see Katey. We set up a schedule to meet twice a week and she let me know that it would be good if I were to be available as she would want to see us together at times and just Katey alone at others.

Other events that had happened in the meantime was that the day after I had made a missing persons report the police sent over a woman detective to talk to Katey. My daughter told them that the last time she had seen her mother was Friday morning before she left for school and that her mother had seemed distracted but Katey hadn't been all that concerned at the time. It was a week later that I was asked to come down to the station and meet with the detective I had first talked with. He said their investigations had tracked her lovers credit card usage to two motels and they had determined with the use of pictures that the two were together of their own free will. They had apparently left the state and as there was no evidence off foul play the police weren't going to pursue the case any further.

The next two months passed and the therapy seemed to be working for my daughter. I believe that she finally understood that it was in no way her fault that her mother had left but more importantly that I would always be there for her. The frequency of her nightmares had dropped off and she no longer had to keep me in sight whenever we were together.

Renee and her husband began to invite Katey and me to their house for barbecues. At first I was hesitant to accept but Renee convinced me that it would be good for Katey to spend time with her daughter doing normal girl things. I knew her husband James from having met him at different times but I was a little concerned how he would take his wife inviting a man, even if it were her boss, into their home. I quickly found that my worries were for nothing. He and I quickly bonded and became friends.

My Katey and their daughter Jeanna also quickly bonded and became best friends. Not only that but Renee being a loving mother made sure to spend time with both girls giving Katey what I felt was much needed motherly guidance.

My wife had been gone for ten weeks with no word from her and I decided it was time to rid my bedroom of the last vestiges of her former presence. Although she had apparently packed a lot of her clothes and personal effects she had still left stuff behind. I brought a couple large garbage sacks up and started going through her drawers emptying out her belongings. In the last drawer which was mostly sweaters I found a small box tucked into the back. 

Being curious I opened it up and gasped when I saw what was inside. There was a baggie with at least a quarter ounce of pot in it and a vial of white powder. Now I wasn't naive about drugs. In my younger days before I married Katey's mother I had done some experimenting myself but put that aside when I graduated college and got serious about life. I opened the vial and sniffed at it before taking a little powder on my finger and tentatively tasted it. Cocaine. The only other thing in there was a CD.

I turned on my computer and put in the disc to see if there was any thing on it that I could access. I saw that it contained a movie so I opened it with the movie player and was surprised to see that it was obviously shot in the basement. I had built the house we lived in and had the basement set up with exercise equipment on one side and the other was basically a game room with a pool table, plush couches and large screen T.V.

The scene showed four couples sitting or standing most with drinks in their hands. Two of those people were my wife and her boss. I advanced the movie forward and at this point I saw people passing around joints while others were snorting lines of white powder off the glass top of the coffee table. Once again I forwarded the movie and this time it showed my wife impaled on the cock of a man laying on his back. There was a second man behind her with his cock shoved in her ass and a third standing to the side with his cock shoved down her throat.

I have always had a strong sex drive and even occasionally watched some porn when my wife was on her period and not receptive to my advances. And I know there are men out there who get off to seeing their wives fuck other men but I'm not one of those. All I felt was a great upheaval in my stomach and I raced for the bathroom. I would like to say that I made it to the toilet but alas my vomit spewed forth across the floor. I did finish up emptying my stomach in the toilet and then sat there in a daze for a while.

Finally I pulled myself together and headed to get a mop to clean up the mess. On the way out I saw the movie was still playing on my computer. Without looking at the screen I quickly shut it down. After I had everything cleaned up I called Shelley.

"Hey Shelley, it's Steve. Got time to talk?"

"Steve, Keith and I always have time for you. What's up," she replied.

"Well, I decided to get rid of some of Rhonda's stuff that is just taking up space and in one of her drawers I found a box with drugs and a CD. I was wondering if I should call the police and report the drugs."

"Honestly, I don't that would be a good idea. The drugs are in your house and if it came down to it it would be your word against hers as to who they belonged to. I really think you would be best off getting rid of them."

"Wow, I didn't really consider that," I said. "How about the CD? I put it in my computer and it's a movie of her and her friends doing drugs and having unprotected group sex. That slut had an orgy in my basement."

"Oh God Steve. I'm sorry. I know that you would never have wanted to see that. However, since it was filmed in your home it could be used as admissible evidence in court especially if came down to a matter of custody. I would suggest you hide it somewhere secure in case it's needed."

"That's what I was hoping you would say. I intend to try to do anything I can to keep her away from Katey."

***********

"So, how are things really going?" James asked me on our fourth visit to their house. The girls were out of earshot being in the house preparing lunch.

"I guess things are as well as could be expected when you find out your wife is a slut into drugs and group sex," I answered.

"What?" James said with a gasp. I went on to tell him about the CD and drugs I had found.

"I guess I never really knew her. The woman I thought I had married would never have done something like that. You don't know how lucky you are to have a woman like Renee."

"Actually I do. Not a day goes by that I don't thank my lucky stars that she chose me to love. She's a beautiful woman and I know guys hit on her but I have always trusted her to do the right thing. Now if I just get her boss to stop hitting on her," James said with seeming seriousness just as I was taking a drink.

I couldn't help but splutter at his statement spitting my drink down my front. My head swiveled to look at him. "Jesus James. You don't think I would ever make a pass at Renee," I croaked out.

I then noticed the mirth in his eyes and he bust out laughing. "Relax buddy. Renee tells me everything about your relationship. That's why she enjoys working for you so much. You treat her with total respect and she knows you would never do anything to abuse her respect for you."




Rising From The Ashes



I grinned back at him. "Yeah, well it's a rule I've always lived by. Not only have I never made a play for a married woman I won't even make one if I know the woman has a boyfriend. If you were able to take a woman away from the man she was with how could you ever trust her not to do the same thing with the next guy that came along. That's even more true now that it's happened to me."

********

One other thing that happened as a result of me finding the disc left behind by my wife is that at the meeting with the therapist following my discovery she obviously could tell that something dramatic had happened. She asked to see me the following day without Katey. I must say, Dr. Walters knew her business. It didn't take her long to ferret out of me what had happened and the next thing I knew I was having one on one sessions with her.

It took a couple of months for her to make me realize that I had been suppressing many of my true feelings and another couple months to help me come to terms with them and deal with it. In the end she had truly helped both Katey and me to get past this ordeal.

When a year had gone by Shelley put forth my petition for divorce. We had no reason to present the CD movie as Rhonda's desertion of her family and failure to make any contact with her daughter or me was seen as justifiable cause to grant the divorce and give me sole custody of my daughter. I still kept the movie hidden away as insurance in case Rhonda ever did return and counter file for custody.

Just when things seemed to have settled out for everyone came the next tragedy in our lives. James was an avid cyclist and even rode in amateur races. During a race there had been a pile up and James had suffered a deep thigh bruise. What no one knew at the time was that he had developed a blood clot which broke loose and lodged in his brain causing a massive stroke.

When it happened we were at work. I was sitting in my office reviewing the plans for a new house I was getting ready to build when the phone call came. I heard Renee answer the phone. Suddenly I heard her cry out and I rushed out to her side. She had a frantic look as she stared at me.

"It's James. They've rushed him to the hospital," she blurted out as she stood and grabbed her purse. She started to run out of the office and I chased after her.

"Come on. Get in my truck. I'll drive," I said when I caught up with her. At first she gave me a blank stare then nodded and let me lead her. I put her in the passenger side and hurried to get behind the wheel. Except for telling me which hospital she never said another word for the rest of the ride. When ever I would glance over at her I could see her shaking with worry.

When we reached the hospital I pulled up in front of the emergency admittance and she leapt from the truck and rushed in. I hurriedly found a parking spot and ran back to the doors. When I went inside I saw that Renee had already inquired about James and she was clearly distraught. I went to her and she looked at me at told me that the doctors were working on James and they didn't know anything yet. I put my arm around her and led her over to the waiting area and sat with her.

After a half hour I realized that it was getting close to time to pick up our daughters at school. Not wanting to leave Renee alone I called Shelley and gave her a brief rundown on what was happening and asked if she could pick up the girls at school and bring them to the hospital. She assured me she would. I then called the school and asked them to have the girls ready to be picked up.

Shelley called me just before they arrived and I told Renee they were here. I went out to meet them and asked Shelley to take Katey with her and keep Renee company while I talked with Jeannie. I took her to a quiet spot and as gently as possible told her that her father had been brought to the hospital and was in the emergency room with the doctors. I let her know that it was apparently serious but we would have to wait for the doctors until we knew how bad it was. Jeannie did her best to put on a brave face and followed me back to the waiting room. 

I thanked Shelley for her help and before she left I promised to call her if we needed her help again. For the next half hour we sat in silence, me hugging Katey and Renee holding Jeannie. Finally a nurse came out and asked us to follow her and led us to a private sitting room. Soon we were joined by a doctor. The news was not good. Even though James was still alive he was being kept that way by life support. Renee collapsed in tears and I held her in my arms as she sobbed.

We continued to wait until they had James placed into ICU and then Renee and Jeannie were allowed to see him. After some time had passed Renee and Jeannie came back out.

"Steve, would you look after Jeannie for me. I'm going to stay here," Renee asked me.

Jeannie started to protest so I knelt in front of her. "Sweetie, you need to be strong for your mother right now. You come home with Katey and me and I will bring you back in the morning. If anything happens your mother will call us, okay?"

With tears falling from her eyes Jeannie nodded her head. She hugged her mother and then went to hold hands with Katey. I gave Renee a hug and told her to call me if anything changed and that I would see her in the morning. 

That evening was a tough one. Both girls hardly ate anything and were quiet, hardly speaking. I got them to bed and then turned in myself but sleep was hard to come by. The next morning I woke the girls and pretty much had to force them to eat breakfast. When I told Katey that I was going to drop her off at school she almost went ballistic. I took her to the side away from Jeannie.

"Honey, please. I need you to listen to me. Right now Jeannie is going to need to be with her mom. The time is going to come when she needs you and that's when you will be there for her, okay?"

"Alright daddy. I understand." I could tell she wasn't happy about it.

"That's my girl," I said giving her a hug.

After dropping Katey off I took Jeannie by her house. She used her key to let us in and I had her pack her mother some fresh clothes and anything else she felt her mother might need. When we arrived at the room James was in we found Renee asleep in a chair beside his bed. I set down the overnight bag we had brought and Jeannie and I went back out to the waiting room so her mother could sleep. It was another hour and a half before a haggard Renee came out looking for us.

Jeannie and I hugged her and then I led her to the cafeteria and bought her some breakfast. It took a bit of prodding to get her to eat but her lack of appetite was understandable. When she was finished I went to the desk on the floor and asked if there was somewhere that Renee could shower and change. The nurse was sympathetic under the circumstances and took her to the nurses locker room. She returned looking somewhat better.

The rest of the day was spent with Renee and Jeannie taking turns sitting with James while I stayed in the waiting area consoling whichever one was not in there. The doctors came back a little after noon and ran another battery of tests. The prognosis was not good. When it was time for school to let out I went and picked up Katey and we returned to the hospital until late evening when I again took the girls home.

It was half past five in the morning when my phone rang. I knew before I even answered it. I heard Renee obviously crying on the other end tell me that James had passed. I could only tell her how sorry I was and that the girls and I would be there as soon as possible. I quickly dressed and made my way to Katey's bedroom. The girls were asleep in her bed. I gently woke Katey and put my finger to her lips before she could speak and beckoned her to follow me. I told her that her friends father had died and she began to cry. I pulled her into a hug.

"Honey, Jeannie is going to need your support now. I need you to hurry and get dressed while I talk with her. When you are ready she will probably need your help getting dressed. We need to got to the hospital for Renee."

Katey looked at me and nodded wiping the tears from her eyes. "Okay daddy. I will help her." 

My daughter suddenly looked more mature than her fourteen years and I was proud of her. I then woke Jeannie and as difficult as it was I told her that her father had died. She broke down sobbing and I held her in my arms for several minutes. I then told her that her mother needed us and with Katey's help she was soon dressed and we were on our way.

It was heartbreaking to watch mother and daughter in a sobbing embrace as they shared their grief. Katey was crying as well and holding tightly to me. She too knew what it was like to lose a parent. Soon I left Katey with Renee and Jeannie and went to find the hospital administrators. I informed them that we would have a funeral home contact them as soon as we had chosen one. I then gently led Renee and her daughter out to the car and drove them home.

Once there I settled them into the den and asked her what phone calls needed to be made. She gave me a list of people to call including her parents and James' brother. Like me, James' parents had already passed away and his brother was his only relative. I also called Keith and Shelley. On my recommendation James and Renee had chose to use Shelley as their family lawyer. They dropped everything and came over right away. Shelley stayed with Renee while I made the phone calls including arranging with a funeral home to take charge of James' remains.

The toll of her loss and the lack of sleep finally overcame Renee and with Shelley's help she was put to bed. Afterward I talked with Shelley. She told me that she would handle the estate matters pro bono and that she had a copy of James' will. She also let me know that the will referred to two burial plots that James had purchased. I thanked Keith and Shelley for coming and when they had left I set about fixing lunch for the girls. The rest of the day was quiet with bouts of tears from both Jeannie and Katey.

The emotional toll soon overcame both girls and as soon as dinner was over they both turned in. Jeannie didn't want to sleep alone so once more both girls slept in the same bed. I decided to stay in the guest room and after I had locked up for the night I too felt the drain of energy and went to bed. I was tired enough that I slept through the night. I awoke around six and quickly dressed but I realized that I was not the first up as I was met by the smell of coffee as I stepped out of the room. I walked to the kitchen where Renee was sitting at the table.

She started and gasped when I walked in. "Steve, I didn't realize you were still here."

"Well Jeannie wanted Katey to stay with her and I decided to stay in your guest room just in case." I didn't say just in case what but Renee knew what I meant.

I told her about the arrangements that had been made with the funeral home and I told her that I would pick up her parents at the airport as they were flying in today. She thanked me for everything I had done. When our daughters finally appeared I told Renee to remain seated and I made breakfast for everyone. Once I had the kitchen cleaned it was time to leave for the airport. I arrived early enough to be waiting at arrivals when they came out. I had no trouble recognizing them as I had seen their pictures at Renee's house.

"Mr. and Mrs. Hanley, I'm Steve Connors, Renee's boss," I said holding out my hand.

"It's nice to meet you Steve. Please call me Dan and this is my wife Victoria. I feel as if I almost know you. Our daughter often speaks of you when we talk. She regards you very highly," Renee's father said shaking my hand.

"The feelings are mutual then. I couldn't accomplish what I do without her help. Both she and James have become dear friends. I just wish we were meeting under better circumstances."

Renee's mother gave me a hug. I like both of them immediately. We gathered their luggage and loaded it in the car and I drove them to their daughter's home. It was a bitter sweet reunion and more tears were shed. Katey and I stayed for lunch before taking our leave. 

James' funeral was held on Friday. His brother was there as well as many of James' friends. He had been quite popular due to his easy going ways and quick humor. I was also pleased to see that many of the subcontractors who had worked for me over the years and had gotten to know Renee showed up to pay their respects.

Renee's parents stayed for another two days and on Sunday they invited Katey and I over for lunch. After lunch we adults went into the living room while Katey went with Jeannie to her room. We had been talking about everyday mundane things until Renee's mother spoke up.

"Honey, do you know what your plans are now? You know we would love to have you move back home," Victoria said to her daughter.

"I know mom. You and dad have always been there to support me and I love you for that but this has all been so sudden that Jeannie and I are going to need some time to decide what we are going to do," Renee replied. "As soon as I know what we decide I will let you know."

Until now I hadn't thought about the possibility that Renee might move away and that sudden realization gave me a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach. And yet as her friend I would support whatever she decided. I stayed until a little after five and before leaving took Renee aside.

"I know you need time to mourn and to think about your life now. I want you to take all the time you need. Don't worry about work and if you do decide to move back with your parents I want you to know I will support your decision. You have to do what's best for you and Jeannie now. In the meantime if you need anything at all please call. I'll always be here for you."

Renee teared up and gave me a hug. "Thank you Steve. I don't think I would have made it this far without you."

Renee's father followed Katey and me out to the car and after I had her belted in he stuck his hand out to me. "Steve, Renee has told me how much you have done for her and Jeannie through all this. I want you to know how much Victoria and I appreciate it. I shudder to think how much worse it would have been with out your support."

I shook his hand. "Dan, it's the least that I could do. She and James and Jeannie were there for me and Katey after my wife left and abandoned our daughter. It was their love that really brought my daughter out of her depression. As long as she remains here you can rely on me to look after them the best I can."

Over the next two weeks Katey and I would stop by to check on Renee and Jeanie. She never mentioned if she had decided what she was going to do with her future and I was content not to pry and give her time. Jeannie stayed home with her mother for the first week following the funeral and then returned to school. It was Monday a week later that I went to the office and saw her car parked outside. She was sitting at her desk when I walked in. I knew she had reached a decision. I just stood staring at her waiting for her to speak.

"Well boss, are you going to show me what all you messed up the last couple weeks so I can fix it?" she asked.

"Does this mean..." I left it there not daring to finish the question.

"Yes, it means we're staying. This is Jeannie's home and all her friends are here. I think it would make this even harder for her to make her move. Besides, we both know you need me to keep your business running." She gave me a smile with the last sentence.

I exhaled not even realizing I had been holding my breath. "You sure know how to butter up your boss," I said with a big grin on my face. With that said I caught her up on the last two weeks events and then she kicked me out of the office telling me to keep on eye on the subcontractors. I don't think the smile left my face all day.

**************

Over the next year it seemed that we spent almost every weekend together due to our daughter's friendship. Renee and I would attend the girls sporting events and other school activities together. If they didn't have school events the girls would usually come to my house. I always made sure that Renee would come too. I didn't want her sitting around feeling depressed. Our friendship continued to grow to the point that there was nothing we couldn't speak to each other about. As for Katey, Renee had become a surrogate mother to whom she could talk about things that a young teen girl would be embarrassed to talk to her father about.

I guess I also became a father figure to Jeannie as well. Of course when it came to being a disciplinarian figure the girls would usually just giggle at me and it would have to be Renee who stepped in. Both girls knew they had me wrapped around their little fingers. The nice thing is that they were both good girls and we rarely denied them anything.

It was a Saturday just a little over a year after James had passed away. I had run over to one of the houses I had under construction to handle a small crisis. When I got back home I saw Renee's car in the drive way. We had planned a barbecue and a day of lounging around the pool. When I came into the house I could hear the girls laughing and giggling out back so I went to the laundry room and got my swim trunks where I had left them to dry. Normally I would change in my bedroom but today I figured I would just slip into the downstairs bathroom.

With suit in hand I opened the door and my eyes went wide. Standing in front of me was Renee. She was just reaching for her bikini top and was only wearing a skimpy pair of panties. I couldn't help but stare at her body. Of course I had seen her in a bikini before but never like this. Her breasts were perfect. I would say a large B cup. They stood proud on her chest with no sag and were capped in perfect pink nipples. I know I only stood there for a couple seconds but it seemed much longer.

Renee gasped and crossed her arms across her chest. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry," I stuttered. I quickly turned and pulled the door shut behind me and rushed to the living room. I was totally flustered. I remember thinking that I hoped I hadn't ruined our friendship and that she didn't hate me. Ten minutes passed before Renee came out wearing her bikini.

I know she could see how ashamed I looked. "Renee, I am sorry. I heard the girls out by the pool and thought you were out there too. I really didn't mean to walk in on you," I spoke in a rush.

She stood in front of me trying to look mad. That lasted all of about ten seconds until she laughed. She walked over to me and patted my cheek. "Steve, I know you would never do that intentionally. It's okay, don't worry about. Now go get changed and put the chicken on the grill. I'm hungry."

With that she turned and headed for the pool as I stood with my mouth hanging open as I watched her leave. I let out a sigh of relief that she wasn't mad at me. Of course I hurried and did as she asked. I went out back and saw Renee sipping wine while the girls romped in the pool. I grilled the chicken trying to keep myself from staring at her. I couldn't get the image of her in the bathroom out of my mind. After we had eaten we sat in recliners getting some sun. By now we were talking again as we always had. The only thing else that happened was that during a lull in the conversation Renee looked at me and smirked. I know I must have blushed.

The sun was setting when they left. Jeannie had invited Katey to spend the night so she went with them. As the girls headed to the car Renee came and gave me a kiss on the cheek and another sly grin. I breathed a sigh of relief when they had gone. At least my faux pas had not ruined our friendship. I went into my home office and went over some paperwork before turning in for the night. It was only when I was in bed did my mind return to the event earlier in the day. I could see her standing practically naked in front of me. That image caused my cock to stir. I reached down and felt myself start to get hard. This was the first time I had an erection since the day I saw the movie of my ex-wife and her gang bang. I guess what makes that remarkable in itself was that until then I had had a very high sex drive. I always thought I was abnormal as I seemed to have a perpetual hard on and spent most of my time trying to get into my wife's pussy. I knew that the reason my ex had left wasn't due to a lack of sex.




Rising From The Ashes



As my mind recalled Renee's beautiful tits my hand stroked my cock and in less than a minute I erupted with a scream as two years of pent up frustration burst forth from my cock. I think my cum must have shot almost to the ceiling and it rained down on me covering my chest and legs. With a final shudder I released my flagging erection. It was only then did the feelings of guilt set in. My God, what was I doing. Jacking off over the vision of Renee's breast. She was my friend. She was James' wife. Okay, James' widow. But still, how could I do that. Shaking my head I quickly showered and changed the sheets before returning to bed. My dreams that night were filled with images of Renee.

When I went to pick up Katey Sunday afternoon I was uneasy as I was afraid she could see in my eyes what I had done. When I thought about it later I'm sure she just thought I was still embarrassed over what had happened the day before. However once again when I went to bed that night my mind brought forth the image of Renee's tits and my cock began to swell. Disgusted with myself I went to my computer and brought up a porn site to redirect my urges. It worked right up to the point that I began to cum when as my orgasm shot through me all I could see in my minds eye was Renee.

The next week was a confusing one for me. Whenever I was in the office I would find myself staring at her. I couldn't understand my feelings. For the last two years I hadn't had the urge to be with a woman or even around women. Renee didn't count. She wasn't a woman she was my friend. As a result of this I spent a lot of time at the construction sites and away from the office.

Two thing were happening the next Saturday. The first was that Renee and I were dropping our daughters off at a two week sleep away sports camp for girls. The second was that the local building association of which I was a member was having their annual awards night. It was held in a ballroom of one of the hotels in town. After dinner there would be awards handed out in several categories and then the floor would be open for dancing. Renee was going with me.

Renee and I dropped the girls off at the camp Saturday morning. They were so excited they almost forgot to tell us good-bye. That got Renee and I laughing as I took her back to her house. I dropped her off and told her I would pick her up at six and went back home. I spent the day working in the garden to keep my mind off things I didn't want to think about.

Right at six I knocked on Renee's door and my jaw dropped when she opened the door. She was dressed in a "little black dress" that was sexy without being slutty. She wore a pearl necklace and black high heels and black stockings. "God, you are stunning," I stuttered out.

This got me a wide smile. "Why thank you kind sir."

Despite the temptation to stare at her I kept my eyes on the road and our conversation was light and unaffected as was usual for two close friends. We sat at a table with three other builders and their wives. They were spec builders as was I. Talk around the table was primarily shop talk. Dinner was a choice of either fish or chicken and it was actually quite good which is often rare for one of these events. Then our attention was turned to the dais as the awards were announced. When the award for quality of product was announced and my name was called Renee jumped from her seat with glee.

I kept my acceptance speech short. "I want to thank the association for this recognition. But most of all I want to thank Renee. This award is hers as much as mine. If it wasn't for all her efforts to keep me lined out I wouldn't be here today."

She stood with tears in her eyes when I returned to our table and hugged me and then surprised me with a kiss on the lips. It wasn't an erotic kiss but it was the first time we had ever kissed each other on anything but the cheek. I felt a surge of adrenaline shoot through me. After the awards were handed out the dance floor was cleared. I accepted the congratulations from many of my peers in the business and then asked Renee if she would like to dance. She accepted my invitation and we headed out to the dance floor. The first song we danced was a fast one. Now I'm not much of a dancer but I couldn't keep my eyes off her as she was like poetry in motion. The next song was a slow one and I was about to lead her back to the table when she slid into my arms and put her arms around my neck. 

I didn't resist. I put my arms around her waist and we began to sway to the music. It had been over two years since I held a woman and holding this woman had an immediate effect and I could feel my cock start to swell down my pants leg. I tried to pull back but she wouldn't let me. I only hoped she didn't feel the effects she was having on me. When the song ended I let her precede me back to the table hoping no noticed the bulge in my pants. Renee finished her glass of wine and then turned to me.

"Steve, I think a perfect way to end this evening would be to go back to your house for a soak in the hot tub." I didn't want the evening to end and to have to take her home so I quickly agreed. We talked about the award on the way home and the positive affect it could have on the business. 

When I had built my home I had it equipped with all the latest in remote technology. I could control the heating and cooling and the lighting from my mobile phone. I could also turn the hot tub on the same way. That way it was already heated when we arrived. Since Renee and Jeannie spent a lot of time at my pool when the weather permitted they had take to leaving their swim suits there. I fetched our suits and while she went to the bathroom to change I quickly changed into mine in the laundry room. I grabbed a bottle of wine and two glasses and went ahead to wait for her. I was glad to already be in the tub under the bubbles because the sight of her walking out in her bikini was enough to cause my cock to swell again. She slid into the water and accepted the glass of wine I handed her. 

For the first ten minutes we didn't speak, just basked in the warm water. She broke the silence first. "Steve, it's been over two years since Rhonda walked out on you. Have you thought about having a woman in your life again?"

I know that I blushed at that question and hoped that with the darkness she wouldn't notice. I wasn't going to lie to my friend. "The truth is that until very recently I haven't even thought about it. I guess I was pretty scarred over what happened."

"You said until recently. Has something happened to change your thoughts?" she asked.

No I know my face was totally flushed. "Well, um, er," I mumbled. I looked at her and even in the low light I could see a sly smile on her face. She set her glass down and I saw her hand reach behind her back and then I sat slack jawed as her bikini bra rode to the top of the water buoyed up by the bubbles. She rose up enough that her breasts were clear of the water. "Was it seeing me like this?"

"Oh God, Renee," I moaned as my cock strained at my swim trunks.

She slid through the water and upon reaching me she parted her legs and straddled my legs as she sat in my lap facing me. Her arms went around my neck. "Steve when James' died I didn't think I would ever have feelings for anyone again. When he was alive we did talk about what would happen if either one of us passed on and we both agreed that we would never want the other to spend their life in grief. I will always love James but I have come to realize that there can be room in my heart for another."

For a minute we sat staring in each others eyes. "Steve, say something. Am I making a fool of myself?" she asked worriedly. 

I broke my silence. "No you're not. I have been fighting my feelings for you. I was afraid to lose your friendship if I let you know."

We found ourselves locked in a deep kiss, our tongues getting acquainted. My right hand which had been on her hip slid up and I cupped her breast which caused her to moan into my mouth. My cock surged up and pressed into her behind. Renee pulled back and her hand slid down and grasped my cock causing me to groan. She stood up and pulled me to stand as she reached over and lowered my suit. My cock sprung up and stood proudly in front of me. Renee gently pushed me to sit on the edge of the hot tub and she stroked my cock and stared into my eyes before dropping to her knees and engulfing me in her hot mouth. As much as I wanted this to last it had been too long and I knew I would cum soon.

Within a few minutes I groaned again. "Jesus Renee, I'm going to cum."

She removed her mouth from just long enough to say, "Yes lover. Cum for me. Let me taste you." My ex-wife had never let me cum in her mouth and the sight of Renee asking for it sent me over the edge into a blinding orgasm as my sperm filled her mouth. I could feel her mouth moving as she swallowed my seed. Only when I had given her all I had did she finally release me. She smiled and licked her lips. 

"I hope that was alright."

"Oh baby, that was more than alright. I have never cum so hard before." She giggled at that. I slid off the edge and pulled her into a kiss as my hands pushed the bottoms of her bikini down. "Now it's your turn," I said as I lifted her from the water and set her on the edge of the tub. She parted her legs without hesitation and for the first time I got to see her beautiful pussy. She was clean shaven with only a small landing strip above her clit. I have always loved to eat pussy and wasted no time in tasting hers. I didn't want to tease her as I knew it had been over a year for her to make love to a man. She was obviously as hot as I was because in no time she was pulling my head into her cunt as she cried out that she was coming. I slowed my pace as she came down but I didn't quit. This time I worked her to another orgasm with a slower pace as I relished the taste of her. When I felt that she was on edge I slipped two fingers into her pussy and massaged her g spot as I gently took her clit between my lips and sucked and flicked it with my tongue.

Her climax this time was heralded with a scream and her whole body shook and bucked. Again I worked her through her ecstasy and gently brought her down. I took her near limp body into my arms and sat her back down in the water and held her in my lap. For a while all she could do was press her face into my chest as I felt shudders ripple through her from time to time. Finally with a sigh she raised her head and looked into my eyes.

"My God, Steve. I came so hard I thought I was going to die. Thank you. I really needed that."

"Trust me my love. It was my pleasure." We snuggled in the hot tub for another quarter hour before I stood and carried her in my arms up to my bathroom and into the shower to rinse off. I swear she literally purred as I washed her. She hurriedly returned the favor and we quickly dried and almost raced to the bed. My cock which had never totally gone soft and had remained hard since my first taste of her pussy was aching for relief. I think she was as anxious as I was because after only a couple kisses she pulled me between her spread legs.

"I want you inside me Steve. Just please go slowly. It's been a long time and you are larger than I'm used to." Now I'm not of porn star size but I had never had complaints either. All the same I took my time and gently inserted the head into her steaming pussy. I pushed forward slowly. God she was tight. When I had a couple of inches in I stopped and kissed her. I then felt her push her hips up seeking to take more of me inside. I held still and let her proceed at her own pace. Finally I felt our pubic bones press into each other and I was firmly embedded in her. Gently I began to withdraw and then push back in. I felt her become accustomed to me and she began to meet my thrusts. Our tempo picked up and I could feel her urging me on.

"Yes Steve, fuck me. I need it so bad," she cried out. I so wanted to please this beautiful sensual woman that I gave her my best. Our bodies slapped loudly together as I drove into her. "Yes my love, I'm going to cum. Cum with me fill me with your sperm," she shrieked out. Her tight pussy clutched at my cock as she came and literally sucked the cum from me as I filled her. As intense as my orgasm had been when Renee had sucked me with her mouth, this was even more so. Our union ended in a hot passionate kiss and I then rolled to the side and pulled Renee into my arms and held her as she snuggled into me. 

When we had resumed a normal breathing pattern I pulled back so I could look at Renee. She blushed and tried to hide her head. "Baby, look at me. What's wrong?" I asked.

She blushed even more. "Oh Steve, the things I said. You must think I'm terrible talking like that," she mumbled. 

I laughed. "Sweetheart hearing you tell me what you wanted turned me on. You can talk dirty to me anytime," I said wiggling my eyebrows.

"You are terrible," she said. "But I like it. Even now when I should be satisfied the thought of your big cock fucking my pussy makes me hot." As she was saying this she had reached down and started stroking me. My cock was quickly rock hard again. I flipped her over onto her hands and knees and knelt behind her and slowly but steadily impaled her with my hardness. Within a minute she was pounding back into me as I slammed into her.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," she cried out. "Yes lover, fuck my cunt with your big hard cock. Make me your slut."

"Cum for me slut," I bellowed out. "You are now my slut and this cunt belongs to me. I'm going to fuck you all the time with my big hard dick." Again our orgasms were earth shaking in their intensity.

This time when we fell to the bed we were spent from the passion we had shared and we fell asleep with her wrapped in my arms. I slept a profoundly deep sleep like I hadn't had in over two years. The sun was well up in the sky when I woke the next morning. Renee was still in slumber, curled into my body. I rose up on one elbow and just spent my time looking at her lovely face and body. Then she stirred and slowly opened her eyes and shifted until she looked into mine and gave me a smile that melted my heart.

"Good morning, beautiful," I said.

"Mmm, good morning stud," she said with a giggle. She reached over and took hold of my morning wood and stroked it. "Are you always hard like this?"

I grinned at her. "What can I say. I've always had a very high sex drive and you just bring out in me even more. I would keep it buried inside you for ever if I could."

With a wicked grin she rolled me over onto my back and then straddled my hips. Holding my cock in her hand she guided it to her pussy and slow sat down until I was buried all the way into her. She stared into my eyes as she began to slowly raise up and then sink back down. For a good five minutes she kept up this slow pace until I reached up with both hands and tweaked her nipples. She let out an 'eek' and went to fucking me in earnest. I kept tugging at her nipples and I could feel her pussy flooding and her juices running down my thighs. She was so erotic riding my cock that I had to fight to not cum. I managed to hold off until her eyes rolled back into head and she gave on final hard slam driving me deep into her. "Fuck," I cried out.

My pulsing cock heightened her orgasm and her spasms increased until she gave out and fell onto my chest. I wrapped my arms around her and she purred in pleasure as I stroked her back. Finally she told me she was hungry so we got out of bed and quickly showered before heading for the kitchen. I whipped us up a couple of Denver omelets and smiled inwardly as I watched her wolf it down. After we had cleaned up the kitchen we took our coffee and went to sit on the back deck. For awhile we just sat quietly enjoying being in each others company.

"Did you mean it Steve?" she asked out of the blue.

I was a little confused. "Did I mean what, honey?"

"That my cunt now belongs to you," she said with a cute blush.

"Renee, we have known each other for seven years now. For the first five you became my right hand, the person who I depended on. Two years ago you became so much more when you took me and Katey under your wing to help us through a hard time. Now in the last year you have also become the dearest and closest friend I've ever had. Now I know that I cannot deny it, I not only love you as a friend but I am head over heels in love with you. So the answer to your question is yes, I want your cunt to belong to me. But more than that I want all of you to belong to me especially your heart. I want to belong to you, one hundred per cent. My heart, my soul and my cock."

When I had finished speaking the tears began to flow from her eyes. At first I thought I had made a mistake telling her the truth that was in my heart until she jumped into my lap and kissed me with total passion. "I love you too, darling. I want us to belong to each other and I promise you that I am all yours. I'm your slut and my cunt belongs to you."

We spent the rest of that Sunday making love whenever and where ever in the house the moment was right. Regardless of how much we did it my cock stayed at least half hard every second I was with her. Monday morning we woke up together and we showered together and the went to her place for fresh clothes before heading for the office. While she fixed coffee I went over the days paper work. I gave her a kiss and then headed out to make the rounds of the three houses we had in progress. At lunch time I picked up some Chinese take out and returned to the office to eat with Renee. After we were finished I started to tell her about how the construction was progressing. As I talked she dropped down to her knees and started undoing my belt then my pants and fished my cock out of my pants. I was having a hard time keeping track of what I was saying as she leaned forward and started to suck my cock.

I quickly lost the ability to speak and could do no more than watch her engulf me. She kept her eyes locked on mine as she worked me. I felt my balls tighten up and I reached down and grabbed her hair. "Yes, you slut. Suck my cock. Goddamn here it comes," I cried out and filled her mouth with my cum. She eagerly siphoned me off and I could see the lust in her eyes as she drank every drop I could give her.

She leaned back and smiled at me. "Umm, nothing like a protein shake for dessert."

I laughed at that. "Well then, how bout sitting up here on my desk and serving me a piece of your hot pussy pie."

"Oh yeah, I would really like that," she giggled. She pulled her dress up over her hips and sat in front of me with her legs spread wide. I was a little surprised to see she wasn't wearing panties. 

"Why you nasty little slut. Where are your panties?" I growled at her.

"In my purse. I just wanted to be sure I was ready in case my lover wanted some pussy," she giggled. I went right to work on her as I didn't know if someone might come into the office but I was able to get her off twice before the phone interrupted us. 

After work that day we went back by Renee's house and she packed a suitcase to bring to my house. We never even discussed it, we both knew she would be staying with me for the next two weeks while the girls were in camp. Those two weeks were filled with lovemaking even we only did it in the office a couple times. I did enjoy bending her over my desk and plowing her fields for her, if you know what I mean. Finally the Friday the day before we were to pick up the girls came. We needed to talk about the future. We agreed on two things. First was that we didn't want to live apart and she would be willing to move into my home but most important was what the girls thought and wanted. With that we decided that I would drop her and Jeannie at their house after we picked up the girls and I would take Katey home and we would each talk it over with our daughters.




Rising From The Fire Ch. 00



Author's notes: Okay, if you read chapter 1 of this story you're probably confused as to why there's now a prologue, or maybe not. This story had a prologue when I originally started it over a year ago. Then a friend of mine only wanted an excerpt to review so I sent them chapter 1. When I finally figured out that I posted it without the prologue I went back and added it. Chapter 1 should make a lot more sense, no matter what order you end up reading it in.

Thanks to Kirk2004 for all your editing help.

~~~~~

Prologue

I heard the screams of tortured souls, like the chaotic, unmatched notes of an out of tune orchestra, from just beyond the bend in the river of blood. I smiled at the thought of some deserving soul receiving his or her just penance for a life of sin on Earth. 

This was the Hell humans should fear, the real Hell. Not some mythical dribble like Dante's Inferno or the Hell depicted in the Bible. No, this is the actual nightmare glimpsed, discussed, and recorded, by a few special human souls, but never quite the intensity of the reality of Hell.

A piece of Hell echoed in some soul's experiences, bleeding through into their next life, but the demon domain was mostly incomprehensible to humans. 

I let Fire keep me too long again. Fire was always an interesting consort. He inspired and burned through me like an addiction, heat, passion, and desire all mixed up together in a suffocating way that I just couldn't get enough of him. As Fire traced the patterns of his namesake over my arms, I melted and accepted each despite the excruciating but exquisite pain. 

The tattoos were a way to let others know that I belonged to him, his little way of connecting to me forever. Each Hellfire tattoo he'd placed on my arms said, "She belongs to me. If she is harmed, you will deal with me." Maybe it was a little bit corny, but I enjoyed them anyway.

"I have to go or daddy will kill me," I said. 

I tried to untangle my limbs from his, but Fire kept pulling me to him, embracing me, and wrapping me in smoke to cut off my escape. 

"Fine, do you want to go to dinner with me? Dad said it's a special occasion." I raised my eyebrows up and down at Fire until he released me with a laugh that I felt from head to toe.

"Of course there's something to celebrate, Nessa. I've left my mark on you after all these years." 

Fire's eyes blazed with a campfire color, it was his eyes that made me almost forget that I really needed to go.

Finally, I was able to tear myself away from Fire. I sighed as I blinked out leaving Fire's place, appreciating the smell of sulfur that permeated everywhere. Nothing smelled as wonderfully rancid as Hell. 

I didn't bother to dress. I had no need for clothes like humans. Even my dad's latest rant was all about how much humans were infecting his world. 

All the demons, deities, and even elements took on human forms. He was truly upset at the visual changes in the underworld. It was like a fad running through Hell, and he didn't like it. My father was hoping that either Damien or I could stop it. Well Damien, my douche bag of an older brother, I just didn't care for humans or Earth. 

I was accustomed to seeing their form around Hell, I'd even adopted one, but I mostly sported my demon looks. There was no hair anywhere on my body, and I had a bright amber skin tone that glistened in firelight with ropey strands of red veins. I assumed a human-like form for Fire because it allowed me to echo Fire's body, which made for creative sex.

I was late for yet another one of my father's dinner parties. Dad, the ruler of Hell, you know, the true evil one, so it was never a good idea to be late, planned weekly dinners for the family.

My father, Damien, myself, and the rest of my father's brood were sitting around the dinner table as a family. I was the one and only female out of seven offspring, and at a little over three hundred years old, the baby of the bunch. Weirdness, but Father wanted us kids to get along or so he claimed. Personally, I think he had the dinners just to annoy us.

Damien read his latest interpretation of an ancient Egyptian scroll to the room.

"The last spawn," he paused pointing at me, "Of the pride fallen angel," he paused again, and pointed at our father. "Will join with God's presence in Hell, to produce a child born into darkness. The death of the Morning Star will destroy and usher in a new world of light."

"There has to be a loophole, though!" I whined, after my father told me he was expelling me from Hell because of Damien's latest discovered prophecy. I hated to whine. It was so not sexy.

I was serious about a loophole, there are thousands of prophecies; you just don't know which one could come true. Even the one that applied to my situation was a little vague. 

My much oldest brother, Damien, read prophecies like zealots read the bible. Most of the predictions were even in the bible. I had no interest in politics or world domination. I just wanted to fuck Fire. 

"I can't make these things up, its right here in this blood scroll I dug up in Egypt." Damien said, setting the ancient parchment in front of my face, only I couldn't read it, dead language and all. I barely spoke English, not very well mind you. 

My dad being who he is can't touch or look at prophecies, so he has them read to him by Prince Damien. Damien was almost as old as time itself and one of the first true demons. He was completely evil in a way that made my tainted existence cringed.

"You can't deny that in part it's already come to pass in some ways. You're the last of our father's seed, Princess Vanessa." Damien said my name as if it were bile passing his lips. He left the scroll over my plate while he sat down across from me. He played with his food. A truly devious soul was on the menu for the night, under different circumstances I'd find it delicious.

"No one asks to be born, Prince Nimrod, there's nothing I can do about that part," I yelled as my stomach plummeted. 

"Enough you two!" Father yelled, louder than necessary, pounding his fists on the wooden table. "My decree stands. You have to leave Hell, Vanessa." He sighed and returned to his dinner.

I stood up, and blinked from the dining room leaving the rest of my dinner untouched.

I went straight to Fire's arms after my barely touched meal. When I finally stopped crying and explained what was happening to him, he took everything pretty well. He wanted to fuck. I bent over the stone bench near his fire pit as he entered me from behind. There was no fanfare, just quick and dirty sex. Fire reminded me that through the Hellfire tattoos on my arms, he could find me no matter where I ended up.

I went to Morty next, the head of the Grim Reapers being Death and all, also my best friend. Not like I had any choices at that point. If not Hell, Earth was the only other place I could go. 

I knew Morty would be able to provide me with a body that still had enough life in it to be possessed. He found said body in Hell, Michigan, a porn star, that was quickly becoming a statistic by an overdose of cocaine and valium. I slipped in before she took her last breath. 

I even liked the idea that if I couldn't be in the real Hell, a place on Earth titled the same was close enough. I thought that Morty picked it as a way to help me deal with my expulsion as if I'd take the whole situation better, and adjust to my new life with ease. 

I just did not get it then, that by the rules of Hell, the same constraints would bind me. For example, deals sealed with sex or sex with an angel in Hell would lead to my father's demise according to another one of Damien's found prophecies.

Morty told me very little about Father Donovan. Death said I would be able hide from my father in case Damien convinced him to kill me, like for real now, since I was tied to a human body. I assumed that Father D would be a possessed body by a demon or something along those lines. 

So, last week I was like every other spoiled, sadistic Princess of Hell, except for the fact that I was the only one. This week, well let's just say I don't know how humans handle being such fragile mortal beings. 

This breathing thing alone is taking a lot out of me. On the other hand, how do humans deal with needing to move their arms and legs just to get from one place to the next? I mean I'm used to thinking it and being there. 

I hate it here on Earth. If it weren't for Damien, I'd be safe at home in the real Hell. But no, stupid Damien, his stupid lies, and his stupid dumbass prophecy and I'm forced to live out my existence on Earth because dad thinks I'll fuck an angel and be the end of him. Like that could ever happen.



Rising From The Fire Ch. 01



The church was old, or at least built as recently as when I was born. The walls were made of true stone, not concrete made to look like stone. It looked like a church you would find in Europe, but I was sitting in Hell, Michigan. 

The office had an open unlit fireplace built as the centerpiece of the room. Originally, it was probably used as a gathering area for the priests, now it housed old style bookshelves and a huge mahogany desk.

Morty, better known to mortals as Death, gave me a line on a way to hide out on Earth, a deal sealed with sex, as is the case of all deals made in Hell. He helped me take a human form and found a contact for me, Father Donovan. 

I do not know what Morty had on Father D, but it meant that he would help me. I was just hoping Father D's help didn't include living or working in a church, I think I would have had to said 'no' on principal alone. 

I was sitting in the church across the desk from a paper pusher waiting for him. I looked into the his eyes. His eyes went from a wolf's eyes caught in a lighting storm, as if light emanated from within his irises, to just human blue, bright, and clear. He was a person, just a simple man wearing a dark suit, but he was something more and my mind did not want to process the more, so my mind ignored it.

I stumbled as I spoke again, "F-fa-father Donavan said that I needed to come in today." I swallowed around the building lump in my throat and pushed through the alarm bells going off in my brain. 

He was not what he appeared to be. He was not this mild mannered assistant going prematurely gray with a soft body. Beyond it, I could see a beautiful shining thing, something that was touching me deep down inside where it was not normal to be touched. 

It was as if I could look at him with a third eye, and that third eye saw a demonic image rather than a meek man. I knew his words would be a performance and that he would lie to me if he could.

"As I stated earlier Miss, Mrs....?" He finished with a lift to his voice.

"Nessa, just Nessa, you can call me Nessa," I said and giggled. Shit, I had just given him my real name. Well I had given him my true nickname. Why had I done that? 

This body had a name and a life as a porn actress. I found it odd that she had been born with her naturally well-endowed chest, no silicon for this girl. A girl she was, Morty had scooped her up while she was twenty-one, her career choice barely started.  

The long black hair gleamed with red highlights in the sun. It was hard to get used to, along with breathing and a beating heart. However, the physical aspects of being human were starting to wear thin on me. It is not as if I had a choice. 

The door was closed and beyond it, I felt the emptiness of the old church pushing at me. My instincts were telling me to run. I blamed it on the church and took deep breaths to calm myself. 

On some level, I recognized the power the paper pusher had. There was something about it very close to my own except mine had diminished because of my expulsion from Hell. I could still feel the something more of it, as if a demon had possessed his body.

I wondered if that was what was happening to him. He felt like he was possessed and that demon part of him was calling to my own powers. It made sense to think of it that way and with this thought process, there was calm. A sort of contentment and peace that was foreign to me.

I pushed off the feelings as my eyes tricked me with their flashing of him from one form to another. I needed Father Donavan so I asked after him again. 

He paused and stared at me before he responded, "I thought all our patrons had been informed. I'm sorry to be the one to tell you, Father Donavan has passed."

"You mean he's dead?" I said. I could not stop the words from flying out of my mouth. A cold shiver raced up and down my spine.

How would I continue to hide on Earth without Father Donavan's help? "Well what the hell happened to him?" Probably Hell happened to him indeed.

I stood up and used the desk to steady myself. I could not be here, not inside a church without protection. Morty had not given me a backup plan. Isn't a church supposed to be an unsafe place for a Demonic Princess?

"Were you and Father Donavan close?" he asked. "I know this must be upsetting news. Why don't you sit down, you look a little pale." He stood up and crossed the room to a little bar set up in the corner. "Would you like a glass of water?"

It occurred to me I had not noticed the bar set up before. What was going on? "Yeah, sure," I ignored his first question and answered the second. He handed me the glass of water and I sipped it before I could think that something in the glass would harm me. 

I could not fight the desire to do what he wanted and what he wanted was for me to drink the water so I did. It was sweet and refreshing and as I finished the glass of water, I found myself smiling at him. He was kneeling close to me because I was once again sitting in the chair. I did not remember sitting down.

"There, there now. You should be feeling better Vanessa." His voice was thick and sultry like molasses pouring over me, sweet and sticky.

"Yes I feel better," I said my own voice was breathy in response. He took the glass from my hand and set it on the desk. Then his hands were framing my face and he kissed me softly. 

It started tender and gentle but quickly became a hungry eager display as my body responded to it. I was back on my feet and in his arms. I was not in the arms of a weak human instead, I found myself in the strong muscled body of a demigod. His illusion of a human fell away during the kiss and he stood before me in all his sinful glory. "What are you?" I asked.

He laughed and kissed me again. It was like nothing I had ever felt before this need and desire that was building in me. He was starting a fire that burned low in my body and made me press myself against him. 

My body reacted as if, if I didn't stay and see this through I'd regret it, like a thirsty man stranded on a deserted island who didn't drink that last bit of water before being trapped on the island. If I walked away now, I would be thirsty for him forever. I could have in that moment rubbed my body against him like a cat in heat; I was feeling so much sexual craving for his touch.

His hands found their way under my skirt. His fingers pressed into my skin and gripped tightly ripping off my panties. I stumbled against his body from the jerking motion of it and gasped. He slipped a single finger inside me and I came just from that touch. I moaned my pleasure into his mouth and was still ready for more. He broke the kiss and turned me in his arms so that the front of his body pressed hard against the back of mine.

His hands traced up my body, under my white blouse, and began to mold my breast. I cried out as he pinched my nipples, gently at first then hard and painfully but in a way that I did not mind. I ground myself against him and he was so big and hard against me that alone made me ready to go again.

His lips were kissing gently against my neck and then his tongue licked its way up until he had my left earlobe between his teeth. He released my breasts and one hand found its way into my hair while the other pushed between my legs. Then the hand between my legs was just gone. 

"Don't stop," I whispered.

"I have no intentions of stopping," his voice rumbled deep with desire. I heard him undoing his belt and pants and then I felt his naked flesh, thick, long and so hot rubbing against me, searching for just the right angle to enter me. His hand in my hair directed me forward and my hands braced on the desk in the same moment that he entered me fast, hard, and as deep as he could go until he met the end of me.

I cried out somewhere between a moan of pleasure and surprise from the abruptness of it. He began moving in and out of me slowly. His rhythm was agonizingly slow and I begged him to go faster. I writhe against him, trying to get him to move in and out of me faster. I wanted him to change his pace, but he controlled me with his hands and body and I could only cry out and beg for more.

"Please, please," I said over and over frantic with the building orgasm in my body. I was not prone to begging, but for him I did. Tears streamed down my face, I choked on my sobs, and still I begged for more. "Harder, please. Faster please."

"I've waited too long for this to rush it," he said and as if it were possible, he was even slower.

I was feeling tortured by his achingly slow rhythm and then I was suddenly having a spasm with my release. I fell forward on the desk unable to control my body and the only thing that stopped me from slamming into the desk was his hand in my hair. 

He rode my orgasm. It was clear to me that was what he had been waiting for, that was what he needed to pick up the pace and then he was pounding into me, breathing heavily and the sound of his flesh meeting mine was the only other sound in the room besides my cries.

"Come for me again Princess," he said. He was going in and out of me with such force and although I had just come, I found myself flowing into another one and I did. 

"Again," he said, as his rhythm changed and I realized how wrong I had been before about what he was doing. I had thought he was going as fast and hard as he could but I had been wrong, so wrong.

"Yes," I screamed, giving myself over to each orgasm as they hit me. I became a puddle of them. I could not breathe or move by my own will, everything was what I thought he wanted or needed. I was riding a tidal wave of pleasure so high and euphoric that I would do anything he said in that moment.

Then as I came for what seemed like the millionth time he pressed as hard and deep inside of me as he could and had his own climax. I could feel him filling me up with his cum and I cried out from it all, it was so much pleasure it was more like pain.

He lay on top of me. His was breathing heavily and his pulse was as rampant as if he had just run a race. I tried to learn how to breathe again as he pulled out of my body. 

I could not move and I ached for him even though I felt like my body lacked muscles and bones. I was no longer real in the face of my afterglow. I felt my body floating away on the feelings of endorphins one of the up sides to being in a human body. 

The lights in the office flickered and then burned extremely bright. The lamp on the end of the desk exploded. I turned my head in just enough time to avoid having glass break in my face. The man whose name I could not remember but he had just been inside my body tossed me to the ground. 

"What was that?" I asked.

"I have no idea Princess," he said. When had he started calling me Princess? "Are you okay?" He turned my face in his hands checking for injuries. 

"She's fine," a deep rumbling voice in the direction of the busted lamp, said. I instantly chilled although that voice rarely made my blood run cold, just the opposite in fact.

"Fire," I whispered.

"Yes, Nessa, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Fire's anger rode the room across his words. My body reacted as if an electrical storm had hit every nerve ending.

I stumbled to untangle myself from the stranger I had just had sex with, albeit mind blowing, over the top, even for human sex.

"How did you know? What are you doing here?" I pushed against the other man, the one whose name escaped me.

"My tattoos," he said. He meant the Hellfire tattoos he had painted on my arms before my expulsion from Hell. "I felt you orgasm all the way from the Bay of Bodies." 

Fire was taller than an average human was and darker than the darkest skin tones normally, but at that moment he glowed like electricity was burning through his body. The glow started to fade even as I watched until he appeared to be embers in a dying fire. Each muscle overly defined on his naked body and it was indeed naked. I crawled on my hands and knees towards him and abased myself at his feet.

The energy pulsing off Fire was hot, certain, and overwhelming. It was not just raw anger as I had thought crawling along the floor to his feet. It was jealousy, because as much as he had felt my orgasm I could feel his envy of the random stranger. Jealousy is not just a sin but also a lifestyle in Hell. 

Time stopped. I could feel the jealousy flowing off Fire. I thought back over the orgasms, it wasn't the first time I had ever had an orgasm. When I had the last one, I had experienced something that words could not describe. 

Fire had felt it too. He was jealous because as many times as I had been in his bed he had never made me feel the way this random stranger had. 

The fact that I had given into lust was my only defense as I tried to explain what had just happened. For all intents and purposes, I really didn't know. Even I felt a little slutty about the situation.

I looked to the stranger who seemed to think it was normal for a demon to ride an electric current into a room, or at least his face suggested he didn't find the situation odd in anyway. He seemed calm in fact, content as he dressed. 

Fire gripped me by the hair and pulled my attention and me to him. Even though he had cooled off some his touch was still burning hot in an uncomfortable way. 

I suddenly missed the ability to open a hole in the world so I could fall to Hell, anything would be better than trying to explain to the Fire demon why I'd just done what I'd done.

Fire cut me off before I could think of a plausible lie to cover my whore like actions. "Do you even know what you've done Nessa? You fucked an angel; can't you smell the stench of Heaven on him?"

"Technically he fucked me. An angel? Which one?" I asked.

"Adam," the stranger said, adjusting his tie as he sat down behind the desk.

"Wait, Adam. Like Adam and Eve, Adam?" I was so boned. I could not believe I fucked an angel, God's son, Jesus Christ almighty.

Fire answered for him, "Yes, that Adam. Is the severity of this situation getting through that thick head of yours?"

The 'thick head' part did it for me. I creamed remembering how Adam's 'thick head' felt inside my body. I grinned at Fire.

"Shit Nessa, come on," Fire said, his face was anything but happy as he scolded me.

Again, I flashed on the sex I had with Adam because of 'come on'. "What?" I said. Once again, my mind went back to my multiple climaxes.

"...embodiment of God. You understand, right?" Fire said. "Ok how about you just fucked your uncle. Think your dad's going to be happy about this in the least?"

"Fucked my uncle, okay. Got it. I...," I stopped and really looked at Adam. 

Fuck why couldn't I remember this part, oh yeah, I loathe school so I rarely attended back when I was fledgling demon. My mind frantically raced and came up with the association that Adam was also Jesus Christ to humans. So what, I had fucked my uncle, no big deal. Even incest was an acceptable sin in Hell; I could not see a problem. 

Wait, how was that possible? I was still so confused. "How is he my uncle?" I asked.

Fire slapped his forehead. "Nessa, your father used to be angel, an Archangel before he was cast out of Heaven. Adam is God's first human form remember he is made in God's image. Jesus Christ was God's only son but he's an Archangel now and your father's his brother."

Now it made sense, somewhat, damn Hell and Heaven politics. The bar with the water, no wonder he looked demonic to me, because he was an Archangel. How was I supposed to know who he was, I had only been human a little over a week?

Adam laughed. "You were completely worth the fucking, my Dear Sweet Multi-orgasmic Princess."

I was flattered before I remembered my own father was going to kill me. I had just destroyed Hell. At least the Hell I had always known and loved. What had I done indeed?

"The prophecy is fulfilled. I told him that expelling you was not the answer. How could I argue it with him?" Fire sat defeated on the edge of the desk and I took the chair I had sat in before.

"So now what?" I asked.

"Yeah, now what Adam?" Fire asked.

"Well Hell is about to freeze over, you're in a hot ass body Nessa, and Fire is so angry he'd fuck me just to get a little pay back. Either of you feel like fucking until your world ends?" Adam smiled at me, then at Fire.

"Maybe we should try to fix it, I mean dad doesn't know yet or he'd be here wouldn't he?" My words raced out of my mouth towards Fire and the thin air before it became my father. I was totally screwed.

"Hi Daddy! Before you kill me let me explain," I said, rising from the chair and racing into my father's arms.

"Oh I know what a slutty little lusty thing you are Nessa. I knew you'd be my downfall one day according to the prophecy, so I planned for it," Dad said. He threw something at Adam and he vanished.

"What have you done?" I screamed.

"Calm down baby girl. You've done very well, even better than I expected. I knew that if I sent Fire ahead of me I'd have time to catch him. Adam's always been made for sin. Morty planted the seed by leading you here and Adam was true to character. He watered that seed by fucking you. God will move Heaven and Earth to get him back and to destroy the child you carry in your belly." Daddy said.

"You used me, Daddy?" I said wrapping my brain around what was happening. Whoa, stop the world. "Pregnant? Please tell me you're kidding daddy?" stupid human bodies.

"Yes my Darling, I just let you be you," he said.

Fire was quiet too long. I was pissed at him most of all. My temper showed in my hair highlights. The red strands began to glow and burn with the heat of my anger. Fire grabbed me before I did something stupid.

"You'll see how well you've done when you return home." My father said, and he popped out leaving a ghost of an image of him burned into my eyes.

"Did you know about this?" I turned in Fire's arms.

"Yes, but..." I cut off his explanation.

"Fuck you, Fire. I get it. I'm nothing more than a pawn in another one of my father's plans to dominate the world."

"In his hands it will be a hellish playground. It was the right thing to do," he said as his lips brushed my forehead.

"Fine. But if you didn't trust me enough to include me in the plan, how am I supposed to know if you're feelings for me are real." Three hundred years of fucking and still I did not know for sure if Fire's feelings were more than just lust.

"I was jealous, I knew I would be. I hoped that I would be enough to keep you from fucking around on me. But you did him and you should thank your father that you did. He told me he'd end us if you didn't do it."

Power play. World domination. Evil world changing deeds. Yes, it was necessary to keep me out of the loop. I might have planned the death of my own father for keeping Fire out of my bed. 

I also had a new craving to add to my sexual exploits, I wanted Adam. I tried, really, I did, but I just could not see the downside in a little double penetration from Fire and Adam. The thought made me wonder where my father had taken him.

Had I failed in my unknown to me quest it was my brother, Damien, who would have ascended to the throne. If you think Hell is a bad place now, with Damien in charge it would be current Hell on Earth, and Hell would be a place I would never want to visit. Thank dad that didn't happen.

I quietly contemplated my choices. The world was on its way to Hell. Fire was mad at me for fucking Adam, and I still wanted Adam sexually. I was pregnant, not bad for an hour's work. "Do you know why I fucked him?"

"He gave you Heavenly Bliss instead of water. I can feel the effects of it still," Fire said.

"Adam used a spell on me? Seriously? I thought he was supposed to be an angel?" I said as my temper flared up again.

"It wouldn't have worked if you didn't want it to. He just opened your mind to the possibility, you would have stopped if it wasn't in you to fuck him," Fire said.




Rising From The Fire Ch. 01



"Oh. So what do I do now?" I asked.

"That is the question. If you want to stay in your father's good graces, you return to Hell with me until the baby is born. If you want to get back at your dad, I've got a plan." His words simmered on his tongue as he spoke and I considered my options.

Lust can do some weird things to a Demonic Princess, but I agreed to Fire's plan as insane as it was, it sounded way better than what my father wanted from me.



Rising From The Fire Ch. 02



The first problem with Fire's plan was that it didn't include that double penetration action with Adam. It didn't include rescuing Adam from my father either. As a matter of fact, Adam didn't come into play in Fire's scheme at all, color me disappointed.

I was still feeling a sexual need deep inside my body that Fire had explained away as the potion Heavenly Bliss (HB). It didn't matter to me that images, impressions, and sensations of the sex I had with Adam floated in my head like an obsession. The hope of more sex with Adam was an all consuming thought while I snuggled in Fire's burning arms. In his true naked form he exuded sex and strength. I needed and wanted sex from Fire, or from anyone. I sought to satisfy my needs, and Fire was the closest to me physically and emotionally, as well as my long time consort.

It seemed a waste to miss an opportunity to screw Fire while I was still under the HB spell, but one look into his coal-colored eyes told me not to bring it up. His face twitched slightly from my thoughts and earlier actions, as much as his tattoos told me he wasn't in the mood. I'd been with Fire for three hundred years, but I fucked one archangel and my whole world went to hell in a hand basket.

I sighed as I took comfort in Fire's massive muscled arms. It wasn't as if I thought, 'Hey, I would really like to start an Apocalypse by ten o'clock this morning.'

It seemed that I should be furious with Fire, certainly more than what I was feeling. He led my father straight to me through his tattoos, but instead I felt the stirrings of need. I was crazed for him.

Was I to blame for my actions or thoughts? No, it was all the fault of the HB concoction that made me think and act like a whore. It was the equivalent of being drugged, for me that was the wicked truth of the situation.

As I lingered in Fire's warm embrace, the church seemed quieter, darker without Adam in the room. Even the slight glow of Fire's skin did nothing to remove the ominous quality to it.

"I suppose you should seduce the Horsemen. We wouldn't have to worry about the start of the Apocolypse. It's the quickest way to stop your father's plans if that's your what you truly want," Fire said.

"I can't do anything in human form, and the expulsion has left me with little power. How can I seduce them?" I asked.

"You need to embrace your demon side. You're not as weak as you think. We don't have time to wait though. You shouldn't worry about the details. This is going to work."

"It doesn't feel as if I have much of a choice. If Prince Pussbucket has his way I'll be dead before tonight. Stupid prophecy," I said.

Damien's plans had never been so successful. My hands were tied. I'd fallen into a trap. I admit to not being the brightest bulb in Hell, but I felt my ignorance even more now. It was as if something was wrong from the start. Again, I couldn't process the more of the situation so I ignored it.

"If you can spread your legs for an angel, I suppose you can do it for Morty's brothers." Fire sighed into my hair. "It's the quickest way to repair the damage your fucking around has caused. Damn your father to Hell," Fire fumed.

"I don't want to have this argument again. It's not my father's scheme, as much as it's Damien's warped and twisted plotting. I only have to prove it to dad to make him stop what he's doing. I have to do this. It's the only way to survive," I said. It was Fire's plan and yet he was enraged by the idea of it. Men, go figure.

"I know you have to do this, but I reserve the right to hate it," Fire said as he pouted, even his shoulders slumped. "Damien intends to destroy you. Even when you were still a fledgling he's always been obsessed with your death. Funny, that your best friend is Morty."

"It was necessary after all the attempts on my life, but, now he's even convinced Daddy that I'm dangerous. Why else would he expel me from Hell?"

"But now that your father has Adam to hold over God's head, well lets just say Damien's conception seems to have backfired a bit." Fire got silent after his comment. Was he feeling my mind racing thoughts and glimpses of Adam sex through it?

Damien hated me, possibly because I was a girl or maybe because I was born. It's not like you need a reason to hate in Hell.

I took in Fire's demeanor. "Fine, then I'll go back to Hell and turn this body over to my father. What do I care? It's just a body, Morty can find me another," I said, with little confidence in that scenario. My instincts told me it would be wrong, even if my instincts couldn't be trusted because of the HB spell tainting my mind and body.

"Nessa, no, I hate that you sleep with him in the first place." Fire's temperature increased as thoughts of Morty and I fucking filled his head.

I was regretting the tattoos because of how much pain they were causing him and me. Again, I felt how off my true nature that thinking was, another side effect of being in a human body.

"I didn't sleep at all. Besides, Morty and I were sealing deals," I said trying to make light of the situation. "It wasn't like I cheated on you and what would it matter if I did?"

I pulled away from his simmering arms to watch his coal-colored eyes. His eyes changed color depending on his mood. His mood was dark, steaming with jealousy.

"What about Adam?" he asked refusing to meet my gaze.

"That was a spell. A really good potion, at least that's what you said," I backpedaled as fast as I could.

"I suppose so, but, your orgasm, your climax. You've never felt that way with me. I must be the most predictable demon if even I couldn't reign in myself to leave you alone.

"I felt it and knew I'd lost you to him," he sighed, more pouting. "I'm an idiot, I knew what your father was up to, and still I raced here to see what had made you so satisfied. I really didn't expect him to follow me." Fire said doing a little backpedaling himself, it seemed. I just couldn't say for sure, but my father said he sent Fire ahead to give him time to catch Adam.

"We can't change what's already done, and your plan, although very, well, we'll just have to um..." I said, afraid to tell Fire that I wasn't really considering the abortion part.

It's not as if it were a moral dilemma. I didn't normally have to worry about such things. My demon body couldn't get pregnant, thanks to a childhood with a true sadist like Damien. This pregnancy was all my human body. It had only been a week and maybe my body's soul was loitering somewhere inside making the thought untouchable.

I should be jumping at the chance to return to Hell, but too much had happened too fast. Something had changed inside me, and I wanted to blame it on the potion but the facts of the situation dawned on me. Ridding my body of the baby would upset my father, but I couldn't understand the why?

According to the prophecy it was the 'last born of my father's seed' that would lead to his demise. That meant the baby that grew in my belly, no longer me, I hoped at least that was one way to interpret the prophecy. My father had said that God would try to kill the child though, so wouldn't aborting it work out for God as well as my father? Wouldn't they both be after the same thing, the destruction of my half angel, half demon, half human fetus? I needed to hear the prophecy again; I just couldn't remember all of it.

I tried to focus on the tough questions of my situation, but my mind kept drifting back to sex. Sex with Adam, sex with Fire, sex with Morty even. Maybe, it was the succubus part of me but most likely the HB spell. When in doubt go with a potion, lots of responsibility is easily placed on one.

I couldn't see the big picture of my situation as much as I needed to, to protect myself, and the child growing in my belly. Even that thought process, the desire to protect the unborn baby, settled inside me as natural, clearly outside my human-less personality traits.

Fire morphed himself into a cat as we left the church with the old world feel to it. He was going for something that wouldn't draw too much attention on the street, if you considered his state of undress. Except, Fire believed in 'go big or go home'. The cat he chose was a black panther. He thinks I'm the moron in our relationship.

We got a lot stares on the walk to my place. Fire shook his panther head back and forth, and we walked to my apartment in an uncomfortable silence. I noticed a few demons hiding behind human faces on the mile walk to the apartment. Maybe the spell was making me hallucinate that part, I just didn't know. My brain felt fuzzy, as if the answer were right in front of me but I just couldn't comprehend it.

My apartment was small to me, although it was a nice size for a human. The room décor was like a virgin bride on her wedding night, white, arterial blood red, and blush pink. I would have preferred more blood red. The apartment was nothing like growing up with a piece of the universe at your disposal.

Fire stalked through my apartment and stretched out on my bed before he returned to his true form. I followed him and as I watched him change, I remembered why he was someone that made my legs shaky even when I was more than human. Eye candy, yummy. I crossed to the bedroom and jumped him.

"Nessa I need you to focus for my plan to work," he said as I plied him with kisses across his nipples. I licked and sucked until they were hard little nubs and his body temperature increased by ten degrees.

"Play now, work after," I said when my mouth wasn't full. I ran my black painted fingernails down his stomach as he pulsed with an agonizing heat. "Besides we have to seal a deal. All deals made in 'Hell' must be sealed through sex." 

His campfire-colored eyes rolled in their sockets. Fire grabbed my wrist to stop me as I played with him. I made use of my mouth, specifically my tongue, instead. When he refused to release my hands, I moved my hips up to meet him, and used his stiff cock to lift up my skirt. I began masturbating my clit against his over-sized member slowly letting the fire build between my legs from his heated sex.

"Nessa, I can't think with you doing that...Oh...Ah...," he growled, his voice lost in the sensations of my bare sex sliding up and down his steel wrapped in silk stick.

Smoke poured out of his mouth with the mass of a delicate feather. It crawled over my body like a soft detached tongue. His smoke licked and threatened my human body as it teased and tickled me.

"Fine, but we don't have much time," he said, as he pinned me to the queen-sized bed.

"Plenty of time by my watch," I said, even though I wasn't wearing one. I rolled him onto his back. Fire was so huge his body looked like he was on a twin-sized mattress. I licked my way down his stomach until I met my favorite prize.

"We must...Yes, right there...Mmm..." His hands grabbed my hair, pushed my head down as I took his pulsing member deeper inside me. My pussy had left my juices on his dick and I lapped at my taste for a moment, even though my mouth was almost too small for his true form's girth and length. It was like trying to give head to the fat end of a baseball bat. I loved a challenge though and struggled against his hands to work him into my mouth. After a few unsuccessful attempts, he pulled me up and off him.

"Later, I promise. Besides you reek like Heaven." He pushed my hands away as they roamed over the flesh I couldn't fit in my mouth. He shuddered from my ministrations and said, "I could hurt you in this form, or the baby."

"So what do you care? Didn't you tell me to abort it? You could always morph into something that I can fuck," I said when my mouth wasn't full. I tried again to take his huge cock between my lips, but there was so much flesh I could only attack a few inches. My hands slipped his grasp and I trailed my fingers over his throbbing appendage. I stroked my fingers up and down.

Fire pulled my face to his and kissed my nose softly. "You don't want to abort it," he said. He ran his hands up and down my arms over his tattoos, then he pushed at my hands again trying to make me stop.

My nose felt as if it burned where his kiss lingered. "Fine, I'll hold you to the later part," I said sexually frustrated. I reluctantly released him as I stood up.

I stepped into the bathroom and turned on the faucet in the shower to let it heat up. I could tell it wasn't so much about his form, as he still seethed with jealousy, and a little bit of fear. Probably fear that he wouldn't be able to perform to the standard that Adam had set. Again, my mind drifted towards Adam, and I cursed the potion that made it so.

My human fingers slid down to my moist pussy. I shaved daily because the hair there freaked me out a bit. My demon form was hairless. Shaving made my skin sensitive and needy for contact, yet it was a pleasure to dress my human body in silks, satins, and other soft materials.

I slid my fingers between my thighs and played with my clit for a moment before sliding two fingers inside me. My pussy was tight, wet, and hungry for more. I shoved a third finger into it. Still it wasn't enough as my body burned with the craving of cock, specifically Adam's wonderful dick, I mean Fire's. Fire roared his frustration at me and I tried to concentrate on the task of bathing.

Maybe, my own stupidity had gotten me into this situation. By using Morty's contact, Father Donovan, who probably never existed in the first place, or at least had most likely died before I'd taken human form. Maybe, it was because I'd allowed Fire to tattoo me, for what I thought would be additional protection, but instead it left an easy way for my father to find me. Even letting Morty lead me to Hell, Michigan was poor decision making on my part. I just hadn't spent that much time on Earth. The restrictions of Earth had always felt like my personal version of Hell.

"Hell, Michigan. I'm such an idiot," I said. I stepped out of the shower after I washed away Adam's smell from my skin, even as I trembled slightly from the HB spell as it stirred in my system.

"Yes, even for you that's a little slow," Fire said through the bathroom door, damn demon hearing. My hair flamed and sizzled a little at his comment. He was right of course, as much as I hated to admit it.

~~~~~

"We should call Morty here," I said as I buttoned up a white silk mini-dress. It hugged my body like a second skin.

Fire's eyebrows shifted up as I spoke. "What are you trying to do? You know he's in your dad's pocket." He was in the same position before my shower. He put his hands behind his head and waited for an answer.

"Not really, or at least in way that we can use. We just have to make him a better offer than Daddy can." I forgot about my panties as I watched Fire's naked form stretched out as he made himself comfortable on my bed. He rolled onto his side and watched me. I could tell he was feeling my lust for him through his tattoos. I blinked a few times and walked back into my closet.

"So you think your human body is enough to tempt him?" he called after me.

I emerged from the entrance of my closet to find Fire smug. I enjoyed watching him figure out my contribution to his scheme. "Oh no, Nessa you can't mean...I won't do it!" he grumbled from his chest.

I was addicted to Fire, but my addiction had always felt satisfied until now. I blamed it on the HB and ignored the possibility that Adam had his dick, I mean spell in me. I felt like Fire was the best sex a being could find in Hell. Who doesn't enjoy an elemental demon?

I wasn't the only one to feel that way about Fire. It was why I let him tattoo me, so I could keep up with him if needed, not just the other way around. For the most part, it was only me for him, too. Although, there was a siren, past the bend in the Sang River on your way to the Valley of Tortured Souls, that I had to beat like a ho and I was her pimp.

She had skills with her mouth, and after a demonstration, all was sort of forgiven. I think she may have fallen in a bottomless pit or something. What? Can I help it if some siren slut doesn't know her place?

"How else did you think we'd get him to turn on Daddy? Not like we can offer him what he truly wants," I said, while I pulled on flesh colored panties and then zipped up white thigh-high boots.

Morty's suicidal, how's that for the ultimate irony? The thing Death wants most is to die. My father was one of the only beings who could grant him his desire and he refused to satisfy Morty's wish just to be cruel. Death was a crappy job, even by Hell's standards.

"No, Nessa, I won't do it," Fire said and he pouted. "You can't make me." He crossed his arms over his massive chest and put a blank expression on his face. I was only curious why he never made deals with Death; instead, he went to my father when he needed to make a deal, a rare occurrence in our three hundred year long relationship.

"I'm only being fair to you. After all I did fuck Adam," I paused as I said the last. HB was my new favorite potion. I replayed each wonderful little chorus of my orgasms from Adam in my head.

"I'll never do it if you keep that up," Fire said as his skin started to glow again and my comforter smoked a little.

"Well, he fucked me," again, my mind wondered away and back in time.

"Damn it Nessa," Fire started to smolder. I had to get something else on my mind.

"We are striking a deal here, we should consummate it," I said. "It's something to do until Morty arrives." When in doubt, sex usually works for me. Until I remembered about Fire's form being harmful to my human body.

"Did I hear my name? Princess Vanessa, what a delight to see you so soon. May I assume there is something else you need from me?" he asked as his eyes swept the room. "Oh and Fire, what a devilish treat to see you. I must have done something right today," Morty was hovering in my dresser mirror.

Morty looked like an eighteen-year-old club kid. Tight mesh day-glow shirts, baggy jeans, and stomp out loud black combat boots. He even had a chain strung from his front belt loop to a leather wallet, he never used, in his back pocket. With his long black and white hair, and delicate features, Death was the original gothic beauty.

"Come on through, Morty," I said before I remembered not to invite Death into my residence. Crap on toast with a side of ranch. There were just too many rules to remember, it was exhausting. I was fucking up all over the place today.

Morty laughed and said, "Fear not Princess you've done more than enough damage for one day. Speaking of which, I am a bit busy right now. It is like Invasion of the Body Snatchers out there."

I didn't quite understand the reference so I smiled. I knew that some demons were loose on Earth pushing souls out of their bodies. 

"Oh, now I get it," I said and smiled brighter.

Morty crossed from the mirror and joined Fire on the bed. Fire shifted into a sitting position as if he were ready to run away. I sat down on an oversized red chair across from my bed, and stretched out my legs on the matching ottoman. There was no way I was missing this show.

"Ah, you must want something major for Fire to be willing to let me touch his precious flesh." Morty flashed me a wicked smile as he slid his hand up and down Fire's arm. I returned his smile, although it made my hair flame a bit watching him touch Fire without permission.

"Morty, you've got some 'xplaining to do," I said in my best Ricky Ricardo. I almost broke into a grin watching Fire inch away from Morty as Morty continued to close the gap between them. "I think I might need another favor for the last time we made a deal."

Morty stopped touching Fire, and looked at me with more innocence than I had ever seen him do. His eyes were wide as he said, "But I did everything you asked of me." The fear in his voice was evident and fake.




Rising From The Fire Ch. 02



"Okay, how does telling my father exactly where I am figure into the plan of hiding me on Earth?"

Morty's smile increase, "That wasn't me, Princess. You should really ask Fire about that one, shouldn't she?" He continued to caress Fire's arm as Fire cringed slightly.

Fire remained silent as I said, "Well Daddy said you set me up."

"I see your point," Morty said, not confirming or denying his part in all of my mess. "That doesn't mean I wronged you in any way. In fact, I think you rather enjoyed how things worked out."

I took a deep breath before continuing, "Fine. Still, I feel slighted." I crossed my arms over my chest. I hated the fact that he seemed right. I thought I had something over Morty, but what's not to love about Death?

"Of course that was never my intention Princess, what can I do to make amends?" Morty said as his eyebrows went up and down and he smirked at me.

Fire jumped in, "You could provide me with a body." His eyes hand a propane hue to them as he turned gazed to me. "If you're so determined to stay on Earth, I guess I could take a human form so that I can protect you, Princess. There's no telling how far Prince Damien has gotten in his plans to rule Hell."

Morty loved that idea, any chance to fuck Fire turned him on, and he ended up giving up the argument rather quickly.

"Fire has a plan, and maybe we can help you with your little problem," I said. Fire looked annoyed and pouted again.

~~~~~

"That's genius, Princess," Morty said, you could see his mind spinning the idea around in his head searching for the holes to Fire's agenda. There were only a few spots where things could go tragically if we weren't careful, but with Morty's help, those holes would all but disappear.

Morty's eyes glazed over with lust as he said to Fire, "So we'll fuck now?" he was worse than I was about sex with Fire.

"No way," I said. "If you burn me again no skin off your back. Hey, there's an idea, Fire write that down." Fire gave me a confused look. Morty swallowed hard.

Fire recovered quickly though and said, "With your recent history, it will be payment on delivery of service, going forward. Considerate it a way to make amends for letting her father succeed in his plan," Fire said, as he understood where I was headed with this course of action.

"But even you agreed that I did nothing wrong Princess," Morty pouted. What was it with men who pouted and me? I was dealing with children.

The thought brought all my fears about being pregnant in a human body to the forefront of my thoughts. My hand fluttered to my flat stomach as if I could feel the child growing within.

"We haven't much time for your games, Morty. The child will grow to full term in ten days, not months because of her demon side. Do you think you can shut up for that amount of time?" Fire asked.

Morty's eyes still glistened with the promise of having Fire fuck him. He was in, either that or he was an excellent actor. I was betting on the second, but with my luck, it would be the first.

"Fire and I waited to seal this deal, why I can't remember." Small lie but it was working. I could see Morty's lust filled eyes. "I realize with everything going on in the world you need to get back to work."

I unbuttoned the top of my dress and released my breasts. I ran my fingertips over my nipples until they hardened into pencil eraser-like nubs and the flesh surrounding them crinkled. Adam popped into my head once more, those piercing pool blue eyes that I could swim in for days.

Morty popped out leaving Fire and I together. I wanted to jump him during Morty's absence, but you never know when Death would pop back in once he has an invitation to your home.

"I promise I'll watch and not touch, until you two seal your deal," Morty bounced up and down on my bed holding an exquisite male body in his hands as if it weighed nothing.

Morty touched Fire's flesh as he spoke a few words for the incantation that would allow Fire to possess the body. I watched the eyes on the body change from confusion to Fire's blank stare, but still the emerald green of the human's eyes.

Fire took over the body with ease as Morty undid his jeans and released his engorged cock. Once, Morty had told me he liked making deals with me because Fire and I had so much sex, and I was as close as he could get. I took a little pride in being used that way. Morty watched with anticipation as Fire crossed the room and towered above me.

I barely had time to finish undressing before Fire was inside me. He bent me over the ottoman until my breast smashed into the furniture below my body. He rammed his large hard cock into my tiny body. For all her years as a porn star, my vessel was incredibly tight, and Fire jammed himself inside me without a care to my comfort. It was perfect as the sensations of human sex rolled through my body while the HB spell lingered.

His arms straddled me on the ottoman as he positioned himself for deeper penetration. The body Morty had found him dwarfed my own. As he moved in and out of me I could hear Morty, but couldn't see him.

Fire thrusted into me and lifted me off the ottoman, then he turned me so I faced Morty. Morty was fisting his huge penis, and I wondered if I could get another deal out him by letting him fuck my ass. As soon as I thought it, Fire stuffed two fingers into my anus and I creamed on his pistoning dick and screamed his name.

Fire pumped into my entrance slick with our juices. He needed better timing, I was on my third orgasm as I felt him enlarge inside my body. When Fire came in his demon form, it was like being pumped full of thick, sizzling jelly, nothing a baby could survive.

"Cum in my mouth," I smiled at Fire over my shoulder. I enjoyed the taste of cum, even as I regretted not giving Adam head so I could enjoy his semen flavor.

Before Fire could turn me around and fill my mouth, I screamed again, this time in excruciating agony. The pain was not Fire's cum filling me up. I was in Adam's head as much as Fire was inside my body.

I could feel the feathers from Adam's wings as Daddy ripped them away. My father took great pleasure in his work, as he plucked at Adam's wings. I could feel each of his wings from their six-foot span, nailed to a brimstone wall. Adam's wrists and ankles cuffed in iron shackles.

Adam mounted on that wall like that reminded me of Jesus on the cross. However, his face was stoic and defiant with the onset of my father's torture. Fire got his own blast of Adam's suffering from my tattoos. I ached in a way that my mortal form could not handle and passed out underneath Fire's body.



Rising From The Fire Ch. 03



Agony surrounded my mind, my body, the very essence of me. I was in Adam's head. So connected to him, that I could feel his every ache from my father's torture and I screamed deep inside the recesses of his mind. I could feel the torture as if it were happening to my own human body. It made the pain intense and unbearable. I tried to speak but that which made me, me, felt trapped in Adam's head, nothing more than his thoughts.

I passed out from the pain. No, I died from the pain. There's a place that isn't a place, an in-between, a place where a demon experiences death. It is neither Heaven nor Hell. It is home to a magic so ancient and wild that it isn't real, and yet it is everything. That's where I became self aware, except I was nothing, no one.

In my moments in the in-between space of life and death, the place that was real yet nothing tangible, I felt and knew everything. I was the chaos of my life and as insignificant as a gnat. I was whole and complete, yet shattered at the exact same time. Time wasn't real either, I could have been there a nanosecond or a million human years. I accepted it as fact, even if everything about it was a complete and ugly lie. I was dead, but more alive than I'd ever been in my three hundred years.

I lived a lifetime there. I saw myself with Adam and a young girl. Adam looked like a human, no wings, but still a beautiful sculpted god-like man. He took my breath away and made my eyes hurt to see so much beauty. The girl looked like the best mix of Adam and I. Her hair appeared brown but with closer inspection it was easy to see it was black and blonde so blended together perfectly to make it brown. Her face was angelic, round puffy cheeks, and a smile that melted pieces inside me I never knew were there.

I was happy, no, content, satisfied. Then I flashed and understood the Apocalypse. I saw Death, War, Conquest, and Famine spreading through man, each on their horses, red, white, black, and cream, riding through Earth with demons in tow to consume the human race as easily as a vacuum sucks up dirt. I saw the decay of the Earth and humanity, as they became nothing more than dust blowing through the universe, drifting without even the hint of the promise of what once had been.

The little girl giggled and it was pure and innocent. I saw a thin line of light, that linked me back to, well me. It was so tiny I was sure I'd snap it if I tugged on it or tried to use it to travel back. I was only at the threshold of the nothingness, but it wanted me fully.

"Do you want to die?" The little girl asked.

"No," I said.

"Then don't," she giggled again and I felt it as if I had a body in that place. It tingled through my limbs into my mind as only sound could make a person feel. Such a simple answer, as if I had a choice. I did have a choice, and I chose to live.

"Save her, NOW!" Fire's voice roared through the room and through my mind spilling into me where the unconscious mind sleeps. I could hear Morty and Fire, their argument sounded miles away from me.

"I can't," Morty said.

I tried to speak but my body and voice would not respond. It was like being stuck in sticky goo just below the surface.

"Just do what you've always done. Like when Damien tried to kill her. Just heal her," Fire said. Again, his voice was angry and filled the room with its roar.

"I can't," you could hear the frustration in Morty's voice, frustration but not fear.

"Do it, now. Just wake her up. Fix her, heal her, whatever it is you do, DO IT!" Fire yelled.

"I can't," Morty sighed. "Just because you keep telling me to, doesn't mean I'll magically all of sudden have it within my powers to do."

"But you healed her all those times Damien tried to kill her, just do what you did then." Fire said, even floating in the void I could tell, Fire was pouting.

"She was a demon then. Humans are alive, I mean really alive. It's a God thing, you wouldn't understand it. It's nothing I have power over. I cannot heal her. If her human body dies then she is truly dead, trapped in death by part of the human experience."

"This is all Adam's fault. I felt it. He pushed his suffering onto her and she couldn't handle it. I'll go fix this. I'll just kill him," Fire said.

Panic shocked me into action. I pushed through to the surface and said, "No." It was barely above a whisper but the two men in the bedroom heard me, Demon hearing is good for something.

"Nessa, he almost killed you, how can you say no?" Fire whined. I almost found it comical.

"She's alive, my work here is done." Morty said. It sounded as if he were backing away from Fire. "So if you need anything other than what we discussed you know how to get a hold of me." I imagined he stepped toward the mirror. "Bye, bye, for now."

My eyes opened instantly. Fire's body pressed to my back, his cock still buried in my body, as if time had stopped dead when I'd become unconscious or died, or whatever had taken me to that in-between place. Great, neither one had bothered to move me when I passed out, or whatever I did. Though, Morty was by the mirror as I'd thought. I shook Fire off me as if he were a comforter.

Morty's eyes locked with mine and we shared a moment of knowledge, then it was gone. His face went blank, but the fear that had flashed in his eyes in the moment still lingered. I crawled on hands and knees toward him, not as prey but as predator. He shifted and backed away from the mirror towards the bed. His knees hit the mattress and he folded back against the bed. His cock still out and rock hard from playing with himself while Fire and I had fucked.

The pain from whatever connection I had with Adam was a dull throbbing in my body, it felt incredibly good. Like when you release your nipple from a nipple clamp and the blood rushes back to it in relief. That's how I experienced Adam's pain, and I knew what I had to do. I crawled up Morty's body my tongue licking along his exposed flesh. I tasted him, not just his physical flesh, but also his power, everything that made him Morty, the power known as Death.

"Princess," he hissed out as my lips circled his dick. His spine bowed and his eyes rolled back in his head. I licked and sucked my way down to his body and then pulled up, slowly I lifted my mouth off him.

He gasped as his eyes closed and his body relaxed under me. I made my way up to his mouth and licked his lips. I sucked his bottom lip and nibbled at it for a moment before I released it with a juicy slurp. I straddled him on my hands and knees, as I positioned myself above him, and slammed myself down his pole. His hands rose to my hips and he thrust up against me until he was fully inside me, filling me with the length of him. I rode him, moving up and down with purpose. The power that lingered filled the room like smoke during a fire.

Morty's eyes opened and there were no words for the look in them. He seemed to look at me as if I were a treasure, a queen, a prize. His eyes filled with lust, longing, and worship. His hands moved up my waist until he was cupping my breasts, he squeezed them. My head fell back and my eyes closed as his power filled me with each stroke of our bodies against each other.

Fire was suddenly at my back pushing me forward onto Morty. I knew without knowing what he needed. He needed to join us. He desired me, but not just me. It was the magic I created by joining with Morty. I had unleashed it into the room, and the world for that matter. Fire moved toward our coupling as if he had to, his all consuming power burned with need. His demon form exploded through the body Morty had procured for him. The air filled with the smell of charred flesh, like a rancid barbecue.

His hand on my back scorched me where it touched me. Even though it should have burned away my own flesh, it didn't. As if the power that rode my body protected me from such things. For the first time, I realized that was exactly what was happening. I was more than I'd ever been before. I wasn't just a demon princess or a possessed human body. I wasn't just feeding on Morty's power and now Fire's as he plunged into my body. We weren't just having sex, we were creating the wild magic of the in-between place, releasing it, turning it tangible, and real, and it felt fucking fantastic.

It felt like a storm or a tornado built in my body, as the power of Fire's heat collided with Death's cold. Their powers twisted around each other, not really blending into one, but as if, they meant to tear each other apart, even though physically the two men pumped in and out of my body in perfect unison. I felt myself rolling in the metaphysical sea and knew that it was either control it or it would shred me into a million pieces. I consumed them, each gasped as I pulled and turned it to something expressly me. All that power morphed and filled each of us with raw animal sexual heat.

We grunted as the pressure built between my thighs. I was drowning in all that power, and at the same time I enjoyed the pain of being so completely filled by two men (okay, demons), who could have torn me apart at any moment. Fire's arm slipped between my body and Morty's until he forced my face to his. He kissed me on the mouth and it was enough to send me over the edge.

I came, then Morty, then Fire. Our voices combined as we each howled to the sky, rather ceiling of the bedroom. We were a combined orgasmic yelp that I was sure was heard around the world. Fire collapsed on top of me. My body trapped between his and Morty's as we panted from the exertion and beautiful climax.

"That was-that was..." Morty panted.

"Fucking fantastic," Fire said echoing my earlier thoughts.

"Mmmm," I murmured unable to draw enough breath for words.

"But what was it?" Fire asked.

"Her." Morty said with awe in his breath, warm against my cheek.

"Yes, but it's never been that. I mean she's never made me..." Fire's breath burned across my back as he spoke. It should have been uncomfortable to say the least, but it was nice.

I wanted to ask what he meant, but breathing was beyond me. So I let my body relax between their bodies and just enjoyed the aftershocks of the most powerful orgasm of my life.

I floated into Adam's head again, only this time it was easier, not nearly as violent or even painful. He was completely healed and he was free. I had a bird's eye view of the whole thing. He glowed, his wings extended and undamaged, and his face mincing as he looked down at my father. I had a moment to wonder why and then the sight of my father falling to his knees knocked all reasonable thoughts from my head.

My father, my daddy, ruler of Hell had a look on his face that I'd never seen there before. I'd seen him angry more times than there were days in a century. I'd seen his eyes burning with hatred. I'd seen my father green with jealousy. I'd seen his face covered in vengeance and even joy. I'd seen him satisfied, venomous. But fear? Never seen that one on daddy's face. It was there only for a split second, but it was there. That was more than long enough to rock my world to its very foundation.

"No way!" I said. I'm not sure how I knew it, but I knew that my father blamed me for Adam getting free, and for ruining the underworld, and for starting the Apocalypse, and now for scaring the shit out of him. I was so boned, and not in a good way.



Rising From The Fire Ch. 04



"What's wrong?" Fire said.

"My father, h-he's, he's afraid." I stuttered as the connection to Adam and my dad broke.

"Afraid of what, Princess?" Morty asked.

"Me, I think." I shuddered, although I was quite warm sandwiched between Fire and Death.

"That's a problem. A major one," Fire said moving off of me and the bed. "Get dressed, I'll be right back." 

I could feel the anger pouring off him for a moment through the tattoos and then he was gone in a cloud of black smoke that dissipated in the same way that my connection to Adam had only moments before. 

"No, wait!" I yelled but it was already too late. Fire was gone. The anger I felt was just gone too, and quickly the void that was left behind filled with a sense of longing and fear. "Where are you going?"

Suddenly as I finished my sentence the room began to shake violently, no wait, it was me, not the room. I couldn't focus as my vision blurred and then it was obscured, but by what, I had no idea.

I could feel tiny shards of glass falling around me as my mirror broke into a myriad of pieces. We were not alone. I had a flash of hope that Fire had returned but then they poured into the room from the mirror and the door and the windows. Glass shattered, wood stressed and splinted into pieces and rained across my room as it filled with demons of every size and species. They were just there surrounding us, pressing in on the bed and me as I sat there confused and overwhelmed.

I couldn't draw a breath to scream before Morty had flipped me over and covered my body with his own. He was protecting me from them and I didn't even have time to feel grateful for his concern. 

I felt fingers of all textures and sizes grabbing at me. What ever parts of my body were still exposed to the room filling up with an army of demons they touched. They gripped and caressed my skin, and even though I could draw my breath, I couldn't release the scream that was building inside me from the moment they began filling up the room. It was like a macabre nightmare come to life. Elemental demons of every kind squirmed into every inch of space around Morty and I, and I couldn't breathe in the rancid stench of so many creatures.

"Aaaaah!" I screamed finally, at the feel of fingers, tentacles, or whatever appendages passed for hands on the creatures touching me. They grasped my legs and ankles, pulled me, I felt a hungry tearing at pieces of me that had nothing to do with the human skin that covered my body. At the same time I could feel them trying to release Morty's hold on me. "What are you doing?"

Their combined voices, the ones that belonged in hell, were chanting and screaming just one thing, my name. Over and over it was hissed, and yelled, until the cacophony felt like fingernails on a chalkboard and I wanted to crawl out of my skin to get away from the sound that pounded through the bedroom too small to contain it. My eyes watered from the sound of my name on so many demon lips. 

"Stop it, stop it, please!" I choked out, my fingers dug into Morty's flesh desperate for something, anything to hold onto for my sanity.

The room froze. One moment all I could feel was the throng of demons as they touched me and threatened to rip me apart, and the next everything was so still all I could hear was my heart trying to pound through my chest along with my rapid breathing. I tried to move from underneath Morty's body but he was just as frozen in place as the rest of the room, I looked out at the sea of motionless faces imploringly for help.

The first thing I noticed was the amount of lowly demons among the throng, almost all of them were, except for three. Four, if you included Morty. You would normally include Morty because the three faces I recognized that weren't the bottom of the barrel in the hierarchy of hell, were his brothers. I stared at them as much as they stared at me, their arms still raised, reaching for me. I was peeking between their brother's arm and solid chest, that was like stone for being unmoving as the rest of the room. 

"Why are you here?" I said locking eyes with War because he was the closest to me and he shrugged in reply. Conquest laughed and Famine flashed an evil grin into the back of Morty's head so violent and sickening that I felt Morty's body tremble above mine. The rest of the demons in the room began to shrink away from the bed as if touching something shocking. The confusion I felt was written all over my face.

"You," was the hissed reply said at the same time, in one terrifying voice. Wonderful, what the hell did that mean?

*****

I sat at the kitchen table wearing a red silk robe. Normally, I didn't do modesty but Morty's brothers made me feel more human all the time. It isn't everyday that the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse were sitting in your apartment in Hell, MI. Just saying. Morty was wearing jeans and an apron because he was frying bacon at the stove. It was a lovely sight, even if his ass was covered in black denim. 

I spent as little time with the demons surrounding my kitchen table as possible. Famine, although deathly skinny but all wiry muscles, was intimidating in his height and stone cold features. He was the embodiment of hunger, longing, gluttony, need and desire. Starvation. He knew what you desired most, needed most and denied it to you for his pleasure.

Conquest and War were twins so they resembled each other not one bit. Yes, their bodies were similar, they had the same type of hair, but where War's was a mix of black and red similar to my own, Conquest's hair was a fair blond that belonged on little school girls. He was flawless perfection from head to toe. He was consumed by victory and he always won. He didn't have to fight, he always won by knowing the outcome before you could consider the struggle.

The demon I feared most was War. He sat across from me, his coal black eyes darting around the table. I'm really not as vain as the following will sound, but there is not a place on his body that isn't covered in a scar of some kind. 

He was drawn and quartered at one point during his long life. His face was split in two by an axe. He had ropey scar tissue from his hair to his leather boots. His scars were across ever inch of his large muscular demon body. His skin was what it would feel like if stone and flesh had a baby. Aside from his appearance though he was every part of battle at all times. His mind was the darkest I knew, and I'm from Hell, so that's saying something.

"You are cooking human food like a servant because?" Famine's scratchy deep voice lifted in question.

"My Princess needs it," Morty tossed his words over his shoulder and finished beating eggs in a bowl before pouring them into the sizzling bacon grease left in the frying pan. The food smelled, well, tasty. I'd been on a human diet for about a week, but this was the first time I was looking forward to the meal.

As demons we mostly eat souls. The problem with human food is the cooking, it kills the last of the soul in any food, be it flesh or vegetable. So, I'd mostly been eating raw foods. Especially vegetables, yes, even plants have a life force. It wasn't delicious in anyway, until now. Now, my baby-carrying body was doing the craving, rather than my demon.

"Your Princess?" War said, staring straight at me with black eyes so hard I couldn't return his gaze.

"Yes, Princess Vanessa. My Princess," Morty said as he continued his work. I smiled. It was sweet in a worshippy sorta way. After the bedroom antics that rivaled my morning of heavenly bliss, well lets just say, I was suddenly very smitten with my best friend.

"Shouldn't we consider the elephant in the room? Why did you summon us here, Nessa?" Conquest asked me directly. He dusted off nothing on his sleeve, then stared at me with a look harder than War was giving me.

I tried to hide my annoyance at how casually he addressed me. After all, most of the higher level demons didn't respect me. Hell, very few of them liked me. Thanks to Dameon most just down right hated me. But for Conquest to be under the impression I had called them...wait a second. 

"What do you mean, I summoned you here? I did no such thing!"

"Actually, you sorta did, Princess," Morty said as he placed a plate in front of me. He took a seat on the kitchen island. I had a second to dislike the distance between us. I wanted him by my side, his very presence was a comfort to me. 

I looked down at the wonderful smelling food and my mouth watered. I picked up a fork and took several bites before I even considered responding. 

"Hof?" I asked with a mouth full of deliciousness. Conquest rolled his eyes, and Famine had a curious look on his face. War was stone.

"The same way you sent the underlings packing, your new powers. Whatever they are, and I do have a theory on this, you're tapped into some major mojo." Morty said.

"'Major mojo' to use your idiotic phrasing, is putting it mildly. I'd say she's using the oldest power that has ever existed, since before time was even a concept." Conquest frowned at Morty.

"Yes," War said at the same time Famine said, "Agreed."

I had a sudden loss of appetite. "But that's not possible, is it?" I dropped my fork. 

"There is only one who would know for sure. God," Conquest said. 

"But how? Why? How? What? Who? Where?" I stuttered as a sour taste filled my mouth. Did I need to write an essay? 

"The boundaries between Heaven, Hell, and Earth are breaking down," said Conquest.

"You think this is my fault somehow? You're blaming me?" I asked. I was pointing my finger at him and my mouth hung open. I think a piece of bacon fell out.

War frowned at me but remained quiet. Famine had a fascinated look on his face and Conquest picked at the non-existent lint on his sleeve again. Morty hopped down from the counter and came to my side. 

He took hold of my hand, a gesture reserved for dealing with small frightened children. I supposed I was very much like a small child, and definitely afraid. I stood up and crossed my arms over my chest. I walked to the window and looked down into the square of downtown Hell, MI with my Bestie in tow.

I stared out the kitchen window and I could see the changes my actions had caused. There were so many more demons in human form. Eyes colors that most humans never have, blues too rich to be natural. Reds the entire spectrum of the color. Yellow, orange, green, and purple. Skin colors muted to overly pink to almost crimson, periwinkle, and truly raven. Morty whispered to me as he stood behind me with his arms wrapped around my waist. 

"Time used to be circular, but most people, demons, maybe even angels, I really don't remember when it was circular. There was a time, before time, when beings could draw on the power of their future selves. This is I think, the magic you have tapped into with your little death trip." His arms squeezed me to him as I shivered.

"Demons are so long lived they can't remember much of the beginning anymore. But you can now, and you can see down the road ahead. You need to learn how to use this power. When you do, when you can tap into the kind of demon you should become, the kind you were always meant to become, a great many things will happen.

"There was even a time when time travel was possible, Princess. This is something that some angels, archangels still have this knowledge, but they rarely use it." His voice was very smooth and calming.

"The Apocalypse is not the end, just another beginning. But it means that life has to start over, something that hasn't happened in so long no one remembers it ever happened before. Prophets are still somewhat tapped into this circular life line hence they can see what's yet to happen."

I sighed and leaned the back of my body against the front of Morty's body. "That was supposed to make sense, huh? I bet you even dumbed it down for me."

Morty laughed and it vibrated against my skin to make me tingle. "I suppose, maybe, I did, Princess." He kissed my hairline on the temple and I closed my eyes completely comforted by his affection.

"But I still don't understand," I sighed, because, well, I really didn't. I was more confused than ever. 

Morty turned me to face Conquest. He had a hungry look in his eyes that I'm not sure I'd ever seen before, a look to match the one that Famine could and did give me easily. War was a twisted rock, unmoving, unflinching, his look was one that I feared more than the others. 

For a second I found myself trapped in War's gaze as both Conquest and Famine stalked toward me with the hungriest looks in their eyes. Morty held me out, he gave me a little push in his brothers' direction. 

As Conquest moved in front of me, my view was temporarily blocked. Conquest took my head in his hands, he held me by the neck, he pulled my face to his and he kissed me. I felt lost in his perfect lips for a moment, his hand loosened the tie of the belt on my robe until the belt fell, my robe draped open and exposed my body to him. His eyes drank in my human form, and his eyes seemed so sure of me even I had no doubt.

His lips consumed me. His hands traced patterns across my skin. I gasped as I broke from his kiss. The biggest problem for me was I wasn't fighting him, for some reason I knew I should. I pulled away from him, resisted even though I felt like falling into his arms and fucking him as quickly as possible. 

As I pulled away, Conquest looked at me, a bit confused, then Famine swept me into his wiry muscled arms and I forgot Conquest as he kissed me, hard on the lips. His kiss wasn't passion, it was hunger, starved for affection, and I felt it every where across my body.

Famine lifted me and set me on the kitchen table, his lips licked, sucked, ate of my flesh. Electricity burned through me, and I returned his fevered needs. Soon I was just as lost in kissing him as my hands were in feeling his body. My fingernails dug into his arms as his body pressed me to the table. I could feel him, inside me, mentally. An ache was building, I wanted, no, I needed him, inside me, physically. I desperately desired him. 

"Princesssssss," Famine hissed as he stood to remove his shirt over his head. He tossed it to the floor and then I think his pants disintegrated because they were just gone.

I felt many hands on me, and then the path to War's intense eyes was clear. They flashed dark, hot black, as if the color black burned with fire behind them. He stared at me with as much desire as Famine thrust at me, maybe more. Then Famine was inside me physically instead of just metaphysically. It was all consuming as he slid into my body. He somehow, caressed me from the inside out. 

My back arched and my eyes rolled to the top of my head as I screamed. I blinked and Conquest was at my head, and there were no others in the room. It was Conquest's perfect form, beautiful, powerful, consuming me. He pushed his power into me, and again I pushed back.

"No," I yelled rolling my head from side to side and then I locked eyes on War again. My 'no' was for Conquest only as my body was ridden by Famine. I writhed beneath him, feeling him fill me up, over and over. My body rode the hard edge of pleasure and too much pain. 

I ached again, and then I split apart, consumed by sex with Famine. It ate me whole as I came, and still it wasn't enough. It was as if I could never be satisfied, as if I'd always be hungry, as if my orgasm were a cruel mirage.

Conquest held my hands, his cock suddenly caressing my cheek even as my body continued to fuck Famine. I finally felt forced to acknowledge him. His eyes, blue and pure, and sure. I smiled a wicked smile as he attempted to mindfuck me, I say attempted because the one demon who hadn't touched me at all was actually doing that, mindfucking the shit out of me. 

I thought that War wasn't a part of it. But every time our eyes met, that's what it was. I felt him, knocking against me, begging to come in, to be inside me. He was why I was fighting Conquest. Conquest who was always so sure, so positive that he had a thing before the war was started. I'm not sure if it was about me at all. 

Maybe the way I felt with Famine inside me and the power play between Conquest and War had nothing to do with me. I met the pounding of Famine's body as a sibling rivalry I wasn't privy to, continued around me. As Famine fucked me harder, his hands twisted my breasts to the point of pain until I had to look at him. It was too much, but too good, and too painful, and too chaotic. Again, a feeling of loss overwhelmed me.

Morty was close by, but I couldn't see him. He whispered, "Princess, you can do this. Do what you did to me, to Fire." 

My eyes burned as tears of confusion filled and spilled from my eyes. "I don't know how," I whispered back. 

I felt Morty's fingers on my nipple, then his mouth, he sucked my breast between his lips and then his teeth sank in hard and I screamed again.

Conquest grabbed a fist of my hair and turned me to him. "Don't deny me again!" he said, but instead of filling my mouth as I expected him to it was as if he couldn't. 

I felt it then, I even knew it in that moment, he couldn't enter my body without my permission. I smiled a wicked smile and twisted from Conquest's grasp. I wrapped my arms around Famine, trapping Morty's head between our body's for a moment before he replaced his face with his hand. 

I gave myself to Famine. I tried to find that perfect release, I rode him as much as he rode me. But for all the building, the aching, there was no completion no matter how many times I seemed to orgasm with him. 

There was a labyrinth of pleasure and pain fucking Famine. The longer he was inside me, the more I felt myself at what should have been orgasm, the highest height of pleasure. Just as I reached the pinnacle I'd fall back under to the point of incomplete. Frustrating didn't begin to explain my feelings about him. 

I understood him and his power the deeper he filled my body, my mind. The longer I rode his power, the clearer it became, what he was, and what he was, and how he would never be satisfied. No matter how long we went, how hard we fucked. 

Once I understood that about him, especially after my morning fuckfest with Adam, I knew how to obtain my own completion. I reached inside and released my own power, my new power that I barely understood and could hardly control. But I did it, yeah for me. 

I came and Famine flowed inside me in an explosion of semen that scorched me from the inside out. I screamed and the sound he made blasted the paint off the walls, shattered the windows, and broke every piece of glass in the apartment. 

His roar of satisfaction was so powerful it seemingly broke his body and mind. His back arched, his muscles tightened and popped and he was sent crashing on top of me. We didn't move, breathe, or think for minutes. There wasn't another sound inside my kitchen as the afterglow of the intense climax washed us down the drain.

When I could feel my body again, there were hands trapped between myself and Famine. My eyes focused and for a moment I could only see War, then I saw Famine, then Morty, and finally, although he was the closest one to my head, there was Conquest a deep frown tainting his perfect face. 

"You don't want me?" he whispered in disbelief, then he pouted. 

I rolled my eyes, not another pouting man for my bed. Did I want Conquest? I couldn't really think yet, but I thought I did. Maybe not. I don't know what it was, but maybe it was the fact that the one demon who could and did have everything he ever wanted, wanted me. As a result, I didn't want him, because I could already have him. Stupid, but I think that was it.

My eyes couldn't stop meeting War's and then I locked on his gaze as my epiphany about Conquest settled in and made me feel giddy, like a child with a brand new toy. I suddenly wanted to fuck with Conquest, not because I wanted to be cruel, but just because I found the whole thing rather interesting. War's look sent such thoughts racing from my head. His eyes were pure torment and power, his power, his battle filling me again.




Rising From The Fire Ch. 04



"Get out," War said quietly. His voice was hard and deep but even though he wasn't speaking to me, and everyone knew it, I still cringed. "Get out, all of you. Out!"

Morty had to help Famine off of me, our bodies made a soggy suction release sound as we separated.

"My Princess," he murmured as Morty supported his frame, which seemed to me marginally larger. Maybe it was a trick of the eyes. Considering every piece of glass in the place was broken I wasn't sure how or where they went, but Morty and Famine were gone. Leaving me with War and Conquest. 

"I said get out," War broke eye contact with me to stare at his brother. 

"But how could you not want me?" Conquest whined and it was enough that I really didn't want him. When I looked at him, instead of just disbelief, I saw that he was hurt by the reality, as if I'd cut him.

I tried to sit up, but my body refused to cooperate with me. I lay on my kitchen table as if I were made of liquid. 

"Sorry," I whispered to Conquest. His eyebrows raised and the hurt look was almost comical on his face.

"GET OUT!" War cried, his fists pounded the table I was on, shaking me to my core. 

I didn't need to wonder. Between these two demons there would always be the question who would win in a fight. They had decided years, millennium before I was even born, that they would never fight. Except, maybe, I was someone worth fighting over? No, I'm really not that special, especially in their eyes.

"I didn't get a turn," Conquest said in a small voice. 

"You should have taken her, but I need to speak with Nessa alone." War said. See, told you I wasn't worth fighting over in their eyes.

"That's the problem, I couldn't take her. I just couldn't." he whispered disbelief returning to his voice to over power the hurt.

"Sorry," I whispered again.

"Don't apologize, just give me permission to fuck you, Princess!"

I blinked at him. I blinked again and looked at War. "You...need...my...permission?" I panted.

"Yes," Conquest answered. He did. He really did. Whoa. I wasn't sure how I felt about being left alone in my disaster area of an apartment with War, but I knew if I agreed to fuck Conquest here and now it could send him over the edge. 

For the moment, War's wrath was contained. I had a moment to wonder if I should test him and the look on War's face told me no. I'd be a very, very, evil little Demonic Princess if I said yes to Conquest.

"Okay," I said. How did you expect a Demonic Princess to answer? No? Yeah, right. Have you met me?



Rising From The Fire Ch. 05



Conquest waited less than a nanosecond before he had me flipped over on my stomach with my ass in the air and was driving home inside my pussy. My body was squished into the kitchen table. My eyes were only for War, who it seemed as if it were possible had put a harder look on his face than the one he'd given me earlier. 

I smiled and challenged War with just my eyes as Conquest filled me. Then I closed my eyes and feed on his power. Conquest gave it to me and his power was mine for the taking. So I took and took until he finished, hard, fast, and deep inside me, grunting my name like a lucky high school nerd.

We both screamed, but if I compared the sex to Famine, it wasn't nearly as fulfilling. I was somewhat disappointed by that. Apparently, so was Conquest. He tried to start again, but War was having none of that. 

"You fucked her. Now get out!" War roared.

Conquest grumbled something under his breath, grabbed his clothes and disappeared. 

I was alone with the most violent and the darkest demon I'd ever know. I'd just pissed him off too for the fun it. At the moment, it wasn't nearly as fun as I thought it would be. 

Seems to me, someone would have stuck around to protect me from War and his wrath. Then again, supposedly I could handle him myself with my fancy new powers. How, was still a question I had yet to figure out. I tried not to let my ignorance show on my face. I'm pretty sure I failed as I stared at War's granite face.

Before I could comment War had lifted me off the table and shoved my robe at me. 

"Get dressed." He snapped. He stormed off toward the living room. I assumed I was meant to follow. I put my robe on over my recently used body, sighed, and followed him. He was pacing a hole in my carpet, literally, when I got there.

"You want to stop the Apocalypse?" he asked.

Not really where I thought the conversation was going, but okay. "I guess so."

"That's why you're doing this?"

"Doing what? I swear, I have no idea what I'm doing. Really." I crossed my arms under my breasts. I was getting pissy. I know, after so much good sex, and one bad fuck I should be feeling much better than I felt. Sorry but Conquest just didn't get the job done. 

"I truly believe that about you, Nessa. Yet, you flipped three of the most powerful demons to your side in less than an hour with nothing more than what you carry between your legs."

"Hey!" I'm pretty sure there was an insult in that statement. 

War raised his eyebrows, breaking the blank look he'd had on his face since I entered the room. I sank down on the couch and put my head between my hands. I was suddenly very hungry and unfocused. I wondered if there were any leftovers from breakfast.

"Stop that please," he said. He sank down next to me on the couch.

"Stop what?" I asked.

"Wanting," he whispered. 

"What are you talking about?" I really am this clueless.

"Morty made you breakfast. I have no idea how to cook human food." He sounded frustrated by the thought.

"So, what, you're like, feeling my hunger?" I tried to think about what I'd been thinking about to make him feel it too, but my mind was too unfocused and it kept running down the bad sex and what I could have done different. Bacon is pretty good food.

"Yes," his face was unflinching as I met his eyes. Whoa, what?

I felt sort of giggly for a second, "Neat. If I told you to go fetch me a plate, you would, wouldn't you?" I asked.

"Yes," he said. Brick wall, I was staring at a brick wall.

"But I haven't fucked you yet." I was amazed at how powerful I seemed to be, or felt for that matter. It was completely new territory. Three hundred years of being the ruler of Hell's daughter had taught me nothing more than to be afraid, especially of powerful, world-altering demons like War.

"I don't think that matters. You said yet, does that mean you were considering, uh, having, sex with me too?"

"Might as well, I like round numbers." This got me an eyebrow raise. "What?"

"You should take this seriously, Princess." He said, his voice solemn.

"Oh you're calling me Princess now?" I was having trouble keeping up with the continuously shifting conversation. The eggs were really good too. Why had I stopped eating in the first place?

"Is it that you feel the same way about me that you felt about Conquest? That you must beat me, no matter what you want? Or do you really not want to fuck me? Is that because, well, how I look?" Please don't pout, please don't pout, fuck, he pouted.

I sighed. "I'm sorry, but I said yes, didn't I?" Maybe he was right and that's why fucking Conquest had sucked in a non-good way.

"No, you didn't," his eyes stopped meeting mine. In fact they were looking anywhere but at me. "You said you might as well because you like round numbers."

"Oh, I just meant," I put my hand on his arm. "I don't know what I mean. Besides I'd need to fuck like way more guys to get up to ten today. Well five more guys. Wow, that sounded a lot sluttier than I meant it." 

"Are you shooting for a personal record of some sort?" War asked. His voice was completely serious which made me question my recent sexual history. 

"No," I gasped. I realized a moment too late that maybe War was messing with me. Figures, you just can't trust a demon. "It just so happens you and your brothers showed up. Invaded my apartment. With an army of minions." I smirked. 

"You called us here." War said, he'd gone from serious to playful back to serious so quickly that the playful seemed like an illusion.

"Well I didn't mean to do it. Hell, I don't even remember what I did."

"It's like the hunger, Princess. I feel your needs, your desires. I suppose it is because I'm still very close to you physically. And as you pointed out, I haven't fucked you."

"Yet," I said.

War frowned at me. Yeah, emotion. "Yet," he said, but he really didn't sound happy about it. "I think that once we do, that will change. I'll be like my brothers."

"What did I do to your brothers?" I asked.

"I think they have to do your bidding. For me, it is still a choice. Although, with you aquiring Conquest's 'mojo', maybe not. It's like you're collecting our powers. Changing them somehow."

"Really? And here I thought I was just spreading my legs." I snapped at him. Why did I feel like the bad guy all of a sudden? Couldn't we just fuck for the sake of fucking? No strings attached. 

"That's not what I meant." His voice was so apologetic, I continued to feel bad.

"It's what you said. Basically, you're calling me a whore." I was suddenly very angry and I could feel that anger pulsing through the red highlights in my hair. Yeah, I'd collected a lot of new powers.

"That wasn't my intention. Why do you have to be so beautiful? Especially when I'm this?" His eyes looked sad for just a flash of a second, then the blank brick wall was back on his face in full force.

"I don't think you're ugly," I said softly. I let my fingers stroke his arm. I traced the stone and flesh, crossing over cloth and let my hand rest against his cheek. His eyes hardened at my hands ascent. 

"Princess, please don't look at me like that," he said.

"Like what?" I whispered.

"As if you see me as handsome." He broke eye contact with me, looking at his hands in his lap.

I wasn't sure that was the way I was looking at him. Maybe, there was some fascination. Or even a curiosity of sorts. No, War was not handsome. He was rough, intimidating, beaten. I only realized it as I stared at him, he was very much broken. 

"You don't have to do this," he sighed.

"Shut up, I'm going for my round numbers." I leaned forward and before he could protest again, I kissed the deadliest demon of the all. I kissed War, on his scarred lips, while caressing his damaged cheek with my hand. The texture so violently rough, that his skin scraped my own.

His lips were tight and unyielding, but I licked along the seal of his lips, begging with my tongue for him to open to me. After a moment of complete resistance on his part, I stopped.

"What's wrong now?" I asked.

"Not like this," he said in a voice much softer than I'd ever imagined he could use.

"Is that a no? You don't want to fuck me?" I made it a question. It's not like I thought so much of myself and was asking because I thought no man could resist me. I asked because I really wanted to know. Rejection, even from him, was a bitter pill to swallow.

"I'm going to fuck you. That's just it, I'm going to fuck you. Not kiss you. Not make love to you, but fuck you." His face was blank as he said it. 

At his words I creamed and rubbed my thighs together to contain the instant arousal that burned through my insides. Yeah for me!

I'd always thought Fire was a speedy demon, but War moved so fast I wasn't sure which way was up. I was instantly standing, then I was dizzy as we moved in blurring speed toward the end of the couch. My breath rushed out in a gasp of confusion and pleasure.

I couldn't protest. I didn't want to as I was flipped forward, the front of my body suspended over the arm of the sofa. He pushed up the cloth of my robe and exposed my ass to him. He grabbed my wrists with one of his hands, then I was pinned against the couch in a way that I couldn't move and all of it, the speed, the suddenness, made me writhe beneath him.

I forgot myself, I forgot everything, my morning, and the thought of any other man be it angel or demon was gone from my mind. I moaned as he rubbed the rough fabric of his tunic against my bare ass, the hard flesh beneath spiked a high sensation of power across my skin. 

There was nothing but War filling my head, then my body. As he moved inside me, I felt a war started between my legs. I wanted, needed, desired and fought. I had no enemies for my battle and so it raged inside me. I bounced back and forth between the calm and the storm.

I moaned as he plunged into me again. His hips thrust against me lifting and stretching my body as he went deeper with each stroke. I could feel him, forcing his way inside, clinging to the walls of my pussy, and my mouth opened to scream. I couldn't scream, because a wave of intense pressure torn the words from my lips as his rhythm increased. He pulsed inside me, plummeting my body into a well of euphoria.

His flesh was hard, hot, and very insistent as he thrust into me over and over. My mind burned and twisted. Each stroke inside me pushed me higher, or over the edge of some cliff. I was consumed by War and the power of his presence filled the room and me. 

A pressure built inside me, burning and stroking and powerful. His hand twisted my hair and yanked my head to his face for an all consuming and thoughtless kiss. 

Too soon we were united, and I felt all that there ever was of the Apocalypse. He was the lynch pin pounding it into me with his cock. I was the world being destroyed by our fucking.

I ached with need and hunger, but food would never satisfy me. Not like being taken by War. He took me, there on the couch that was a part of the home this human body I possessed had known and earned with that body. 

This wasn't sex, or fucking, I was engulfed by War and it didn't matter because nothing else mattered. Every part of me screamed for him. He cried out and his voice vibrated along my spine and pulsed inside my body until I felt as if I'd never known another man's touch.

One of his hands held my wrists and pressed them into the middle of my back which kept me immobile as our bodies rocked in a greedy rhythm that was all consuming and so much more than what he said it would be, he destroyed me. 

Then came the power that I was so unfamiliar with, but was starting to learn and know as well as my soul. It didn't flare up softly, there was nothing subtle about it. I was in a fight for my life that began through our connected body parts and I came.

"Princess," that one word told me I owned him. He was mine to control, just like his brothers. I shuddered and melted and sank into the power I ate and drank down that was War. I knew I'd never felt so completely full of another person. I didn't hunger, I didn't fight, for the first time all day, yet again, I was sated. 



Rising Like The Tide



The summer of 1966 rolled around like any other year in sleepy, small town Pennsylvania. While most of the town's residents may not have even noticed, things were actually going pretty good for me. I had graduated high school, I still had my job in my friend's father's shop doing basic machine shop work, I still had my '61 Impala SS and most importantly, I was still going out with Debbie. 

Debbie and I were both 18 now, which meant that even though we were not old enough to drink in Pennsylvania where the drinking age was still 21, we could trek out on occasion to Staten Island or even Manhattan and enjoy the vast array of clubs. You could say we were both really enjoying our newfound freedom and mobility. The other thing we liked to do in the summer, was to head out to the New Jersey shore. There was a small, relatively secluded section near Sandy Hook that we felt we had "discovered." There never seemed to be anyone else around and we often made full use of our relative privacy.

One particular outing I recall quite vividly. I had washed and Simonized the white Impala that morning. I drove to pick Debbie up at her house shortly before noon. I pulled up to Debbie's house, or should I say rumbled up, as the car now had headers and glass-pack mufflers. I parked and went up and knocked on her door.

Debbie answered the door wearing a rather sheer beach cover-up which barely concealed the white two-piece swimsuit underneath. She looked rather radiant with her blonde hair bouncing as she approached. With a big smile, she gave me a quick peck on the cheek and then ran back into the house to grab her things. She soon came back carrying a large woven beach bag and a transistor radio her uncle gave her for her birthday. 

We got in the car and headed out towards the highway. It would be at least a couple of hours till we got to the shore but neither of us was really in a hurry. Getting there would be half the fun.

As we hit Route 33, the breeze came blasting in through the open car windows. I glanced over at Debbie from time to time and could see her trying to keep her long blonde hair from blowing in her face. The strong breeze made the remaining curls dance wildly above her dark, plastic framed sunglasses as she smiled back at me. The suns rays did their own dance as they alternately lit up Debbie's tanned thighs as she sat there on the big vinyl bench seat. Occasionally I would reach over and brush her left thigh with the back of my hand which would elicit a quick giggle.

Out on the highway, the rumble of the big dual exhaust pipes quickly drowned out the radio. I reached over and turned it up. 'Wild Thing' by The Troggs was playing, a song which was a big hit that year. Debbie and I both really liked the song.

"Wild Thing. You make my heart sing. You make everything groovy."

I reached over and stroked her chin as I mouthed the words. Again, she giggled softly.

After exiting Route 33, when we were well into New Jersey, we stopped at a soda fountain and shared a root beer float. I went over to the jukebox and put on 'Wild Thing.' As the song started to play, I got behind Debbie and started to run my fingers through her long, blonde hair.

"Wild Thing, I think I love you. But I want to know for sure."

As the song played I reached forward and whispered the words into her ear, my nose gently nuzzling her earlobe. I could feel her body tremor lightly as I softy caressed her neck with my fingertips. She leaned her head back into my face as I buried my face into her soft, blonde locks.

When we finished our floats, we headed back out on the highway. In about an hour we were at Sandy Hook and parked the car. It was a bit of a hike from where we were to the beach, but not too bad. After we got out of the car, I led Debbie around to the trunk to show her what I had brought with us.

"Here, check it out. You'll like this." I said as I popped the trunk open.

"Gary, you didn't." She answered.

"Oh, yes I did!"

I showed her a case of beer I had stashed in the trunk.

"Here, give me your bag." I said.

She somewhat hesitantly handed me the big woven bag as I proceeded to take out the sandwiches and replace them with two six packs. I figured the sandwiches could be carried out in the open easily enough.

"Here, carry the sandwiches. I'll take the bag." I told her as I handed her the food.

I closed the trunk as we began the walk to the beach. When we got onto the sand, we both removed our shoes. The sand was hot on the bottoms of our feet, but we soon made our way down by the water. The damp sand felt cool and soothing on our bare soles as the ocean waves lapped across the tops of our feet.

We proceeded to walk hand in hand past the crowd sunbathing on the surf. We knew where we wanted to go. About fifteen minutes later, we had walked well past the end jetties and found our relatively secluded spot that we held so dear. We set up the little belongings we brought and turned on the transistor radio.

Debbie and I sat there in the sand just holding hands for some time barely saying a word. We were just enjoying the gorgeous blue sky adorned with puffy clouds that hung like cotton candy over the crystal clear blue water. The gulls sang their own special tune as they hovered overhead, sometimes passing so close it seemed you could reach out and grab one.

After a while, I reached into the bag and took out two beers. I opened one and passed it to Debbie and then opened one for myself. Where we were sitting was for all practical purposes invisible to the other beachgoers because of the position of the jetties.

After a few beers, we headed into the water and had fun splashing each other and bobbing up and down in the waves. As Debbie's bathing suit top got wetter, it just seemed to hug the curves of her perfect breasts just that much tighter. Don't think it went unnoticed.

A couple of beers later, our splashing and bobbing turned into a full-fledged game of one on one tag. We were just having fun in the sun on a perfect beach day. I went over to the bag to get myself another beer and I heard 'Wild Thing' come on the radio. I turned it up after grabbing the beer and started to sing along with the radio.

"Wild Thing, I think I love you. But I want to know for sure."

As I sang the words rather exuberantly, I quickly raised the beer up right in front of Debbie's face and popped the top. I guess I raised it too quick, because the beer splattered all over Debbie, some on her face but mostly on her chest. 

"I'm sorry, let me get that for you." I kindly offered.

I put down the beer and stood in front of Debbie and began to lap the beer off of her face and then started licking down her neck. Since it ran down her top, I had to remove that revealing her perfect set of breasts. I lapped every bit of beer off of her breasts and nipples, one at a time. I then slid down her bathing suit bottom and made my way with my tongue down to her waiting mound. I removed my own bathing suit and sat down on the sand, positioning myself directly in front of Debbie's neatly trimmed bush. She started to moan as I increased the intensity of my tongue strokes, attempting to get ever deeper into her as if I was digging for gold. I held her firm by her perfect butt cheeks as I buried my face in her mound. In short order, I could feel her juices start to run down the side of my chin as her moans increased in both frequency and intensity.

Since I was seated on the sand, I slowly guided her down by her butt cheeks onto my now rock solid member. Debbie put her hands on my shoulders as she eased herself up and down, slowly at first then gradually building speed. In a few minutes, I could feel her tight, young vaginal muscles holding me firm in their grasp as if trying to milk me of every drop of my jizz. I believe they were. We soon came together as Debbie collapsed into my arms.

We sat for some time afterwards and watched the sun set over the ocean. It was spectacular, as the various shades of red light put on a show as only nature can. A couple of hours later, we had finished all the beer as we sat and held hands and talked. In a while, between the beer and the physical activity, we were soon fast asleep on the beach.

Several hours later, I awoke. I was groggy at first from the night before, but was soon aware that it was morning and that the tide had risen to the point where the waters were lapping at my legs. The rising water splashing on my inner thighs is what woke me up.

I looked over at Debbie. She was still fast asleep. Apparently the beer had more of an effect on her. She looked so beautiful under the cover of the morning skies as the sun began to rise in all it's glory. The rising waters were splashing at her inner thighs as well, but yet she remained asleep to the world. I sat for some time just admiring her gorgeous hair and face in the morning light as she lay there quietly in the sand.

After a while the tide had risen to the point where the waters were reaching all the way up to her womanhood. The delicate waves were starting to splash up and foam onto her neatly trimmed bush. I began to realize the tide wasn't the only thing rising. I was rising too. Rising like the tide.

I reached over and very gently stroked her soft bush as the salt waters lapped upon it. After each time, I would slowly stroke her delicate hairs a bit deeper. Finally, and quite suddenly, she stirred.

"Ahhh, that's cold!" She exclaimed.

"Well, good morning, sleepy head." I answered back.

As the tide rose up again between her legs, I took my wet fingers and began to gently stroke her soft folds. Each time the waters lapped up, I would go deeper into her with my wet fingers. She began to emit soft moans, which soon were becoming quite audible. Her perfect young nipples were so hard and erect, they were casting shadows from the morning sun along the upper portion of her perfect round breasts. After a while, I could tell that the ocean waters were not the only wetness on my fingers.

I sat up and leaned over and gave her a big, deep kiss on the lips. Her golden blond hair never looked better than it did that morning spread out on the sand in the morning light. I rose up and positioned myself between her thighs. With both hands, I scooped up a large amount of the wet sand surrounding us and piled it up under Debbie's butt to raise it up. 

With Debbie's butt propped up on the wet sand, I held one of her thighs back with my left hand while I guided my fully engorged member into her soft folds. Slowly at first I began to thrust. On my knees and with my back to the ocean, I could feel the waters lapping at the soles of my feet. As Debbie's soft moans increased in intensity, so did my thrusts. Faster and harder I began to drive into her, as if I was trying to pound her into the sand. I was only vaguely aware of the gulls passing overhead in the early morning. Their squawks became the soundtrack for this event, as if they were Mother Nature's own cheering section. My thrusting took on an urgency bordering on violence, to the point that I was unaware of the water pooling around my knees as they sank deeper into the wet sand. I felt almost as though I had the whole power of the ocean behind me and in the literal sense the ocean was behind me. Debbie's tight muscles gripped me like they never wanted to let go, as we came together in a final grunt of passion.

When it was over we lied there side by side for a while in the morning sun. It didn't take long for us to realize we best put our bathing suits back on for fear of getting sunburned in spots that are not normally exposed. In a couple of hours we gathered our things for the long ride home. There was not a lot of talk that ride home. It was more of a shared mutual silence between two people who had experienced something truly special.

Debbie and I did manage to do it again a couple more times that summer. But, that was the last summer Debbie and I shared together. The next summer would be very different. I would tell you about it, but that would have to wait for another story. I will say, the time I spent with Debbie that summer on the Jersey shore back in '66 is something I will never forget.

02-25-10.