Torquere Press
www.torquerepress.com
Copyright ©2005 by Sean Michael
First published in www.torquerepress.com, 2006
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CONTENTS
* * * *
Coming Home
Bren tried to melt into the side of the barn as he looked around nervously. He kept his head absolutely still,
only his eyes shifting from side to side until he was convinced no one was nearby. Only then did he allow
his head to move, making a more thorough sweep of the area.
The cabin was a good fifty yards away from the barn, one of the reasons they'd chosen this place to rob.
That and the fact it was the only place for leagues with anything worth taking. Achen had been almost
trembling with excitement when he'd come back from scouting. Horses, goats, vegetables—all theirs for the
taking.
The chimney was still, no fire burned in the hearth. The job was supposed to be a breeze, in and out and
off they would be. Four horses would carry them all if the lightest of them doubled up.
Not to mention they hadn't had meat in months.
Tucking his hands into his pockets and biting his lip against the urge to suddenly grow four legs and scurry
away, Bren peeked around the corner of the barn, silently urging his companions to hurry up before they
were caught.
He caught sight of a huge, bear-like man carrying a thin, dark-haired girl through the trees. The child's
laughter rang out, free and happy.
"Oh, Da! The flowers were so pretty! And the butterflies! And that little baby deer."
"Fawn, baby girl. It's called a fawn."
The pair was heading directly for the cabin, directly for the animals, directly for
them.
He swallowed, trying to find breath to call out and warn those inside the barn; his eyes shifted from the
bearded man and his girl to the barn and back again.
Finally he found his voice. “Achen. Someone's coming.” He hissed the words as loud as he dared.
The man entered the clearing and, as the sun lit upon his nut-brown skin and turned his braid to bronze,
his nostrils flared as if he smelled something, sensed something off. He put the child down slowly, keeping
her close to his side. Squinting for a moment, he suddenly frowned and began to lumber toward the barn,
pulling a heavy axe from his belt.
Oh, goddess, they were in for it now. No longer caring about being heard, Bren banged against the barn
door. “Get out, get out!"
The wide barn doors shot open, sending him onto his backside as a horse came barreling out, carrying
Achen and Sern. Behind them ran Danid and Sulli, each with a bleating goat in their arms. Zindel brought
up the rear, burlap bag over his back, long legs quickly overtaking the other two.
"Da!” The child's scream was piercing, startling the animals.
"Rian, get back!” The huge man rushed forward, brandishing his axe and roaring. “Thieves! I'll split you all
in half!"
"Achen!” Bren shouted as he tried to scramble to his feet, calling for the leader of their ragamuffin group
to turn the horse and help him. But the horse kept moving, far ahead of the boys running after it, all
leaving him to scramble as best he could out of the way of the big man heading toward him.
He wasn't sure which frightened him most, the man himself or the axe that glinted in his hand, but never in
all of his eighteen summers had he been as scared as he was now.
A huge hand snatched him up by the scruff of the neck before he even managed two steps. Bren found
himself shaken roughly, feeling much like a rat captured by a large dog. “What're you up to? Do you know
how hard we worked for that mount? This is my home, you little bastard!"
He shot a longing look down the road, but his “friends” were gone, obviously leaving him to take the heat
for the theft. He let his eyes drop closed, hunching in the solid grip, hoping this was a man who believed in
clean kills, waiting for the axe to fall.
"Da! Don't hurt him! Don't, Da!” A soft, devastated voice came from close by, the girl's breath hitching in
her chest. “Please don't chop him up, Da."
"Rian, I want you to go into the cabin.” Fury and outrage bled from the deep growling voice. “Go, child."
"But what if there's bad men in the house, Da?"
Bren found himself slammed hard against the barn, stars swimming behind his eyelids.
"Is there anyone in my house?” Another jerking slam against the rough wood. “Tell the truth, boy, or I'll
beat you death with my bare hands."
Bren swung his head, eyes kept tightly shut, fingers scrabbling at the wood behind him. He'd never been so
scared in his life, except maybe when his Mam and Pap had left him all on his own and he'd realized they
weren't coming back. There was no coming back from this either; he could feel the finality of it settling in
his stomach, making him want to throw up. All he could hope for was a clean death.
"We was just after the animals.” His voice was choked with tears and any minute now he was going to piss
himself, but he figured those were the least of his problems.
"Oh, they took my Bop, Da. The mean men took my Bop pony.” The little voice was shattered, sobs filling
the air. “Oh, Da, are they going to hurt my Bop?"
Bren felt hot breath against his cheek and then heard a fierce whisper, “You tell her the pony will be fine.
You tell her and you make her believe it, boy."
"No.” The word was little more than a croak and he cringed as he was shaken again. Forcing his eyes
open, he looked down at the little girl, her big brown eyes full of tears and she looked about as scared as
he felt, only he knew that she had no reason to be scared, the big, angry guy with the axe was on her
side.
"We just needed them to ride, I swear. We've been walking forever and just wanted a couple of ponies to
save our feet."
"See, baby girl? The stupid, shiftless, lazy, thieving, worthless, mean men will take good care of your pony.”
Each adjective was punctuated by another slam against the wall until Bren's teeth clattered. “Now get into
the house. Your Da will be in shortly."
The little girl nodded. “You're not going to chop him up, Da? He looks so scared."
Dark eyes glared at him for a long moment, hard and furious. Bren couldn't stop shivering, couldn't stop
the slow leak of tears. Eyes trailed over him, over his ragged clothes and thin frame. Then the big man
shook his head and sighed. “No, Rian. I won't chop him up. Get on in."
Once the child was gone, the man sighed again. “So, boy, what do you figure I should do with you?"
He blinked up into brown eyes, rattled and shaken. A single thought went through his mind, over and over,
blocking out everything else. He wasn't going to get axed.
Of course that didn't necessarily mean that the man wasn't just going to beat him to death, especially if he
continued to stare, stunned and dumb.
He licked his lips and wished he could have some water. His mouth was so dry. “Kick me off your land?"
"Do you know what those kids were worth? What that mount meant to my girl?” The big head shook
slowly. “Damn you and your friends, boy. Haven't you heard of working for what you need like an honest
man?"
He didn't dare venture a guess, he could only imagine that they cost more than he was ever likely to be
able to earn even if his life extended past the next few minutes.
"Tried that—nobody'd have me, not for more'n a day or two."
"When's the last time you ate?” The question came from out of nowhere, startling him.
"Ate? You mean food? We had some berries with our tea this morning."
He watched the bear of a man warily, waiting for the hands on him to loosen, wondering if he should risk
turning. If he knew for sure it would work...
"Don't think about running, boy, or I'll give you a good slice and drop you to the bears. I'm in no mood for
games.” The big man shook his head again. “Well, let's see what your friends took off with."
The man grabbed Bren's wrist and began dragging him toward the barn door.
Bren tried to hang back, convinced suddenly that the big man was taking him out of sight of the house to
do away with him; kill him or beat him or worse.
"Come on, boy. I want to get back into the house. Rian's upset enough. Move."
He tried to hurry, but wound up tripping over his own feet, slamming into the big body in front of him.
"Winds and sun! No wonder they didn't let you do the stealing! Are you normally so clumsy?” Another
frustrated sigh and big hands steadied him.
"Are you going to kill me?” The words blurted out and he bit his lip, looking down at the big hand on his
waist, feeling the solid weight of the other on his shoulder. This man could probably snap his neck in two
as easy as breathing and if it was going to happen, he'd rather just get it over with.
"Is killing you going to get my girl's Bop back? Or the goats?"
He shook his head. “They're gone—the boys ain't coming back for me.” He whispered the words, admitting
the truth. He'd been the most expendable and he'd been left behind.
"Well, then, there's precious little use in killing a perfectly functional man, isn't there?” Another sigh and the
man shrugged. “I need to think on it. I can take you over to the town; turn you over to the watch. Or
maybe you can consider working it off."
"W-work it off?” He wasn't sure which option sounded more ominous.
"Yes. You know, that thing that honest men do?” They entered the barn, the big man ducking through the
door, his shoulders seeming to fill the available space. He wandered forward, murmuring and checking his
three remaining horses and the small herd of milk goats carefully. “Mucking stalls, milking goats, hoeing.
Work."
"I can do that,” he said, suddenly deciding that this was likely the lesser of two evils. Towns and the watch
weren't known for their kindnesses to orphaned boys, much less ones who were also caught thieving. “I did
that for awhile after my Mam and Pap were ... didn't work out very well though.” He followed along as they
moved through the barn, the man straightening and mending almost absent-mindedly as they went.
"Why not?"
The truth was likely to get him sent off to the watch so he just shrugged. “I didn't steal or nothing like that
—they just didn't like me in the end."
"Well, I need to think and, given the look of you, son, we all need to eat.” Brown eyes blazed at him for a
moment. “You come into my house and you don't scare Rian, do you understand? Not even a bit. It's by
her word that you're breathing."
Bren nodded, unable to believe his current run of luck: he was still alive, he wasn't being sent to the watch,
at least not for now, and the big man was going to feed him. “I won't do nothing to scare her, I swear by
the goddess."
"See that you keep that vow, or you'll find yourself a head shorter.” A few more touches of the huge hands
to the mounts and Bren found himself dragged back out into the sun and headed for the little cabin.
“What's your name, boy?"
"B-bren."
He immediately cursed himself; a name other than his own might have been more prudent. On the other
hand, he had a feeling if the big man found out he was lying, he'd be that head shorter.
"I'm Iral. My girl's Rian.” Bren found himself deposited in front of a rain barrel. “Go ahead and wash your
face and hands, lad. Rian won't thank you if you mess her house."
"Wash?” He blinked at the big man—Iral—and then turned to the barrel and gingerly dipped in his hands.
It was cold, but a sideways glance at Iral convinced him to dunk his face and scrub at it with his hands.
He came up, spluttering and dripping, wiping his hands on his tunic.
A soft snort sounded behind him. “Ah, but you're a natural at this washing business. I swear—to have been
a crueler man or blessed with a less interesting life."
Iral stood beside Bren and washed his own big hands quickly, the movements oddly efficient.
"Da? Da, is that you?” Rian came rushing around the side of the house, her simple dress rumpled, cheeks
stained with tears.
"I told you to stay in the house, baby girl.” Iral rumbled at her, the cloth across his shoulders creaking as
he bent and scooped her up.
She wrapped her thin arms around his neck, eyes fastening on Bren for a moment. “I was having a little
weep, Da, and then I needed you."
"Come on, Bren.” Without looking back, Iral started toward the house, speaking gently to his daughter. “Did
you happen to stir the beans when you were in having your weep?"
Bren hung back, not trying to run away, he just felt like an interloper. He felt bad, making the little girl cry
and intruding on this little family. And he felt jealous. Rian had a father who obviously adored her. He had
nobody.
He hung his head, scuffing his feet as he slowly followed.
"Yes, Da. And I sliced up some bread and heated some greens like you showed me. Is the mean man
having supper with us?"
Iral chuckled, tickling the child's neck with his beard. “His name is Bren, baby girl, and he's not mean, just
not having a very smart day. I'm hoping if we feed him and give him something to do tomorrow, he'll get
smarter."
The child nodded, looking as if that made perfect sense to her. “Did you tell him my name, Da?"
"Yes, baby girl, but you can again, if you'd like."
She lifted her head and fastened a fierce look on him from across her father's shoulder. “You're Bren. I'm
Rian and this is Da. We're good people. Be nice, okay?"
Bren had to fight down his grin, he had a feeling Rian wouldn't take very well to thinking she was being
laughed at; there was no doubt where she got her spirit from.
"I'll be good, I promise.” He bit his lip and plunged on. “I'm sorry we stole from you, Rian, especially your
Bop. It was a pretty bad thing to do."
"Yes, it was. Shame on you.” The big, dark eyes filled with tears again, but she blinked them back, lifting
her chin. “But it'll be okay. Da will fix it. Da fixes everything."
"That's right, baby girl. We'll get you another pony or perhaps a black bear cub, eh? One to raise and then,
once it's grown you can put on all your fripperies and finery and ride into town on his back.” The little girl's
delighted laughter rang through the cabin as they entered.
As neat as the stables, the little two-room cabin was well-kept, heavy furniture shiny, fire burning merrily in
the hearth. The mantle was covered in bits and pieces—feathers, pieces of glass, a well-loved rag doll with
only one eye. There was no doubt that this was a home.
Bren wiped his bare feet on the doorstep and smoothed down his tunic, hanging back in the doorway. It
was hard to believe this little family was willing to invite him in to their hearth; it went against everything
he had come to expect.
Iral set Rian back on her feet and kissed her forehead. “Run fetch a pitcher of milk and a chunk of cheese
from the cellar for me? I've got a fierce hunger."
A quick nod and then Rian was pushing past him. Iral looked over at Bren, one heavy eyebrow arched.
“Come on inside, boy ... unless you're not hungry?"
He swallowed heavily, the scent of the beans on the fire making his mouth water. “Maybe you should just
take me to the watch.” Better to go now than to get used to being fed and cared for only to be sent away
again. It would be easier not to let his hopes build again.
Iral shrugged, turning his back on Bren and pulling some wooden trenchers from a large dishpan. “If that's
what you want, boy."
Three place settings were placed on the table. “Of course, it's a half-day's ride for me, so I'm not leaving
until the morning. So, you can eat or you can find yourself a soft spot in the lean-to behind the house and
wait until dawn. Your choice."
He licked his lips. His growling stomach won the day. The handful of berries he'd had with his tea in the
morning had been the first meal his stomach had seen in almost three days. He moved slowly, silently to
the table and slipped onto the bench, hands tucked under his thighs.
By the time the child had returned with the requested milk and cheese, Bren found himself looking into a
plate full of beans and bacon with dark greens and a slab of dark bread. Then a chunk of pale cheese and
a mug of milk were added.
Rian fixed her father's plate—heaping on an enormous helping of food—and Iral prepared hers, carefully
spooning the food on, somehow making the simple fare look almost pretty.
The smell emanating from his bowl almost made him cry and he was glad he was sitting on his hands—it
was the only thing keeping him from grabbing his spoon and devouring the food before the others were
done dishing up.
Once they were all settled, Rian picked up her spoon and looked at Bren. “Aren't you hungry? The beans
aren't as good cold."
He smiled at her and took up his own spoon, hand trembling as the spoon slid through the beans. His eyes
dropped closed as the food went into his mouth and he moaned soundlessly, at least he thought it was
soundlessly.
"Is he okay, Da?"
"Yes, just hungry, baby girl. There's precious little that's worse.” Then even that conversation stopped as
they all began to eat.
Bren forced himself to go slow, forced the moans and groans of pleasure to a minimum as the fist of
hunger in his belly that he'd grown so used to slowly loosened its grip. He knew it would be rude if he
licked his bowl clean, but he did use his bread to sop up as much of what was stuck to his bowl as
possible.
He barely even noticed his dining companions, so intent was he on the food.
"There's more beans, son, if you think they'll settle without making you sick.” Iral's voice was careful, a
wealth of sympathy within it. “Or, if you'd rather, I seem to remember oatmeal cakes in the larder, eh,
baby girl?"
"Oh, yes, Da! The ones with currants and honey, the really good ones."
"Oatmeal cakes?” His eyes were round. He remembered oatmeal cakes—his Mam used to make them. He
nodded eagerly. “Yes, please."
He revised his earlier decision—better to take what food and kindness he could before he was once more
abandoned.
A warm chuckle rolled across the table and Iral tilted his head towards a piece of oiled cloth hanging
against the wall. “Go fetch them, child. Take care not to spill anything."
As they waited, Iral looked over. “Have you wandered far from home, then? I know everyone within a day's
ride, as a rule, and I've not seen you before."
He shook his head and looked down at his bowl again. “Don't have a home."
He glanced up and then back down again. “The boys let me travel with ‘em, but I had to be lookout in
return. ‘Fore that I did ‘prentice stuff for a smith—stacked wood, fed the fire. Hated that. And I dug for a
wellman for a while. An’ ‘fore that I stayed with a farmer and his wife. They were nice, but when she got
caught with a baby of her own they didn't want no older boy no more."
"Sounds like you've been a busy lad. Well, you think on the stocks tonight and if working sounds more
pleasant by dawn, I'll set you to hoeing beans. Ah, there's my baby girl.” A warm smile wreathed the man's
face as he rescued the tottering earthenware pot. “And you didn't spill, either!"
He doled out two little cakes for Rian, four for Bren and himself. The cakes smelled wonderful—sweet and
spicy and utterly delicious.
Bren beamed over at the little girl. “Thank you."
He picked up one of the cakes and took a bite. This time he didn't even try to hide his groan of
appreciation.
Rian giggled, honey and crumbs dotting her lips. “I think he likes ‘em, Da."
"Well, there's precious little not to like, isn't there?"
"They're good,” he mumbled around a mouthful.
He'd finished all four before it occurred to him to save any of them. Hopefully they'd be offered again
before he was made to leave, and he'd save them up then.
"I'd ‘preciate the chance to work, sir."
"Good. I hate going to the village.” Iral nodded and grinned, pushing away from the table. “Well, then, you
can start by helping Rian get the dishes settled away and I'll find you something so you can make a pallet
by the fire."
"You don’ have to put me up here, sir. I can sleep with the animals, even under the eave of your lean-to."
He didn't want to be any trouble. He didn't want to give Iral a reason to take him to the watch or even just
to send him off.
"Nonsense, boy. There's wolves around here and you'll be more comfortable in the house.” Iral stopped
and looked at him, eyes quiet and serious. “I'll trust that you were a boy who made a mistake earlier. Don't
steal from me again and don't hurt those I cherish and we'll do fine. Understand?"
Bren nodded, just as serious as Iral, and risked sharing a little of himself. “It's not often I get people
treating me nice and feeding me, even without what happened earlier. I'd kind of like not to mess it up.
You can trust me not to do anything against you or the wee girl, sir."
Iral held out his hand. “Shake on it then and I'll find you some bedding."
Bren held out his hand and Iral's large paw closed around it, the calloused, rough skin swallowing his hand
up.
The shake was solemn and firm.
"Good. Hop to the dishes then. Rian'll show you what you need to do. I think there's some nice quilts up in
the loft."
Then Iral moved into the second room and disappeared up a ladder. Rian stood up and started gathering
dishes together. “I'm glad you're here! You can fill the dishpan. The well's behind the house and the
bucket's on the rope."
Bren picked up the dishpan and took it outside. The sun was almost gone, painting the sky with long
fingers of dark pinks and purples, leaving the dark blue night sky in their wake. He hurried around to the
back of the house and filled the dishpan with water. He took a cupped palmful of it for himself, astonished
at the sweetness of it. He'd bet the big woodsman had dug the well himself.
He could hear Rian's voice ringing through the cabin and the low rumble as Iral answered her. The
conversation lasted for a moment and ended with a round of shared laughter.
A wave of loneliness and loss crashed over him at the sounds of a family—another family that wasn't his.
Then a low voice called out, loud enough for him to hear, “You fall down the well, boy? You don't hurry,
it'll be dark before you two get finished."
"Coming.” He made his way back around the house, paying less attention to the sky now that he had the
pan full of water—he didn't have anything else to wear and didn't relish having to sleep in wet clothes. He
shouldered his way through the door and put the pan back on the counter in front of Rian, who had pulled
a stool over and was standing on it, the sleeves of her dress rolled up past her elbows.
"Oh, very good. Okay, now Da puts in the hot water.” Rian took a deep breath and hollered. “Da! Put in the
hot water!"
Iral's head appeared from the loft, long braid swinging free. “Can't Bren do it for you, baby girl? I'm trying
to find something up here in the chest."
A pout formed with stunning speed. “But
Da! What if he doesn't do it right! You always do it right, not too
hot to burn me."
Bren had a sudden image of not doing right and hurting the girl. Rian would scream and then Iral would kill
him. He backed away. “We ought to wait for your Da to do it."
"Just put in about a quarter of a kettle, Bren. It's not a fine skill. Rian, be nice and let the boy help you.”
Then the man disappeared.
Rian looked over at him and shook her head. “He's
so stubborn. Okay, put the hot water in and I'll watch
and add the soap.
I helped Da make it myself."
Bren had to bite his lip to keep from laughing at her, but he turned and fetched the kettle, using the heavy
cloths by the fire to hold the handle. “Okay, you stand away from the water and I'll put it in and then stir it
in with the rest.” He did, replacing the kettle back on its hook before coming back and mixing the water
together, making sure it wasn't too hot. “So tell me about the soap you made."
She scooped a dollop of grey slimy soap into the water and stirred it, crowing happily as her hands sank in.
“Da! He did it! I'm not burned!"
"That's good, baby girl,” came the muffled, distracted reply.
"Da had me scoop up very good ashes and he put water into it and it made very burny water and I
couldn't touch, but I still helped because only I know about the best ashes. And then Da boils down nasty
fat—not pretty candle fat, but nasty yellow fat and it stinks—and then he mixed and mixed and mixed.”
The child took a deep breath as she plopped the dishes into the tub and began scrubbing.
"Once Da's mixed it all up and it's not burny anymore then I get to put in the pretty-smelly flower oils that
Da brings home. I do that best. Da says so. Oh, there's a towel on the windowsill. You should dry now. And
then we put the soap into crocks. They go PLOP and it's very funny. Then we have soap."
He grinned as he started to dry the dishes. He couldn't think of anyone he'd ever known who could talk like
Rian did.
"You're lucky you can make it—nice smelling soap like this is real luxury. I only seen it in one house I was
at that had really rich people living in it."
"What's luxury?"
"Silence when you're awake.” The voice was dry and warm all at once, Iral's hands full of quilts and cloth.
“I swear you'll wear your jaw out and then only sip soup, girl."
Iral nodded to Bren. “There's two quilts for the floor and one to go atop you and a pillow. I found some
spare trousers and tunics, too, that'll do for a change or two. There's an old pair of boots that were left
behind a while ago. See if they work."
At Bren's stunned look, Iral shrugged. “Got to have clothes and food and sleep to work, son. Got to work
to live a good life and find happiness."
Bren nodded. “I just never ... Thank you, sir.” He took the clothes and quilts and piled them on the floor
next to the fire. He stood there, looking down awkwardly at the pile, hands opening and closing, wishing
Rian was still chattering.
"Hey, Bren! You're
supposed to be drying!"
Iral shook his head and winked. “You'd better hop to it, son. She's a harridan when you cross her."
"Oh, sorry, Rian. I forgot.” He was happy to have something to do with his hands, something to
concentrate on, and he wiped each dish carefully.
Rian chattered at him randomly until the last dish was done. Then she stopped and looked at him. “You
promise they won't hurt Bop, Bren? Really promise?"
"They want the horses for riding—they won't hurt Bop, Rian, they need him."
"Oh, okay, then.” She smiled at him and climbed off the stool. “You can dump the water now.
Not in the
garden. Da will be mad and the beans are nasty."
"Where's the best place to dump it? Don't want to make anything else ‘nasty’ either.” He picked up the
dishpan full of water and headed carefully toward the door. “Maybe you can show me?"
"'kay. Da throws it out near the trees where it won't touch the vegetables. Da? Can I go with Bren to dump
the water?"
Iral nodded, stoking the fire. “Come right back in. It's beginning to get dark and the wolves will be out. The
moon's high."
"I won't let nothing happen to her."
"Good. Just dump the water near the tree line and head back."
He nodded and Rian held the door open for him. The girl chattered, skipping alongside him as they headed
to the trees from which Iral and Rain had come earlier. When they got there, Rian wanted to dump the
basin, so he gave it carefully to her, unable to keep from grinning as she gleefully sent the water flying.
He made sure they didn't dawdle, getting them back to the cabin before the last of the evening's light was
gone. When they walked back in, the cabin was warm with light, lamps shining. Iral was sitting at his
workbench, working intently on what looked like a tiny chair.
"Da's making Lissa a new chair. Hers broke.” Rian smiled happily and patted her father's shoulder. “He's so
good to Lissa. He made her a whole house."
"Go get your needlework, baby girl, and do some work on it before bed.” Iral looked up at Bren. “Do you
carve?"
Bren shook his head and moved a little closer. “Who's Lissa?"
"Rian's favorite doll. She was her mother's. She's been recarved and reworked and redone so many times,
the thing's almost new. Rian likes the furniture and it's a good challenge."
Bren watched as the thick fingers worked on the miniscule chair. “It's so little—looks like it oughta be
crushed to dust in your hands."
"Oh, when I started, I crushed enough. Just takes practice.” Bren was given an almost sheepish grin.
“There's some scrap wood and some blades in the basket down on the floor. Give it a try, if you want."
He retrieved a chunk of wood and a small blade and sat down by the fire, looking down at the two items in
bemusement, not one idea of where to start. He watched from beneath lowered lashes as Rian returned
with a piece of linen and a small, neat basket of threads. She sat next to her father and bent over her task.
It was such a homey feeling and Bren just sat quietly, happy to hold his wood and blade idly in his hands
and simply soak up the atmosphere. He very nearly turned into a cat and curled in front of the fire, purring,
but caught himself just in time.
After a candlemark or so had passed, Iral spoke softly. “That's enough, baby girl. Up to bed and I'll come
up in a moment."
The little family moved in unison, the spare, efficient motions evident in both the huge and the tiny fingers.
Then, thread and wood put away, Rian stood and gave her father a hug and scampered upstairs.
"Get yourself comfortable, Bren. Morning comes early."
"Sir ... Thank you.” Bren nodded awkwardly and set his piece of wood and knife in the basket. He began to
spread out the quilts in front of the fire, automatically choosing the warmest spot.
Long winter nights had taught him well.
Iral wandered about extinguishing lamps and checking the latch on the door before disappearing up the
stairs. A low voice rumbled for a moment, answered by a sweet, sleepy murmur. Bren changed quickly out
of his clothing and into one of the clean pairs of breeches and tunics that Iral had left him; he didn't want
to get the quilts full of the filth he'd been carrying with him for days.
He slid between the blankets, sighing as his head rested on the pillow. He hadn't had such sweet
accommodations in quite some time.
The large man wandered about a bit more before moving into the small second room, Bren could hear
Iral's bones creaking slightly as he stretched in the dark, the soft
whump of cloth hitting the ground as he
undressed. He didn't hear any new clothes go on before he heard the bed creak under the big man's
weight and it startled him, made him wonder suddenly what Iral might look like naked.
He shifted uncomfortably and tried to clear his mind and go to sleep.
Soon the cabin was filled with soft, gentle snores, the big man falling asleep as easily as he seemed to add
Bren in at the supper table.
It occurred to Bren that he could slip in and slit the man's throat and then take care of the girl; Achen
would have done it without a thought. But Bren saw the bigger picture, knew this was someplace he could
stay, somewhere he could belong. He hadn't belonged in a long time.
He curled up in his blankets, face turned toward the fire, and let the soft sounds of Iral's snoring lull him to
sleep.
* * * *
Iral stacked the chopped wood beside the house, peering in the window. Rian was studiously chopping
vegetables for stew, her little face screwed up with concentration as she focused on keeping all her fingers.
Joy filled him as it did so often when he saw his girl, the heart-shaped face of her mother and his smile ...
he couldn't imagine anything more perfect, more beautiful.
He watched for a few moments and then sighed and walked over to finish the evening milking. Nothing
ever got done standing and watching and Rian's beauty would fade if she went hungry.
As he passed the vegetable garden, he nodded to Bren, who was carefully weeding. The boy had proved
himself quite a hard worker: quiet, polite, almost fawningly grateful for the most basic of kindness.
It wasn't right, that a boy should be so ill-treated. Iral had known, when he saw the fear in the boy's eyes,
that he couldn't kill Bren. Then, after seeing the boy's hunger, he'd known he couldn't turn Bren away. He
was lucky the boy hadn't murdered him in his sleep.
Bren gave him a bright smile, eager as he always seemed for any friendly overture. Iral responded to the
smile freely. There wasn't an ounce of violence or laziness in the lad. He couldn't help but wonder why
Bren had been so often and easily abandoned.
"There's stew and fresh bread for latemeal. You worked up a hunger today?"
"I'd think so—you work me hard enough.” The lad dropped his head, but not before Iral saw his grin. It
was the first time Bren had joked with him.
"Ah, son, it's good for you. Help those little muscles of yours.” He winked and grinned. “Just you wait,
come winter we'll have you almost as big as me."
Bren glanced at him, face growing pink. “Oh, I don't think so."
"No? Well, you keep eating and working and you might be surprised.” He reached out and tousled the
boy's dark curls fondly.
It struck him suddenly that he
was fond of the lad. He and Rian had been alone for a very long time and
Bren was good company, quick and smart. It hadn't been long since he'd caught the boy outside the barn,
only two seasons, but he was used to seeing the quick smile and gentle voice.
Bren seemed almost to nuzzle into the touch and then he was ducking his head again. “I'll just finish up
this row and head in to help Rian with the table."
"That works for me. I'll bring in the milk.” He waved and headed into the barn, a warm ease filling him.
The goats were bleating piteously, the mounts nickering. He finished his chores quickly, eager to join his
family, eager to kiss his girl, eager to laugh and talk with Bren. Bucket of milk in one hand, he pushed open
the door with the other, smiling as Rian's giggles floated out.
"That's not where the bowls go, silly!"
"You sure? I'm pretty sure they go on our heads just like this. And if you're really good, you can balance
your spoon on your nose like this."
Iral burst out laughing as he caught sight of Bren, balancing both bowl and spoon, making a bizarre face.
Rian was clapping, full of giggles. “Oh, now there's a sight! Can you juggle as well, my friend?"
He'd startled the boy enough that Bren lost his poise; the spoon went first, hitting the table, the bowl
following, only to be caught by Bren's clever hands, bouncing into the air several times before it settled.
"Apparently not.” The boy laughed, bright green eyes dancing.
Rian squealed and ran up for her hug. “Da! Did you see? Bren is so fun!"
He swept her up in his arms, kissing her forehead happily, and tickled her with his beard. “I did see and he
is very fun. How is my baby girl this evening?"
"Good. Stew's ready, Da. I cut the vegetables all by myself.” A hand took the bucket from him and he
smiled at Bren and mouthed a ‘thank you’ as he gave Rian the attention she demanded.
Bren smiled back warmly, eyes lingering on his face. Iral listened to Rian, nodding when she paused for
breath, but his eyes kept returning to Bren's, sharing an amused understanding. Bren laid the table and
dished up the food while Rian continued telling him about her day, Bren finally interrupting her after he'd
ladled out the thick stew.
"It's best when it's hot,” Bren teased and Iral recognized the words Rian had spoken that first night.
"Meanie!” she teased back, crawling down and settling into her chair, waiting to pick up her spoon until the
men settled.
Iral chuckled and passed Bren the bread. “I don't know. Meanie seems a little tame for our Bren. Perhaps
‘Vicious Weeder’ or ‘Fierce Milker'."
"Cake mangler,” Bren suggested, referring to a disaster he and Rian had made the previous day.
Rian giggled. “It didn't look right, but it sure tasted sweet."
Bren nodded. “Yeah, that it did."
He reached out for the pitcher of milk with a nod, “It didn't taste bad at all."
Bren had reached out at the same time, and their hands slid together. Bren's hands were soft, warm ... too
warm. Iral frowned, grasping the boy's hand and turning it over. The flesh was slightly swollen, blisters
forming on the palm. Not badly hurt, but it could have been, and Bren hadn't mentioned it.
"Oh, lad. You should've said you were hurting. I've got some salve that'll ease the swelling and ache.” He
looked into Bren's eyes. “Working doesn't have to pain you so. Tell me next time, yes?"
Surprise flared in the yellow-green eyes, followed by a shy pleasure and the hand he held squeezed his.
“Yes, sir."
"Good lad. Remind me after supper and I'll put the medicine on.” He stroked a finger across the palm once
more and then picked up the pitcher of milk. Bren's color was high and he was rubbing his palm with the
thumb of his other hand.
Rian chattered her way through dinner, through dessert, through the cleanup and all the way through her
needlework.
The noise continued and continued, Iral's head beginning to throb as he nodded to her. Finally Iral sighed
and put down the piece of wood he'd been working on. “Bed, Rian. It's definitely time for bed and sleep.”
And quiet, he thought with a purely internal sigh.
"But Da!"
"Now, Rian.” He didn't yell, didn't have to. His voice was quiet and serious and Rian stood with a pout and
headed toward the stairs. “Does Bren have to go to bed, too?"
"We'll both be abed soon enough, not that it's your business, baby girl.” He shook his head and grinned at
Bren.
"Night, Rian. Sleep well,” Bren called out, smiling warmly at Iral.
"Night, Bren.” She stomped up the stairs and it was almost more than Iral could do to keep from chuckling.
"I'll go kiss her goodnight and then fetch the salve for your hands.” Iral stopped at the foot of the stairs.
“There's some mead in the larder, if you're of a mind to raise a cup with me."
"I'll get it out along with a couple of mugs.” Bren was still watching him. A noise from the loft startled them
both and Bren ducked his head and turned.
Rian was settled into her bed, a huge frown on her face, eyes blinking slowly. “I'm not sleepy, Da. I just
want to sit up a little longer."
"You remind me of your Mam when you do that.” Iral sighed. “It didn't work for her either, you know?"
Bright eyes shone up at him in the candlelight. “Not even once?"
"Maybe once.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Sleep, baby girl and tomorrow we'll go walk to
the pond and look at the turtles."
"Da?"
"Yes, Rian?"
Bright button eyes looked up at him. “Are you sending me to bed so you can talk to Bren?"
Iral sighed and shook his head. “No, baby girl. I'm sending you to bed because you're tired and it's late."
"Do you like Bren, Da?"
"Yes, Rian, I do. Very much.” He refused to look away, letting Rian know that he spoke the truth.
"Is he part of our family, Da? Part of us?” It was a natural question, it wasn't unheard of for a man to take
another man as his partner if his wife died. Two parents were better than one.
"Would you like that, baby girl?” Iral watched as she thought. She was so much like her mother, quick and
happy, easily angered and easily soothed.
Finally she nodded. “I like him, Da. He makes us laugh and he's a good man."
"Yes, Rian. He is. Go to sleep.” Iral blew out the candle and brushed her hair from her face before heading
down the stairs. A little voice stopped him, “Da?"
"Yes, Rian?"
"I love you."
"I love you, baby girl. Get some sleep.” He walked down the stairs, a warm, happy feeling filling him
through.
Bren was sitting by the fire, its flames the only light in the room. The jug of mead sat on the floor, a pair of
wooden mugs he'd never seen before beside it. It could have just been the light, but they looked slightly
misshapen and awkward, as if an untrained hand had formed them.
"Let me grab that salve and I'll be right with you.” Iral grinned and walked into the second room, digging
through the pack hung up on the wall for the little container of medicine.
His mind kept moving back to the mugs. Bren must have made them, Rian wasn't allowed near the knives
yet. Not a bad job considering. He grinned again; he'd have to be careful drinking. It wouldn't do the lad's
spirit good to catch a splinter from the edge.
His fingers found the jar of salve and he pulled it out, warming it in his palms as he headed back in to sit
next to Bren at the hearth.
Bren smiled up him and picked up the cups, handing them awkwardly up to him. “I thought ... to say thank
you for taking me in."
Iral settled in, smiling widely as he gave the mugs the attention such a gift deserved. He turned them over
in his hands—the mugs were slightly clumsy, but smooth as good cloth and not a splinter to be found.
“Thank you, Bren. They're a fine gift."
He held one out for Bren to take. “And I can't think of a better way to bless them than by sharing some
spirit in them. Pour us each a measure, eh?"
Bren took the proffered mug, his fingers warm as they slid against Iral's own. “They're a bit wobbly, but
they'll not leak a drop."
The lad carefully poured out mead into each of mug. “I made Rian a teacup, with a saucer and everything.
My Mam had one, used to bring it out for special occasions. She always held her little finger out when she
drank from it—said that's what the proper ladies do. Do you think Rian will like the story? Or should I make
it more exciting?"
"Oh, I think simple and honest is always best. Keeps you from having to remember what you made up
before.” Iral winked and took his mug from Bren, taking a long sip. “Ah, there's a good taste—not too
strong, not too sweet."
He reached over for the little container of medicine. “I buy this in the village from this old woman with only
one tooth left in her head. She swears it holds magic, but I'm betting it's tallow and good herbs. One way
or the other, it works."
Bren swallowed a mouthful of the mead, lashes blinking madly against the sudden liquid in his eyes. He
took another, smaller sip and smiled. “This is pretty good.” Shifting the cup, he held out his blistered hand.
“Is it going to hurt?"
"It shouldn't. At the worst I've felt a bit of a tingling, but it ought to feel good.” Iral scooped up a bit on his
fingers and began to apply it, rubbing the medicine in carefully. He knew from experience that the salve felt
wonderful on sore skin, the feeling a cold, shocking sensation that faded into a gentle numbing of the
injured skin.
"Oh...” the sound was almost a moan. “Oh, that feels nice."
"Yes, it's a comfort. Next time, tell me sooner and you'll not hurt as long.” Iral continued to massage the
cream in, his own fingers beginning to tingle as the herbs worked their way in.
"It feels like magic—I bet the old lady was telling you the truth.” Bren took another drink from his cup, and
then another. “And this tastes like magic—did you buy it from a one-toothed woman as well?
"No. The mead is my own magic. Took me ten years of practice before I got it just right.” Iral leaned back,
stretching slowly, before taking another long sip. “It's got a good taste, doesn't it?"
The mead was settling warm in Iral's stomach. Bren would be feeling it too, one mug full would neither get
the lad truly in his cups nor give him cause to regret in the morning, but he'd be warm and relaxed.
"It's wonderful!” Bren drank again, nearly finishing his mug. “It's like having a warming fire in my belly."
Bren smiled lazily and Iral blinked as the image of a mountain lion replaced the boy for a moment and then
it was gone, leaving only the boy smiling up at him.
"Did you see...” Iral shook his head and grinned. “I think maybe the mead's sat too long."
"It tastes fine to me,” Bren told him before downing the rest of the cupful, “But then, this is my first cup
and it could in fact be quite awful in comparison.” Bren's wink was slow.
That struck Iral as quite funny and he found himself laughing freely, belly clenching with hilarity, knuckle
jammed into his mouth to avoid waking Rian. “Oh! Bren! Winds above, you're a clever one."
Bren giggled, green eyes gazing warmly at him.
Iral just relaxed, he couldn't remember the last time he'd just sat and talked with someone, laughed with
someone that wasn't Rian in his own house.
"I'm glad you found us, Bren. Even if it wasn't under the best of circumstances, it was a blessing in the
long run, I think."
Bren was nodding. “You and Rian have been wonderful; it's been nice to have a home again.” Bren looked
down and then back up at him, the green eyes very serious. “I keep waiting for you to say that its time for
me to go and at the same time I keep hoping you won't."
"You'll have a place here until you decide you've outgrown us. I like your company, Bren. You're a good
man.” The idea of Bren just leaving made him itch, gave Iral the same almost-desperate feeling as when
he dreamed that Rian was lost or Belena was dying in his arms again.
Iral pushed the feelings down, made them ease and fade. Bren was young and needed a family, but he'd
want a lover, or a wife, children of his own soon enough and he would go. There was no reason to weigh
Bren down with Iral's need.
"I want to stay. I like Rian. I like ... I like you."
He couldn't have stopped the smile if he'd tried. “Well then, you've got a place here. We should talk about
building you a room, somewhere better than a pallet on the floor.” After all, he told the protesting voice of
reason inside him, Rian would outgrow the loft eventually and he needed more space and Bren needed to
learn carpentry.
The look on Bren's face more than made up for any misgivings he might have had. Part wonder, part
happiness. Bren looked as if his eyes were going to fall out. “I've never had my own room."
"Well, then, I'd say you've waited long enough, wouldn't you?” Iral's smile widened, joy blooming in his
belly. Pleasure looked good on Bren's face, right. “Where should we put it?"
Bren shook his head, looking a little stunned. “I don't want to be in the way—wherever you think is best,
Iral."
"In the way?” Iral chuckled. “If this is your home, too, then you can hardly be in the way, can you?"
Bren smiled at him and then suddenly moved toward him and wrapped his arms around Iral's neck in a
quick hug. Bren's cheeks were quite flushed when he sat back, but his smile was brilliant. “Thank you, Iral."
"You're quite welcome.” Oh, he'd had too much mead, because he could still feel the heavy warmth of Bren
against him and it felt good.
So very good.
Bren was still smiling at him, the look in his eyes seeming a little hazy, a little soft.
Iral stretched again, reaching for the bottle of mead. “I think I'll pour the last of this out. I'll make some
more in a few days."
Bren blinked at him. “I thought it tasted pretty good.” Bren smiled again, lips slowly pulling upward.
“Making me nice and warm, too."
Nodding, Iral squashed down the urge to reach out and trace the curve of Bren's smile. “Good mead'll do
that to you. Especially when the company's right.” He needed to get up, go outside and take a breath of
cool air, but he was warm and comfortable and full of a gentle, sweet arousal.
Bren reached out with his good hand, sliding it over Iral's knee. “You're very good company, Iral."
"Thank you, Bren.” He should move, stand, walk away—the voice of reason was jumping up and down
inside his head, screeching madly at the folly of sitting and basking beneath the touch of this boy's hand.
Still he didn't move.
Bren was staring down at his hand, looking at it as if he didn't even know what he was doing, even as he
continued to slide it back and forth, several inches up Iral's thigh and back down to his knee over and over
again.
"I like you a lot,” whispered Bren.
"I should get up, go to bed.” His hand drifted over Bren's, one finger stroking the soft skin. He watched
himself, watched himself touching Bren. It made his breath catch. “Your hand feels good, warm."
Bren turned his hand over, fingers curling around his skin. “Yours does, too."
Iral sat and held Bren's hand for a long moment, arousal fading slightly, replaced with something more
complex, older and warmer and still. He brought Bren's hand to his lips, letting himself learn the scent, the
texture, letting himself appreciate this all too rare magic.
Then he stood with a smile, settled within and without. He was a simple man, but even he knew love when
it visited—had known it before and would welcome it again, given time. “I'll dump the last of this and then
I'm to bed, Bren. Dream on it and tell me where we're putting your room in the morning."
Licking his lips, Bren stood as well, bringing their cups with him. “All right. Good night, Iral.” Bren's voice
was soft when the lad ducked his head and took the cups over to the counter.
"Good night, Bren. Thank you for the company.” Iral walked outside and poured his offering on the ground,
whispering a soft prayer of thanksgiving for his family members—both of them.
* * * *
Bren looked at his hands ruefully. If hoeing had made his right hand slightly sore and blistered, cutting logs
and sawing had turned them both into a bloody mess. If it hadn't been for Iral's salve, he was sure they
would have been useless, but the medicine was indeed magic, for he would find his skin nearly whole again
each morning.
When Iral had asked where they should put his room, and the sound of that still sent a thrill through him,
to be given such a permanent place in this home.... He had suggested that they expand the back of the
cabin, giving him a room next to Iral's and giving them more room in the living area; if they increased the
size of the hearth, they could also expand the loft, giving Rian more room as well.
He'd been nervous making the suggestion, making it a test as to just how serious Iral was about keeping
him.
Iral had given him a slow, sweet smile and nodded. “We would all fit nicely then. Although, what we'll do
with all that space when Rian makes a family of her own, I don't know. We'll figure that out then, I
suppose, yes?"
He only nodded, but inside his heart had been thumping loudly enough he was sure that Iral could hear it.
The implications behind Iral's words were enormous. That he thought of Bren still being there so many
years from now, that it had been “we'll figure it out"...
He knew then that Iral honestly and sincerely meant for him to consider this his home. Everything had
been new that day, seen through eyes that belonged, rather than eyes that simply longed.
Iral grunted and Bren looked up from where he was smoothing wood, watching as the big man hefted a
heavy log, carrying it over to the sawhorses. The muscles in Iral's back strained and rippled as he worked
and Bren swallowed, body tingling.
This was new as well, this tingling and almost light-headed feeling that Iral inspired.
It had started the night they'd shared a drink. He'd put it down to the drink that night, but days had
passed and the feelings inside him didn't fade, instead they grew stronger and more confusing. He wanted
to be with Iral all the time, choosing to help the big man instead of doing tasks on his own. It made him
want to touch Iral, to feel warm skin against his palm.
One night he had touched himself in the darkness, half out of his mind with worry that Rian or Iral would
discover him, but hard like stone. He had only touched himself lightly, thinking of Iral's hand against his
own, of the soft lips touching his skin briefly and he'd come, biting his lip to avoid calling out.
"Look at the butterflies, Da!” Rian was dancing about the cabin, laughing and getting under Iral's feet, her
excited voice breaking into his thoughts. Bren chuckled as Iral nodded absently, wooden pegs held in his
teeth and Rian stomped in aggravation. His laughter caught the girl's attention and she wandered his
direction. “Bren! Come play with me! Da's busy."
"And what does it look like I'm doing?” His heart melted at her look of disappointment and he wondered,
not for the first time, how Iral got anything done with her around. “Let me finish smoothing these last two
boards and then I'll help you terrify the bugs, all right?"
He was rewarded with a bright smile and a peck on the cheek. “Okay, Bren."
As she skipped off, Bren heard a warm chuckle and looked up to meet smiling brown eyes. “Oh, my lad,
she's going to have you wrapped around her finger, if she doesn't already. I've yet to meet a person
immune to that baby."
He smiled back, ignoring the way his breath seemed to suddenly catch in his throat at the look in Iral's
eyes. “You most of all,” he teased, knowing Iral would kill and die for her a hundred times over if need be.
"Yes. Me most of all.” A full-fledged grin flashed at him. “I seem to be apt to it—falling under the spell of
laughing faces and smiling eyes."
Bren felt his face color, but he didn't look away, it felt too good to deny, the way Iral made him feel.
Iral smiled again, then nodded down at the boards. “Best get back to work, before our lady comes to fuss
at us."
He went back to work on smoothing the boards, arms swinging back and forth as he slid the rough paper
over the wood, newly energized. He'd just finished up the last board when a sound in the distance made
him frown; it had almost sounded like the high-pitched scream of a child.
Iral's head snapped up, fast enough that Bren could
hear it. “Rian?"
The big man slid down the ladder, hitting the ground at a dead run. “Rian? Rian, answer me!"
The scream came again and this time there was no mistaking the sound. Bren ran after Iral, dread
replacing the feelings of warmth and happiness.
"Da! Help me, Da!” Iral crashed through the trees, body pushing through saplings as if they were blades of
grass. “Da! Hurry Da!"
"I'm coming, Rian! You stay still, girl!"
Bren followed close on Iral's heels, nearly pushing Iral over when the big man came to an abrupt halt at
the edge of a cliff.
Rian was almost halfway down, clinging to the rock, tears streaming down her face. It was fairly easy to
imagine what had happened—she'd been chasing the butterflies, not paying attention to where they were
leading her.
Iral started forward and Bren grabbed one arm, pulling Iral back as hard as he could. “You can't help her if
you join her."
"I can't leave her there. She can't hold on.” Agony and fear and sheer desperation ached in the big man's
voice. “I'll climb down and try to hand her up to you."
"Da?"
"I'm here, baby girl. You just hang on. I'm coming."
Bren looked down and shook his head, the cliff wasn't sheer, but it was close enough to it that Iral was
sure to lose his footing before he even began. “It would take a mountain goat to save her.” As soon as he
said the words, he knew what he had to do. It would mean losing everything he had come to cherish here,
but he could no more let Rian fall to her death than Iral could.
"I don't have a mountain goat, Bren. You just wait here. I'll hand her up to you.” Iral tore off his boots and
tunic and moved over to the edge.
He pulled Iral back again. “Just give me a second—I'll get her."
Bren closed his eyes and thought about climbing down that cliff, thought about how he'd need to have
sure, steady feet. It felt as if time slowed, though he had been told it only took seconds. He could feel his
hair growing, longer and coarser, his center of balance shifting. He dropped to all fours, his feet feeling
strange against the grass.
He snorted and shook his head, focusing on the cliff. The rocks called to him and he bounded down onto
them, his joy at the sensation muted by the knowledge that Rian was in trouble. He was at her side in no
time, feet sure on the little ledge she was clinging to. He stood close; she would have to climb onto his
back, but he had no way to tell her.
The girl blinked at him. “Da? Da, there's a..."
"It's there to help you, Rian. Can you hold onto it, baby girl?” Iral's voice sounded garbled and strange in
Bren's long ears.
Rian nodded, cheeks wet with tears. “Nice goat. Good goat. Don't ... don't move, okay?"
He bleated and nodded his head, waiting patiently for her to climb onto him.
She moved slowly, her father's voice encouraging her every time she hesitated. Finally, Rian was settled
upon his back, little fingers clutched in his pelt.
"Okay, goat. I ... I'm ready."
He bleated again, wishing he had a way to tell her not to move. His footing felt far less sure with her
weight across his back and the first leap he needed to make was quite a stretch.
He felt a minute shift away from the mountain goat form he had taken and he bleated loudly, pushing his
doubts away. Of course he could do this, he was born to do this, and when he leapt, his feet were as sure
as any mountain goat's, instinct leading him up the easiest path. Within seconds he had Rian back up the
cliff to safety.
Iral plucked the girl's weight off his back immediately, cradling her in his arms. “Oh, Rian. Are you all right?
Oh, girl, I thought I'd lost you. For a minute there I thought ... oh, Rian, my baby."
"Da! I fell and I was so scared!” Rian was sobbing, clinging to her father, face buried in his chest.
She was safe now and Bren let go of the animal, falling to the ground as he abruptly lost the form. It was
always disorienting when he changed back and he lay on the ground, watching as father and daughter
clung to each other.
He felt tears of his own fill his eyes; he'd been so close to being a part of this family and now it would be
out of his reach. He was sure that Iral wouldn't ask him to leave. He was too good a man to throw him out
after he'd saved Rian's life, but the seeds of fear and suspicion were planted now.
He could remember the fear on his parents’ faces, fear that had led them to abandon him. He didn't know
if he could bear to stay with the rift that was sure to open up between them, tearing away the tender
feelings that had been growing between Iral and himself.
"Bren, lad? You okay? Can you walk?” A warm hand fell on his shoulder, Rian settled against Iral's chest as
Iral crouched. “Come on, Bren. Let's go home. I think we've all had a bit of a scare, yes?"
He reached for his torn clothes, covering himself as he stood, Iral's hand steadying him. His feet felt long
and awkward in the grasses. He moved away as soon as he found his footing, head down as he headed
back toward the cabin. He wondered if Iral would make him sleep in the barn now, or if Iral would be too
worried that he'd turn into a mountain lion or bear and harm the horses and goats.
Iral spent the walk back murmuring softly to Rian, petting her and gentling her fears. By the time they
reached the cabin, she was almost asleep, fear and tears wearing her down to exhaustion.
"Bren, put the kettle on for us? I'll be downstairs as soon as she's asleep.” Brown eyes gazed over at him.
“Thank you, Bren. So much."
"I'm glad she's safe.” He reached out to stroke her hair, snatching his hand back as soon as he realized
what he was doing.
The kettle was on the counter; clean and filled with water already. He put it on the hook over the fire and
slipped into a pair of breeches before beginning to collect his things. Iral was a good man and Bren would
make this as easy as possible for him.
"Where are you going?” The voice that floated out across the room was soft and low and more than a little
hurt. “Why are you going?"
He couldn't look at Iral; this was so much harder than he'd imagined, and he'd imagined it would hurt an
awful lot. He wrapped his arms around himself, feeling cold despite the fire's blaze. “It's o-okay, I know
what y-you're thinking. I'll just go quietly."
"Bren? Go quietly?” Iral walked into the room, brow furrowed. “Please. Don't go. Let me tell you what I'm
thinking. Please, Bren."
He closed his eyes tight against the tears that threatened. Iral wanted to tell him what Iral was thinking,
Bren wasn't sure he could bear to hear it, not from the man whose eyes had gazed so warmly into his own
less than an hour earlier. Freak, animal, monster, he knew what he was.
He nodded miserably and waited for the words to come.
Warm arms wrapped around him. “Oh, I don't know where to start, Bren. With thank you? With that was
amazing? I ... I've never seen anything so wonderful. Does it hurt? Does it happen often?"
Bren stood stiffly in the embrace that he wanted, more than anything, to sink into. “Amazing? Wonderful?”
Those weren't the words he was expecting, the words he knew. “Aren't you ... upset? Disgusted?"
"Disgusted?” Iral sounded utterly confused. “Why?"
"B-because ... everyone else was."
"Fools. I think you're a gift, Bren. Sent to us by the winds themselves.” The arms hugged again. “So, want
some tea?"
"Tea?” He asked, as if he'd never heard of the word before; he felt like he hadn't. A gift? Iral thought he
was a gift?
"Yes, Bren. Tea. You know, leaves in hot water with honey?” Iral dropped a kiss atop his head. “Come on,
lad. Sit and I'll pour tea and we can sit and talk.” Iral led him to the large chair and sat him down, hand
tousling his hair.
"You really don't mind.” He looked up, watching Iral make tea as if nothing unusual or horrible had
happened.
"Should I? I mean, does it hurt you?” Iral poured out two mugs of tea. “Honey?"
"Yes. I mean no. I mean ... Yes, honey and no it doesn't hurt, but...” Bren frowned. “I can't always control
it—I've only ever done it on purpose once before and nobody ever just gave me tea after—there was
always yelling and screaming and in the end they left, or made me leave."
"Well, if it doesn't hurt, then I think it's wonderful! Does it feel good? Can you pick what animal you turn
into?” He handed Bren a steaming cup and then knelt down before the chair. “I don't want you to leave,
Bren. This is your home."
The mug was warm in his hands, but it was nothing compared to the warmth that was filling him. This time
he couldn't stop the tears. “No one's ever ... oh, thank you, Iral.” He reached out and clutched Iral's arm
with one hand, the other beginning to tremble, threatening to spill the hot tea.
Iral saved the tea, snatching the cup and setting them both aside before he pulled Bren down into his
arms, stroking Bren's back gently. “There now. You're home, Bren. Home and safe and I won't send you
away. You have my word."
He was crying in earnest now, almost as much as Rian had been. Rian ... was this all just because he had
saved her, was Iral being kind just because of that? He had to be sure. “You aren't just l-letting me s-stay
because of R-Rian, are you?"
"Hmm? Rian loves you, too, Bren. You're good to her, but that's not why I want you to stay.” Iral's beard
rubbed against his cheek, the hair was soft. “I want you to stay because of who you are, because we're
friends, because we're family."
"Oh...” He wrapped his arms around Iral and held on, letting the sobs wrack his body, letting the fear and
pain leak away with his tears. He was home.
Home.
Iral rocked and petted, hands roaming over his back, comforting murmurs pouring over him. “That's it, let it
all out. You're home now, lad. You're safe."
His tears eventually ended, just the occasional hiccupping sniff remaining as he held onto Iral, unwilling to
let go of the warmth and acceptance he found in this man's arms.
"I love you,” he whispered, barely any sound in the words spoken into Iral's shoulder.
"I know.” A kiss pressed against his temple. “I love you too, Bren. Very much."
"Oh...” He looked up, swallowing, his mouth dry. “I don't love you like I love Rian."
"Good. I don't need another child.” Iral smiled, stroking his cheek. “I do very much want a partner, a
lover."
The smile started in his belly, a warm, happy feeling that spread slowly until it pulled up the corners of his
lips. He leaned up, pressing clumsily against Iral, giving him an awkward, but heartfelt first kiss.
Iral kissed him, lips soft as they moved upon his.
When Bren leaned back, Iral smiled. “You feel good."
"So do you.” He stroked Iral's beard. “This tickles a little."
"Does it?” Iral nuzzled into Bren's palm with a grin.
He laughed, feeling suddenly light and happy. He was home. He was home.
Iral knew who he was, knew
what he was and still he was held inside the strong arms and loved.
He was home at last.
* * * *
Bren's laughter was wonderful, especially after the broken tears. Iral wanted to hear more of it, wanted to
hear all the sounds of joy and wonder and happiness that Bren could make. Clear, green eyes looked up at
him, washed clear of pain and doubt by the storms of truth and tears. “Happy?"
"I can't ever remember belonging, Iral. Just that would make me happy. But belonging to you...” Color
flooded Bren's cheeks again and he ducked his head. “I'm very happy, Iral."
"I like when you're happy.” Iral began to rub Bren's back again, encouraging Bren to relax against him, let
them float together in this very fine thing they'd discovered between them. “You make me happy."
Laying his head on Iral's shoulder, Bren's arms stole around Iral's waist. Iral brushed a kiss against Bren's
soft hair and closed his eyes. Bren was warm and felt good pressed up against him. There was no
awkwardness, no uncomfortable elbows or bony knees to rearrange.
Bren fit.
That thought made him smile, made him warm. Yes, Bren fit quite nicely. “I love you."
The arms around his waist tightened and Bren's cheek rubbed against him. “I love you, too, Iral. Oh, I like
how that sounds."
"Ah, but you're a joy.” Iral's fingers discovered the curve of Bren's neck, the silk of Bren's hair, the way
Bren's shoulder fit in his palm. He wasn't trying to arouse, just to learn, to find each way they fit together,
the places where his body and Bren's body became
them.
Bren made a soft noise and pressed against him. “I like the way you make me feel."
"You feel good to my hands. Right, like I'm supposed to touch you.” He gave in to the temptation to kiss
the soft curls again. “I'm afraid I may want to do it for a very long time, lad, touch you."
Bren looked up at him, eyes shinning. “Oh, would you? Touch me for a very long time? It feels so good. It
makes me all warm and tingly."
"Better than the mead?” All he had to do was bend his head and he could take a long taste of those lips.
He forced himself to be still, to let things move slowly and carefully. Bren was young and needed time to
adjust, to settle.
Bren laughed, a little breathlessly. “Yes, Iral, much better than the mead."
The laugh, the happiness in those eyes was more than he could resist. Iral needed to know what Bren's joy
tasted like. “Can I kiss you?"
"Yes, please.” Bren sat a little straighter in his lap, bringing those tempting lips closer.
He bent his head, letting their lips rest together for a moment. Then he slowly explored Bren's lips with his
own, finally letting his tongue slip out and trace along the bottom curve of Bren's smile.
Bren's mouth opened on a gasp, body pressing closer to him. Bren's hands tightened on his waist. Iral took
advantage of the unconscious offer, letting his tongue slide gently in between Bren's lips, stroking gently
against Bren's tongue and teeth. Bren tasted warm, fresh and full of hope—sweet water from a fresh, pure
spring.
A whimper slid into his mouth and Bren pressed even closer, hands opening and closing. Iral lapped slowly,
learning that one of Bren's bottom teeth was just slightly higher than its neighbors, that the corner of his
mouth was sweet, that his entire body shivered when the roof of his mouth was caressed.
Then he eased away, looking into dazed eyes. “You can touch me, kiss me, Bren. If you'd like."
Bren's hands slid up his back and the moved around to the front of his shirt. “Can I touch your skin, Iral? I
want to touch your skin.” The green eyes that gazed up at him held an intriguing mix of shyness and need.
"I would like that, very much.” Iral smiled, took another soft kiss. “I think, though, we should go into the
other room, in case Rian wakes up, yes?"
"The other—oh!” Bren's color rose again. “Your room.” He nodded. “Yes."
"Only if you wish it, Bren.” Iral looked at him seriously. “I have no desire to push you."
"Please don't make me be by myself, Iral. I want to be with you."
"You have a place in my arms, in my bed, as long as you wish to be there.” Iral leaned forward for another
kiss, he couldn't taste Bren enough. “My Own, I do love you. Come to bed with me?"
Bren's arms wrapped around his neck and Bren kissed him back, tongue sliding for just a moment between
his lips before retreating again. “I love you, too, Iral.” Bren grinned suddenly. “Show me your bed."
"Our bed.” Iral tapped Bren's nose gently with one finger and then pushed Bren up so they could stand.
Then he took Bren's hand and led Bren back into his room, drawing the curtain between them and the
main room.
Bren held tightly to his hand. “I guess we don't need to build the extra room after all."
"Of course we do. You need a place for your things, a place of your very own.” He winked. “We just don't
need an extra bed or to worry about a door."
"A place of my own.” Bren shook his head and then wrapped his arms around Iral again, hugging Iral.
“You've given me so much."
"You're my family. Sharing happiness with your own is easier than breathing, Bren.” Iral wrapped his arms
around Bren. “Besides, you're doing half the work, lad."
"I love you, Iral. It feels like I'm going to explode I love you so much.” Bren leaned up and pressed a quick
kiss to his lips.
Iral felt a shudder move through him and he led them both to sit on the bed before he fell. He took one of
Bren's hands and placed it on his chest, near the opening of his tunic. “Touch me?"
Bren smiled and nodded, happy eyes turned toward him for a moment before Bren's head bent and he
worked apart the ties the held Iral's tunic closed, fingertips fluttering against Iral's skin. Iral let his own
hands move over Bren's neck, the curve of Bren's spine. The idea that someone—that Bren—was going to
touch his skin, wanted to touch him was unbearably arousing and exciting.
Bren loosened the ties and then his hands moved to the hem of Iral's tunic and he pulled the material up.
Iral raised his arms and let Bren pull the tunic off him.
Eyes fastened to Iral's chest, Bren raised a trembling hand to his skin. “I've wanted to touch you for days,”
Bren said softly as his fingers slid across the top of Iral's bicep.
"Oh, Bren. I hoped...” Iral moaned softly. “I wanted so badly to know what your hands felt like on me."
"Your skin is so warm.” Bren sighed softly. “Touching you makes me warm and tingly too, Iral."
Iral opened his arms, pulling Bren close again. Their skin met for the first time, Bren warm and achingly
right against him. Iral shivered, looking into the bright eyes for a long moment before taking another kiss.
Arms winding around his neck, Bren pressed close to him, mouth opening easily beneath his kiss.
He could feel Bren, hard and quick against him, hips pressed close. He let the kiss deepen, let himself taste
his lover more thoroughly, let his passion begin to flare. Bren gasped softly into his mouth, body
shuddering against him, hands gripping his shoulders tightly.
Bren drew back, eyes dazed. “Oh ... that was ... oh."
"Yes. Lovely.” Iral smiled and cupped Bren's face, thumb stroking the soft cheek. “Just lovely."
Bren nuzzled into his hand, soft smile on the lovely face. “I didn't even open my pants and now I'm all
messy.” Bren laughed; he didn't seem too upset about it.
Iral chuckled, joy singing through him. His Bren, his lover, his sweet One—had just come for him and was
smiling and happy and his. “You'll clean. Next time we'll just have to be better prepared."
"What about you?” Bren asked, one hand sliding tentatively along the front of his breeches. “Don't you
want to get messy, too?"
"Oh.” Iral moaned, low and soft, the careful touch sparking lights behind his eyes. “I just don't want to
push you, Bren, to do something you don't want."
"I don't know what to do, Iral, but I don't think there's anything I wouldn't want to do with you.” Bren
leaned forward and kissed him, tongue sliding again into his mouth, sweeping tentatively across his teeth.
“I want you to feel as good as I do."
"You know how to touch, Bren, what makes you feel good.” Iral offered another kiss, lips parted and
hungry, body hard and full of need.
Bren pressed close, tongue again sliding into his mouth, flitting about with growing confidence. Bren's hand
pressed against his erection. “I thought about how you would look,” Bren whispered, “when I touched
myself at night."
"Oh...” Just the thought, the idea of Bren, snuggled beside the fire and stroking himself, made Iral shudder,
made him throb with need. “And now that I'm yours to see and touch as you will? Do you find me
pleasing?"
Bren nodded. “I want to see what all of you looks like, Iral. Can you ... will you take off your breeches for
me, too?"
Iral nodded, heat winging through him. He couldn't remember ever feeling so needy, so desperate for
another's touch, to know that Bren wanted to see him was heady. He pulled away from Bren, body
protesting the loss immediately, and without fanfare, slid his loose workpants from his body.
There was a gasp from Bren and then warm hands closed over his erection, gently touching him. Bren's
eyes were following his own fingers.
"It's so big. And hot. And your skin is so soft, like fancy silk.” There was a touch of wonder in Bren's voice.
A soft whimper left him. Cool and careful, Bren's fingers were driving him mad, his balls aching and tight.
The sight of Bren's hand moving over his taut skin made his knees weak. “You make me dizzy, Bren."
Bren looked up, a shy but impish smile lighting his face. “That's a good thing, right?"
Iral chuckled and pounced, landing beside Bren. He gave his lover a quick, sloppy kiss and then nodded.
“Yes, my Own. A very good thing."
Bren grinned at him and then pressed close, grimacing suddenly. “I'm all sticky and messy and it's cold."
A wink and Iral slid his hand down Bren's back, warming him. “Well, you could change into clean breeches
or you could just take them off and see if, between the two of us, we can't warm you up."
Bren's face became shy once again, but the green eyes that met his also contained plenty of need. “Will
you take them off for me?"
"Are you sure, Bren?” Iral cupped the smooth cheek and kissed Bren softly. “Nothing you don't want."
Bren nuzzled into his palm. “I'm worried about what you're going to think of me—I'm not big like you. But I
really want to feel you against me—you're so warm and soft and hard and ... good."
"Oh, Bren, you're lovely and you fit against me like we are a matched set.” He let his hands move over the
living silk of Bren's skin. “I want to see you, touch you, so much."
His hands moved to the damp, sticky laces at Bren's waist, eyes never leaving the bright green gaze that
shone at him in the fading light. “Let's get these wet things off. Then, we'll get you warm, yes?"
Bren nodded, hands sliding up Iral's arms, fingers playing restlessly over his skin, never settling, as if Bren
was learning him by touch.
Iral unfastened the laces and eased the cloth from Bren's body, sure to wipe most of the spent seed away.
He let his hands caress as they smoothed the breeches away, let his eyes take in the sweet, slim body.
"Winds, you're lovely...” His voice echoed the awe and wonder that were filling him.
"You really think so?” Bren suddenly pushed tight against him, arms wrapping around his shoulders, face
buried in his neck. “I love you, Iral."
Iral pulled the quilt from the bottom of the bed and wrapped it around them both, holding his lover close.
“I love you, too, my lovely one. So much."
Bren began to rub against him, shaft growing hard against his skin. Bren's mouth found his and this kiss
was hungry and eager, still unskilled and untutored, but more sweet for its awkwardness. Bren might not
have known exactly what it was he was supposed to be doing, but it was clear that he wanted to do it.
Iral moaned, shifting them until they were side-by-side on the bed, melded together, skin sliding and
clinging, his Bren's lips drinking from him. His hands couldn't decide what they wanted to touch, to learn,
so they traveled, stopping only if they found a spot that made Bren arch or gasp.
"Goddess, you feel so good, Iral. I never knew anything could feel so good."
"I didn't either.” He smiled, joy filling him. “But we do now, don't we, Bren?"
His hand slid down Bren's stomach, just barely caressing the tip of Bren's cock. Bren only gasped in reply,
eyes flying to meet his as Bren's hips jerked up, erection pushing against his hand.
"You like that.” Iral wrapped his fingers around Bren's flesh, moaning harshly against his lover's swollen lips
as he touched hot skin. He could feel Bren's heartbeat—on his lips, his hand, his own chest, everywhere.
Bren's answer was a whimper, his hips jerking almost frantically, hands clinging tightly to Iral.
"My Bren, love you.” Their lips met, tongues sliding together and Iral was lost, his hips pushing against
Bren's thighs, his need unbearable.
Soft, needy noises were coming from Bren as he writhed. Iral arched, pushing his body until he could take
both of their erections into his hand. The heat of Bren's cock was more than he could bear and he came
with a soft cry, eyes fastened on Bren's face.
Bren's eyes widened with wonder and then with pleasure as he came as well. “Iral..."
"My Bren.” Iral couldn't stop moving his lips over the sweet face, wanting to reassure and comfort and love
the lad in his arms.
"Oh, I love you, Iral.” Bren's lips caught his and clung in long, soft kisses.
Iral felt his eyes fill with tears, body melded to Bren's, hands continuing their mapping of Bren's skin. “My
Own. I'm afraid I'm going to have to keep you close, love. At least until I know you're not some sweet
dream sent by the winds to ease a lonely man's heart."
"Do you think that might take a very long time?” Bren asked, a hopeful note in his voice.
"Maybe years. I'll let you know in a few decades.” They shared another kiss. “Of course, then I'll have to
keep you close out of habit."
"I think that sounds nice, Iral.” Bren snuggled closer, body lax, almost boneless in his arms.
"Yes, love, it does.” Iral made sure Bren was well-covered and arranged a pillow beneath his head so he
had a good view of his love's face. “Rest for a bit, Bren, and then we'll make some supper."
"What do you think Rian's going to say? About us, I mean."
He thought about it for a long moment. “She worried some at the beginning, that you were taking her
place in my heart, in my life. Then, once she saw that didn't happen she was happy that you were part of
us. Rian loves you. She knows I love you. You're our family, Bren."
Iral shrugged and then grinned. “Of course, you'll be hard-pressed not to have to turn into random animals
for her majesty's entertainment, you know that, yes?"
Bren's smile was brilliant. “I'll turn into anything she wants. Do you have any idea of how wonderful it is to
know I don't have to hide it anymore? That you aren't sending me away because you found out about it?"
"We love you, Bren—secrets, good, bad, all of it. This is where you belong. We'll have no more talk of
sending you away. You're home, Bren.” He hugged his lover tight, mischief making him tease. “Besides, I
know what to do if my toes get cold at night now. Tell me, what's warmer—a housecat or a puppy?"
Bren giggled and then closed his eyes and before Iral could ask what he was up to the lad in his arms had
turned into a mountain lion. Two large paws batted playfully at his chest and the big cat rubbed the side of
his face, marking him as its territory, but it was Bren's eyes that stared at him out of the furry face.
"Oh, Bren ... look at you!” Iral stroked the soft pelt with awe, looking into the familiar, warm eyes,
chuckling as a low, rumbling purr vibrated the mattress. “You're a wonder, Bren. What a gift the winds
have sent me."
As quickly as he'd changed, Bren was himself again, still purring as Iral's hands slid over skin. “I know you
said housecat, but the bigger animals that are more my size are easier to turn into.” The yellow-flecked
eyes gazed seriously up at him. “The winds sent me a gift, too, you know. You and Rian—a whole family
just for me ... it's more than I've even dreamed I could want."
Iral nodded, something quiet and deep resonating within him—something that he'd never felt and couldn't
quite understand. “I'm glad you found your way home, Bren. I've been waiting."
Bren's arms slipped back around him, holding him tightly against the slender body.
"I love you, Bren.” Iral's eyes slipped shut as he relaxed, hands and heart full. “So much."
"I love you, too. Sometimes it feels like I can't possibly hold all the love inside me—it's too much."
"Guess that's why there's two of us, Bren. So we can share it between us."
Bren nodded, his cheek soft and right against Iral's skin. “Us."
Iral nodded back, or tried to, but the sweet warmth of Bren's body led him into dreams of running with a
mountain lion who laughed and looked at him with loving eyes.
End.
Turtle
The perimeter of the dark forest bordered the Black Mountains, the roots and stones treacherous, the forest
itself purported to be haunted. One warrior after another disappeared and died here, falling to the winds.
It was Satta's home.
He had been defending this section of tribal lands for seasons, Malik sure and steady beneath him as he
rode. He had defeated mountain trolls and scouts, bears and huge cats. The spirits had never once
appeared.
The sun poured down on him, warm and almost thick, heating him all through, blessing his skin with its
golden touch. “What excitement will we find today, Malik. What will the winds blow to us? Perhaps a stag
or a clutch of quail? Or a hidden stream of sweet water?"
Malik nodded and bobbed—his mi'it felt it too, the promise on the winds of something new.
They crossed a stream, heading up to the crest of a hill to look over the forest, to watch, to explore.
Something flashed with the sun, catching his eye. Two animals were playing in the great river that wound
its way from the Black Mountains. Perhaps a pair of otters, though their pelts seemed too pale from his
vantage.
They twined and slid through the water, playing like happy children. Satta chuckled, leaning forward on
Malik's neck. “Look, mi'it. How free they are, how blessed. We should all hold such joy within."
The wind blew, carrying on it the sweet sound of laughter. The sound made him grin, made him chuckle
and shake his head. Silly otters. Laughing in the su...
Satta sat up.
Laughing?
Otters did not laugh.
Well, unless they were magicked otters, possibly. Or half-man/half-otters, which he'd never heard of.
Malik was heading down to explore even before Satta knew that was what he wanted to do.
As he drew near to the river, the two beasts got out of the water, standing to face him. They were not
beasts at all, but two boys, perhaps eighteen or nineteen summers, standing in front of him. They were
naked and he could clearly see that they were as alike as if they were a single person made two.
"Di'ben sur. Bright blessings.” Stunning, bright-eyed and clever, the boys seemed to be an illusion, a
haunting echoing into itself.
The one on the left whispered into the other's ear and then he was treated to a pair of stunning smiles.
“Di'ben sur, stranger."
"Satta, of the Blue Water tribe.” He slid off Malik, offering the traditional greeting. “I did not know anyone
made these lands their home."
The boys blinked at him for a moment and then bobbed in what might have been a bow. “So'el,” said the
one. “Du'el,” said the other. He was treated to mischievous grins. “What makes you think we live here?"
"You seem very much at home.” Satta smiled back. They seemed young and small to be alone. Of course,
there were two of them. “Are you kin?"
They laughed at him, the sound bright and happy. “We are brothers born of the same minute."
He nodded and grinned, reaching for his water skins and heading toward the river to fill them. “I
suspected, but these are magicked woods and one cannot assume anything."
"Magicked?” That laughter came again, tinged with wickedness this time and the lads bounced over to his
side as the water suddenly turned bright yellow.
"A'Chaffa!” He stumbled back, blinking at the boys and then at the water, completely stunned.
The boys laughed and laughed, bending over and pointing at him.
The water abruptly turned back to its natural color, but then became a solid sheet of ice. Still laughing, the
boys ran, grabbing a pair of packs by a large tree and leaping away through the forest.
The river was once again running smoothly and the right color.
Satta reached out carefully, touching the water with curious fingers.
Definitely magic.
He thought maybe he'd fill his skins elsewhere. Somewhere
without otters.
The winds continued to carry their laughter, sliding it around him, against his skin.
Satta mounted Malik, fighting his curiosity. They were not on tribal lands, they seemed harmless. They did
not seem to wish his company.
They were lovely together...
He had not gone far when the trees rustled as if alive and nuts dropped down onto him and Malik. And
there was the mischievous laughter again. He stopped and dismounted, soothing Malik, and began
gathering up the nuts, packing them away. “Thank you, my friends. Would you like to share a meal with
me? I have some cheese and hard rolls and a few apples."
It was always better to befriend the ba'chi, if it was possible.
There was whispering and the trees shook again and then the two lads somersaulted down out of a tree,
landing in front of him. They were dressed now, in cream-colored clothes, packs on their backs. They still
looked as alike as one made into two.
"Cheese?” said one.
"Bread?” said the other.
He couldn't tell which was which, they were so alike.
"And apples.” He smiled, opening his hand. “And a few nuts, too, thanks to you."
Their cheeks colored, but they didn't look too repentant. “We have peaches, too."
His eyebrows arched, mouth watering. “Peaches? Dried ones?"
They looked at each other and then gave him a sly look, shaking their heads. “Fresh."
"Oh. Would you like to share a meal, then? Peaches are my favorite and I have not tasted one in seasons.”
He would taste gingerly, if he tasted a poison, then he would stop. Something within him insisted that they
would not hurt him, that they would not attack him.
They nodded together. “Our favorite, too,” said one, dancing over to where a tree had fallen, making a
table. His brother followed and they put their heads together, almost kissing as their hands reached into
the bag. The two sat down abruptly, hands pulling out three of the most beautiful peaches he had ever
seen.
"Oh ... So lovely.” He wasn't sure if he was taking about the boys or the fruit.
Satta rummaged in his pack for the hunk of white cheese and the hard rolls, eyes continually drawn back to
the pair. Where they both ba'chi, or was one a hi'icha? No, surely not. They were not warriors, neither of
them.
They were talking together, faces close. Every now and then they would glance at him and then talk some
more. Finally they put the peaches down on the trunk of the tree and sat to either side of the fruit, looking
at him expectantly.
He placed the cheese out, along with rolls and his apples and a container of spiced honey. “I have no meat
today, I was hoping to find a rabbit or quail today on my ride.” He settled on the far side of the tree from
them, offering another smile. “Are you traveling from one place to another?"
They looked at each other and the same one who had done most of the talking answered for them again.
“We're...” he tilted his head, “wandering."
"Wandering? Alone?” He frowned, cutting two bites of cheese and offering them over. “You must be
careful, young ones. There are bears about and the cold will come soon."
"Bears!” exclaimed the quieter of the two.
"We have nowhere to go,” the other told him.
"Where is your home, your tribe?” He continued separating out the food. They both needed to eat, they
were so thin.
"Grandmother passed into the summer lands. She said we had to search for our home; that we could not
stay in the cabin.” The lad shrugged. “So we search."
"We haven't found anything though. Or at least nothing different than what was at home. Stupid old
woman was half crazed."
"Du'!"
"Oh, come on, So', you know it's true."
"You don't say it to strangers!"
"We don't do changes in front of strangers neither, and you already had us do lots!"
The boys both leapt to their feet and it looked as if the argument was about to get physical.
"I will not betray your secrets, ba'chi.” He pitched his voice low, as if he was easing a mi'it. “Kama'asi. Be
at peace."
They glared belligerently at each other, as if they would fight anyway. Then all of a sudden one of them
stuck his tongue out at the other and turned, running. A chase ensued, involving much laughter and name
calling and finally they crashed to the forest floor together, laughing, cheeks flushed with their exertion.
Satta shook his head, taking a roll for himself and tucking a slice of cheese inside. At least they had one
another, they would never be lonely. Such beautiful ones. His stomach churned, aching at the sight.
They shared a quick kiss and then they stilled, peeking over at him from beneath long dark lashes. They
scrambled to their feet and returned to the tree trunk that served as a table.
"Look, So'! Cheese."
"And rolls, Du'. Don't forget the bread."
Satta chuckled, the kiss echoing in his head. Surely not. Surely that hadn't meant ... his people believed
that brothers did not ... “Eat, ba'chi. As much as you need."
The one called Du’ tilted his head, watching him, considering, while the one called So’ put together a roll
with some cheese and began to eat.
"Why do you call us ba'chi?” Du’ asked him.
"Because you are ba'chi—people blessed by the winds themselves.” He sliced the apple and offered the
pieces over. “I have never met ba'chi traveling without a hi'icha. You must be very strong."
Du’ looked at So’ who shrugged and offered the uneaten half of his sandwich. Du’ accepted it and started
eating as So’ collected the apple slices.
"Grandmother passed. We have no one to travel with. No ba'chi, no hi'icha. Just us."
"I guard the borderlands.” He didn't know what to say, what to do. It seemed so odd, just to wander
without goal or home or protection.
"Borders of what?” asked So', passing half-eaten apple slices to his brother.
"Borders of the tribal lands. My people have a village in the center of a valley about five days ride from
here.” He ate another roll.
"We stay away from other people,” Du’ said, almost defiantly.
So’ nodded. “We do not usually talk to strangers.” The boy frowned. “Strangers do not usually find us."
"Well, I am no longer a stranger—we have shared both food and names. We are well-met.” Satta smiled
over, grabbing two nuts and cracking them in one hand. “The winds brought your laughter to me. You
sounded happy."
Du’ was watching his hand with wide eyes. “So’ did you see?"
So’ nodded eagerly and came forward, taking his hand in both small ones, turning it, opening it, examining
it closely.
He held his hand open, unsure what had interested them. “Would you like the nutmeat? It should be
sweet."
So’ nodded, grabbing the nut pieces and pushing away the shell. The nuts were given to Du’ and then So’
was back, putting two more in hiss hand. “Do it again."
He nodded, closing his hand and flexing, the nuts cracking easily. He was not a small man by any measure.
The brothers crowed, So’ again opening his hand and taking away the nutmeat, pushing off the shells. Du’
came over with two more nuts, grinning at him as the nuts were placed on his palm.
The boys stood next to him, arms looped easily around each other, eyes dancing as they waited.
Satta chuckled, cracking the nuts again, stealing a bite of the sweet meat for himself this time, feeding off
the happiness in the bright eyes.
Du’ scooped up the rest of the meat and gave him two more nuts.
"We can't open them,” So’ explained. “Except by crashing them between two rocks. The meat and the
shells get all mashed together."
"Oh, that's no good, is it?” He broke dozens of the nuts, offering them all to the two, smiling at their
pleasure. “There, all cracked. Now we have a feast."
The boys bounced and clapped, all of the nut pieces gathered up. They leaned forward to give him a quick
kiss and then settled on the ground at his feet, feeding each other the nuts.
He reached out instinctively, stroking short, soft hair, protective concern filling him. So lovely. So beautiful.
So’ looked up at him and smiled, the green eyes bright as So’ rubbed into his touch.
He didn't bother worrying or thinking, he just stroked and sat, watching the ba'chi feed each other.
Watching their eyes and little hands and dark curls.
Watching their quick motions.
When there were only a few nuts left they leaned together, mouths opening as they joined in a long kiss.
They were flushed as they turned to him, fingers offering the last nuts to his mouth.
Oh. Winds help him. Such things between brothers were forbidden, but he could not see how it was wrong.
The winds willed this between them, he could feel it.
He leaned forward, lips parting for a bite.
Their fingers slid into his mouth, soft and gentle, leaving their gifts of nuts behind. He kissed both sets of
fingers as they left, not saying a word. There was nothing to be said.
The winds had spoken.
The brothers looked at their fingers and then at him and then at each other again. They pushed their
fingers into each other's mouths, nibbling and biting and sucking and laughing, green eyes twinkling.
Imps. That's what they were. Magical beings sent by the winds to enchant him. Satta grinned, chuckling at
himself as he reached for a peach. “Shall we share?"
"Oh, yes,” said So', pushing close, Du’ doing the same on his other side. “Feed us!"
The peach was sliced up, one tiny piece after another popped into open, hungry mouths. Satta rubbed the
fruit over the parted lips, tempted to lean down and lick off the juice, to taste the ba'chis’ sweetness.
The temptation grew as they pulled his fingers into their mouths, sucking the juices from his skin. Then
they fought over a piece, their mouths coming together over his hand, tongues dueling around his finger.
He whimpered softly. “Ba'chi ... you are such a temptation. Such a temptation."
They turned to look at him, mouths still wrapped around his finger. So’ pulled off slowly, leaving Du’ to
begin sucking. So’ leaned forward. “We like you Satta of the Blue Water tribe."
He nodded, leaning close, lips just brushing. “The winds call me to you, ba'chi."
So’ leaned in as well, lips pressing his a little harder. “The same winds that shared our laughter?"
"Yes, So'el. They blow and we must follow. They bring ki'ita together.” His tongue slid out, tasting So's lips.
Du’ started sucking harder on his finger.
So's tongue came out, sliding gently against his own. “Ki'ita? Is that what this feeling is called? This feeling
in our bellies?” So's hand slid over his stomach, fingertips fluttering along his skin.
"Yes. The winds brought me to you both. Do you want me? Do you want a hi'icha to be yours?” His voice
was harsh, his cock like iron, focus split between green eyes.
"We don't know what a hi'icha is, but we want you, Satta. Can we have you? Really?"
"Yes. Really. I am yours.” And easy as that, without ritual or blood or pain, he was theirs.
So’ beamed at him and then turned to his brother. “Did you hear, Du'?"
Du’ nodded, finally letting his fingers slide from between the red lips. The brothers leaned together and
kissed. Their mouths were open wide and Satta could see their tongues sliding together. Their eyes
positively sparkled as they turned back to him. “Your turn."
He held his arms open—his chest was wide enough for both of them—and nodded. “Come to me, ki'ita."
They moved into his arms, climbing onto his lap, each one straddling a thigh. Their lips were warm and
sweet, pressing open mouthed kisses on him.
Satta held them both, capturing first one set of lips, then another, learning their flavors, their sweetness.
Two ba'chi.
He was ki'ita with two ba'chi.
The elders would never understand.
Their hands slid along his belly and through his hair, and they were rubbing, their shafts like brands against
his thighs. His ki'ita would not care what the elders thought, he knew this instinctively.
His hands cupped two firm bottoms, flexing his leg muscles for them, making them both gasp.
They writhed against him, hands moving to slide over one another, though their mouths stayed with his,
sharing their moans and gasps.
Hard and aching, he shifted, his cock sliding against the inside of his leathers, so full, reacting to the warm
bodies against him.
They came together, their bodies stiff in his arms, their cries filling the air.
"So beautiful.” Satta whimpered, hips bucking up in tiny, needy motions. “Ki'ita..."
Their hands were quick, clever fingers undoing the ties of his leathers and pulling out his cock, four hands
petting and stroking him.
He cried out, hips moving up into the touches. He was no virgin, not untried, but nothing had ever felt so
huge, so right.
One of their hands slid down to cup his balls, another wrapped tight around the base of his cock and still
another slid across the tip. He had no idea what the fourth hand was up to until fingers slid across his
opening.
He shifted, a low roar sounding as his balls emptied, pouring his seed over those clever hands.
They murmured into his mouth and then, as one, slid between his legs, lapping at his seed.
"Oh...” Satta's moan slid through the trees, his fingers tangling into dark curls, holding and caressing them
both.
They licked him clean and then beamed up at him, joy shinning from their eyes.
"Beautiful ba'chi.” He slid down, tucking them both into his arms, overwhelmed by the emotions buffeting
him.
They curled in close, each with one arm around him, the other around each other. They leaned forward to
kiss each other again, softly, lazily.
He kissed first one soft cheek, then the other. “My beautiful ba'chi."
They turned to him, beaming again and first one and then the other kissed him long and slow. “Our
hi'icha,” So’ said softly.
"Yes. Yours.” He leaned back against the tree trunk and held his ki'ita. “Given by the wind."
"So'el and Du'el and Satta."
The boys nuzzled close, quiet and still in his arms. Something told him they would not always be so.
* * * *
So'el was the first to wake, lying with his Du’ on top of the big, warm man. Their hi'icha.
He said the word a couple of times, tasting it on his tongue, testing how it sounded to his ears. Then he
said the man's name. Satta. It made him laugh to say, tickling his tongue and he hugged Du’ and Satta
both.
That woke up Du’ and he took his twin's mouth, eager to share the flavor of his happiness. Satta rumbled
and shifted, big hands petting their heads, so gentle for one so large.
They rubbed against him and Du’ whispered into his ear. “Taste?"
He nodded and together they turned to Satta and began to taste. Lips and cheek and chin and neck and
on down.
Another soft rumble sounded and honey-colored eyes opened, their look fond and warm. “Di'ben sur, ki'ita."
He popped up his head and grinned down at Satta. “Di'ben sur, Satta. We're tasting you."
"Are you? Do I taste good?” Satta's smile made him feel good deep in his belly.
"So far.” He grinned and let his hand slide down to Satta's shaft and his balls and back beyond. Du’ tasted
so good there, he was eager to know if Satta would as well.
Satta's eyes widened, thighs parting. “My hungry ki'ita..."
Du’ nodded and he grinned. “We are."
He met Du's mouth again in a long kiss and then the two of them slid down to Satta's middle. There was a
dark turtle carved into Satta's belly.
"Du'! Look! How pretty.” He traced it with his tongue, and Du’ traced it with his fingers, spending a
moment exploring it before moving down to the treasures between Satta's legs. Such a wide cock and such
big balls. Their hi'icha was huge. Big enough for both of them.
They began to lick Satta's shaft, tongues sliding across the tip and then parting to lick down the sides.
Satta did taste good here. Very good. The thick thighs fell open, a moan sounding, rumbling through the
wide chest. He cupped the heavy balls and teased his finger down toward Satta's opening, finding Du's
fingers already there.
Their hi'icha lifted up, looking down at them. “Oh ... my ki'ita ... You are not so innocent as you seem."
They looked up at Satta and then each other. Innocent? Them?
Du's laughter filled the air a second before his own lips pulled up in a wide smile. He kissed Du's mouth
over Satta's cock and then slid down, pushing Du's fingers away so that he could taste Satta inside.
Satta was rocking up toward Du's mouth, whimpering at the loss of the fingers. Their hi'icha smelled of
earth—warm and rich.
He could hear Du’ licking and sucking and grinned. Du’ had a great mouth, Satta would like it. Now it was
time to show Satta what he was really good at. He could make Du’ scream with his tongue. He wondered if
Satta would scream.
The low growls started at the first touch of his tongue to the wrinkled opening, wild and fierce and free.
Oh!
Oh, better than any scream and he licked Satta thoroughly before touching Du', letting him know. Du’
would take as much of Satta's shaft as he could while he pushed his tongue into the tight muscles.
The growls grew louder, the sounds echoing in the trees, Satta trembling under his hands. So’ pushed his
tongue in as far as it could go. Satta was so hot, so soft, so tight inside. He thrust fast, pushing in and out.
He could see Du's head bobbing, instinctively finding his rhythm.
They would prove to Satta that they would be good ki'ita.
He felt Satta's body clench, heard the wild scream as the hips pistoned, the scent of seed strong and fresh.
So’ raised his head and bent to take some of the seed into himself and then Du's mouth was on his own,
his brother rolling with him over and over as they kissed and rubbed frantically against each other.
Shaft on shaft, mouths locked, hands sliding over flesh, they shared the taste of Satta between them. It
was so good, and then huge hands slid over their bodies, lips and tongue mapping their skin as they
moved. He cried out into Du's mouth, the sound doubled by his brother's own cry.
Oh, oh! They were not the only hungry ones, their hi'icha was eager and enthusiastic—tongue and teeth
testing first his skin, then Du's, fingers teasing their holes.
It felt so very good and he wanted to wait and feel more, wanted to know what Satta would do next, but
they were too close, too wrapped up in skin and pleasure and they came, voices sending their cries to the
sky.
They were turned, Satta's hair sliding slick over them as they were both licked clean, Satta's tongue hot and
soft upon his skin.
They tangled their fingers in his hair, so long and so soft, braids with beads and feathers breaking up the
silken mass.
It felt so good, to lie curled with Du', to have Satta care for them, clean them. It felt right.
"You taste good, my Heart.” His belly was nuzzled and kissed first, then Du's. “As do you, my Home."
Oh.
Oh,
they were home now.
They had been searching and hadn't even known, but Satta was here now and they were home.
He touched Du's lips, and then Satta's lips, and then his own.
Others would see three, but they were one.
* * * *
Satta woke with a start, the thunder loud and cracking through the trees. The twins curled together, all
arms and legs tangled, safe in the cave, but their supplies and the mi'it were in the wind.
He hurried out, steps silent on the dust, leading the mi'it up from the creek bed, saddlebags and food
stashed in the mouth of the cave. He'd managed all but the firewood before the rain came—freezing and
stinging, making him twist and gasp as he ran for the cave mouth.
Shivering when he made it, Satta headed for the fire to build it up, dripping in random patterns on the cave
floor. His ki'ita would be miserable in a few candlemarks if the fire was not blazing.
He had just added a few logs when Du'el came to him, frowning and wiping at the water in his hair. His
One pushed in close against his side.
"Careful, my Own. You will catch a chill.” Even as he spoke, his arm wrapped around Du', sliding down his
back.
"And you, Satta? You are already cold. Come back to the furs and we will warm you."
He beamed, warmed all through by his ki'ita's care, and lifted Du's chin for a soft kiss. “So good to me,
ki'ita. So caring."
Du’ took another kiss, beaming at him. “Come, Satta, So’ keeps the furs warm for us."
One small hand slid into his, tugging him along. Satta followed, heart singing joyously. So loved. So lucky.
None other was blessed as he, with two hearts that beat with his own.
So'el's arms opened to him and Du', a smile bright in So'el's face.
He sank into the furs, pulling his ki'ita close, kissing first one soft mouth, then the other. “The storm is
large. We will stay dry and warm here until it passes."
So’ giggled, hands moving down to wrap around his shaft. “The storm is not all that is large, our Turtle."
"No? Why do you think that, my Heart?” He chuckled, rocking up toward that warm touch.
"Because I can barely hold you in both my hands!"
So's laughter was joined by Du's, the other boy moving down to lick at the tip of his shaft. “And you are
too big to fit in my mouth."
"You are silly. I am no giant, my so-tiny ki'ita.” He reached out, tickling So's belly, Du's ribs.
They laughed and rolled and then worked together, “capturing” him beneath their combined weight. “No,
you are not a giant,” said So'.
Du’ nodded. “You are just right for two."
Chuckling, he captured a thin wrist, bringing a hand up for a kiss. “Yes, for my two ki'ita. My two little
ki'ita.” He winked, nibbling at Du's fingers.
"Not so little as all that,” So’ complained, rubbing against his thigh.
Du’ grinned and also rubbed. “No, but I am bigger than you, So'."
"You are both the perfect size for me, as the winds made you.” He chuckled, smiling into green eyes.
"It is good of your winds to keep us here in this cave."
So’ leaned down and licked at Satta's lips, Du’ joining his brother in the caress. He wrapped his arms
around them both, holding them close, hands cupping two matching bottoms, thumbs stroking smooth, soft
skin. They kissed and they rubbed, small hands sliding over his skin, pulling at nipples and pressing over his
muscles.
He began to rock them, sliding them against his skin, beneath the furs. “Oh, ki'ita. So sweet ... My ki'ita."
The storm raged outside, winds howling, rain coming down, but beneath the furs they were all warm, hot in
fact. He drank from their lips, fed from each happy cry and soft giggle, surrounded himself in their love and
their pleasure and their need. They shifted, their hands gathering all three shafts together, sliding them all
together.
"So good, Satta,” said Du'el.
"Yes, our Turtle, the best,” added So'el.
"Yours.” He moved into the touches, his strength rocking them all.
"Ours.” They spoke as one, their hands moving as if belonging to a single mind. “Ours. So good."
"Yes.” Their lips met his, kiss growing hungry and needy as the storm raged.
His ki'ita were like the storm, wild and passionate, moving against him like rain driven in the winds. He
tugged them close, roaring into their lips as he came, lightning flashing before the cave's mouth. Heat
splashed against him, his ki'itas’ cries louder than the thunder that followed.
He moaned, snuggled them close to his chest. “Sweet ki'ita. Singing with the storm."
Du’ corrected him. “Singing with you, Satta."
So’ nodded against his chest. “The storm isn't our ki'ita, Satta."
"No.” He growled, letting them hear the possession in the sound. “
I am yours and you are mine."
Two green-eyed faces popped up to lean over him, swollen lips pressing against his.
"Yours,” they said together, settling on him once more.
"Yes.” He tucked the furs around them, assuring there were no stray arms or legs in the cold. “Sleep, ki'ita.
Stay warm."
They snuggled into him, already half asleep, fingers twined together on his chest.
He watched the storm for a long moment, holding his home and his heart close.
* * * *
So'el loved lying curled up with his twin, skin on skin in the warm sunshine, watching Satta go through his
morning prayers to the sun and winds.
Satta performed the ritual moves naked and by the time he was done, his skin would be limed with sweat,
his entire body glistening in the sunlight. It made So'el hard. Made Du'el hard, too, his twin's shaft lying hot
and firm against his leg.
He resisted the temptation to take Du's sex in hand and make his brother come. While he and Du’ often
made love just the two of them together, their hardness now belonged to their ki'ita, to their Turtle. It was
Satta who made them hungry and Satta who would satisfy that hunger once his prayers were finished. In a
way, making love all together was a part of the ritual, a special prayer of thanks from all of them for the
bond that sang within them.
It was hard to wait though. The morning air was cool and Du'el skin was warm and Satta looked so
magnificent, with the black turtle carved into his belly. So'el felt as if he could come just from watching.
Well ... maybe watching and rubbing against Du'.
He would be good though. For this man, their ki'ita, he would hold himself back.
Du'el whimpered and jerked and So'el knew his twin was as eager as he for this day's prayers to be
finished.
Satta's hair caught the sun, blazing and bright as metal as the long braids swung amongst the free locks.
One of those braids was theirs, four strands instead of three—one for Satta, one for Du', one for him, and
one for the winds. There it was—green stones clicking together, a golden hawk feather at the bottom.
His hand went to his own hair, kept short, but there was a braid near the front on the right, longer than
the rest now—almost down to his chin. There was a match on Du'el's left side. They were Satta's. It was
good to be Satta's.
Except when they had to wait and he found himself whimpering now, and rubbing his own hardness
against Du'el's leg. He forced himself to stillness and willed Satta to be finished soon. Now. Two minutes
ago.
The final motions seemed to take hours, days, and then Satta's belly rippled and their Turtle was finished,
gleaming in the sunshine.
He reached to touch, hand sliding around Satta's ankle, moaning at the warmth of the slick skin beneath his
fingers. Du'el was doing the same, mirroring his actions on Satta's other leg. Together they tugged, wanting
Satta down with them.
Satta smiled, moving with a lazy, early morning ease, stretching out between them. “Di'ben sur, my ki'ita—
my Heart, my Home.” Satta's voice, low and growly, sounded roughened, hungry.
Together they crawled up along their Turtle's body, Satta's skin slick with sweat and so warm. His lips
found Satta's first, Du'el pushing into the kiss, refusing to be left out. Grinning, he pushed his hands into
Du'el's hair and tugged his twin up, taking the sweet mouth with his own, tongue tangling with Du's.
"So beautiful.” A huge, hot hand slid over his hip, his buttock, caressing him with slow, gentle touches. He
could tell that Satta was touching Du'el the same way from the change in the kiss, his twin becoming more
aggressive, more wanting.
So good to them, their Turtle, loving them both equally. They had not dreamed of finding one for them. It
was why they had patience for Satta's prayers to the sun and wind for they
were blessed.
He let go of his brother's head and turned back to Satta. “You make us beautiful."
Bending his head, he licked at the corner of Satta's mouth, tongue dancing down along the bold jaw,
teasing, playing, tasting. Satta's lips opened, Du'el's tongue sliding into the hot, sweet mouth. He could feel
Satta's groan, vibrating under his tongue, his skin. He worked his way slowly down to Satta's ear, tongue
tasting every drop of sweat along the way. So good, their Turtle tasted of salt and honey and earth.
"What do you want, ki'ita? How can we please our Turtle and the winds this morning?"
"Just love me, my Home. Love me.” Bright hazel with green flecks shone at him, hand pulling them both
closer.
They kissed him again, he and Du', tongues sliding together in Satta's mouth. His twin tasted so different
like this.
Satta rubbed against them, hard and thick. Ready. Those big hands rocked them all together, body wide
beneath them both. He shifted with Du'el, pressing Satta's shaft between their hips, rubbing their own
erections against the slick, golden skin.
"Ki'ita! Good!” The low voice rumbled and growled for them. “So good."
"Yes, yes. Good."
So'el wasn't sure if he'd spoken or Du’ had. It didn't matter. They were together with Satta and he knew
their hearts.
He latched onto one of Satta's nipples, sucking hard as the little nub of flesh grew hard as a pebble in his
mouth.
They were lifted up as Satta arched, strong body jerking. “So'el! Du'el!"
He reached out, Du'el's hand meeting his half way. Holding hands, they came, spilling their seed on Satta's
skin.
The smell of the three of them together was heady, rich and sweet and real. Magic. Satta settled on the
ground, purring softly, hands gentle now, warm. “Love you."
"Love you, Turtle.” Du'el spoke for them both and he nodded, licking another drop of sweat before it could
fall to the ground.
"We do,” he said, hugging them both tight.
"I know.” Satta gave them a soft, gentle smile—so odd on that fierce, scarred face. That smile only
belonged to them. Only them.
He settled on Satta, curled with Du'el in their spot.
He touched his hand to Satta's lips and then Du'el's and then his own, their thanks to the sun and winds
now complete.
* * * *
Satta had met his sister two days’ ride from the village and told her of his good fortune, of finding his
ba'chi, both of them. Her eyes had widened and she'd confirmed his fears. The elders would not
understand. They would not allow it.
Instead of a celebration of family, their meeting had ended with fear and anger, Satta refusing her pleas to
give his boys to the elders so that they might make things right. He left, hurrying back to his ki'ita, a storm
chasing him the entire way.
Satta set up camp as quickly as he could, keeping one eye on the storm clouds as he worked. The tent was
first, then Malik, then he built a protected area for the fire before storing their supplies and trying to herd
his ki'ita into the shelter.
"In, Du', So'. The rains come. Hurry, ki'ita. In the tent.” He could not shake feelings that had come upon
him at his sister's warning. At least, he could not until his sweet ki'ita came to him, their life and laughter
pushing all other thoughts and worries from his mind.
So's arms wrapped around his neck, the thin legs around his waist as sweet kisses rained over his neck. Du’
came close and then danced away again, trying to entice him out into the clearing. Du’ was laughing, face
bright and happy.
"We could make love in the rains, our Turtle,” So’ told him, one hand sliding down, pushing into his
breeches to wrap around his shaft.
"You will be cold and wet, my laughing Ones. And I must find wood for our fire so that there is meal and
honey and berries to fill empty bellies.” He stole a kiss from So', then reached for Du'. “Come. Into the
tent, my sweet temptations."
Quick as a snake, So’ slithered down from him and each boy grabbed one of his hands, tugging with all
their might. “We want to love you, Satta,” So’ told him.
Satta followed immediately, body agreeing where his mouth protested that wood needed to be found, a fire
built, water fetched.
They crowed, faces alight with joy as he followed them to where there were no trees to offer protection
from the coming rains and then his arms were full, their mouths finding his, joining them all together.
He held his ki'ita easily, cradling them close, feeding his spirit from the joy in those sweet mouths.
They pulled away suddenly, dropping as one to their knees."I was here first,” Du’ complained, taking the
head of his shaft in that warm mouth.
"No,
I was, Du'el.” So's lips closed over the side of his cock, moving up and trying to push Du’ away. It just
made Du’ suck harder.
Satta would have chuckled, had his moan not been more insistent, pleasure making his knees weak.
"My Otters ... Ki'ita..."
They both moaned or groaned or hummed or said the word back to him. The result was sweet vibrations
traveling the length of his cock and settling in his balls. They continued to fight over his cock, tongues and
mouths making the duel an incredible pleasure. Satta shifted, groaned, hands finding their heads and
petting, stroking. The storm was coming, he could feel it in his bones.
Two hands slid over his balls, fingers joining the battle to bring him pleasure, soft and light and dancing
along his skin.
"Ki'ita!” His head fell back to catch the first drops of rain as his thighs parted, hips shifting toward their
touches.
The mouths on his shaft began to work in concert, sucking and licking. Two fingers slid behind his balls,
one Du's and one So's, pushing into his body together.
His roar shook the trees, the skies opening up over them as he came, body jerking.
Du'el swallowed him down and then shared his taste with So'el, their mouths melding together as they
wrapped around each other on the ground, bodies writhing together.
He slumped to the ground, hands reaching, touching whatever skin he could find, lips sucking the rain off
arms and ribs and hips. They turned their bodies to him, whimpering as they rubbed against him, their
shafts twin spikes of heat against his rain-cooled skin.
Satta tugged them close, hands hard as he drew them near. He took one mouth, then another. Then
together, tasting the water on the beautiful lips.
As one they cried out into his mouth, their heat splashing against his belly as they came.
Their arms wrapped around his neck, their bodies pressing close as the rain fell around them.
"You make us feel so good, our Turtle,” So’ told him, Du’ nodding enthusiastically against his lips.
"I love you, my Heart, my Home.” He stole two kisses from two pairs of sweet lips, then tugged them both
up into his arms. “Come into the tent, ki'ita."
They nodded at him and So’ grinned. “Yes, our Turtle—we are cold and wet."
Not even the thunder could drown out their sweet laughter, nor any threat pull them from him.
* * * *
The cave was deep and kept warm by a good fire. They had been here two weeks before the first snows
came. He and Du’ had danced in them, delighted and excited and now they were frozen right through.
Hand and hand they ran to the cave, straight into their Turtle's arms. Satta gathered them up, pulling a
warm fur around them. “My ki'ita! So cold!"
"Snow!” So’ exclaimed.
Grinning, teeth chattering, Du’ nodded his head in agreement.
"You have to warm us now, Satta."
Laughing, they pushed against their Turtle, hands sliding over his skin, searching out the warmest pockets
they could find: beneath Satta's arms, between his legs. Satta squeaked and rumbled, hands rubbing and
touching, making them both moan and shiver and cry out.
"Oh, Satta, you warm us from the inside out.” So’ raised his face, searching for his Turtle's kiss.
Satta pushed deep, filling him with the flavors of honey and berries, rich soil and fresh water. Hungry and
hot, his Turtle feasted on him, setting fires deep inside him. It made him shiver in a way that had nothing
to do with the cold and his shaft got hard, pushing hotly against his breeches.
The kiss grew longer, deeper, Satta cradling him against that strong, warm body, Du’ there with them,
holding on tight. He could feel his twin's cool fingers, sliding beneath his clothes, pulling them open and
pushing them off. He whimpered as his nipples were caressed, pinched, tugged and then licked.
All the while, Satta fed from his lips, loving him.
His hands began to move again, slowly at first, touching Satta and Du', searching to know them with his
fingertips, to bring them pleasure. Satta's cry was sweet, low where Du's was high, body curling into his
touches.
A huge hand wrapped around his shaft, stroking and caressing. Moaning softly, he searched for Satta's
shaft, finding Du's hand already there. He searched further, finding Du's hot flesh and grabbed hold of it,
using the rhythm of Satta's hand around his own shaft as a guide.
The snows melted from his mind, only his Du’ and their Turtle and the love they made between them able
to live within him.
He could feel his pleasure building, knew that Satta and Du’ also felt it within themselves. He pressed
small, happy, needful noises into Satta's mouth, heard them echo unfettered from Du'. Best of all, their
Turtle—their dear, strong, so-near-broken Turtle—was rumbling, purring, calling for them. Healing and
loving just for them.
He kissed Satta with everything he had, body writhing, pulling and pushing and needing and wanting.
Satta came first, or Du', or maybe it was him, So’ didn't know, but they followed each other like the moon
followed the sun.
So good. So right. So warm and necessary.
With soft, happy sounds, he settled against Satta's warmth, his brother curled with him. Satta wrapped
them together in the furs and his arms and his heart. Warm and safe, out of the weather and harm's way.
The best thing about their cave was that they were all in it.
* * * *
Satta walked into the warrior's circle, naked and alone.
He faced them, his judges, his kin, his friends and enemies.
His executioners.
Kirin had warned him, his sister whispering the news that, despite the protest of the Tribe's ba'chi, the
warriors had decided that his ki'ita were to be separated, torn apart. So, with her help, he had packed his
ba'chi away, Du'el strong and sure when So'el had faltered.
His strong, sweet boys.
He should never have returned; he should listened to the whispers of the mountains and hidden his ba'chi
away. But he had wanted to share his joy with his people, had believed he could convince them the winds
blew true.
Now his ki'ita were gone. His mi'it was gone. His furs and his bowl, his flint, his skins—all gone. His Heart
and his Home were gone, hidden safe, deep within the forests, his rahat held between them. He had spent
the day preparing beside the river, washing himself in his sisters’ tears.
Now, as the sun set, Satta stood alone.
The Ancient One, the oldest of the ba'chi, stood, tears upon his cheeks. “You present yourself for
judgment?” That voice held years of sorrow.
"I do."
"Do you understand that your honor is at risk? Your life forfeit?"
He nodded. “I do."
"Will you renounce the bond you have claimed?"
"I will not."
"Will you deliver the ba'chi into our hands for trial?"
"I will not.” He was hi'icha. If only for one night longer, he was their hi'icha and he would not betray them.
A voice came from the Warriors—the Clan Leader, powerful and strong, a man at his prime.
"You have denied the winds their will, Satta.” H'rit's voice was ice and rain, bitter and without hope. “You
have dishonored your family, your ancestors, your name. Your life is forfeit, your honor lost."
He met those brown eyes, lifted his chin. “I have denied the winds nothing. They brought this hi'icha his
ba'chi, and I cared for them. I provided. I loved. You have turned a deaf ear to the winds themselves,
attempted to destroy what they created. I have committed no sin barring defending my ki'ita from those
who would harm them."
"You have no ki'ita, Outcast. You have no ki'ita. No tribe. No name. No honor.” There was pride in that
face, pleasure as the ba'chi mourned. “Take his braids."
Satta stood silent as his hair was torn from him, ripped and sliced and yanked away, blood stinging his eyes
as he felt the winds slide over his scalp, mourning their lost defender, his lost pride.
One by one his memories, his ancestors, his past dropped into the fire, destroyed. All but two.
H'rit's voice snapped. “Where are the braids for your ki'ita?"
He smiled. They were tied snug around the wrists of those they belonged to. “They were never yours to
take. Or to give."
If he did not live until morning, he would die as a man.
The women cried as they slit his face from eye to chin, his chest from shoulder to nipple, his hand so he
could not hunt. He never moved, never groaned. His Heart was safe; his Home secure. The rest was
nothing.
The blade flashed down towards the dark turtle, inked into his belly, when the Ancient One barked and
crawled over to him, fury and agony written upon the lined face. “You will not. The mark was given to him
by me when he was a child. You will not touch it. He has suffered enough. Let him go."
H'irit growled, raised the knife and suddenly it flew, Ancient Goru's hi'icha growling low, eyes flashing.
“Enough. My ki'ita has spoken. Let him go."
Goru's eyes shone for him, tears splashing hot and salty. “Go, Satta. The winds know who their sons are.
Go, find your ki'ita and live."
Satta turned and walked away from the fire, away from the Tribe, and into the forest, blind with pain and
sorrow.
Go. Go, find his ki'ita and live.
* * * *
Du’ glared at his brother.
"You help me find more wood and stones to turn into peaches and then you help me turn them into
peaches."
"Why?"
"Because peaches are Satta's favorite and he will be cold and tired and hungry."
So'el glared at him. “Don't you understand, Du'? They are going to kill him. He isn't coming for us."
He pushed So’ over. “Is too!"
"Is not."
"Is too.” He didn't care if So'el looked like he was going to start crying, Satta was coming for them. He
was.
"Not."
"Too."
Something in the forest made noise and he and So’ froze and then moved together, nearer the small fire.
Du’ raised Satta's rahat, the knife feeling huge in his hands.
"Hush, ki'ita. You will lead people to you with your noise.” The voice was low, broken, too rough and
hoarse to be right, but too familiar to be wrong.
"Satta!” Their voices spoke as one again for the first time since their ki'ita had sent them away and they
flung themselves at Satta as he appeared on the other side of the fire.
"Stop.” The order was rough, full of pain and tears. Satta stayed outside the light, stayed in the shadows.
“I ... you should not see me. I ... Please. Do not look at me."
So’ whimpered, seeming to crumble, but not him. Du'el stood as tall as he could and put his hand on his
hips.
"We are your ki'ita. If you really do not want us to look at you we will cover our eyes, but you cannot deny
us our need."
Their Turtle faltered, stumbled and went crashing to his knees. “I can deny you nothing."
He grabbed So's hand and together they went to Satta.
This time his cry echoed his brother's as they drew close. What had those terrible people done to their
Satta?
Their Turtle was bald and cut, dried blood mixing with dirt and sweat on the muscled body. Bending, he
kissed Satta's head while So’ kissed the cut cheeks.
Satta gave a soft, broken cry, tears sliding down the bloody face. “I swore I would return to you. Will you
have me, even now?"
"Your hair will grow back, Satta,” he told their Turtle, hands sliding under one arm, trying to get Satta up.
"The cuts will heal,” said So', doing the same on the other side.
"Please,” said Du'. “We just want our Turtle."
"Our ki'ita,” added So'.
"Our hi'icha."
"Our Satta."
"Ours,” they finished together.
"Yours. I would not betray my ki'ita. I could not.” Satta found his feet, swaying, skin hot under their touch.
“Where am I going, Du'? So'?"
"To our furs,” they told him together, leading him around to the bedding and helping him down.
"What is wrong?” So’ asked, face pale.
Du’ shook his head. “I don't know. We have to clean him. And then we have to claim him."
So’ nodded and they moved about, fetching the bowl and pouring some water into it. They each took a
cloth and began to clean Satta's wounds.
So’ was crying quietly, but Du’ scrubbed at his face, refusing to cry. Their Turtle needed them to be strong
now. Even if they had never been strong in their lives before.
Satta's eyes were closed, the tears leaking out. Quiet and still, their Turtle looked weak, lost. Still Du’
reminded himself, Satta had come for them. Had found them. Had been strong enough to hear their call.
He looked at So’ and began to sing, soft songs they used to sing to each other when they were scared.
So's voice joined his, singing words of love and hope and comfort as they washed the dirt as gently as they
could from Satta's wounds.
He couldn't believe what those monsters had done. Their Turtle had deep cuts in his cheeks, across his
chest, and a large wound in his hand. The beautiful copper hair with its braids was gone; it looked as it if it
had been torn out by the roots in most places.
His voice almost faltered, but he kept singing, drawing strength from the winds that blew softly through
their camp.
Satta's warm brown eyes opened, looked at them. “So beautiful. So lovely. My ki'ita."
"Oh yes, Satta, yours."
Du’ nodded at So'el's words. It was true. From the moment they had first met their Turtle, they had
belonged to him as surely as they did to each other.
"I am sorry. Forgive me? Please.” Satta's whole hand stroked over his cheek, So'el's hair, caressing them
with a feather-light touch.
"For what?” he asked.
"For letting them do this to you and sending us away,” So’ said. “Yes, Satta, we forgive you."
Satta shook his head, tried to smile. “For bringing you into danger. I had to send you away, even as it
broke my heart, So'el. I had to protect my ki'ita, my Heart and my Home."
"And what of our ki'ita?” asked So'el, shaking hand stroking the bald head. “Who protected him?"
"Sh,” Du’ admonished his brother. “He came back to us. He is alive.” Du'el kissed his brother quiet and then
covered Satta's lips and kissed him, too.
"We love you.” He spoke the words into Satta's mouth.
"Love you.” Those slow tears started again, their Satta trembling, aching.
Whimpering, he began to lick Satta's tears away, the taste bitter and unfamiliar. So’ copied him, cleaning
the salty liquid from the other side of Satta's face.
"Where does it hurt? Tell us how to help."
Satta shifted, then opened his eyes. “I need you to bind my hand, Du', to put the salve on my wounds so
they do not seep. So', make the tea I made when Du’ had the bad fall, remember? We...” He took a deep
breath and nodded. “We are our own tribe now and we must make a home."
He looked down at Satta with surprise. “But you have always been our home, Satta and we have always
been yours."
"Yes.” Satta nodded. “That is what the tribe could not see. The winds have spoken; have brought me home
and heart."
"Silly tribe,” said Du’ as he went to their supplies and found the salve and a shirt to use for the binding.
“We didn't like them. They looked at us funny."
"And they smelled bad,” added So’ as he began to make the tea.
"Smelly, nasty tribe."
"We ... we can never live amongst a tribe again, ki'ita. They ... they will kill me if they see my dishonor."
"Kill you!” exclaimed So'.
Du’ grabbed up Satta's rahat again. “They will have to kill us first, Satta."
"We don't need them anyway,” added So'. “We don't want
them. Just our Turtle."
"No!” Satta struggled to sit, shaking his head. “No. If they find us ... if
any of them find us, you will run.
You will get on Malik together and run. Swear it to me."
Du’ shook his head, So’ right beside him. “Only if you go with us."
"Ki'ita ... I have sworn to protect you."
He looked at his brother who nodded and they turned back to Satta. “And we swear to protect you."
"So’ ... Du’ ... Please, ki'ita. I love you. I could not bear your pain."
"And we could not bear to lose you, Satta.” So's eyes were full of tears as he stroked Satta's cheek. “Your
pain hurts us as well. Please, we all run together, no more separation."
Satta was quiet for a long moment, then nodded, nuzzling into So's touch. “We will go deep into the
mountains and find a place that is only ours. We will go together."
They flung themselves at Satta and Du’ knew that his brother shared his own relief. They would not lose
their Turtle and they would not be separated from him again.
They eased Satta back onto the furs and then continued with salving and wrapping and tea-making, So’
chittering, telling Satta about waiting in the forest without him and the animals they'd seen and the
peaches they'd found.
There hadn't really been a peach tree, but So’ was good with words that even Du’ found himself licking his
lips in anticipation.
He quickly found a few rocks and together with So’ they turned them into peaches, offering them shyly to
their Turtle, to ease his hurt.
"Oh ... ki'ita. My favorite. Thank you.” Those cracked lips opened and ate, one slice after another from his
fingers as So’ stroked the poor, bald head.
When the tea was ready, Du’ filled the wooden cup with it and he and So’ curled on either side of their
Turtle, stroking his skin as he drank.
"I miss my braids, my honor.” Satta drank the tea, humming at the flavor of the honey liberally poured in.
“The sun will never look upon me with favor again."
"I will be your sun,” So’ told him. “And Du’ will be your moon."
He nodded. He would be—he would be anything that Satta needed him to be.
"And they cannot take your honor,” continued So'. His brother was smart, knew these things and how to
say them. “You listen to the winds and do what they ask, no matter the cost to yourself—how can there be
dishonor in that?"
Du’ looked up into Satta's face. “Is it wrong to love us, Satta?"
"There has never been anything so right, my ki'ita. The winds do not lie.” Satta's voice was sure, firm,
ringing with belief.
"Your braids will grow back, ki'ita, and the winds know your honor.” So's voice was as sure as Satta's, and
Du’ nuzzled happily against Satta's side, happy to have two such smart and brave ki'ita.
"I love you, my ki'ita.” Satta's eyes closed and their Turtle began to relax. “Stay with me. I have been lost."
"We're here,” Du’ told him.
"Together we're found,” added So'.
"Yes. Together. I love you.” Satta held his hand, the tension in the large body easing.
"I love you,” he and So’ answered together.
He held onto Satta's hand long into the night, his twin snuggled in on the other side of their ki'ita.
He couldn't understand why anyone would want to hurt their Turtle, Satta was such a good, kind man.
Stupid tribes.
He wouldn't let it happen again. Nobody was ever going to make his Turtle cry again.
Ever.
* * * *
They were headed north, pushing deep into the forest. Satta wanted to make the mountain before the
snows closed the way.
At first Satta had insisted that he and Du'el ride, but they had finally convinced him they could run faster
than he could walk and it made more sense for them all to walk and Malik to carry their packs.
They gathered nuts and root fruits as they went, Satta using his left hand to hunt, bringing in small rabbits
and fish.
The scars were still ugly, but Satta's hair had begun to grow in again, the short fuzz ticklish against his and
Du's skin.
And they could make Satta smile now. Maybe not a lot and maybe not very wide, but they could do it and
they made sure to do it as often as they could.
He couldn't understand why Satta's tribe would want to do this to him and So’ figured that it was just as
well they wouldn't be living with that tribe because he could just not live with people who would hurt their
own family like they had hurt Satta.
Thinking about it made him hurt, the separation, the pain Satta had gone through and he turned to their
ki'ita. “Love us, Satta?"
It didn't matter that they were walking, that there was still daylight, he needed—they needed—to touch
and love and be together.
Du’ came to his side. “Yes, Satta. Love us."
Satta looked like he was going to disagree and then stopped, going to his knees and holding out his arms.
“Ki'ita."
They moved into his arms, holding him tight. “We're together, yes, Satta?"
"Yes, So'. Yes, Du'. Together.” Satta gathered them close, mouth sliding over his lips, then Du's.
He rubbed against Satta, hands sliding beneath the doeskin vest, pulling it away from their ki'ita's body
while Du’ worked on the breeches that hid the thick cock from them. Satta's hand just cradled them, licking
and nuzzling them, holding them next to that strength and warmth.
He and Du’ turned to each other next, fingers working off clothes quickly. Loving worked much better with
skin.
Then they all rubbed together, he and Du’ making happy little noises. Satta's noises were softer, low and
deep. Strong. Warm. The soft stubble tickled his shoulder as Satta sucked a mark to life against Du's skin.
He bit back his whimper, hands going to caress the stubbly head. The beautiful hair would grow back, but
would their Turtle's spirit?
It would, he and Du’ would see to it, they would not lose their Turtle to that nasty tribe.
Bending over Satta, he kissed the back of Satta's neck, slowly licking and kissing his way down the long
spine. Satta's lips found his skin next, pulling and sucking, marking him, tasting him. Loving him.
"So good, our Turtle,” he murmured, touching everywhere he could reach.
Now and then his hands met his brother's and their fingers would slide together over Satta's belly, or inside
his thighs. Satta touched them, one hand clumsy, the other clever, both touches careful and loving.
He and Du’ tugged until Satta lay on the ground with them and then Du’ began to suck Satta's cock while
he spread the beautiful buttocks and began to lick at his Turtle's entrance. Satta tasted so good, so right
beneath his tongue.
"Oh ... Oh, my ki'ita...” The sorrow was melting from that voice, hunger and wanting taking its place.
“Please. Winds. I love you."
So’ pushed his tongue into Satta's body, sliding it in and out as he rubbed his hard shaft against the solid
muscles of Satta's legs. He could feel the strong pulls of Du's mouth on Satta's cock, knew his brother was
working as hard as he was to bring their ki'ita much pleasure.
Satta began to move between them, shuddering and calling out his pleasure to the woods, strong hips
pistoning. So’ reached for Du', his brother's hand meeting him halfway, their fingers joining against Satta's
thigh as they worked to make their ki'ita fly.
"My Heart! My Home!” The words were released on a sob, Satta's body jerking and convulsing, cock pulsing
into Du's mouth.
He squeezed Du's hand and Satta's thigh, and cried out against the skin of Satta's buttocks as his own
pleasure sprayed from him. He felt his brother convulse, knew that a matching heat had sprayed against
the front of Satta's legs.
"My ki'ita. So good to me. Love you."
He and Du’ pressed as close as they could. “Love you, our Turtle,” he murmured.
"Forever, Satta,” added Du'.
Satta gathered them in those strong arms, holding them both. “Until the end of time, my ki'ita. As it should
be."
He nodded and kissed Satta and Du’ together.
As it should be.
* * * *
Satta had found the place, their place.
He had been hunting and tracking and the stag had led him through the woods and into a clearing. There
was a waterfall crashing into a pool, the stream wide and strong as it continued down the mountain. The
trees protected two sides, the mountain a third. The first spring flowers where bobbing and blooming,
bringing yellow and pink and purple into the sunlight.
Best of all there was an old, deserted frame of a building, many logs missing, but many strong and sturdy.
He could repair it and make a home for his ki'ita, somewhere warm and safe and whole.
Now to take his Heart and Home there, to get their approval. “Du', So'? Ki'ita! I have somewhere to show
you!"
His sweet ki'ita bounded over to him, always so full of energy. Two pairs of arms wrapped around him, the
lads pressing close as they laughed and pressed sweet kisses on him.
Satta laughed, enjoying the kisses, the joy, the love that led him out of the darkness. “Oh, my lovely Ones!"
"What do you want to show us?” So'el asked him, eyes bright and happy, looking on him with such love.
"You have to come and see,” he teased, leaning in to rub their noses together. “Let's pack the camp away."
The two of them kissed him again and then bounded about, arguing and tussling with each other as they
helped to pack up. Satta moved slowly, only listening with half an ear, one hand untangling, untwisting,
separating and kissing hard when tempers flared.
It took them a long time to pack up the camp, but they had no stresses on them, no need to hurry, except
to be able to set up at least the fire and their furs again before nightfall. At last they were done, So'el and
Du'el sitting side by side on a rock, looking expectantly at him.
He beamed at them, excited for the first time in far too long. Satta held out his hands to them. “Come,
ki'ita. Let us go."
They each took one of his hands, So’ grabbing Malik's reins and pulling the horse along behind him.
"Where are we going, Satta?” So’ asked, Du’ nodding.
"I was tracking a stag and he led me to a clearing. When I saw it, I knew that my ki'ita needed to see it,
too.” He smiled as they walked, winding through the trees, following the markers he'd left. “There is a pond
and a waterfall and a little cabin that we could fix and flowers. A place to relax, and for Malik to graze."
"You mean like a home of our very own?” So’ asked, bouncing, squeezing his hand in excitement.
"No more packing up and moving, searching for clearings and caves?” Du's voice was hopeful, eager.
Satta nodded. “If you both like it, I think so. It has all we need."
"Wonderful!” Du’ was bouncing now, eager and excited.
"Did
you like it, Satta?” asked So'.
"I did, So', very much. It felt right.” He smiled down at them both, basking in their love. “Here, just over
this rise."
They started to run, tugging him along with them.
As they got to the peak of the hill, the boys stopped, twin gasps filling the air.
"Oh, it's perfect!” said So'.
"Last one in has to unpack Malik!” called out Du', already running down the hill, tossing his clothes as he
went.
So’ laughed and dropped Malik's reins, running after his brother.
Satta laughed as well, bringing Malik along with him, picking up discarded clothes as he went. They liked it.
They both leapt into the water, So’ only seconds behind Du', landing on his brother and pulling Du’ down
into the water. They re-emerged seconds later, near the waterfall, splashing each other, shouting and
laughing. He watched them play, watched their pleasure. They had been so serious, so quiet for so long.
Now they seemed happy again, free.
They stopped suddenly, kissing each other deeply. Then they turned to him, waving for him to join them,
calling his name in their sweet voices.
Satta smiled over, offering his ki'ita a teasing grin. “But I have to find wood, put the tent up ... I have no
time to play...” He had not made the jest since before they had entered the tribe-lands, so many moons
ago.
They squealed at him, rushing suddenly from the water to throw themselves into his arms. He caught them
both, taking first one kiss and then another, hands sliding over slippery, smooth skin.
They had him naked in no time, clever little fingers working off his clothes. Their bodies rubbed against his
own, skin cool except for their shafts which were twin brands against his thighs.
He settled them among his fallen clothes, wrapping his hands around their shafts, stroking as they writhed.
Two hands circled his own shaft, one of Du's and one of So's, the boys licking and kissing their way down
to his nipples, sucking them into such warm mouths. His cries filled the clearing, echoing, send a flock of
golden-winged birds soaring towards the sun.
They moved together, bodies writhing, his boys sliding sweetly against him. His grip tightened, needing his
ki'ita to bless their home with him, to make this place theirs.
"Satta!” Their cries came together, as did the heat that splashed against his thighs.
"Ki'ita...” The scent and heat called his own pleasure from him, seed pulsing over combined fingers.
They continued to touch him, hands soft and gentle, spreading his seed on his and each other's bellies,
mouth sliding against his skin.
"I love you, ki'ita.” His whisper was broken, but happy. “Is this home?"
"Oh, our Turtle,” said So'. “
You are our home."
Du’ nodded, kissing him softly, a warm smile on his face.
"But this place looks like a good place to live."
He nodded, feeling whole. He would provide and the winds would provide.
So'el and Du'el laughed, bounding up and tugging him up, pulling him toward the water. And his ki'ita
would provide laughter and joy for them all.
* * * *
So'el gathered more twigs, carrying them to the huge woodpile at the back of their new cabin. All summer
Satta had worked to make the building ready for the cold and snows. All summer he and Du'el had played
and teased and taken their Turtle away from his work whenever they could. But as the first leaves turned,
Satta had insisted that they work. All of them.
He had Du’ had gathered nuts and fruits and roots they could eat. Satta had taught them how to run the
trap line and bring home the small animals that were caught. Satta cleaned them and salted them and
cooked them and added them to the many foods that were in the small shed Satta'd built next to the
cabin.
And wood!
Satta had cut so much, made them stack it, made them gather these stupid little twigs.
The closer the snows came, the harder it was to distract their Turtle, to convince him to love and play. He
and Du'el loved each other and played in between working. And he loved his twin, very much, but it wasn't
the same.
He threw his twigs in the pile and caught Du'el's eye, nodding back at Satta and wagging his eyebrows. Du’
clapped his hand over his mouth, eyes dancing. Du’ nodded and bounced toward their Turtle. He followed
quickly and together they tackled Satta as he worked on a shelter for Malik.
Satta stumbled forward, making a shocked sound that made him giggle. “Ki'ita? Are you...” Their Turtle
turned and twisted, trying to look at them. “Are you well?"
Their Turtle's poor head was covered in shining curls, wounds healed to deep red scars.
He moved around, arms looping up around their ki'ita's neck. “We need, Satta!"
Du’ nodded, too, still hanging onto Satta's back.
He got a warm, fond look and a soft, quick kiss. “And the mi'it needs his home before the snows come, my
tempting Ones."
He looked at the small shelter. The roof was already finished, the walls half done. “The snows are still days
away—we are right here!” He rubbed against Satta, proving his need.
"Right here?” Satta blinked, looking playfully up into the sky. “Where? Where are my poor, overworked
Heart and Home? Where are my beloved boys?"
He and Du’ laughed. Oh, it was so good to hear their Turtle make jokes and be happy.
"Here!” he shouted, rubbing harder.
"Right here,” added Du'el.
One of Satta's hands cupped his buttocks, drawing him closer. “Hello, So'. Shall we tempt your other half
around so I can taste him, too?"
He nodded, grinning as Du’ wriggled around, hardly letting go of Satta at all as he did.
"All yours,” he told Satta, raising his head along with Du's as they searched for their Turtle's kiss.
"All mine. Hello, Du'.” Satta drew them in for a kiss, playing and teasing, tongue sliding over their lips.
Giggling and laughing and licking back, they clung to him. Oh, it felt like it had been days and days since
they'd tasted their Turtle, since he'd found pleasure with them.
He grabbed one hand and Du’ grabbed the other and they pulled, tugging Satta out to the soft grasses that
were outside the front of the cabin.
"Are we going to gather more wood, ki'ita?” Those brown eyes were dancing, hands holding tight.
"Oh, yes, Satta. There are two logs right here. Maybe even three!” He and Du’ laughed and pulled Satta
down onto the ground with them.
Satta nuzzled at his throat, then at Du's, soft growls filling the air. “Three logs, So'? Are they big? Will they
last?"
"One is
huge,” Du’ answered.
"But they do not last,” he added. “But they come back again later. Again and again."
He and Du’ giggled some more, their laughter growing husky as Satta touched them.
"Mmm ... I must have these logs, ki'ita, must see this magic for myself.” Satta stripped their clothes away,
leaving them bare under that heated gaze and touch.
Their hands were no less busy, pulling away Satta's breeches—his only covering until the snows came.
Satta bent down, lips and tongue sliding over Du's belly, hand wrapping around his shaft and rubbing. They
cried out together, four hands moving over Satta's skin. So good. Their Turtle's touch was so good. Satta's
purrs and growls made him ache and they filled the air, hot as they slid from Du's skin to his.
He wanted to touch Satta, to taste and love and drive their Turtle to distraction, but it had been so long
and he needed so and he just touched where he could, rubbing his body up against Satta, begging softly.
Beside him, Du'el did the same, adding his voice to their pleas.
Satta chuckled, hands working both of them now, lips and tongue teasing and touching. “I have found two
logs, ki'ita, hard and fine..."
He would have laughed, but he was too busy moaning, too busy undulating and writhing within Satta's
arms. Wet heat covered the tip of his shaft, sucking for a heartbeat, then disappearing as Du’ cried out.
He wriggled, shifting until he was lying with his head beneath Satta's body, mouth licking at the large shaft.
Du’ soon followed and together they licked and sucked their Turtle. Satta's hungry cry vibrated his shaft,
Satta taking him deep and sucking hard.
He could feel his twin's shaft sliding along his own, nudging at Satta's lips, wanting in. Impatient and
greedy Du'el! He stopped licking Satta's shaft long enough to stick his tongue out at his twin.
"My sweet, hungry ki'ita.” The growl was low, rich, tickling, and then Satta took them together, hot mouth
sliding along their shafts squeezing them together.
Du'el stuck his tongue out, too, but it felt so good, together like that and he leaned and Du’ leaned and
they were kissing, humping up into their Turtle's mouth, hands sliding over each other's bodies, pinching
nipples and stroking bellies.
Satta just kept loving them, rumbling and purring above them, lips and tongue never stopping against their
need. It was so good, Satta's mouth around them both, Du'el's mouth on his, their hands touching each
other, touching Satta. So good.
The tip of one of Satta's fingers slid against the sensitive skin behind his sacs, sliding down to press against
his opening, circling and pushing in time with the pulls of that hungry mouth.
He shouted into Du's mouth, body shaking as he came.
So’ heard Du's cry answer his, Satta swallowing around them both.
Oh, their Turtle was so good to them.
He stroked Satta's belly while he kissed Du’ hard and then with a grin and a giggle went back to licking the
thick shaft bobbing in their faces. Satta shivered for them, face nuzzling their bellies, nipping and kissing
and purring softly.
He and Du’ took their time now, exploring Satta's shaft and his sacs, the soft skin beyond. He let Du’ take
Satta's shaft and he wriggled some, moving out from under their Turtle to lick at the small, tight hole.
"Ki'ita!” Satta's muscles rippled, head thrown back as that plea bounced through the trees.
"Oh, Satta—let me have you?” he begged, licking again and pushing his tongue inside, making Satta wet.
"Anything, ki'ita. Please...” Satta whimpered, rocking back into his tongue then into Du's mouth.
Once Satta was really wet from his tongue, he moved, kneeling behind their Turtle, pressing his shaft
against the small hole, just like he and Du’ did with each other. Those thick thighs parted for him, Satta's
groan muffled against Du's belly.
"Oh, Du'! So hot. So tight. Satta!” So’ started to babble as he pushed into Satta, thrusting. So good. So
very good.
He could see those strong muscles ripple, feel an echo around his shaft, Satta moving for him, around him.
Du’ was sucking their Turtle, Satta sucking Du', while he thrust and thrust and it was a circle of pleasure
and so good. He ran his hands along Satta's back, loving the hot, sweat-slick skin of their Turtle.
Satta started to rock faster, a dark flush covering those thick thighs. Their Turtle's hands were fists, dug
into their discarded clothes. So strong and fiercely beautiful. And all theirs. He pushed harder, crying out as
he got close.
He heard Satta's broken cry, felt the muscles around him clamp down until it was near unbearable, milking
him. His own seed pushed into Satta's body and it felt like lightning going through him—so much pleasure.
With a half sob, he fell over Satta's back, nuzzling his cheek against the warm skin. Satta waited until Du’
slid over before easing them to the ground with a low moan.
They climbed on him, only fighting a little for the best spot.
Satta rumbled softly, settling them both without a word.
He kissed his twin and then kissed Satta and lay, happy and content, safe within their Turtle's arms.
Sooner or later, and probably sooner, Satta would make them get back to work, but for now ... for now
they were remembering why they were doing it all in the first place.
* * * *
Du'el sat at the window looking out at the snow. He and Su’ used to live in a house like this. Small and
closed in, keeping out the cold, but keeping out the breeze and the freshness, too.
That life seemed so long ago.
After Grandmam had died it had been just he and So', wandering, looking, even if they didn't know they
were looking. Then Satta had found them and for so long it was the three of them, wandering through the
forests.
Even after Satta had been hurt they wandered, spending their first winter in caves that were open, wild,
free.
He supposed the cabin was nice. Certainly their Turtle had worked hard to make sure they were warm,
sheltered, safe. Still...
He sighed and looked out at the snow.
Warm, gentle, callused hands fell on his shoulders. “Is my ki'ita well?” Those hands began rubbing, petting
him, loving him.
He leaned back against Satta, melancholy dissipating at the much loved touch. “Yes, Satta. I was missing
you.” It was true, he just hadn't known it.
So’ laughed, sliding next to him and nuzzling his neck. “Satta's been here all along, Du'—all you had to do
was
look."
He glared at his brother. Sometimes So’ just didn't understand.
Satta clucked and lifted him, wrapping him in warm arms and hugging him tight. “My Home. How I love
you."
He wrapped his hands around Satta's neck, hugging tightly. “I love you, too, Satta.” He looked into the
brown eyes and smiled.
"Me too,” added So'. “I love you, too, Du’ and you, Satta."
Satta gave him a warm smile, eyes twinkling, and then opened an arm to So'. “I am missing my Heart,
So'el. Come to me."
So’ wrapped his arms around Satta's neck, too and Du’ leaned forward to share a kiss with his twin. They
shared in this as in all things.
Satta moved them toward the fire, towards Satta's big chair with the fur pillows. They settled together,
snuggling and warm. His cheek rested on Satta's shoulder, So’ a little lower down.
Oh, this was nice, to be all cuddled together, warm and safe and happy, right. He nuzzled into Satta's neck,
licking and kissing, while his hand found So'el, petting.
Satta purred for them, roaming hands keeping the restlessness away. “My good ki'ita. Come spring we will
go to the pond and swim, run among the grasses."
"No more building?” he asked hopefully.
"No more wandering?” asked So'el. “Just you and Du’ and me and loving each other?"
"Only if there if something we wish to build, somewhere we wish to wander, ki'ita.” Satta looked relaxed,
happy, at peace in a way they had not seen in seasons. “Perhaps only to the far pastures to find Malik a
mate, so that there might be babies and mi'it for my So’ and my Du'."
"Oh!” So’ and he bounced and clapped their hands. “What fun!” said his twin. He nodded and kissed Satta,
delighted at the thought. It would make their Turtle so happy to have more mi'it.
"Yes. We should trap some chickens and geese for eggs, and goats, for our cream.” Satta nodded. “We will
do well and have a fine home.” They got a wicked wink. “Where our days can be my Heart and my Home
and me and loving each other for all time."
"Oh yes! That sounds good,” shouted So', kissing Satta, too.
He and his brother pushed into the kiss together. He could taste So’ and Satta and the sweet honey they
had eaten on bread earlier. Satta's laugh tasted sweet, swelling in his lips and in his heart.
He pulled at Satta's tunic, his breeches, So’ helping him make their Turtle naked. There was so much
wonderful, warm skin to explore, so different from his and So's.
"Hungry ki'ita!” Satta purred and rumbled for them, curls soft and silken on his palms.
"Starving for you, Satta,” said So'.
"Always,” he added.
He and his twin leaned forward together, each taking one of Satta's nipples in their mouths and sucking.
He rubbed his growing shaft against Satta's warm leg, his brother a mirror beside him.
"Ki'ita! I love you!” A hot hand cupped him, drew him closer, Satta hot beneath him.
He scrambled out of his tunic and pants, So’ doing the same beside him. Oh! Naked. Skin on skin. So much
more.
Satta wrapped them both close again, purring, hands wrapped around them. “My ki'ita. So good. How I
want you."
"Yes, Satta, we want you, too."
He nodded, So’ expressing his own wants perfectly.
Brown eyes smiled at him, warm and rich, seeing him. “I love you.” Then those eyes turned to So'. “I love
you."
"I love you, too.” They spoke in unison and then turned to each other, laughing and repeating the words.
He loved his brother so much, always had and now Satta, too. Satta would say they were blessed by the
winds.
He didn't care what reason, only that they loved and were loved.
Satta's laughter mingled with theirs and then those big hands started tickling. He squirmed, caught
between laughter and moans, each movement to try to evade Satta's tickling fingers, rubbing his shaft
against the thick, hot leg he straddled.
Satta touched and loved them both, lips joining the play as their Turtle rumbled and purred. The sound was
precious and wonderful and moved over his spine, making him shiver. His hand wrapped around Satta's
shaft, finding So's fingers already there.
"Ki'ita...” Satta moved them faster, body shifting beneath them both.
He and So’ returned to their sucking. He was nibbling on Satta's nipple, crying out around it as the feelings
grew and grew.
Satta's hands grew hard, pushing them into that strength again and again. “My Heart! My Home!"
He cried out, heat splashing against Satta's warm skin as he spent himself. Beside him, So’ came as well.
Satta tumbled after them, roaring as the thick cock pulsed, heat sliding over their fingers.
He pushed up into a kiss, his twin joining with him. Then they licked each other's hands clean and curled up
in their Turtle's arms. So good to them, so wonderful. Their Turtle.
The furs were tucked around them, Satta's voice low and deep as he began to sing, telling them a story of
his youth.
Sated and happy, he listened, letting the peace of their Turtle be his own.
End.
The Wind's Will
He hefted his rahat in his hand, looking over at Yusef. Cousins, best friends, almost brothers—Yusef held a
huge place in his heart. Normally he would never consider challenging the warm, laughing, gentle warrior.
He would, right now, defend Yusef's name, Yusef's honor, against anyone who dared mar it.
That was before the ba'chi came.
Long, dark hair, eyes like spring forests, a soft voice—Benik had shuddered, body growing hard at the first
glance of the boy. He'd heard the wind singing inside his heart and run for the mountains. Two seasons
he'd fought the call of the ba'chi and then, after days and days of dreams, he returned.
Ben had spoken to his father, the Elders, and finally to Yusef. It was hard to challenge his friend, but it was
dishonorable to deny the winds.
Semon would be his ki'ita. The winds had promised it.
Yusef looked no happier to be fighting him than Benik felt.
Natik stepped into the circle and raised his own rahat and called the warriors and the winds to witness their
challenge. Yusef stepped forward as soon as Natik stepped out of the circle again, unwilling, but not about
to give up the ba'chi easily.
Their weapons met, again and again, the fight brutal and silent. Only their grunts and the click and spark
of their weapons together colored the air. The crowd held their breath, he could see his father, tall and
proud, watching his oldest son.
There was no doubt inside him about who would end the victor. Ben had never lost a challenge—not since
the day he had woken after the bear had taken his arm. His father's eyes had been devastated, hard.
“Benik, you are no longer a warrior. You can no longer wear your scars."
He had fought then; he fought now.
He asked for no quarter and Yusef gave him none, fighting him with all of the strength his cousin
possessed. It would not be enough, he could see already that Yusef was weakening, blocking each blow
more and more clumsily.
Benik swept Yusef's feet from beneath him, the coppery braids hit the ground before his head slammed
down. As the blue eyes rolled up, Ben touched his rahat to Yusef's throat, looking up at Natik.
Natik alone of the circle did not seem surprised and he nodded and stepped in to the circle. “Victory to
Benik. The challenge is sustained."
The silence of the circle broke into noise.
Ignoring the rejoicing in his heart, Ben hilted his rahat and began to wake his friend, tapping Yusef's
cheeks. “Come now, Yusef. Wake from your sleep."
He now had a long, unsure road to walk. The ba'chi must be courted, cared for, convinced that the song he
heard was true.
Yusef's eyes blinked open and he looked around, groaning. “I lost."
"The winds made their choice, my friend.” Ben helped Yusef upright, holding his shoulder until he settled.
“I am sorry."
"You followed your heart and the winds’ call, but you must still win Semon's heart.” Yusef looked at him
seriously. “He is a sweet boy, Ben, very timid and shy. Don't bully him."
Ben looked back, his heart in his eyes. “I would give my only arm before I caused him pain, my friend."
He would not do anything to harm or frighten Semon. He would simply have to prove that the winds had
sent Semon for him to care for. He knew, Yusef knew, now Semon would know.
"Come on, we'd best go tell the boy. He was very upset about the challenge—worried he'd done something
wrong and was going to be sent away.” Yusef's shoulders set angrily and he growled. “He was made to
believe he was nothing but a burden in his tribe."
"A burden?” He felt an answering growl build within him. How could anyone feel that a ba'chi was anything
less than a blessing? “He is wanted—by you and by me. He should be honored."
"Then let us prove it to him, my friend. Let us show him how much we want him."
Yusef pulled back the flap to his tent and together they went in. “Semon?"
"Yusef?” The soft voice came from the corner, where Semon was curled up around himself, eyes large in
his face.
Ben settled on the ground near the flap of the tent, fighting the urge to go and hold his One, touch him,
ease Semon's pain.
Yusef went over to the boy and crouched in front of him, hand sliding along one olive-skinned cheek. “I lost
the challenge, Semon."
"Oh.” The voice sounded small and lost. “Does that mean you're sending me away now?"
Yusef shook his head. “No. No, Semon I'm not sending you away. What it means is that Benik has the right
to court you now, to try to win your heart."
The large, green eyes turned to him and then back to Yusef. “Don't you want me anymore?” Semon asked
in a whisper.
Yusef's other hand came up so that he was cupping Semon's face, looking into the lovely eyes. “Yes,
Semon, I still want you. I fought as hard as I could to keep you, but Benik is a strong warrior and the
winds were with him. He wants you as well. You must give him a chance, Semon; the winds favor him over
me."
It hurt his heart, to hurt this boy. “Semon, I wish to cause you no pain. I went to the mountains for many
moons, I tried to deny the wind, but you make my heart sing, you fill my dreams.” He moved forward, just
a bit. “Yusef is my friend. I did not want to challenge him."
Semon looked at him again and then back at Yusef. “What do you want me to do?"
"Go with Benik, get to know him, see if your heart sings for him as well. If it does not, I will be waiting for
you."
"Oh ... okay, Yusef.” Semon stood, hands twisted together in front of himself, looking awkward as he came
slowly forward.
Benik got up and smiled, holding out his hand. He tried to catch Semon's eyes.
"Come, my new friend. We can sit and talk, eat latemeal. Then you can either sleep in my tent or return
here. It is your choice, of course."
Semon looked back at Yusef who nodded and gave the boy a small smile. One of Semon's hands reached
out and slipped into his.
He whimpered softly, the touch sending lightning up his arm. Oh, if his One could feel even a breath of this,
then there would be no question, none at all.
"C ... come, Semon. Let me show you my tent."
"Okay,” Semon said softly, eyes huge in the sweet face. The hand in his moved as if to slip away but
instead Semon's fingers curled around his.
Semon didn't look back as they left Yusef's tent.
* * * *
His heart was singing, pounding in his chest. He didn't flinch away from the wide-eyed looks they received
as they walked to his tent, pitched near the edge where he could hear the trees. “We have never spoken
before, but my name is Benik and I come from the same family as Yusef."
"Your hair is redder."
Semon's voice was so soft, like a whisper of wind in the trees.
He chuckled, smiling over with an arched eyebrow. “My hair is redder than almost everything."
"And curly,” said the boy, offering him a shy smile. “I've never seen curls like that before. Everyone in my
tribe had straight hair like mine."
"I am the only person I have ever met with so many curls.” He nodded over, meeting the sweet, green
eyes. “You have amazing eyes, like the forest in spring."
"Oh.” Semon's eyes dropped and then blinked back up at him through the dark lashes.
Ben released Semon's hand only when they reached his tent, opening the flap and encouraging his One to
enter for the first time. His tent was warm, decorated with carvings in stone and wood—marks and animals
and snowflakes and flowers and trees—all done by his own hand.
"This is where I live. You are welcome here."
Semon seemed to fold back in on himself again, shoulders hunching, arms curling in against Semon's front,
as wide eyes took in everything. The green eyes finally returned to him, Semon staring up at him.
"What is the matter? Do you not like the carvings?” Ben frowned, wondering which thing scared his One
and why.
"I ... I might knock them over. I don't want to break anything.” Semon looked down. “Don't be mad—I
won't touch anything and I'll try very hard not to break any of them."
Oh. He reached out and took those nervous hands in his own. “I would not be angry if you broke them.
They are carvings, you are my ba'chi. Come and sit."
He led Semon over to the furs and helped him sit, then reached up for a tree carved from a clear green
stone that hung where the sunlight could kiss it. “I made this for you.” Then he placed it into Semon's
hands.
"Oh...” Semon held it close to himself and ran his hands over the smooth stone, tracing each branch, a
small smile on his face. “Thank you."
The boy looked up. “Is it hard to carve with only one—” Semon's face went red and his eyes dropped. “I'm
sorry."
"For what?” Ben chuckled softly, kneeling before his One. “It is not secret, you know? I have only one arm.
A bear took it seven harvests ago. I have a tool that helps me carve. It looks silly, but it works. One day, if
you like, you can see."
Surely it would not hurt to let his One see, let his One know everything about him.
The green eyes turned up to meet his again, glowing now. “You would let me?” Semon offered him another
smile and one hand reached out, stopping before reaching his shoulder and returned to the boy's lap,
fingers sliding restlessly over the jade tree. “Does it hurt?"
"No, not anymore. Would you like to see?"
Semon nodded, eyes wide and large and curious.
Ben shrugged off his tunic, exposing his chest to his One. His stump and the right side of his chest were
tattooed with multi-colored swirls and spikes, hiding the scars. They were his marks of honor, this ink,
these scars.
"Oh! It's beautiful.” Semon's hand reached out again and the green eyes met his again. This time his One
asked instead of withdrawing. “Can I touch?"
"Please.” He was shuddering deep inside, aching. His body knew this man was made for him, wanted
Semon's touch, kiss, love.
Semon's fingers were gentle, whispering softly along the tattoos, following each swirl, exploring each spike.
"Your skin is so warm,” Semon whispered, eyes fascinated by the ink.
"Your touch is magical, my One.” He leaned toward the soft, gentle hands, ignoring his throbbing cock. “I
have never felt anything so good."
Semon look startled and his hands stuttered and fell away. “My touch?"
"Yes. Your fingers felt good upon my skin.” He looked over. “I did not mean to cause offense, Semon."
Semon shook his head. “Most people don't want me to...” Semon shrugged. “I'm clumsy."
Ben reached out, stroked the smooth cheek. “There was nothing clumsy in the way you touched me."
Semon's cheek heated beneath his fingers, Semon's eyes glowing as he nuzzled into Ben's hand.
"Oh.” Ben's own heartbeat pounded in his ear. “Can you feel it, too? The song between us?"
"You make me feel good, better even than when Yusef kissed me."
The thought of Yusef kissing his One made him burn with jealousy. “Would you allow me to kiss you?"
Semon blinked up at him and nodded slowly.
He leaned forward, brushing the silky, dark hair away from his One's face. He touched his lips against
Semon, light and gentle. He would not hurt Semon, not for anything. Semon's mouth opened on a soft
gasp, his One's breath warm and sweet against his lips. Ben let his tongue touch just inside, brushing and
tasting for just a moment before he backed away, body shaking.
"Oh!” Semon's eyes were wide. Trembling fingers rose up and Semon touched his own mouth before
reaching out and tracing Ben's lips. “Oh."
He kissed the gentle fingers. “Are you well, my One? Did it feel good?"
Semon gave him a smile that lit the whole face up, made him shine. “Oh yes. It felt even better than when
Yusef kissed me."
Ben grinned, stroking the soft hair at his One's temple. “Would you like to try it again?'
"You want to do it again?” Semon looked happy about that. “Yusef only kissed me once, I don't think I did
it right, he didn't kiss me again."
"I want to kiss you for the rest of our lives, my One."
"Benik...” Semon stepped closer, head tilting up. “Show me..."
"Oh ... Oh yes.” He let his hand curl around Semon's head, tongue teasing the warm lips apart to share a
sweet, soft, just-hungry kiss. Oh, his One tasted like magic, like hope, like everything he'd ever hungered
for.
'Don't stop.’ The words, or feelings that meant that, suddenly pushed into his head.
Semon gasped and pulled away, looking stricken. “I'm sorry!"
"Sorry? I heard you, my One! Inside my head.” Ben grinned, honored and overjoyed. His One could talk to
him inside his head! “It was magic!"
"I'm not supposed to—the elders said I wasn't to do it without permission. Don't send me back, please! I
didn't mean to invade your mind, I didn't!” Semon looked as if he was about to cry, backing away until he
hit one of the walls, knocking a carving to the ground. He froze, looking miserable.
Ben sat down on the furs, holding out his arm. “My One? Please come sit with me?"
When Semon sat, Ben pulled him into a gentle hug. “I will never send you away, Semon, and you may
speak to me as you will, with your mind, your mouth, your body.” He winked and nudged his One gently,
hoping for a smile.
Semon didn't smile, but the look of panic faded. “Why do you call me your One?"
Benik looked down and then up at Semon. “I wish to be your ki'ita, your Guardian, your hi'icha. The winds
have told me you are my ba'chi, my ki'ita, my One. In my heart, I have called you my One for moons."
This time Semon did smile. “You want me—I'm not a burden to you."
"I fought for you. I dreamed of you. I want you, my One, forever.” He nodded, smiling back.
'Kiss me’ The words were in his head again, Semon's eyes glowing, the yellow flecks bright.
"Yes.” He leaned forward and brought their lips together with a moan, tongue pressing into the sweet,
softness of his One's mouth, beginning to explore.
Semon trembled hard, eyes large and full of wonder and need. His One's hands found his shoulders,
holding on as that wonder was sent to his mind, not words, but feelings of amazement and pleasure and
disbelief that anything could feel this good.
Oh, it felt so right, his One inside his mind, touching him so deeply. Ben deepened the kiss, growling softly
as the early-morning flavor of Semon filled him.
Semon's hands were clutching now, and he filled Ben's mind with the sense of overwhelming pleasure, of
loss of control, as if riding a river that was moving too fast.
He brought his body close, letting Semon feel his own hunger, his own hardness and heat. He wanted
Semon to know how much his One excited him, how desirable and wonderful and wanted his One was.
Semon whimpered and shook, eyes closing, and the sensations in his head became jumbled as Semon
pressed closer. Oh, this was his One's pleasure, his One's need. Oh, winds, nothing,
nothing had ever felt
so beautiful, so right. Nothing.
His hips rocked gently against Semon's, his body unable to resist such temptation.
Crying out, Semon jerked against him, filling his head with mindless pleasure as Semon came.
His own orgasm was a distant afterthought, Ben was so fascinated with the flavors and feelings of Semon
as they rang inside him. He gentled their kiss, moving his lips over his One's face. “So lovely. So very
good."
"I could feel your pleasure! In my mind, beside my own. Oh, Ben...” Semon's arms wrapped around his
neck and his One pressed closer, head resting against Ben's shoulder.
His hand stroked over his Semon's back, joy and pleasure and an overwhelming sense of completion
swelling inside him. He had waited and wanted and needed this man next to him for so long and now ... oh
winds, now his One was home!
"You're never going to send me away are you?” There was a sense of wonderment in Semon's voice.
"It will
never happen, my One. You belong with me."
Semon nodded and pushed himself closer, legs curling around Ben's back, a feeling of contentment sliding
gently into Ben's mind.
"Yusef was very nice and patient and made me feel good, but it wasn't like this, Ben."
"Yes. Yusef is a good man, a great warrior, but he is not your ki'ita.” Ben nuzzled along the sweet jaw,
learning the flavors of his One. “The winds made you for me. I am sorry that caused Yusef hurt, but it is
the truth."
"I did not make Yusef happy like I make you happy.” Semon raised his head, tilting it back to encourage
the soft explorations. “He tried not to be frustrated, but I could feel it sometimes that he was.” Semon's
eyes met his, the green happy, almost glazed. “Your thoughts have no unhappiness, no wishes for things to
be different.” A wide smile lit Semon's face. “You want me as I am.
I make you happy."
"All the way through my bones.” He kissed each eyebrow, then his One's forehead, his nose smelling the
sweetness of the soft, dark hair. “I want to know everything about you. I want you to know me. I want to
hold you for the rest of our lives."
He had never been a romantic man before, not given to sweet words or long caresses, but he had never
been so happy before either, so full and overjoyed.
"Your words and your thoughts are the same. And I can see them so clearly, Ben—I don't even have to try
and you are in my mind."
Semon's pleasure and wonder at that, at the whole situation, slid into his mind, matching the sweet smile
on his One's face.
He smiled back, teasing gently. “Does this mean I will be able to convince you to stay a bit longer, perhaps
share a meal with me, maybe even spend a night in my arms?"
"Only one?"
He chuckled, taking a soft, sweet kiss. “The first of thousands, I swear it to you."
"And the pleasure, too?” Semon asked, eyes wide, eager. “That, too?"
"Oh, yes, my One.” He took another kiss, this one longer, deeper, edged with need. “There will always be
pleasure between us."
"You want me again, already.” It wasn't a question, Semon's eyes and voice were sure and he pushed
closer, their shafts rubbing together. The boy made a face. “I'm all sticky."
"Me too.” Ben thought for a second and then nodded. “I have some water and some cloths. We could clean
up and wrap up in the furs. Then, if you'd like, we can have some bread and cheese and learn about one
another. Does that sound good or do you have a better plan?"
Semon smiled at him. “You want to do more than just wrap up in the furs, Ben.” The boy laughed. “And I
like the sound of the plan in your head best."
He blushed and grinned sheepishly. “You mean the plan where I touch every single bit of you until we
come and then do it again? Yes, that is a very good plan."
"Teach me to do all the things you are dreaming of doing with me, Ben. Show me how to make you feel
good."
He waved to his sticky groin. “My One, just having your mind inside me makes me feel good."
Ben stood and moved to the washbasin, pouring a measure of cold water into it before going to pull the
little kettle from the tiny fire that burned inside. The heat of summer was almost faded away. He would
spend the winter making a bigger tent; perhaps Semon would help him.
He smiled happily at the thought of a nice, long winter, his One held tight in the furs, as he poured the hot
water into the basin, warming it.
"Do you really think I could help? I wouldn't just be in the way?” Semon asked the question as if he had
spoken his thoughts out loud.
Ben searched his heart for both the answer to his One's question and to how he felt about the fact that his
thoughts were laid open to another. He could not imagine this lovely, gentle man being in his way. He was
made to love Semon, to care for and provide for his One. Of course they would work together. It was the
way of things.
The idea of his thoughts laid out for his One was a little scary—what if he thought something that hurt the
sweet boy? What if his One learned him and disliked him? The thoughts worried him for a moment and
then he chuckled. Semon was his One. There would be concerns and they would deal with them. They were
meant to be together. This, too, was the way of things.
"Of course you can help, my One. We will work together and build our home."
Semon nodded, but was blushing and looking concerned. “I don't mean to pry, Ben—usually I have to
try
to hear someone's thoughts, but with you ... it is as if being inside your mind is as natural as being inside
my own. I could try not to if you like."
"No. We are learning one another, yes?” Ben brought the basin over, balancing it with his hip. “No one will
know me as you do. No one can. There is a ... a rightness to that. Joy."
Semon's face filled with happiness and he took the basin from Ben, putting it down between them. His
fingers slid shyly to the bottom of his tunic and then suddenly he grinned at Ben and whispered “I want
you to see me, too,” and pulled the tunic off.
Oh, by the winds, his One was lovely.
Smooth and fine and lovely, Semon's chest was almost like a carving in soapstone, but alive. Dark nipples
caught his eyes, then the hollows leading to an indented navel, and then, oh ... just the hint of black curls.
He reached out to touch instinctively, stopping himself as his hand hovered over the warm skin. “May I, my
One? May I feel you?"
The answer that filled his mind was so much more than yes, it was please and want and need and don't
make me wait.
When his touch slid over the flat stomach, his moan filled the air, twining with Semon's.
He could feel Semon's breath quicken, his One's muscles moving against his hand. Semon was trembling,
fingers working on the ties of his own leggings. ‘All of me is yours.'
"Yes, Semon. You are mine.” He leaned forward to lick quickly at a dark nipple, happiness bubbling inside
him. “As I am yours."
Semon gasped, a spike of pleasure sounding inside Ben's head. His One's hands finished with the laces and
Semon's breeches slipped over his hips to land around his feet and Ben could feel the pleasure and shyness
mixing together, his One worried he would not please, but excited to be sharing this with Ben. Semon
wanted to please him.
And please him Semon did. The ebony curls crowned a sweet cock, long and thin, curving up to rest
against his One's stomach, with tight sacs hanging below. Perfectly formed thighs and calves and fine, long
feet completed the beautiful man. Ben wanted to learn everything about his One—the taste of those inner
thighs, whether knees or feet were ticklish, the flavor of that sweet, hard shaft.
The feelings that flooded into him were a resounding positive, his One intrigued and eager and wanting to
share everything they could. Even just his thoughts made Semon's cock jerk. Semon's hands were soft and
trembling, but still sure as they began to tug at Ben's leggings.
He helped, tugging the knotted string from the loop and lifting his hip, letting Semon pull them off and
away, letting Semon see him.
Ben had not lied when he said he was not a beautiful man. He was short, only a bit taller than his One,
stocky and thick, with bright red hair topping head and groin. Ink covered his shoulder and chest and also
his thigh, marking his trial of passage. Not beautiful, but worthy. He would love Semon as no other could.
Semon's reaction pushed into his mind, fascination and pleasure and a need to touch. Gentle fingertips slid
along the tattoo, from shoulder to thigh, and then his One grew bold and touched his cock, light and quick,
Semon's cheeks red.
"Oh, feels so ... so good.” Oh, the water was going to get cold and they were both still sticky, but oh ... his
One was touching him.
Touching him.
Another soft slide of the gentle fingertips and then Semon was stepping back.
His One's foot caught the edge of the basin, tipping it, water spilling and the boy cried out, pulling into
himself, hunching, hands covering his genitals, the bright feelings fleeing from his mind.
"I'm sorry,” Semon whispered softly, voice miserable.
Ben knelt down, hand looking over the foot the water had splashed on. “Are you hurt, my One? Was the
water still hot?” He didn't think it was, but he had to be sure. Damn the fools who had made this gentle,
loving boy uncomfortable with himself.
Semon shook his head. “No, but I ... made a mess. We were enjoying ourselves and I ... ruined it."
"Ruined it? How?” He grinned up and placed a kiss on Semon's thigh. “The water will dry. I am still happy
and want nothing more than your touch and your smile. Nothing is ruined, my One. The ground is simply
wet."
"Oh ... you're not upset.” He could feel his One's presence in his mind this time, soft, seeking. “You're not
upset."
He kissed the soft thigh again, snatching up the cloth that hadn't hit the ground and began to softly clean
his One. “No, my Semon. I am not upset. All is well. You are home and safe."
Gentle fingers dropped into his hair, softly exploring his curls. “Thank you, Benik."
"You are my One. You will always have a home with me.” He explored with his tongue, tasting the dark
curls, the wrinkled sacs, the silky skin, trusting his One to stop him if he pushed too far.
The hands in his hair curled, pulling tight and Semon's legs began to shake as pleasure exploded into
Benik's mind. His One sobbed softly, begging mindlessly for more.
"Yes, my One. Everything you need."
He leaned up, letting his lips sink over the tip of Semon's hard cock, suckling gently, tongue sliding and
swirling. Semon called out, the sound sharp, breathless. His One's hips pushed, shoving the long cock into
his throat as the boy came. Semon's pleasure pushed into his mind, his One sharing himself completely.
It was overwhelming—the pleasure and need and what would soon be love added to the spring and
sunshine flavor of his One's seed—happy tears flowed as his cock throbbed, spilling his need upon the
ground.
Semon slid to his knees and pressed their mouths together, the kiss and Ben's mind full of his One's
happiness.
Benik sat, pulling his One into his lap, holding him close. “Oh, my One. How happy we will be together."
Semon's hands slid around his middle, holding tightly. “Yes, Benik."
'Yes, Benik.’ He heard it in his mind and in his heart. His One was home.
Home.
End
Blown Together by the Wind
There was a smell in the air, something warm and familiar. Something good that made his belly ache and
talk aloud. Delen sniffed, scrambling up a thick tree trunk to look.
Fireclouds. He called to the wind, asking it to bring the firecloud closer, let him smell. Oh ... food. Good
food. Before food. The clouds brought the wood and the hint of a man. One. Not many. One man could be
visited, traded with. He watched and waited until the darkness fell, then he hurried towards the little fire,
moving fast and silent among the trees.
The One Man had made fire in a clearing—no tall grasses, no trees, nothing to hide in at all. He wasn't
sure about the clear lands—before, when he was with Others, they would stay in the trees, in the shadows,
in the caves. Now he was One and had none to guard or watch, so he could not risk these clear lands. Not
even for that wonderful smell that made his belly beg.
He crouched low, edging the open space, looking. He had not seen an Other in many moons, had thought
perhaps they were all gone.
This Other was very tall and had long hair the color of wet straw with a beard that wasn't exactly neat. He
wore light tan leathers and moved quietly from the pack on the west side of the fire, to the log on the
south, where he sat.
There was no noise, but the Other looked up suddenly, straight at where he was hiding.
"Who's there?” The Other's voice was low, rough as if it were not very often used.
He did not move, did not even breathe. He waited for the Other to turn around, to look through its Things.
Delen had Things, he carried them over his belly in a skin. Feathers and a pretty rock and fruits and leaves
and a turtle shell. His Own Things, just like an Other.
The Other wrapped a skin around his hand and pulled something off the fire, opening it. The smell of food
intensified. Delen's belly rumbled again, loud and desperate, wanting a taste. He covered it with his fingers,
telling it to shh, to be quiet and good.
"There's more here than I can eat,” said the Other, not even looking up from what he was doing.
Delen blinked, backing away. There was only one Other ... who could it be speaking at? He moved
sideways, making for the trees beyond the firelight. He would trade for the good-smelling food when the
Other slept and then he would go.
First, he wanted to watch.
The Other looked straight at the spot where he was again and then looked back at what he was doing,
cutting the hot food into strips and spearing them with his knife. One after the other, the Other ate the
strips of food.
The Other ate much—more than Delen could eat in a day, more than he could carry. Of course, the rabbits
ate little grass and the lions ate rabbits and this Other was very big—perhaps even big enough to eat him
up.
The thought made him giggle as he climbed up a tall tree. The Others would not eat him. Hurt him, hit him,
make him dead—yes. But not eat him.
When the Other was finished eating, he wrapped the food back up in the skin and left it close to the fire.
Then a roll was spread, covers set a few feet from the fire.
The Other then stood with his hands on his hips, frowning out into the woods, muttering too quietly to be
heard. The Other finally made a slow circuit of the clearing, returning to his blankets and lying down.
Delen waited and waited until the Other made the sleeping sound, then he waited longer. Finally, when the
sounds were steady and rhythmic, he slid down the tree and began the terrifying walk through the clearing.
He stayed low to the ground, eyes focused on the Other's face. Finally he was there, unwrapping the skin
and taking two strips of the meat, leaving a pear behind in trade.
The Other made a noise, half-sitting up. “Who's there?"
Delen froze, blinking. No. No. Please sleep, tall Other. I left my trade. Please.
The Other rumbled and then lay down again, the soft sounds of sleep soon starting again.
He took a breath and ran towards the trees, meat grasped in his fist. Good Other. Stay and sleep. Thank
you for your trade. He moved into the forest, climbing the tallest tree he could find before eating the good
meat and settling in to watch the Other sleep.
Once he stopped eating, he drew shapes with the fireclouds until he tired and fell into dreams, eyes
fastened on the hay-haired man who made food and fire.
* * * *
Unar woke with the light, feeling unsettled as he had the evening before. There was someone nearby,
watching him. He was sure of it.
A solitary man, Unar was unused to others being near, and certainly not used to them skulking around in
the trees.
Or perhaps he was merely imagining things, perhaps his solitary wanderings were making him mad.
That was when he saw the pear.
Opening the skin he kept the meat in, he could see that a piece or two was missing. His mysterious
watcher had traded food with him.
The wind picked up briefly, breathing life into his coals. He could swear he heard a soft giggle.
His eyes scanned the edge of the clearing again. Nothing. The winds were playing tricks on him. Except the
pear in his hand told a different story—someone
was out there.
"Show yourself."
The air stilled and silence settled all around, the leaves gentling into a heavy cover.
Growling, he made short work of packing up his things. A couple of quick kicks in the dirt around his fire
and it was buried, smothered beneath the earth.
This was why he chose to have nothing to do with people—they were unpredictable and annoying.
Shouldering his pack, he choose a direction and started walking, refusing to admit to himself that he was
going in the direction he felt his silent watcher was in.
The weight of eyes fell upon him again and again as the morning passed. Once the sweet smell of honey
teased him. Once he swore he heard hiccups, one after the other, in quick succession.
It was maddening.
He tried ignoring the feeling, just walking where he would, following the trail of a rabbit.
Still, when he stopped and looked around—there was nothing.
He attempted to look around surreptitiously as he walked. Still no one, nothing where it should not be.
Out and out searching also produced no one.
In the end he just walked, stopping late in the afternoon by a small river that bubbled over rocks. It had
been a long time since he'd bathed. A quick scrub would clean him—a complete dunking might shake him
of his fanciful feelings.
Leaning over, he splashed water onto his face, and heard the tree beside him rustle. He forced himself not
to turn, not to look back. He focused on the reflections flashing in the water. Finally, he caught a flash of a
little face, hiding in the leaves.
Not his imagination then.
He hoped for another flash of that face, but as he washed himself, none came.
Still, that a quick dip would do him good—his stomach felt quite funny.
He set his clothes on top of his pack and jumped into the water. Forcing himself to dunk his head twice, he
was nonetheless out in less than a count of ten, shivering. He should have made up his fire before going
into the water—it already held the bite of winter in it. Shivering, he reached for his leathers, which held a
definite, tiny, dusty handprint right at the top. As he pulled them up, another pear fell out and rolled over
the ground.
His clothes took only a moment to put on, and then he picked up the pear. “Thank you,” he said, speaking
no louder than he would if he were face to face with his mysterious watcher.
This time the giggle was definite, as was the rustle of the trees as the—whoever it was—climbed higher.
Well, his watcher seemed friendly enough; he was unlikely to wake from his sleep in the midst of being
killed. Unless the pears were to lull him into false belief that he was safe...
Unar shook himself. No, his watcher offered him no harm. He was sure of it.
He wouldn't make a fire tonight—there was no clear area without trees and he had more than enough
cooked meat. Perhaps he would leave a slice or two uneaten, in case there was another furtive trade to be
made.
He settled down next to his pack and ate.
The winds seemed to be playing—rolling stones before him, brushing leaves against his face, sliding over
his skin.
He stopped eating when he had two strips of his meat left. He was still hungry though, so he dug through
his pack and found an old hank of cheese. He carefully cut it into slices and ate four himself, leaving two
wrapped in oilskin next to the meat.
"There's cheese here tonight as well,” he told his watcher. “I think two pieces of fruit are called for. Or you
could come down now and eat for free."
The trees rustled, but nothing was said, no face appeared in the leaves.
He shrugged and made sure the food was left where it would be easy to reach, a little ways from where he
settled under his blankets. It was hard to sleep, knowing there was someone out there, watching and
waiting, and the moon was well on her journey before his eyes closed and sleep took him.
* * * *
He watched the Other, shivering. The snows were coming and this would be his fourth snow alone, his
second without furs of his own. His hand rubbed along his arm and his belly where the big yellow cat had
taken them. Taken his furs and his little knife and his pack and almost him.
Soon it would be time to sleep, to find a dark deep cave with many leaves and curl beneath them and
sleep the snows away as much as he could. Perhaps tomorrow, or the day after, if the big Other had more
food.
He felt his little pack—only three pears left, four apples and many nuts and seeds. Tonight there was
cheese and oilcloth so the meat would last longer. He needed to find more roots and nuts, food to nibble
on during the cold. He pulled out a pear and a handful of fine nuts. It was a fair trade, a good trade. It
would do.
He crept down the tree, careful not to drop the shiny shelled nuts. He placed them upon the ground near
the Other's things and gathered up the oilcloth, stowing the meat and cheese in his pack.
Keeping one eye on the Other, he went to the water for a drink of the crisp water, a long-ago memory of
laughing and swimming with many others and being home and safe teasing him for a heartbeat.
The Other made a noise, shifting in his furs.
He stiffened and the stone he was standing on shifting, sending him tumbling into the water with a cry. He
heard something snap in his arm as he fell, pain making him dizzy for a moment as he fought to find his
feet. The water carrying him downstream, toward the far side of the river.
He stumbled out of the water, rolling onto the mud at the far side, good arm gripping his Things, his food,
keeping them safe. His right arm dangled, throbbing and useless at his side as he shivered.
He was suddenly aware of splashing in the water and then the Other was right there, reaching out to touch
him.
He backed away on traitorous, unsteady feet, stomach roiling.
The Other just kept coming, voice soft. “Come now, little bird, your wing has been clipped. I will not harm
you."
One of the big hands closed over his good arm, drawing close to the large body.
Delen sobbed, holding onto his Things. He could not survive the snows without food, but he would not
survive the night if he was taken and he hurt so much...
He looked up and up and up into the Other's eyes and blinked back his tears, forcing himself to hand over
his pack.
The Other took it and shouldered it and then a solid arm went around his waist and he was hoisted up over
the other shoulder. “Now, now, little bird. Just a short swim and we'll take a look at that arm. All my stuff
is in my pack or I'd fix it here."
He made himself relax, save his energy. The Other would put him down and then he would flee into the
forest and find a hole to hide and heal in.
The Other waded across the water and set him down next to the furs. He wasn't even let go when the
Other was stripping him, pulling off his vest and loincloth and wrapping him in the furs, all without a single
word.
Oh, warm! Warm!
He tried not to relax into the furs, into the heat and good smells, but his tired body wanted to, so much.
The Other began to scrape away the grasses in a wide circle. “Need a fire—can't see to look at that arm."
He waited until the Other's back was turned and then took his chance. Quick as he could, Delen scooted
out of the bottom of the furs, swallowing his sob at the loss of the soft, good warmth. The trees were
close. He could escape, if his feet would just carry him.
There was a growl and the Other caught him about the waist just as he reached the bottom of the tree. “I
have said I would not hurt you!"
He cried out, scared and hurting and tired in his bones. The winds answered him, pulling his mattered, wet
hair, pushing him harder against the Other's body.
"There, come now."
The Other half carried, half dragged him back to the warm furs, and wrapped him once more in them.
Then the Other frowned down at him. “Will you stay while I get wood? We will be warmer and I will see
better than by the moon's light."
He curled up, crying silently. His winds had deserted him. His Things were given away. He was with an
Other and he hurt. It was wrong. So wrong.
The fire was soon going and the Other was moving the furs, reaching for his arm.
He curled tighter, whimpering softly. The light shone through the two braids, but the Other's face was
shadowed, dark, and he closed his eyes, hiding beneath his heavy, dark hair.
The Other made a noise. “Broken as I feared, little bird. I will have to set it. This will hurt for a moment,
but then the pain should become less."
The Other put one hand on his shoulder, the other hand grabbing his wrist and then the Other pulled hard
and it hurt so much it took his breath away. A moment later the pain faded, leaving behind an ache.
His arm was bent, pushed tight against his body.
"Hold it still."
Still? He would never move it again if the pain would not come again.
What remained of his vest was taken and torn into strips, then tied end to end, which the Other wrapped
them around his body, over one shoulder and around his back, coming up to attach his arm firmly against
his body. The material was cold, but soon warmed with him beneath the furs.
A skin was held to his lips. “Drink, little bird, it will help you sleep so that the healing might begin."
He sniffled, opening his lips cautiously as he stared at the Other. The Other was very tall and wide and
brown and had a good voice, when it wasn't angry.
The other tilted the skin, pouring the liquid down his throat. It burned.
Delen jerked and coughed, pushing away with a broken sound. Not good. Not. Oh, not good. The furs
trapped him and he struggled, fighting to be free, to breathe.
He was pulled upright and wrapped tighter, the Other pounding him on the back, helping him to find his
breath. “It has a bite, but it will help, little bird."
He blinked up, head swimming, so frightened. The Other's eyes were like honey in the fire. Good honey. He
liked honey, very much.
The Other gave him a smile and patted his head and then began to strip.
He attempted moving, the trees were so close, but his body didn't listen, only shifted and slid on the furs.
The Other dressed quickly in dry clothes from his pack and spread the wet leathers out on the tree
branches, along with his loincloth.
"Sleep, little bird. I will sit by the fire and watch to make sure it does not send the tree up in flames."
The Other settled across the fire from him.
Watching carefully, he fought the urge to fall into dreams. The furs smelled warm and safe and the brown
eyes that held his seemed almost kind. He blinked. The man seemed oddly familiar. Almost like one of his
own...
Delen yawned, knees tucked beneath his chin, watching the flames dance in those eyes.
* * * *
As the sun began to lighten the sky, Unar studied the boy across from him. Asleep, he looked even younger
than he had awake, but Unar would give him eighteen or nineteen summers. The poor thing was too thin
and before he'd fallen asleep, his eyes had been wary, like a rabbit's.
Unar wanted to take him under his arm and care for him. Unar shook his head. He was not looking for a
companion. He traveled alone, going where the winds took him.
And today they had brought him to this stream and placed this boy in front of him. If he were honest with
himself, he could already hear the bond trying to sing between them. If he allowed himself, he could fall
for this boy, need him in a way Unar had never needed anyone before, need him in a way Unar had sworn
he never would need anyone.
Sighing he searched out his kettle and filled it with water from the river, putting it over the fire. It mattered
little what he felt might or might not be between them, as soon as he turned his back, the boy would be
gone again.
The boy shifted, giving a low moan that was interrupted by a harsh cough. Bright blue eyes opened, stared
at him for a moment and then closed again.
He risked going to the boy's side, making noise as he did so as not to startle. “What hurts?"
He received another long look from frightened, dazed eyes. Then they closed, slow tears sliding from
beneath long black lashes.
"Oh...” It hurt his heart, to see the fear and the pain in this boy.
He reached out and gently wiped the tears from the boy's face. “I'm making hot water—I will put honey in
yours and it will soothe your throat. It is not good to be wet and cold, it makes the body sick."
The boy gasped as he stroked the fine cheeks. There was a strength between them, the winds sure and
definite. He continued to stroke long after the tears were gone.
The boy relaxed, shudders fading. The thin body was protected by the mass of matted dark hair and he
was thin, light, almost unnoticeable as Unar carried him last night. It was not something he was looking
for, not something he wanted, a bond with another, but as the boy calmed for him, he could not deny what
the wind was offering.
He was only a simple man and it was not his place to question.
Sky-blue eyes opened, fastened on him again—curious, interested. He offered a smile, fingers still stroking,
almost of their own volition. The boy's head tilted, a thin neck offered to his touch. He let his fingers slid
down along the soft skin, stroking, smoothing almost as he would a wounded bird.
A soft noise sounded, a low trilling that vibrated against his fingers.
His smile grew as the sound settled in his belly and made him feel good, as if he had not just spend the
whole night awake. “Sweet bird,” he murmured softly.
Slowly, carefully, thin fingers took his free hand bringing it to touch the poor, broken wing.
He stroked carefully, looking for spots that were swollen, bruised or hotter than the rest, but it appeared to
have been a clean break, the bone reset. “You need to keep it still until the bone has grown back together
again."
He got a long look and then a single nod before those wide eyes closed and the soft trilling began again.
He continued his touches, taking such pleasure in the soft noises. It was good, to know he was helping,
that his touch eased this little bird. Not even the rattling kettle stirred the boy, so relaxed and quiet under
his hands. Not sleeping, but breathing easy, calling to him with that soft vibration.
He ignored the kettle as long as he could and then spoke softly again, warning the boy he would be
moving. “I'm going to make you that honeyed water to soothe your throat."
The lad watched again as he moved to the fire, the boy's eyes sharp, curious, never leaving his hands for a
moment.
He wrapped his sleeve around his hand and poured some of the hot water into his cup, adding a generous
dollop of honey and stirring it with his knife until the sweet was dissolved. He held the cup out to the boy.
“Careful when you drink—it's hot."
The thin body struggled to sit up, a soft moan sounding as the broken arm jostled. Then a trembling hand
reached out slowly.
"H ... h ... hot?” The voice was a whisper, sweet and timid, oddly accented.
He slid his free hand behind the boy, steadying him, rubbing the too thin back gently. “Yes, little bird, it
was sitting on the fire, but in a moment small sips should be good."
As he watched the tendrils of steam twisted and twirled, making circles and squares. Then that giggle
sounded and the steam circled his wrist, carried by the wind.
Oh! Unar's eyes widened. His sweet bird was a ba'chi, honored enough to affect the winds themselves.
“A'chaffa, I have never seen anything like this."
He got a worried look and a quiet, questioning trill sounded, the winds stilling.
"Oh...” He looked up sadly at the boy. “I didn't mean you had to stop—I was only amazed at the gift you
have."
That earned him a grin and then a wind swirled around him, stroking his cheek and throat, so soft and
gentle. He held his hand to his cheek and throat, almost expecting to be able to feel an invisible hand take
shape beneath his touch. “So wonderful, little bird, to have the winds at your call."
Those thin, pale cheeks flushed with pleasure, smile widening as the boy sipped from the cup. As soon as
the sweet liquid hit his throat, a moan sounded, a look of pure joy covering the boy's face. It pleased him
so to be able to bring pleasure to this little wounded bird. It made him feel good all the way to his toes.
The boy drank the cup up and then set it down carefully. Then, to Unar's surprise, the boy moved close,
touching their noses together for a heartbeat, close enough he could feel the brush of eyelashes before the
boy curled into the furs again.
He could feel that touch of noses for a long time, feel it in his belly and in his heart as well as on his nose
as the boy's eyes slowly closed and the sun rose high into the sky.
* * * *
He opened his eyes, blinking as he tried to remember where and when he was and why he ached and was
warm. His eyes danced over the red coals of the fire, the packs, the fur-draped Other snoring nearby. Oh!
The Other. The Other with the gentle hands and nice eyes.
He sat up and shivered, the wind sliding over his exposed skin. Oh, the Other had felt so
good, so
interesting and new and strange and ... Oh, Delen would remember those hands and eyes for
always.
He watched the Other sleep until his body insisted he get up, empty his bladder, start moving again. With a
sigh, he stood, heading to the edge of the water to relieve himself, holding himself awkwardly with the
wrong hand.
When he finished, he walked back, finding his loincloth and tying it on with a clumsy knot. His pack was
there and he thought for a moment—he had given it away and the Other had been good to him, but he
would die in the cold without food.
But what if the Other needed food, too?
But the Other was big and had a knife of his own and could find food.
But the Other was heavy and could not find pears and apples in the tops of trees.
But the Other was tall and could just reach.
There was a noise and he looked up to find the Other stirring, waking.
He slowly backed into the trees, quiet and careful, leaving his pack, his Things for the Other with the honey
eyes and nice hands.
"Little bird!” He could hear the Other calling after him, voice rough with sleep. “Your things! At least take
your things."
He smiled. Oh, it was a
good Other! So good and nice and warm!
He hurried back over, holding his arm carefully, needing one more look into those eyes to sleep through
the cold on.
The Other was busy with his pack, putting in some cheese and bread and a thick doeskin tunic. Then it was
handed to him. “Take one of the furs, too, little bird. To line your nest with."
He blinked up, tears filling his eyes. Oh, so good to him! Delen didn't know what to do, how to show his
heart, so he moved forward, pushing into the Other's arms, hugging as tight as he could with his arm.
The Other's arms slid around him, so warm and strong, but gentle, being careful not to hurt.
He cuddled close, closing his eyes, tears raining down. So good. So good. “G ... good."
"Yes, little bird. It is.” A soft pressure dropped on his head, a gentle sound."Are you sure you need to go,
little bird? We could travel together—share our resources."
He blinked up, confused. Together? But ... the Others did not
go. Only the ones who were lost and did not
have Home did. All the Others were going Home. “You ... you g ... g ... go?"
"Where the winds blow, little bird, where the winds blow."
Oh! He reached up, heart beating hard. He called the winds to them, dancing around them, breathing the
fire back to life. The winds. He
knew those. They blew inside him.
The Other looked around them, laughing. The sound was deep and rough, like it wasn't used a lot. “Your
gift is a joy, little bird."
He laughed back, his giggle light and bouncing beneath the deeper sound. He stretched up and touched his
nose to the Other's nose, looking into those honey eyes. He would never forget. Never. They shone.
The Other moved his head back and forth, just a bit, rubbing their noses together. Delen giggled, hand
reaching up to touch where their noses touched. That was good. The Other's eyes were shinning, arms
holding him warm and close.
What a very good ... Delen tilted his head. The Other wasn't really an
Other if he followed the winds, now,
was he?
He leaned back and grinned. “Delen."
The other smiled at him. “Unar. Bright blessings to you, Delen."
"Unar.” He liked that, liked the noise of it. “Good, Unar"
"Shall we follow the winds together, Delen?"
Delen thought. He had food to share and could climb and get the fruits. He knew how to find the caves
and how to find sweet water. Unar had a knife and fire and warm hands and eyes. It seemed fair.
He nodded, rubbing their noses together again. Yes. It was good.
"Good.” Unar nodded as well. “Do we leave now then, or do we wait another day for your clipped wing,
little bird?"
His mind said to go, to move, that to sleep in the same place twice was wrong and Bad. His instinct said
rest and sleep, said that to face the cold would hurt.
He rested his cheek against Unar's shoulder for a moment. “Stay?"
Unar nodded. “For one more setting of the sun. Yes."
One of Unar's hands slid beneath his chin, tilting his head. “I feel it, too, little bird. It is time to move, but I
think the winds will forgive us one day."
He relaxed, tears filling his eyes again. Oh ... Unar
knew.
Unar
heard.
Unar frowned. “Where does it hurt, little bird?"
He shook his head, tears flowing down his cheeks. “Feels...” He reached out, took Unar's hand and pressed
it to his chest, looking up into those honeyed-eyes.
"Ah ... yes. I feel it, too.” Unar nodded. “The winds have blown us together."
He sniffed and nodded, stepping back to open his pack. He found his best pear, holding it out to Unar,
offering it with a smile. Unar took it and then slipped his knife from his left boot, cutting the fruit and
solemnly giving him one half. He made a happy noise, taking the fruit and nodding. He took a big bite,
loving the bright juiciness in his mouth.
Unar took a bite of his own half and then reached down and wiped the juices from his chin. He giggled,
tongue swiping out to taste where Unar's fingers had been. Salty. Good.
"Come back and sit at the fire. Rest. Stay warm. Now that you are staying we can make the tunic fit and
do the same for some leggings so you will not be cold."
"Unar.” He reached out, took Unar's hand and squeezed. So good. So good to him. Then he sat by the fire
and laughed as the flames danced.
Unar sat next to him and pulled out a pair of breeches from his pack, along with a bunch of small bones
and the thinnest wire he'd ever seen. Then Unar took his knife and cut open the breeches about a hand
span down each side and another hand span right off the bottoms.
He watched, fascinated, reaching out every now and again to touch, to learn.
Unar made him get up once, putting the too big and now cut breeches on him, making him hold them up
with his good hand while Unar slipped the pointed bones into the material. Then Unar fixed the cuts and
when he was done—the breeches were no longer too big for him.
It was almost like magic.
He blinked, touching the soft skins, trilling happily at his warm legs, the unfamiliar feeling of being covered
and protected.
Unar reached for his pack and pulled the tunic Unar had stuffed in back out. “Let's see if this one needs
any work."
Unar slipped the tunic over his head and helped him slide his good arm through the armhole. “I think we'll
leave it until you can use your arm."
He looked down, touching his belly. He looked at Unar and then reached for his Things. He sorted through
quickly and found his second most special thing—a tortoise shell bowl that he had cleaned himself. Shiny
and smooth and solid, it was a good bowl. He handed it to Unar with a gentle pat.
It was a good trade.
Unar took the bowl and looked at it carefully and then nodded. The bowl was placed in Unar's pack.
He nodded happily and wandered the little clearing, learning the feeling of the skins against him, returning
to look at Unar periodically—just because he needed to. Unar would look up from where he was repacking
his bag and smile, the honey-colored eyes so warm, like no other Delen had ever seen. They made him
happy, made him warm inside.
The winds were talking to him, whispering and singing, telling him secrets he did not understand. He found
the closer he was to Unar, the clearer the song was, more sure. Right.
He stood very close and frowned, listening hard, trying to understand. “K ... k ... ki'ita."
Unar looked up at him in surprise and then with a soft smile. Unar nodded. “You feel it, too. The bond that
brings ba'chi and hi'icha together."
He tilted his head, not understanding what Unar was saying, but believing in the winds. So, he nodded.
“Ki'ita."
Unar held his hand out to him. “Yes. Ki'ita."
He slid his hand into Unar's, the bell-peal of the winds letting him know this was right. Good.
Unar squeezed his hand and tugged gently. He wound up sitting in Unar's lap, back warmed by Unar's
front. Oh, that was good, warm. He wiggled until he found the perfect spot and then went boneless,
melting into Unar's arms. Unar's arms came around him, holding him loosely, chest rising and falling
against his back. One hand slid gently along his arm, petting.
He had never been held like this, been warmed. He looked up at Unar and smiled. So good. So very good
to him. Unar smiled back and lowered his head, touching their noses together. He giggled and rubbed their
noses together, happy all through.
They sat together for awhile, a few birds singing for them and the wind playing in the trees, whispering
happily around them. His cheek found a soft, warm spot on Unar's shoulder and his eyes found out they
were sleepy again. Before he knew it, he was sound asleep, listening to the singing of the winds.
* * * *
Ki'ita.
Unar had never asked anything of the winds. He followed their call and wandered, alone and free and
happy that way. He had never searched for a bond of any kind with anyone, he had no wish for mate or
offspring. All he needed he carried on his own back.
He looked down at the boy in his arms and drew Delen closer to him. Still, here he was with a ba'chi in his
arms, the winds insisting the boy was his ki'ita. And if the need to nurture and protect and love this little
bird was any indication, the winds spoke true.
There was honor in this little one. Delen never took anything without leaving something in return. The fruit,
the turtle shell bowl.
He wished to continue his wanderings with this boy—make Delen's path his own. He also wished for more,
there was no mistaking his body's reaction, his shaft was quite hard, nudging against the boy's thigh. He
shifted slightly. It wouldn't do to scare Delen, for he would not touch the lad before Delen was ready.
Delen gave a little trill, nuzzling closer. The mass of black hair lay heavy and matted on the too thin spine,
filthy and tangled with sticks and grasses. Poor little bird.
Maybe they would continue their journey along the river and he could wash Delen's hair. He had a brush in
his pack, used it to keep his own hair clean and smooth. Delen's hair would be beautiful when it was clean,
a sleek, dark plumage for his bird.
Long eyelashes tickled his skin, then bright eyes blinked up at him, Delen grinning wide.
"Diben sur, little bird. Are you well?"
"No. Delen.” Those eyes twinkled and a giggle sounded, carried upon the winds themselves.
He frowned for a minute, trying to reconcile the look in Delen's eyes with his assertion that he was not well
and then suddenly he realized that it had been a joke and he smiled. His smile grew into a laugh and he
bent to rub their noses together.
A soft little trill sounded, one little hand caressing his cheek. He smiled, imitating the caress, touching the
soft skin of his little bird's cheek.
Delen nestled into the touch, eyes closing. “Good."
"Yes,” he agreed, expanding the touch to stroking Delen's neck as well. “Good."
Delen stretched, throat arching for his fingers, the soft sounds filling the clearing. He slid his fingers along
Delen's skin until they reached the collar of the lad's new tunic. If he hadn't given this little bird the clothes,
Delen would be practically naked now. His shaft throbbed at the thought and he shifted again. Delen
moved with him, apparently loathe to lose the spot on his lap.
He leaned their faces close together again, fascinated by the bright eyes. His lips touched Delen's, just
lighting softly before the caress was again between the tips of their noses.
That smile widened, those eyes blinking. He could see himself, held deep within Delen's gaze. “Unar.
Good."
He nodded. “Delen. Good."
Then he touched their lips together again. Delen's hand brushed his cheek again, Delen's slight weight
snuggled against his chest. Oh, he thought he should probably stop, because he could feel the need
growing inside him to deepen the kiss, to make the kiss touching and loving.
He didn't though, he couldn't, he wanted to taste and so he let his tongue slip out and slide along the
sweet lips. And they were sweet, flavored with the pear they'd shared. Those sweet lips parted on a gasp,
Delen's eyes wide.
He dipped his tongue inside, just for a moment, tasting something far sweeter than the pear, and then he
withdrew, looking down at Delen and hoping he had not pushed too soon.
Delen touched his lips, tilting his head. “Good?"
He smiled and kissed his little bird's fingertips. “Yes, Delen. Good."
A soft moan sounded, Delen snuggling closer. Unar's hand was taken, pressed against the concave lower
belly. “Feel."
His shaft throbbed. He could feel the heat of Delen's body beneath the leather, his hand so close to Delen's
hardness. “Feels good,” he said, hand trembling with the effort not to move lower.
Delen nodded, pushing instinctively against his hand. “Good."
"Yes.” He slid his hand down, cupping the bulge in Delen's new leathers.
He got a stunned look, a startled gasp, thin body shaking. The motion of Delen's hips continued, jerking
into his touch.
"Oh, Delen.” He wrapped his hand around Delen's shaft, cursing the leather. He guided Delen's movements,
smoothing them out, lengthening them. Bending, he brought their lips together, just touching as he
whispered soft words of encouragement.
Delen's eyes were huge, breath coming in desperate gasps. The arm around his neck held tight, slender
fingers clinging.
He moved his hand, sliding it into Delen's pants and wrapping it around the heat he found there. Delen's
shaft was long, more slender than his own thickness, but not the shaft of a boy—this was the shaft of a
man. Of his ki'ita.
He squeezed and stroked, thumb sliding over the wet tip.
A soft squeak pressed into his lips, heat spreading over his fingers as Delen shuddered.
He could feel Delen's pleasure like a bird trapped inside his own chest and he cried out, his own shaft
pulsing, releasing his seed. A feather-light touch traced over his face, his little bird's eyes confused and
dazed and warm.
"Unar? Good?"
He nodded, hand still holding Delen's shaft. “Very good."
He brought their lips together, sliding his own against Delen's in a soft, slow motion.
Delen's sounds were husky, low as the lad's lips parted, tongue tip just touching his bottom lip. A shudder
went through him, his body eager to enjoy more pleasures with Delen. Delen leaned back, looked at him
for a long moment, then smiled and leaned forward, tongue taking another soft touch.
"Delen...” he whispered, his own tongue coming out to touch Delen's.
Delen nodded, eyes shining bright, shaft filling again, growing stiff and hot in his hand. “Unar."
He started to move his hand again, tongue playing sweetly with Delen's. The sweet, soft kisses melted into
each other, Delen's hand stroking his hair, his cheeks, his beard.
He was unused to such sharing—not a virgin as Delen was, but it had been a long time since any hand but
his own had touched him. “Good,” he told Delen. “Good."
"Good. W ... warm.” Delen touched their noses together, the wind blowing around them, strong and free.
Delen smiled, eyes bright. “Ki'ita."
He nodded. “Ki'ita."
He kissed Delen's nose and then each cheek, the little chin and then nuzzled down along Delen's ear and
into the warm, delicate neck. His little bird was warm and smelled familiar, necessary. That earned him
another sweet trill, almost a giggle, but full of happy need. Delen ducked his head, nuzzled his hair with a
soft cheek.
He chuckled—he couldn't remember ever feeling so good, so happy.
He shifted, lying Delen on his back and stretching out alongside the boy. Taking Delen's good hand, he
kissed it and brought it down to his own breeches.
"Feel,” he said softly, gazing down into bright eyes.
Delen smiled, humming as those slender fingers traced along his shaft, around his hips, then down to his
sacs. Delen cupped them gently, stroking through his breeches. “Feel. Unar. Good."
He gasped, pushing into the touch. “Yes. Good. Oh, very good."
Unar went back to stroking Delen, hand pulling along the slender shaft as he bent and searched for what
spots on Delen's neck would make him jump. Soft little sounds—some needy, some happy, some curious—
filled the air as Delen explored and was explored. As he continued to stroke, those sounds became hungry,
gasping, full of want.
He returned to Delen's mouth, drinking each sound in as he stroked harder, faster, his own hips pushing
him into Delen's gentle touch. Delen's fingers found the tip of his cock, sliding the damp leather over the
sensitive head, making him sob into swollen, parted lips.
Oh, he was going to come again, so soon. He pulled harder on Delen's shaft, wanting them to tumble
together. Delen jerked, eyes meeting his, so wide, so bright, so stunned. The heat hit his fingers only a
heartbeat before the scent of his ki'ita filled his nose.
The winds carried away his own cry as he came, his body shaking.
When the sweet aftershocks faded, Delen was curled up in his arms, breath tickling the hollow of his throat,
hand wrapped protectively over his hip. He checked to make sure his little bird's broken wing was safe and
then kissed Delen's forehead.
"Sleep safe and warm, ki'ita."
The softest little trill sounded and then Delen's breath slowed, his little bird falling asleep in his arms.
Unar had not been searching for a ki'ita, had not wanted such a bond.
He had never said he was a smart man.
Still, now he knew, now he had a ki'ita, a soul to match his own, a gift from the winds and he would hold
his gift and care for his gift and cherish Delen always.
* * * *
He woke—arm sore and belly sticky, but body warm and heart happy held tight in strong arms. It was
good, to sleep against the wide chest, to hear another's heartbeat. To Rest.
It had been so long since he had Rested. He thought, maybe, he could do it many, many days.
But not today.
His belly said it needed food and his throat said it needed water and winds said it was time to follow.
He slid away from Unar and headed to the river. He washed the stickiness away, gasping and dancing at
the cold, his shaft drawing up tight. It hadn't been hiding away yesterday. No. It had wanted to meet
Unar's touch
very badly.
Delen laughed and washed his face quickly before going to find some nuts for a meal. He would need
enough to share now, Unar was big. He gave another laugh, startling a chipmunk from the bushes.
Unar was big
everywhere and Unar's shaft had felt ... He shook his head at his body. No, now was not a
time to wake up. Unar was
sleeping and he was looking for nuts. Not now.
Later, though ... Unar heard the Winds and wanted to Go and Feel. Oh ... Feeling was very good. Very,
very good and later, if Unar would let him, he wanted to see, too. Oh, feeling
and seeing would be...
Delen stopped and sighed, looking down past his belly. His shaft just was
not being quiet today.
A branch snapped and he looked up to find Unar. “Everything all right, little bird?"
He smiled up, nodding happily. He scuttled over and deposited the nuts he'd found in Unar's hands, patting
the pile. It was a good pile, but not pears. Or berries. He looked at the trees and bushes, hunting for
goodsafe food.
Unar's hand slid over his good shoulder. “This is good, Delen. We will find a rabbit or a little nisok this
evening."
"Good?” He looked into the honey eyes, rubbing his cheek on Unar's hand. So good to him, felt so warm
and right.
"Yes, Delen. Nuts, some bread soaked in honeyed water. Very good.” Unar stroked his cheek and then bent
to bring their noses together, followed by their lips. Then Unar took his hand and led him back to the fire.
As they went Unar glanced at him and gave him a smile, his new ki'ita looked shy. “Before we go, would
you like to ... feel?"
Delen tilted his head, then nodded. He wanted to eat, he wanted to go, but he
really wanted to feel.
And see.
He giggled. His body wanted to feel, too, his shaft rising and filling and reaching toward Unar. Unar was
beaming down at him, looking very happy that they were going to feel.
They settled upon the soft furs, Unar close and warm. He reached out—watching Unar's face carefully, just
in case he was being wrong—and tugged at his ki'ita's tunic. He wanted to see.
Unar smiled and took the tunic off and then dropped his hands to his breeches. “These too, little bird?"
He nodded and smiled, then picked up the tunic, holding it to his face and breathing in Unar-smell. He
would know it anywhere, brought to him by the Winds. It was a good smell, fireclouds and honey and
ki'ita.
Unar was naked then, and yes, very big everywhere, especially with his body as eager as it was.
Delen waited until Unar was settled back into the furs and then scooted over, hands pressed against the
warm skin. He touched and felt Unar's chest and belly, rubbing his cheek against the parts that felt cool.
His cheeks felt
very hot—feeling Unar did that.
Unar made noises as he felt, sighs and groans and his name.
He scooted down, finally lighting with his head against Unar's hip, where the Unar-smell was very rich and
good. His fingers touched the bright curls above Unar's shaft, then petted the heavy sacs beneath.
He trilled as he touched. So soft! Oh, so soft and good!
Unar gasped and the long legs spread for him. Unar's hand slid over his head, the touch gentle. Delen
nestled close, warm and comfortable, seeing and feeling. Once he'd touched the soft sacs all over, his
fingers played over Unar's shaft. It was hot.
Smooth.
Hard.
Big.
Dark, too, and jumping with the sound of Unar's heartbeat.
Unar's hips shifted and Unar made more noises. The word “Good” drifted down, caressed him in Unar's
deep voice.
His own shaft was hard and he rubbed his hips against the furs. Feeling Unar was good, made him tingle
inside.
A clear drop appeared at the tip of Unar's shaft and he touched it, spread it around the wide head and
made it shiny and slick. Unar's hand grew tight on his shoulder and he was offered a whimper, no, two.
He looked up, worried he was hurting. Unar's face looked pained and he frowned, leaning close to kiss the
hurt away, hand patting the thick shaft gently. Unar shouted, hips jerking, pushing up against him.
Delen squeaked and scrambled backwards towards the trees, his winds breathing hard, blowing the dirt and
the fire and the water. He hadn't meant to hurt. He hadn't.
The winds kept blowing until he was in the safety of the trees, clumsy as he forced himself up into the
branches with only one arm. Finally he perched in a high crook, tears flowing down his face. He hadn't
meant to hurt. He just wanted to see. He just wanted to feel.
He was shaking with cold and his arm ached so when there were noises from the ground. It was Unar,
dressed, two packs over his shoulder and clothes in one hand, coming toward his tree.
"Little bird? Will you come down? I did not want to push you—it felt so good, I couldn't help myself."
Good? He blinked, sniffing and wiping his eyes, the winds whispering and muttering at him. He frowned at
them for telling where he was, he was
hiding, and then Unar's words came to him again. Good.
He leaned forward, cradling his
so hurting arm, and looked down. “Good? N ... not Bad Delen?"
"No Delen, not bad. Very very good.” Unar looked up at him, straight at him. “Very good."
Oh.
Something so sick and scared and Bad in his belly eased and he gave Unar a tiny, shivery smile, wiping the
tears from his cheeks. “Good."
Unar nodded. “Good."
Putting the packs and clothes down, Unar went to the base of the tree. “Can I come up now? And bring
you down?"
Delen nodded. He was hungry and scared and hurting and cold and wanting and shaking and ... Yes. He
nodded again, reaching for Unar. Oh, yes.
Unar climbed to him and put an arm around his middle, pulling him back against the big body. Oh, Unar
was warm and good and soon they were on the ground, Unar turning him, holding him close.
He curled in close, breathing in the Unar-smell as he shook. He looked up into those eyes, worried and
trying desperately to explain. “G ... good, Unar.
Good. Not bad Delen. Not bad."
Unar shook his head and growled. “Delen not bad. Little bird—you made me feel good. Better than
anything. I was sad when you stopped, but more sad when you ran away."
Delen made a soft noise, reaching up to touch the soft beard, trace beside the straight nose. He touched
until the sadness was off that face, until his belly felt good again.
"What do you want, little bird?"
He carefully climbed up Unar's body, putting them eye-to-eye, noses touching. “Ki'ita.” Then he so gently
pressed his lips to Unar's.
Unar's arms tightened around him, holding him there as Unar's lips moved against his. Oh, and there was
Unar's tongue—hot and wet and so good. He wrapped his legs around Unar, making happygoodwarm
sounds as he pressed close. He wouldn't hurt Unar,
wouldn't, was so glad he hadn't.
His lips parted, inviting more of Unar in, his tongue sliding beside Unar's and tasting. Unar's hands slid to
cup his bottom, pulling him tight against Unar's warmth. In and out went Unar's tongue, their hips pushing
together at the same time.
It felt ... Oh, it felt like the Winds were inside him, spinning so fast that he couldn't breathe. He could only
move faster, move against Unar because Unar was still and warm and...
Good.
Very good.
Unar let go with one hand and pushed it between them and then Unar's pants were gone and oh.
Oh, that was the very best yet.
He looked into Unar's eyes, Unar's happy, hungry eyes, and saw that it was good. Then he relaxed, hips
moving faster, sliding, pushing, the winds around them blowing stronger. Two hands held his buttocks now,
helping him to move, pulling him hard against Unar. So hot. Unar was so hot against his shaft.
Delen felt the winds inside him still for a heartbeat and then the pleasure huge and overwhelming.
Unar gave a roar and heat splashed between them.
"Oh!” He shivered, held tight to Unar's heat.
Unar took soft, sucking kisses from his lips, hands holding him securely against the warm length of Unar's
body.
He liked feeling, liked the touches of lips and bodies, liked the warm and wind and good. He smiled against
Unar's lips, stroking the soft skin by the honey eyes, breathing in the Unar-smell.
"So good, Delen. Ki'ita. Thank you.” Unar's voice was deep and rumbly.
Delen nodded. “Good.
Good ki'ita.” He snuggled closer, giggling as his tummy tried to talk to Unar's,
growling and rumbling.
Unar chuckled and set him carefully down next to the packs. His new clothes were solemnly handed to him,
along with a handful of nuts.
Unar's fingers slid over his cheeks, wiping where his tears had fallen. “Eat, little bird and then we will follow
the winds."
He nodded, the winds whistling their agreement. “Unar
and Delen go."
"Yes, little bird. Unar goes with Delen now—no more running or hiding. I will not hurt you."
He frowned, more than a little confused, one leg in the trousers, one out. “Delen hurt
Unar."
"You little bird? Hurt me?” Unar laughed. “No Delen. You did not hurt me."
Oh!
Good! He laughed, launching himself into Unar's arms, not heeding clothes or broken arm or anything.
Unar's arms came around him, holding him close, tucking him carefully against the warm body and making
sure his arm wasn't hurt.
He pressed his lips to the base of Unar's throat, tasting the salt for just a moment. “Good. Ki'ita.
Goodgoodgoodgood."
Then he giggled again and moved back, managing to dress with Unar's help. He found an apple in his pack
and handed it to Unar while he hit the nuts with a rock. They were going to Go. Going was Good. Unar was
Good.
Very much good.
Unar cored the apple with his knife and sliced it into pieces, handing them to him.
Then Unar put both packs over his shoulder. “Pick a direction, little bird."
He handed Unar half the nuts and apple slices and then listened to the winds and pointed, chewing a piece
of apple. West. “Go."
"Okay."
Unar fell into step next to him and they ate as they went.
* * * *
They walked all day, stopping only to catch a couple of small nisok for their latemeal. Unar had stripped
them efficiently, salted them and wrapped the oilskin around them. They didn't talk very much—he was
used to being solitary and to the not quiet silence of the forest and Delen seemed as content as he to just
walk.
It was good to just walk and not talk. To be with Delen. It had scared him earlier when Delen had bolted.
He had thought they were both enjoying it so much. And then it turned out that Delen had thought he had
hurt him. It almost made him laugh again, that his little bird could, or would, hurt him.
Unar had known where to find the boy though, the bond singing to him loud and clear. Delen might run
from him, but the little bird could not hide.
He looked over at his silent companion, shaft growing hard, taking an interest as he remembered feeling
with Delen. He would like to feel with Delen some more. Perhaps after latemeal, if his little bird was not too
sore and tired.
Periodically, Delen would hurry ahead or fall behind, rummaging through a tuft of tall grasses or at the base
of a tree. Unar wasn't sure if Delen was searching for food or stones, but without fail the quick little steps
would find him again, bright blue eyes following the dancing wind.
There was about a candlemark of light left when they came to a small clearing near a little creek. He
stopped and looked around. Yes, it was a good place to stop. “Delen? We could camp here."
Delen looked around carefully, checking out the trees, the water, then nodding. “Good."
He chuckled as Delen found a place to sit and carefully go through the items in the swollen pack—
discarding the rotting berries, spoiled nuts and other odds and ends that were judged unworthy, and
keeping a pile of stones, feathers, berries and nuts.
Then, as he watched, Delen sorted the ‘good’ pile even farther—the food into two piles, the feathers and
stones into two piles. Then his little bird gathered one of each pile into the hem of his shirt and brought it
to him.
He took them solemnly. “Thank you, Delen."
Delen gave him a smile and a soft trill, one of the feathers floating up to brush his cheek.
"Oh!” Delen's magic was special. To speak with the winds themselves ... He reached out and brushed
Delen's cheek with his fingertips. Delen grinned, soft sounds filling the air as the little bird's face turned,
kissing his palm. Oh, that was nice. Warm and good and filling his shaft. “I must make a fire, first, little
bird. And we should eat. And then..."
He got another giggle, then Delen touched his belly with gentle hands. “Ki'ita. Feel.” Then before he could
answer, Delen was at the water, scooping up a drink, dark hair trailing into the stream.
Yes. Ki'ita feel.
For the first time since he had started wandering, Unar wanted a place to stay in. Not forever, but maybe
for seven moons. Maybe for forty.
"If you want I can help you wash your hair, little bird,” he called out as he started to collect wood and
kindling for a fire.
Delen gave him a curious, questioning look, then shrugged and followed him, watching him closely. Once
his little bird figured out what he was doing, a happy laugh sounded and thin fingers put one little branch
in his arms after another. When they had enough wood, he started a fire and set their nisok over it.
"They'll take awhile to cook—should I help you wash your hair? I have a comb to help take out the
tangles."
Delen blinked at him again, wrinkling his nose. “W ... w ... why?"
"Because it would look beautiful."
He got a soft, sweet giggle. “Delen?"
"Yes, Delen would look beautiful. I bet your hair is soft when it's clean. It would feel good on your skin. Or
on mine.” He cleared his throat, feeling suddenly sentimental. “It doesn't matter, if you don't like to wash it,
you don't have to.” He turned to the fire, turning over the nisok, making sure it was roasting evenly.
"Unar?” His arms were filled by Delen, hand warm on his face, eyes worried. “Delen bad?"
He automatically held Delen to him, taking care not to jostle the broken arm. “No, Delen is good. Unar is
silly."
Delen's hand slid over his hair and he got a serious frown. “Good. Unar
good.” Then the thin face pressed
close, Delen's eyes crossing. “Good."
Unar laughed, rubbing their noses together. “All right, Unar is good. So I'll make your hair clean and
untangled?"
Those bright blue eyes gleamed as Delen nodded, petting his hair. “Good."
He kissed Delen, just a soft kiss because he was afraid anything more would lead to too much feeling and
their nisok would burn up to a crisp they couldn't eat. He dug in his pack, finding the soap he'd traded for.
He didn't use it often—he liked to use grasses and water—but nothing cleaned hair as nicely as soap did.
When he turned around, Delen was rummaging in a bunch of bushes, bottom and dirty feet sticking up in
the air, soft giggles filling the air.
"Delen? What are you doing?” Puzzled, he went over to his little bird.
Delen grinned up, handing him a stash of nuts buried by some little animal. His eyes were triumphant.
“Good!” Then Delen went back to digging, pulling out one nut after another and handing them over.
He couldn't help chuckling, Delen's giggles contagious.
When Delen backed up, he was holding a handful of thin rabba roots, sweet and easy on the stomach.
Then the boy sat and sorted through the nuts and roots, carefully separating them, storing half in the little
pouch, and then handing half to him. Unar nodded, accepting the food. It was no accident his little bird
had survived long enough to find him.
"Very good, Delen. You're a good companion to go with."
Delen nodded, patting his hand and making a sound Unar was quickly learning meant his little bird was
happy. “Unar and Delen good."
"Yes, ki'ita. Unar and Delen good. Come on, Unar and Delen need to be clean, too.” He took Delen's hand
and tugged him toward the stream.
Soft giggles followed him all the way, Delen tugging back playfully.
When he got to the edge of the stream, he started to undress. “You, too."
Delen blinked at him, watching with interest, completely ignoring him with a wicked grin as he sat at Unar's
feet. “Unar."
He chuckled. “You, too, Delen. No clothes. In the water."
His little bird wrapped those thin arms around himself, shivering dramatically.
He nodded. “It's cold, but there's a fire and food and a ki'ita to warm you up after."
Delen nodded, still grinning and stood, shimmying out of the trousers and then carefully working his way
out of his tunic, standing unselfconscious and beautiful in the firelight. The boy looked down at his wrapped
arm, then looked up at him, trilling softly, one black eyebrow arching.
"Leave it—you shouldn't move the arm and I'll help you wash."
He stepped into the stream, managing somehow not to shiver or yelp and held his hand out to Delen.
Delen took his hand, stepping into the water and gasping, eyes huge. Climbing up Unar's body, his little
bird managed to scramble above the water. “
Unar!"
He chuckled, arm wrapping around Delen. “It's cold."
Bending forward carefully, he managed to wet most of Delen's hair without wetting Delen himself and then
he could work the soap in, getting rid of the dirt. Delen's legs were wrapped around his waist, stomach
moving against him as the lad stretched, hand reaching back to touch the water, the soap, trust in him
total.
He worked the soap twice through the long hair and used it to wash both Delen and himself. There wasn't
much left when he was finished, but it was growing colder and they would probably not bathe again until
spring.
Delen was shivering by the time he had them both clean and rinsed and he strode to the fire, carrying
Delen and then wrapping his ki'ita in his warmest fur.
Delen curled up into a tiny ball, bright eyes watching him. “U ... u ... unar."
He smiled at Delen as he quickly dried himself with his tunic, hanging it over some bushes to dry. Wrapping
himself in a fur, he found the comb carved from a thick branch and moved to sit behind Delen. “I'm going
to brush your hair now, all right?"
Delen nodded and crawled out of the fur to sit bare on his lap, draping the furs back around them both and
relaxing back against him with a soft sound.
He made a soft growling noise, content, happy.
The comb had wide teeth at one end, good for tangles, and small ones at the other, good for smoothing.
He started with his fingers, working out the snarls and knots and matted sections. Slowly but surely, Delen
melted into him, a soft, sweet, nonsense song filling the air. He hummed along, adding a deep, soft
harmony to the sounds.
It took a very long time, but when he was done, his little bird's plumage shone in the firelight.
Delen turned, black hair flowing over the thin shoulders like the finest pelt, the ends tickling his belly.
“Good, Unar?"
"Oh, Delen, very good.” He stroked his hands through Delen's hair for a moment or two more.
One strand of his hair was brought close, twined with an ebony lock, Delen's face enrapt. “Ki'ita."
"Yes, little bird."
He held Delen quietly until his stomach growled. “Are you hungry now?"
Delen nodded, hand reaching down to touch his belly, fingers stroking slow and steady, circling his navel.
“Unar?"
He smiled. “Yes, little bird?"
A soft kiss was pressed to his lips, eyes quiet and happy. “Feel."
He slid his own hand down to Delen's belly, stroking softly. “Feels good, Delen."
Delen nodded, shifting in his lap with a soft moan. “Feel good."
He brought their lips together, kissing gently and then again with more force, his hand slipping further
down to wrap around Delen's heat. Delen's hand copied his, wrapping around his shaft, touch cool and
gentle. There was no fear in those eyes, just a sweet hunger, a happy need.
He deepened the kiss, tasting Delen's sweetness, moaning as their hands moved faster. Shaking now, little
gasps pushing into their kiss, Delen's hand grew clumsy, rhythm stuttering as thin hips moved into his
hand. So warm.
He slid his free hand down to cup Delen's buttocks, helping his ki'ita roll up. A cry sounded and his ki'ita
moved faster, eyes fastened on his face. The hand around his own shaft simply held, Delen's focus on the
sensations rocking the sweet body.
He watched the pleasure and wonder in those sweet blue eyes. It made his own pleasure
more.
Delen's palm slid up, rubbing over the tip of his shaft as heat splashed over his fingers, the scent of his
ki'ita's passion sweet on the air. He cried out, pushing hard into Delen's hand, the scent and sight and
touch of his ki'ita making him come in turn.
The slender fingers kept moving, slow and soft, Delen's cheek resting on his shoulder, Delen's breath
tickling his skin. He shuddered and pulled Delen closer still, trying to find his breath. “Oh, Delen. Feels
good."
Delen nodded, giving a soft trill, melting into him.
He pulled the furs around them, sparing a glance at their nisok—they were rather overcooked, but if he left
them on the fire overnight they would last for weeks before they needed to be eaten.
Delen's legs were pulled up beneath the pointed chin, eyes closed as his little bird curled into him, sound
asleep. The dark hair was blown about, the winds called to Delen, even in sleep.
He laid them both down without disturbing his ki'ita. The winds might call to Delen, but the little bird was
his now. He wasn't letting go.
* * * *
Rain had woken him before it even woke the sun, so he covered Unar with his fur and took to the trees. His
sore arm was good now, no longer wrapped, carrying him higher and higher until he could hardly breathe.
The winds blew hard this high, pushing the tree branches, making the ground below sway as the rain
pelted down.
His Things were wrapped around his waist as he jumped and climbed gathering pretty eggshells and the
last fruits clinging to the trees and brightly colored leaves and...
When had the rain started coming so hard, so cold?
And why wasn't the sun waking up?
Delen frowned and shuddered, crawling closer to the trunk, pushing the winds and rain away, leaving him a
drier and not icy place. The winds helped, bending an arm of the big tree close, the leaves cold, but
warming with his body easily.
Silly rains.
Silly suns.
He frowned and cuddled, hoping his Unar was well and warm and dry.
When the storms were ended, he would go and see.
"Delen.” He thought he heard his name whispered on the winds.
"Delen!” Louder this time and not the winds—that was his Unar's voice, his ki'ita.
"Unar?” He bent over, looking through the wet leaves with a frown. “Unar! Wet! Bad Unar! Go fire!"
"Delen! What about you—you are wet. There is no more fire, not in this. Come, it is dry in my furs."
He chittered all the way down the tree. Silly Unar, out in the Wet with his Big Hair and his Big Beard and
his Big Body and it was Cold and Unar had been Dry and Warm and in the fur. He looked at Unar from the
bottom branch. “Bad, bad Unar. Wetwetwetwet. Cold. Bad Cold."
Unar blinked up at him, looking cold and wet and miserable. “Unar wanted Delen."
Oh. Oh poor Unar!
He leapt down into Unar's arms, wrapping around the big body, hugging so tight. “Oh ... Good.
Goodgoodgood. Ki'ita. Good ki'ita."
Unar's arms slid around him, hands on his bottom, holding him close. “Is there a good spot, little bird? Low
branches or a hollow trunk big enough for two?"
No. No. No.
But!
He grinned and hopped down, grabbing Unar's hand. He'd seen three trees fallen down together—
boomboomboom—and the grasses underneath were brown and dry. Really dry.
"Unar! Good! There!"
Unar ran with him and they squeezed in underneath. Not only dry, even the winds weren't coming in very
much.
"Good, Delen. Clothes off and we will warm together under the fur."
Delen shimmied out of his clothes as fast as he could, handing Unar his Things. “Food. Good. Unar and
Delen."
"Food, too?” Unar chuckled. “So good, my Delen."
He was hugged tight against Unar's body, his ki'ita's skin cool but warming and a fur was pulled up over
them, making what little light was in there disappear.
"Unar wants to feel Delen."
Delen nodded, snuggling as close as he could, hands brushing through Unar's heavy hair. “Feel. Ki'ita."
"Delen can feel, too,” said Unar, hands cupping his cheeks, lips finding his.
He nodded again, trilling into Unar's mouth. Silly Unar. Of course he would Feel. Feeling made him full of
winds, made him ache. And Unar made happywanthungrymore noises.
Those sounds were Good.
Unar made a rumbly, growly noise into his mouth, rubbing the longhardhot shaft against him. That made
his own shaft wake up, come out to feel. Delen reached down, touched his shaft, then Unar's, just stroking
over and over.
Unar made the Good noises and felt him, the big hands sliding down along his spine and the crease of his
bottom, making him shiver and along his belly and across his chest, tugging at his nipples, making them
ache. When Unar did that, touched him like that ... He couldn't keep in the big cries, the wanting, the need
huge inside him.
One of Unar's legs pressed, sliding between his until a warm, muscled thigh pressed up against his skin and
his balls.
He pressed down against that heat, a ball of ache—not
hurt and not bad, but still ache—finding the middle
of his belly and growing and growing.
Unar rocked them in time with his touches to their shafts, his ki'ita making good noises and feeling. The big
hands were on his back again, so warm and right, fingers dancing over his bottom, pressing between the
cheeks and rubbing his skin there.
The winds inside him were huge and they pushed noises from him, moans and sobs and groans. He
wrapped his hands around Unar's shaft, wanting to call the winds to his ki'ita, too. Unar moaned loudly and
jerked against him, one finger sliding suddenly into his body.
He stilled, shocked, blinking up at Unar. It was ... different and he wasn't completely sure what to do.
“Unar? Good?"
"Delen hurt?"
"No. No hurt.” He pressed closer to Unar, lifting his face for a kiss, trusting in his ki'ita. “Feel, Unar."
Unar's lips slid against his, tongue lapping at his mouth. The finger inside him pressed in further, wriggled a
little and then slid out again. Delen pressed closer, trilling and snuggling as he chased Unar's hotwet
tongue.
Unar went back to stroking his back and his bottom, every now and then that finger would slide, tease and
push in. One time it went very far and suddenly something inside him was like lightning.
"Unar!!” He jerked, hips pushed against Unar's belly with a frantic need, shivers rocking him.
Unar went absolutely still. “Good? Delen feel good?"
"Unar...” He gasped, pleading into Unar's eyes. “Unar,
Feel."
Unar understood and the big finger pushed more into him, making the lightning inside him again. Delen
shuddered, the winds so
big inside him, so big and he reached out, holding Unar tight.
Unar's arm was solid and warm around him, the finger inside him moving and moving, making the winds
bigger and bigger and bigger. He caught Unar's gaze as the winds sent him flying, body moving on Unar's
finger, against Unar's skin.
"Mine,” whispered Unar against his lips. “My Delen. Good.
Feel."
He nodded, gasping for breath as he shattered, sobbing with sensation.
When pleasure finally let him go, he was wrapped in Unar's arms, the big hands sliding slowly up and down
his back, warm and solid and so good.
"Unar.” He dropped soft kisses along Unar's collarbone, still shaky, soaking heat from the warm, wide body.
“Ki'ita."
Unar's body vibrated with his sounds. “Yes, Delen. Ki'ita. Good now. Warm. Safe. Together."
He purred softly, nodding, petting Unar's belly. Yes. Warm.
Safe.
Together.
Good.
* * * *
The storms were getting worse, coming together instead of spread apart. Some of them brought snow and
sometimes it stayed, only disappearing when the next storm brought rain. The winds were warning them. It
was time to find a place to hide for the winter.
Unar began to hunt more aggressively, killing rabbits and nisok whenever he could. He would smoke them
over the fire and add them to the oilskin in his pack. The meat would last a few months this way.
Delen continued to find nuts and seeds hidden away by squirrels, as well as tubers and edible grasses that
had not yet died beneath the onslaught of the storms. Unar saved all but the fruit that Delen brought him.
They would need this when the meat ran out.
Finally, he woke one morning to find the wind bitter, biting at his skin. Delen curled up against him, their
bodies making a nice warm cocoon beneath the furs. The retreat to a cave or hollowed out tree would be
enjoyable this season.
Sliding his hand down Delen's side, he bent to kiss the skin beneath his ki'ita's ear.
Delen's eyes popped open, looking around for a heartbeat before his ki'ita turned and snuggled into his
arms. “Sh. No go. Brrrrrrrr. No go."
He chuckled and wrapped his arms around Delen, fingers sliding over the soft, warm skin. “Too cold to
feel?"
Delen purred slowly, hands tangling in his hair and tugging him down for a soft, sleepy kiss. “Feel good."
"Good.” He slid his tongue into Delen's mouth and then pulled back to lick the sweet lips that were still
swollen from their kisses the night before.
Delen's giggle was sweeter than honey, his little bird chasing his tongue, eyes warm and happy. Delen
scooted closer, rocking against his body, shaft stiff and hot.
His own shaft was hard as well, and he pulled Delen closer so that they could rub together. Fingers
wormed between them, wrapping around his shaft and stroking. Delen's lips parted wide for him, his little
bird hungry, needy.
He took that sweet mouth, tongue plundering its depths as the slender hand pulling on his cock made
shivers go through him. Delen tasted so good. Felt so good. Delen. Good.
Delen cried out into his mouth, thin hips pushing harder and harder, fingers pulling strong and steady. He
pushed one hand between them, finding his little bird's nipples, fingertips sliding over them. Delen's cry was
sharp, heat splashing between them, smoothing the motion of the hand on Unar's shaft.
He brought their mouths together again, sucking hard on Delen's tongue as he rocked with that hand. So
good. So close. He rocked harder. Delen's palm curled over the tip again and again, sending sparks
throughout him. He whimpered into Delen's mouth, undone by his sweet ki'ita.
With another soft sound, he came, heat spreading between them.
When his body coalesced, Delen was trailing a finger over the seed on his belly, eyes curious. Then, as he
watched, Delen licked that finger clean, surprised blue eyes blinking up at him. “Unar."
"Oh! Good?"
Delen nodded, ducking deeper into the furs, little trills sounding as that hot, quick tongue began to lick him
clean.
"Oh!” He gasped, shaft jerking, struggling to grow hard again.
His belly, his curls, his sac, even his shaft were licked and nuzzled, then Delen curled right back up in his
arms, snuggling close.
He raised Delen's face, bending and taking his little bird's mouth. Sweet, the nut and berry flavor of his
ki'ita, and more ... something salty and strangely familiar and he knew that was the flavor of his pleasure
on Delen's tongue.
Delen trilled and murmured into his mouth, slender frame liquid in his arms. He slid his hands down along
Delen's back, pulling his little bird in close. His shaft was hard again, coaxed into needy life by the sweet
tongue that now danced with his.
The kiss went on and on, changing and growing more passionate as Delen's need caught his own. “Unar.
Good."
"Yes. Delen good, too.” He was caught by an idea, sparked by Delen's eager tongue.
"Unar will taste Delen. Good?"
Delen touched his lips, his cheeks, eyes confused. Then Delen nodded, trusting and happy. “Unar good."
Smiling, he kissed his little bird and then slowly slid down the slender body, tasting as he went. Giggles
filled the air along with laughing
Unar!'s when he found a sensitive spot.
He lingered on those, licking and nipping with his lips, feeling with his mouth was even better than with his
hands.
Delen twisted and laughed and stretched, hands holding his head. He looked up at the bright eyes
gleaming at him. “Ki'ita."
He nodded, and licked at the sweet navel, still looking up at Delen. “Ki'ita. Tastes good."
Relaxing, trilling softly, Delen curled close, eyes gentle as his hair was stroked. “Ki'ita. Good."
He smiled and kissed Delen's navel and then turned his face down, licking at the tip of Delen's hard shaft.
Salty, like his taste in Delen's mouth, but more. Nuts and berries and strongly Delen.
Delen squeaked, body shivering. “U ... unar."
He licked again and then tilted his head, looking back up at his sweet bird. “Good?” He would not hurt his
ki'ita. Not for anything.
Delen nodded, lips parted. “M ... more.
More Good."
He grinned and nodded. He could do more. He licked down one side of Delen's shaft and back up the
other. Delen's legs shifted, hands opening and closing convulsively, little whimpers sounding. He licked the
tip again and then pulled it into his mouth.
"Unar!” Delen stilled again, watching him, shaft throbbing on his tongue.
He closed his lips around the shaft and sucked experimentally.
"Oh!” His little bird shivered, cried out, arched towards his mouth.
Good then. He sucked Delen's shaft in as far as he could and then let it out again, mimicking the
movements their hands made. Delen made the sweetest, most desperate sounds, the flavor of his ki'ita
growing stronger, sharper.
He moved faster, pulled harder, searching for more of the noises, more of the taste, wanting Delen to feel
good, very, very good. A sharp cry sounded, wild and free as the hunting birds in the sky, and Delen
jerked, heat filling his mouth. Heat that tasted bitter and salty and of his ki'ita. He drank it down and
continued to suckle, drawing sweet shudders and soft sounds from Delen.
Finally, he let the softening shaft go and moved back up to take Delen in his arms. Delen was whimpering
softly, clinging to him, lips pressing his skin.
He slid his hands down along Delen's back, his ki'ita warm and soft. “Delen good?"
A nod and a soft kiss and their noses touched, his ki'ita's eyes shining. “Good. Unar."
Warmth filled him up completely and he rubbed their noses together again. “Good."
"Yes. Good.” A soft giggle brushed over his face. “Ki'ita."
He gathered Delen in closer as a bit of cold wind found its way into their furs. “We need shelter, Delen.
The winds say it's time to stop, rest until the snow moons have passed."
Delen nodded, eyes serious. “Delen
and Unar."
"Yes, little bird—you are not going anywhere without me.” He pulled Delen close. “We need a cave or a big
hollow tree. Somewhere to hold us and maybe a small fire.” He chuckled and smiled down at his ki'ita.
“Somewhere we can be together and feel, yes, Delen?"
"Yes.” Delen wriggled out of his arms, hands and face reaching out for the winds. By the time he'd tugged
his little bird back in, Delen was covered in gooseflesh, teeth chattering, but Delen was pointing east. “Go."
He nodded, trusting his little bird's magic. They would go east. After he had warmed his ki'ita through once
more.
* * * *
He snuggled close to Unar's back, face buried in the long, soft hair.
So much nicer than huddling under
leaves and waiting for the snows to go.
The furs were warm. The fires were warm.
Unar was warm.
And Unar laughed.
And sang.
And
Felt.
Delen smiled, rubbing his body against his ki'ita's, moaning against Unar's skin. He
liked Feeling.
Unar rumbled and he recognized the sound meant that Unar wasn't quite awake yet, but was happy and
good and ready to Feel again. Unar pushed back against him.
Delen giggled and wrapped his arm around to play with Unar's belly, tickling and loving, tracing around the
column of rising flesh that was waking to meet him.
Another rumble and Unar pushed back harder, one hand moving to slide along his thigh. “Little bird..."
"Mm...” He trilled softly, pushing aside Unar's hair to lick and kiss the softsoft skin hidden there, to taste
Unar. To
Feel.
Unar rubbed back against him, the round flesh of his ki'ita's bottom rubbing against his shaft.
Delen licked and sucked the so-soft skin, moaning and gasping as they wiggled. So warm and good. So
much Unarsmell and salt. “Ki'ita."
"Yes. Ki'ita.” Unar's wandering hand slid along his bottom, fingers pressing along the crack.
He pressed back against that warm hand, then crawled over Unar to burrow into Unar's arms, lifting his
face for a kiss. “Unar. Feel."
"Yes, Delen."
Unar's lips closed over his, the kiss warm and hungry, Unar's tongue pushing in to taste his mouth. Large
hands wrapped around his bottom, pulling him close, rubbing him against Unar's heat and strength, sliding
their shafts together.
He laughed happily, pushing the sound into Unar's mouth. His fingers trailed over Unar's body—nipples and
belly and dark, heavy curls and pointy hips and softhotsmooth inner thighs. Unar growled, the sound low
and urgent, and their kiss deepened.
Oh! Oh. Oh, that made his head spin, made his heart beat faster and faster, made him push closer, rub
harder.
Unar was against him and all around him, pressing close, keeping him close and they Felt each other so
much. Their noises bounced in the cave—moans and giggles and gasps and hungry groans that seemed to
make everything sing, the winds beginning to blow and make them louder, needier.
More.
So much more. Unar rolled him until he was beneath the big body of his ki'ita. Warm and wriggling and
Unar's hips driving against him. He wrapped his legs around Unar's waist, holding on tight, rubbing their
heat together.
"Delen ... ki'ita.” Unar started to leave soft, sucking kisses on his face, warming and wetting his skin. “Feel,”
said Unar, pressing harder against him. “Feel."
"Feel. Oh, feel. Unar!” He sobbed, twisting in Unar's arms, body feeling like it was aflame.
"Yes, my little bird. Feel.” Unar kept moving against him, relentless, driving him higher and higher.
Delen lifted his chin to take a kiss, body jerking as his winds tore him apart inside, drove him into Unar's
heat. Unar returned his heat to him, a great roar filling his mouth as Unar pushed it into him.
He swallowed down Unar's cry, holding on tight. So good. His Unar.
So good. “Ki'ita."
Unar nodded, nuzzled his face, his neck, warm and heavy and right on top of him. “Yes, little bird."
His ki'ita's lips were soft now, the kiss gentle as Unar's breath filled him. He was warm, within and without,
the snows
so far outside, the winds in the cave singing for them both. Unar settled half on him, half beside
him, hands trailing slowly over his skin in sweet, random patterns.
He trilled happily, fingers tracing Unar's laughing lines around the warm eyes, the slope of Unar's nose, the
curve of the swollen lips.
"Good."
Unar licked his fingers every time they came into range. “Yes, Delen. Good."
Oh, he hadn't known anyone could be so happy, so warm, so heavy with pleasure and joy and Feeling that
even the darkness and the snows couldn't make him sad.
He called the wind to him, asked it to give his Unar tiny, cold kisses even as he shared long, warm ones.
Unar laughed and wriggled and the long, thick fingers slid over his skin, finding all his ticklish spots and
running along them.
"Unar!” His giggles bounced and danced over Unar's skin as he wiggled, sliding against slick heat.
"Yes, little bird?"
"T ... t ... t ... tickles me! Tickles me!"
Unar laughed harder and tickled more, rolling them over and over.
"U ... unar! Tickles me!” He was dizzy, gasping, holding on with all his might, unable to catch his breath.
Unar tickled a little longer and then stopped with him on top of his ki'ita's long, warm body.
There was a wide smile on Unar's face and the long arms held him close.
Delen held Unar's face between his hands. “My
good Unar. My ki'ita. So good.” Each word was punctuated
by a soft kiss.
"Yes.” Unar's hands moved through his hair, spreading it out around them both like a blanket.
He nodded, giggling as his hair slid over his skin. “Good my Unar. Good for Delen. Good for Unar, too?"
The smile he got in return was full of joy. “Yes, little bird—you are good for Unar. Very good."
He bent to taste that smile, body wanting again, wanting to Feel again. Needing again. Unar's mouth
opened to him, shaft lengthening along his thigh.
Oh. Oh,
so much nicer than sleeping away the snows. So much.
So Unar.
So good.
* * * *
Unar stood at the mouth of the cave, looking out through the crack in the snow near the top. It would be
completely covered soon, entirely cutting off the only way out, though truthfully that had happened a few
days previously when the snow had reached his eye level.
There was an alternative source for air and they could melt the snow for water, and they had lots of nuts
and dried fruits and dried meats. Enough to keep them for the couple of months they would be here.
He'd spent one other winter in a cave. It had been lonely and long and he had decided never to do it
again, choosing instead to continue wandering, to risk the storms. But that was before Delen. Before he
had a ki'ita of his own to spend the winter with.
Now being stuck in a cave seemed like heaven. Just Delen and him and all the time in the world with
nothing to do.
His shaft began to harden at the thought. Well, not quite nothing.
Delen was singing, the winds making his collection of feathers bob and dance. The sleek dark hair floated
around him like a cloud, soft and silken. Unar leaned against the side of the cave, watching, a familiar heat
settling in his belly. His hand circled his shaft, tugging lazily.
His little bird trilled and giggled, the feathers brushing the upturned face, the slender throat, almost
caressing the soft skin.
"Beautiful.” His voice rumbled through the cave, low and hungry.
Bright, wide eyes fastened on him, warm pleasure evident in their sky-blue depths. Delen smiled as he was
looked over, inspected. Then his little bird moaned. “Unar. Ki'ita."
He nodded, hand moving faster on his shaft. “Come here, little bird."
"Mm ... Unar.” Delen floated over, fingers reaching out to stroke his cock, his balls, his belly. “Feel."
He gasped beneath Delen's touch—body tightening further. “Oh yes, Delen. Feel. Please."
Delen nodded, hands busy and gentle, exploring and tugging. His little bird rubbed and pulled until a clear
drop formed at the tip of his cock. Then Delen leaned forward and licked the drop away.
He made a noise, whimpering with his pleasure. “Oh, Delen ... so soft, so warm."
Delen nodded, tugging him toward the fire. “Fur, Unar? Down?"
"Anything you want, little bird."
"Down.” Delen pulled him, settled him in the furs. Then a soft cheek settled on his belly and a hot tongue
lapped at the tip of his cock.
He gasped again, hips pushing up and then settling as his hands slid through his ki'ita's dark hair. Delen
purred happily, lips surrounding the sensitive tip and sucking, fingers tracing along his inner thighs.
Whimpering, he shifted. It was so good, his Delen made him feel unbelievably good.
Delen's little purrs and trills echoed through his shaft, little tongue flicking against his skin. He shifted
again, hips pushing up, searching for more of the sensations.
"Unar ... good. So good.” Delen's eyes were shining up at him, happy and hungry.
He nodded, petting Delen's head, trying to get that hot mouth back around his shaft. His cock got another
long, sucking kiss, then those teasing eyes twinkled up and him, the heat disappearing as Delen played.
He groaned. “
Feel, Delen. Feel."
Delen scrambled up, brushing a kiss against his lips, eyes serious. “Yes, Unar.
Feel."
Then Delen's lips were surrounding his cock again, no longer playing, just pulling hard, sucking him in.
"Oh! Delen!” He slid his hands back into Delen's hair, wrapping the long strands around his fingers as he
pushed himself deeper into his little bird's mouth. He could feel Delen swallowing around him, feel thin
fingers pulling him in farther, encouraging his motions. He couldn't catch his breath, his shaft surrounded
by such heat. In and out, he pushed, Delen's mouth so good, so open to him.
Delen cried out, mouth frantic, fingers sliding around his balls and tugging, sending explosions through him.
He roared, pleasure surging through him and he went off in Delen's mouth.
When his head cleared, Delen was curled into his arms, thin legs tangled with his.
He kissed the top of Delen's head. “Oh, little bird. So good."
Delen nodded, trilling softly. Fingers trailed along his belly, playing and exploring randomly.
His hand slid down Delen's back, stroking over the sweet buttocks.
That earned him another trill, a soft, hot look from wide eyes. “Unar. Good."
"Delen wants to feel some more?” he teased gently, fingers playing along the hot crease.
A silent nod, Delen's lips parted and damp, body almost fluid under his hand.
"Good, little bird.” He pressed his fingers against that little hole, loving the way Delen shivered against him.
Delen scooted closer, hips rocking slightly, nudging against his fingers. He pushed the tip of one in, his
other hand slid between them to wrap around Delen's shaft. Soft cries slid over his skin, Delen so needy, so
responsive. His finger was gripped tight, squeezed and held.
He pushed his finger in and out with a rhythm as instinctive as the one that had his hand stroking Delen's
shaft.
"Unar...” Delen's lips wrapped around one of his nipples, pulling hard.
He jerked, finger going deep into Delen's body. His little bird gave a pleasure-filled cry, body going stiff,
shaking in his arms. He pulled his finger out and pushed it back in deep again, deliberately this time, and
received another sound of pleasure in return. He found a new rhythm, pushing his finger in deep and then
tugging on Delen's shaft. Over and over again.
Delen shifted, knees pulling up, opening himself wide, spreading himself. “Unar. Unarunarunar."
He pushed a second finger inside along with the first, responding to the need in his ki'ita's voice. His own
shaft throbbed, his balls aching. So tight. So hot. Delen's muscles rippled around him, squeezed his fingers
as sounds of need and pleasure echoed in the wind.
He rolled until he was above his ki'ita. He wanted to ... he shocked himself with what he wanted to do and
to make up for it, he pushed harder and faster with his fingers, mouth moving to swallow Delen's shaft.
Delen's scream was sharp, body clenching his fingers tight as seed pumped into his mouth, sweet and salty
all at once. The muscles surrounding his fingers slowly eased, still rippling, moving, almost milking him. He
whimpered, swallowing down Delen's pleasure.
His little bird kept moving, soft, happy sounds filling the air, thin body glistening with a fine layer of sweat.
"It was good, Delen?"
Oh, he still wanted, his shaft throbbed, ached to be inside his little bird's body. The animals did it that way,
mounted one another...
Delen gasped, nodded, still moving. “G ... good. Goodgoodgoodgood. Feel Unar. Ki'ita. Goodgoodgood."
"I want to feel, little bird. I want to. Inside you. Please?"
"Feel, Unar.
Feel.” Delen's body twitched, squeezed his fingers. “Feel Delen."
He nodded jerkily, trembling with want and with fear that he might hurt his little bird. Carefully, he pulled
away his fingers and settled between the thin legs. Guiding his shaft to the small hole, he watched the
sweet face that gazed up at him, full of trust and pleasure. He would not hurt his little bird.
Thin fingers stroked over his cheeks, loving him, easing him. “Unar good. Feel."
He bent to kiss Delen, mouth fastening onto the sweetness of his ki'ita.
When the kiss was over he started to push in, it was hard at first and then suddenly easy, his shaft sliding
all the way to the hilt.
Oh!
Oh. Oh. Oh. There was nothing like it and pleasure exploded along his spine, leaving him gasping.
Delen was groaning, hand pressing on his own belly, pressing down, eyes wide and stunned.
He reached out with a trembling hand, stroking the sweet face. “Delen? Good?” His words were whispered,
his body beginning to shake, needing to move.
"Unar.
In Delen. Inside.” Delen's voice sounded strained, stunned. “H ... hot. Good. H ... hot."
He shuddered, relief flooding through him that he was not hurting his little bird. “Inside Delen, so good."
He started to move, following the demands of his body, pulling back a little and then pushing in again. The
pleasure sang on the wind, shot along his spine. Delen's body was so hot, so tight, pulling him in, sending
wave after wave of sensation through him.
He shifted, finding a rhythm, breath coming in short gasps. Oh, this was ... he had no words.
Delen's hands were tangled in his hair, gripping his shoulders. The winds were blowing harder, whipping up
the fire, making them fly. He cried out as he was tossed about, body shuddering and shaking as he came,
his heat filling Delen.
Hot breath panted against his throat, Delen pressing close, so still except for the rise and fall of his chest.
"Oh, little bird...” He shifted over to the side and gathered Delen close. “I didn't hurt you?"
"Hot. In me. So
big. Good.” Delen was clinging, refusing to even let the wind part them.
He nodded. It had been good. Better than anything. He wrapped his arms around his little bird and held
him as close as he could, still it wasn't as close as he had been when he'd been inside Delen.
He hoped his ki'ita would let him do it again.
* * * *
He closed his eyes, shivering all through. In him.
Unar was
inside him.
It had been so big,
so big, bigger than he could have imagined, the stretch burning and hot deep inside
him.
Inside him.
He could still feel it, even after Unar's shaft had slid away, even now. He could feel the stretch and the
burn and the deep, deep ache that somehow didn't hurt. Somehow felt good.
Ki'ita.
Oh, it was strange—staying, being warm, being happy and now ... Delen had never had someone
inside
before, never felt like the winds were going to blow him away.
It was strange.
It was scary.
It was Unar and he needed it now, didn't want to leave it behind.
Unar's hands were touching him all over, soft strokes that didn't have a pattern, just touched, kept him
close.
"Delen good?” Unar asked
again.
He giggled. “Good, Unar. Unar good?"
Maybe Unar kept asking because Unar was hurting.
"Unar good. Unar
very good.” Unar's mouth slid along his cheek, lips nibbling over to his mouth. Unar's kiss
was warm and good and right. “Inside Delen was so good, but I won't hurt my little bird."
He cuddled in, looking into Unar's eyes. “In me
so big. Hot. Here in Delen now.” He took Unar's hand and
pressed it against his belly, willing Unar to understand.
"Still, little bird?” Unar's hand moved in a soft circle along his belly.
"Delen should be inside Unar, too. You will feel inside me now, Delen?"
"Inside good, Unar?” He wasn't sure. Maybe it hurt. Maybe he was too small. Maybe he would hurt. But his
Unar had looked
so happy as he Felt. So happy.
One of Unar's hands slid beneath him and stroked across his opening. “Inside Delen
very good for Unar. I
think inside Unar would be good for Delen."
The touch made him shiver and gasp, jerk into Unar's arms. “Ki'ita!"
Unar pulled him closer again. “Little bird?"
"Unar.” He looked up and took a soft kiss, tongue sliding deep into Unar's mouth, tasting and touching.
Unar growled, the sound happy and strong. He purred and continued kissing, fingers playing over Unar's
body, over Unar's shaft. So hot! So hard.
"My ki'ita, so good.” Unar pushed into each touch.
He nodded. “Good."
Delen scooted down, losing contact with Unar's lips to stroke behind Unar's heavy sacs. Unar spread his
legs for him, giving him access. He held Unar's balls up, bending down to look. There, hidden in the dark
crease, was a wrinkled circle, so small, so tight. He reached out carefully, testing it with a single finger.
A shudder moved through Unar's body, his ki'ita jerking and then pressing back toward his touch.
"Good, Unar?” He knew the answer, leaned closer. The Unarsmell was rich here, dizzying. He leaned
forward, pressing his tongue behind Unar's sac, gathering the good flavor.
"Delen!” Unar shouted, body shuddering again. “Oh, little bird! Good! Good!"
He hummed, settling in to touch and lick. So warm, he was surrounded by his Unar, the wrinkled hole
moving against his tongue. Unar whimpered and moaned, fingers finding his hair and stroking. Delen
spread the globes of flesh apart, tongue pushing inside, licking the squeezy, moving muscles, making Unar
wet and soft there. Open.
Unar was almost sobbing now, pushing onto his tongue, begging wordlessly for more. He kept pushing and
licking, kept hearing those sounds. Good sounds. Feeling sounds.
"Ki'ita. Please. Please."
"Unar?” He lifted his head, looking into Unar's eyes.
"More, ki'ita. Don't stop."
"This?” He pointed to his tongue, then his full shaft. “This?"
"You,” said Unar, pointing to his shaft. “Inside."
He nodded, scooting up between Unar's legs, drawing his ki'ita's legs atop his thighs until his body bumped
against the wet little hole. “In Unar."
The large hands slid along his arms, tugging him, encouraging him. “In Unar. Yes, little bird."
"Oh...” He pressed inside, breath catching as he was surrounded by tight heat, squeezed and held and in.
“Unar..."
"Delen! Oh, Delen...” Unar shuddered and pushed back, encouraging him.
He leaned forward, resting his head on Unar's chest as his body began to move, in and out and out and in.
So good! So
much!
Unar's hand wrapped around his own shaft, pulling in time with Delen's movements.
Delen looked up, crying out as he met Unar's eyes, winds blowing his hair wildly. “Inside. Now.
In ki'ita."
Unar's free hand slid along his cheek, cupping his face, thumb sliding along his lower lip. “In me."
"Yes!” He bent his head, sucking Unar's thumb in as he pressed his seed deep into Unar's body.
Unar shouted, heat spraying between them. He fell onto Unar's chest, breathing hard, completely undone
and overwhelmed.
Unar's arms came around him, holding him tight, close. “Oh, little bird ... I can feel your heart beat inside
me."
Delen nodded. “In Unar. Delen
in Unar."
Unar nodded and when Delen looked up, he could see tears in his ki'ita's eyes.
"Unar? Good? Good, Unar?” He scrambled up, holding Unar's face, giving him hard little kisses to stop the
tears.
"Unar good, little bird. So good. So so very good, it can't all stay inside.” His ki'ita's eyes were wet but not
sad, a smile stretching Unar's soft lips.
He nodded, petting Unar's belly. “Delen inside now."
"Yes.” Unar's hand slid between them, petting his belly. “And Unar is inside Delen. Now we are together for
always. Inside each other."
"A ... always. In the winds.” He nodded, his own tears sliding down his cheeks. “Delen and Unar inside."
Unar brought their mouths together, the kiss so soft and gentle, tasting of himself and Unar and tears.
Tears of joy.
He melted, suddenly exhausted, unable to move, eyes falling closed. “Rest, ki'ita."
Unar's hands pet him. “Yes, little bird."
He nodded, moaning softly as the furs draped over him. Stay. Rest. Together. Inside.
Always.
End.
Weaver
Sebak traveled through the plains and into the mountains, following the directions his father had given him.
He was looking for the people of the Sudden Valley. The people of his mother.
It had been a shock, to be told that perhaps his mother was not dead, that the tribe of the Two Rivers was
not his people. He could have brothers and sisters, children of his mother, children of his mother's brothers,
perhaps even some of those brothers lived still or the parents of his mother. Sebak would discover it.
The plains were flat and dry, the winds speaking loudly as he traveled through them. They made him many
promises, gave him much hope for what he would discover when he found the Sudden Valley. His braids
were thick and heavy, hitting his back and his buttocks as he rode, his rahat comfortable, familiar against
his thigh. He enjoyed the plains with their never-ending horizon and then they fulfilled some of their
promises, showing him the mountains in the distance, growing quickly closer.
The mountains were harder. Much of the way he was forced to dismount and lead his mi'it Sal'ine through
the thick underbrush. The trees grew thickly together and yet were little comfort or shelter when the rains
came. The wind was mostly quiet here and Sebak worried that he had been abandoned, that the promises
he'd been made were gone, blown as dust in the wind.
He saw the Sudden Valley long before he arrived at it, looking down from the mountainside he could see
the tents, the smoke from their fires rising to the sky. It would be several days journey to get down to it,
unless he went straight down, which, warrior though he was, he was doubtful he would survive. And so he
began the slow, circuitous decent.
He was still a half day from his destination when a sound caught his attention and he stopped, waited. It
came again, not so much a sound as a feeling, a tendril of ... something calling to him. It was not coming
from the tribe below him, but from his left. He began to pick his way in the direction the sensation came
from.
The mountains here were riddled with caves—animals and spirits undoubtedly hiding within, good and
dangerous, and Sebak did not give into temptation and peer inside the ones he crossed.
They all looked much the same, except for one. The cave mouth was covered by a huge stone, the moss
on the face of the mountain scraped away, the dirt trampled. It would have intrigued him in any case, but
when that sound that wasn't quite a sound came again, stronger, more certain, he had to investigate.
Leaving Sal'ina by a gnarled tree, hand on his rahat, he approached the cave cautiously.
The stone was large, but not so large it could not be moved. The scent of food was faint, along with the
strange mingling of hope and horror, sorrow, too. He looked around the edges of the stone, jumping back
with a growl when long, pale fingers slid out, scaring him badly.
What manner of spirit was this? Some cave sprite locked within the walls of the mountain? A ghost—some
poor soul unwelcome in the Land of Summer?
He growled softly again, taking his rahat from its sheath on his thigh and stepping forward one step and
then another. The wind had picked up, strong suddenly, gusting and blowing his braids about.
"Oh. Oh. Forgive me. I. I thought. But you aren't. He was smaller. I just have prayed and prayed and
thought, but no. No. You aren't. Are you?” The fingers disappeared, the little singsong voice fading.
“Rebak! Ki'ita! Please ... you forgot and left me behind..."
Oh, how sad! To be left behind while one's ki'ita went into the Land of Summer! But who had left this man
here to mourn all on his own, trapped inside the mountain? How could a man survive not only without his
ki'ita but also without the touch of the sun and the wind?
Sebak put one shoulder against the rock and shoved, pushing it slowly from the mouth of the cave.
He peered in, blinking at the darkness. “Hello? Diben Sur."
A thin, pale man, dressed in bare rags, pitch black hair matted and wide eyes blinked at him, moving away
from the mouth of the cave, back into the darkness.
"It's a new man. A new man who doesn't feel new. Leave the food at the mouth. It's a cursed place here.
A place for the forgotten, you see? My name is no longer spoken."
Food? He had no food. He stood, hesitant. Curses were not to be trifled with. He had seen many great
warriors who could be beaten by no man find themselves felled by curses. It would be best to just go, to
continue his journey away from this strange being.
But he could not. He could not leave a man alone, defenseless, without even food, locked in this cave. But
no, it was not that. It was that he could not leave
this man alone, defenseless, without even food, locked in
this cave.
That scared him.
"Oh. Oh, you look so like him...” The strange little man stepped forward, then back. “Such strength."
Then the man looked toward the cave mouth, grey eyes filled with tears. “I danced in the moonlight with
him once. And in the sun. He swore to me that I was safe, but the winds made him lie."
Sebak stood proudly. Yes. Yes, he was strong. “We cannot fight the winds, we can only serve them."
And this man was so sad, Sebak could feel the sadness pouring from him, and Sebak could not help but
think that a man would go mad from that sadness. He took a step forward, hand reaching to comfort
without even realizing what it was he did.
"You mustn't. Cursed. Yes. Cursed to live and wait for my ki'ita to find me and lead me from this place.”
The little man moved farther into the cave, calling out ‘Rebak. “Ki'ita. Please, my hi'icha. You forgot your
One."
"Will you share your shelter with me for the night?” he asked, unable to just leave this man.
"I.” The man stopped, looked at him. “Yes. Yes, if you wish. Come in. Come see. I live here."
He was led down a tunnel into a large room, a pool crystalline and clear in the center. The stone walls
were covered in cloths with stories worked into their threads. A face, younger than his own, but similar,
echoed again and again.
"You are a weaver,” he said. “A great weaver. These are amazing."
Sebak stood, looking at the man in the cloths. “It looks like me."
"A great cat jumped from a tree and pulled his insides out. He was Rebak, son of Serena the Healer and
Arbak the Deserter."
He rounded his head at the names. His father's name was Arbak, the mother he searched for was Serena.
“I am Sebak” he said. Son of Arbak the Abandoned. I am searching for my mother or her people. Her
name, too was Serena.” He looked again at the man represented in the cloth. Could he be a sibling?
"She lived in the Sudden Valley. The winds called her away—Rebak said her lover, her Arbak called her
name in the winter, over and over and she had no choice but to go.” The soft singsong voice was gentle,
one hand touching a cloth showing a silver-haired woman, frozen by a pond.
It had to be his mother and this Rebak his brother. Oh, the winds were cruel, to have offered him this and
snatched it from him before he’ even touched it.
"Did she have more sons?” he asked. Wondering if there could be another face like his own, and the one in
the cloth.
The little man nodded, moving to curl into a pile of furs. “She has a son and three daughters who have
sons. They called my Rebak uncle. My poor ki'ita whose blood painted the rocks and the trees. My Rebak..."
Drawn by the sadness and pain of the man, he went and sat on his haunches, fingers sliding along one
arm, petting awkwardly. He was a warrior, a guardian, not a healer or a ... gentle person, but he could not
let this man's pain go uncomforted.
Eyes as soft and grey as winter morning stared at him. “Who are you? Who are you? You cannot be my
ki'ita come back for me."
"I think he was my brother.” He kept up his awkward petting. Such pretty eyes, he had never seen their
like.
"Oh. Oh, you are. She spoke of you. We mourned for you on the season of your birth. The wind is cruel.
Stole you. Stole my ki'ita. Stole Serena.” Another soft sob sounded. “My ki'ita left me behind."
"Oh, little man, I'm sorry you have been left alone.” He felt the urge to gather the slender body into his
arms.
"You.” Those eyes met him, suddenly bright, sharp. “Yes. Yes. I am sorry, too. I ache inside. I hurt and I
am alone and my family and my tribe and my ki'ita and my home and my things and my gift and the sun
and ... All of it. All of it is gone."
"The sun still shines, little man."
He did gather this strange man into his arms, standing and striding toward the door. He could not return
this man's ki'ita, but he could show him the sun.
"I. I cannot leave. The elders have spoken. I am cursed and broken. The winds judged me unworthy to join
my ki'ita in the Land of Summers."
"I'm only taking you to see the sun.” It was no wonder his father had left these people when he was
abandoned by his mate.
"Oh. The sun. I miss him. I do. It aches inside me."
"There is no reason for that. The sun shines even now.” He stepped out into sunshine. “See?"
Those eyes closed, tears flowing, but that pointed chin lifted, body stretching out for the healing touch of
the light. He stood there, holding the strange little man, letting the sun soak into their bones, the wind
blowing gently against his skin.
"I missed. I. I'm scared of the dark. Why. Why would he leave me to die in the dark?"
"He did not mean to. I am sure of it.” If he had such a man as his ki'ita, he would fight the winds
themselves not to leave.
"Yes? He ... He was your brother? Does he sing to you? Will you wear a braid for him?"
"You will sing me his song and I will wear a braid for him.” Maybe it would help this man, to sing his ki'ita's
song.
One filthy, matted braid was shown to him, a single mottled stone on the end. “This is his."
"When did you last redo the braid? Sing his song? I could help you wash your hair and learn it."
"I cannot remember. I ... I have been lost in the dark."
He tsked. “Then it is time you did it. What is your name, little man?"
"Azen. I am Rebak's Azen."
"And I am Sebak, Rebak's Azen. It is good to meet you. Can we use your pool to wash your hair in?"
He got a quiet nod. “Yes. I ... I have forgotten how to be clean."
He laughed. “I noticed."
Those eyes went wide and Azen chuckled, the sound echoing within him.
Still grinning, he carried Azen back into the cave.
Azen murmured softly, little nonsense words, little songs. There was a bit of firewood in the corner, the
tiniest coal just pink. Sebak put Azen down, surprisingly reluctant to leave the man's side. He did though,
going to the fire and blowing gently on the coal.
Clothes dropped in piles by the edge, Azen slid down into the water.
Once Sebak had the fire going, he took off his own leathers and joined Azen in the water. “Have you
something to wash with, Azen?"
Azen's hands fluttered. “They bring things. They take them away."
"They? The tribe?” He looked around, finding a little greasy square of soap on one of the rocks. He picked
it up and turned back to Azen.
Azen nodded. “Yes. I have no name with them. I am cursed."
"Because your ki'ita died?” It made no sense. Again he thought it was no wonder his father had left these
people.
"Because my ki'ita left me and my heart was broken and the children cried and the elders threw the bones
and the winds sent me here."
"The winds have also sent me here. You are not alone anymore."
"The winds found me unworthy. They stole my ki'ita.” The thin body rested against his, trusting.
He rubbed the soap against Azen, sloughing the dirt and sweat away. “I would bring him back for you if I
could."
"Oh. You are a blessing. A good hi'icha. Rebak wanted to know you."
"I wish I had known him.” A brother. A brother who was gone, stolen from his ki'ita and his family and the
brother he'd never known. Truly the winds blew strangely.
"He was not tall as you, but his eyes danced and he laughed at the rain and he knew me forever. Always."
He stroked Azen's cheek. “He sounds very special."
"He made things right."
Sebak nodded. He had the privilege of having seen several ki'ita pairs, ba'chi and hi'icha that could make
each other shine, glow, with just a look. Such a special bond.
"I keep waiting for him to come for me. My ki'ita will come for me."
A pang went through Sebak at the words, a pain he didn't understand, for it was not on Azen's behalf but
his own. “It is not your time yet.” He said the words with conviction, for he truly believed them.
"My ki'ita will come. He will take me from the dark and into the light. The winds promised me."
Sebak did not know what to say to that. If Rebak was dead, then he was dead and Azen would not see his
ki'ita again until he departed for the Land of Summer. So Sebak did what he was good at, he acted. Tilting
Azen's head back, he got all of the long, dark hair wet and began to work the soap through it, using his
fingers to work out the braid and the snarls and mats as Azen's hair became slick.
Azen relaxed for him, eyes closing. “Oh. I miss. I miss this."
He was happy to help, happy to have something to do with his hands. And as Azen relaxed, he did is well.
He had not even been aware of his tension until it began to ease.
"My Rebak was a hunter and he liked to sing in the gatherings. He. I. I was his own. He liked to eat honey
cakes and laughed every day."
"My brother sounds like a man I would like to know.” A man he could be proud to call brother. There was
no shame in dying at the hands of an animal.
"He smiled at me, when he left. He smiled and squeezed my hand and said he was sorry."
"Of course he was sorry, you were his ki'ita, and he was leaving you behind.” He had the worst of the
snarls out, the long hair rinsed clean now. “Have you a comb?"
"I ... Yes? Yes. It was made of bone.” Azen pointed to a natural shelf, things stacked there.
"Come sit by the fire and I will comb your hair.” He got out of the pool and held a hand out to Azen. So
light was the slender body, it was no effort at all to pull Azen from the pool.
"Oh. Oh, you make a good fire.” Azen shivered, moving towards the blaze.
"You just need to keep it fueled.” He would bring in wood and stack in against the cave wall if Azen
insisted on staying here.
"I only have so much wood every moon and the dark is so big that it eats and eats and eats the wood
away."
"I don't understand why you are trapped up here. Would you not stay away from the tribe simply if they
asked? What do they think you will do to them?” Cursed ones were counted on to keep themselves away
from the tribe and others, unless they no longer had any honor.
"I ... I am ba'chi. Ba'chi do not survive their hi'icha. Not if the bond was true."
He found the comb and sat behind Azen, slowly working out the snarls he could not untangle with his
fingers. “But you live. The bond must not have been true."
A soft keening filled the air, Azen's face buried in those bony knees.
He pulled Azen back to him, again needing to offer comfort, though he did not understand why. “Sh. Sh. I
am sorry I caused you more pain, Azen.” In fact it troubled him greatly that he had been the cause of that
pain.
"Do ... the winds stole him from me. Stole him because I was not enough. Because I loved too much."
He frowned. That didn't sound right. “I have never known the winds to be so cruel."
Azen sobbed. “He eased me, made the pain bearable."
"What is your pain, Azen?” He asked, flooded with a desire to take the place of this brother he'd never
known. Perhaps the winds had blown him this way so that he could ease Azen's pain.
Those long fingers were held out toward him, trembling. “The magic wants out. It needs out."
He took them in his hands and began to massage, working them gently. “The cloth—is that your magic?"
Azen nodded, eyes wide, watching their hands. “I ... it speaks. It speaks the future. It does. Oh."
He kept working the long fingers between his own, warming them, rubbing. “Did you see Rebak's future?”
he asked
Azen moaned low, nodded. “They wanted me to leave then. My fault. I brought ill winds."
"How long did you know?” he asked. Poor Azen, to know, to be waiting for it to happen, for his ki'ita to be
ripped from him...
"Three moons. Rebak laughed. He said the magic lied. That he would never leave me."
Sebak made a noise and gathered Azen into his arms. “He would have not gone if he had any way, even
slim, to stay."
Azen groaned, the sound desperate, agonized. “Warm."
"Are you cold, seer? The fire and I will warm you.” He continued to hold Azen, rocking the slight body,
humming softly.
"I have been cold. The winds promised my ki'ita would come for me. They promised.” Azen leaned into him,
trusting, close.
"I am here now. I will have to do.” He wrapped his arms around Azen, tugging the man closer.
A soft cheek snuggled against his shoulder, eyelashes soft on his skin. He stroked his hand through Azen's
hair, still damp, like the softest pelt.
"I will stay and make sure you are warm,” he told Azen. His own words surprised him and at the same
time, they were the right words and he would not take them back.
One hand stroked his belly, trembling. “For this night. Then you will go find your family and the sun and be
whole."
He shook his head. That did not sound right and Azen's words fought with the hand at his belly. “What
does your magic say?"
To his surprise Azen moved away, grabbed a lap loom, the hauipi fibers pale and beige hanging from it.
Azen settled back into his lap, into his arms and began weaving, fingers flying.
The cloth began appearing, the cloth being released from the loom ... colored. Colored. Patterned. A'chaffa!
"Oh! It is indeed magic.” He watched Azen's fingers, amazed as the cloth slowly grew.
The fabric showed him, his mi'it, dappled in sun, holding a dark haired man in his arms.
"You were right; I will not stay here with you. I will bring you out into the sun and stay with you in the
light.” He stroked the figure that looked like Azen in the cloth and then stroked the arm of the real man.
"But ... the winds promised my ki'ita would come."
"I look like Rebak. Maybe the winds meant me and you did not understand."
The thin body shook, cuddled into him. “I hurt inside. I'm lonely. I don't want to live in the dark."
"I am here you are not longer alone. We will find somewhere in the sun to live. And I would take your hurt,
Azen. Push it away.” He had come looking for his family and had found it already, without even reaching
the tribe of the Sudden Valley.
Azen shivered, pressed closer. “The winds promised me my ki'ita, my hi'icha, my One would come."
"Maybe he has.” He gasped himself at his own words, but he did not take them back, only pulled Azen
closer to him. Maybe it was his pride, his honor that was speaking, but he could be hi'icha to Azen. He
could.
"My One will come. My One will take me out of the darkness.” The words were broken whispers.
He tilted Azen's head and silenced the sounds with his mouth. Fire shot through him at the touch of their
lips, making him gasp and hold Azen tighter. Azen's eyes went wide, the grey growing clear, bright. Oh.
Oh, so pretty. Like something wild and magical. He licked along Azen's lips, tasting sweetness there.
Azen moaned softly, lips opening. “You. I. Oh."
"Yes.” He licked again, tongue slipping into Azen's mouth.
The softest cry pressed into his lips, Azen's eyes searching his. He hummed. A'chaffa! Azen tasted good,
felt good under his lips.
"I. You.” Those hands cupped his cheeks, his jaw.
"Yes. You. Me. Good.” He purred, hands stroking the slender body.
"Good? Oh, I ... Your hands."
"You like it when I touch you?” He had not had many lovers, mostly quick, needy couplings among the
other warriors when the need came over them. He found he wanted to explore with Azen, to take his time,
to make Azen feel good.
"I do. I ... How? How can this be?"
"Maybe because he was my brother.” He didn't care why or how. He just trusted the feeling in his bones.
"Can you feel him? Is his spirit at peace?” Those eyes searched his, desperate.
He frowned, giving Azen an apologetic shrug. “All I can feel is you, webweaver."
"Me? But I am a curse..."
"No. No, I do not wish to hear that word from you again. To me you will be a gift. Magic of my very own to
hold and to care for.” Each word he spoke was more sure; this was why he had been brought here.
"A gift ... How ... How can I be your gift? Oh...” Azen cuddled into his touch, eyes closing.
"A gift from Rebak. To his older brother, the great warrior.” He nodded. “Yes."
Tears fell from those closed eyes. “Yes. A gift from my Rebak. I can be that."
"Sh. No crying. I will be a good hi'icha. I am a great warrior—I wear the scars of my people.” Azen looked
at him, fingers tracing his scars so gently. He smiled. “They were sorry to see me go. They would welcome
me back with open arms, Azen. And if I bring a ba'chi with me, he will not be called a curse. No, he will be
seen as the gift that he is."
"I. I would not be left in the dark? You ... You will take me out?” Oh. Oh, Azen's hope was ... Sweet.
"It is growing late and this is a good cave to spend the night in. But in the morning I will take you away
from here and we will live under the smile of the sun.” He would take his gift home, they would take their
time, learn to know each other.
"Home. Sun.” Azen nodded, blinking slowly. “A gift. I am a gift."
He nodded, humming softly, the song of his tribe. “Yes, webweaver, you are a gift.
It was only moments before the ba'chi slept, pressed against him, quiet and relaxed. He blinked, looking
down at the slender form in his arms. He wasn't sure how this had happened, but it felt right.
The wind outside the cave picked up, howling as it rushed through the opening. He curled over Azen,
protecting his ba'chi from the cold.
* * * *
"Cursed one! Have you escaped the cave?"
Azen jerked awake, pulling away from the heat and strength that held him.
He shook his head, fingers tangling in his hair. “No. No. No. I am here. I am. Here.” He was confused,
unsure if he had dreamed or if the ease of the night before was true.
Big hands stroked over his skin, soothing him. “Sh. Sh, webweaver. I have you."
Oh.
He turned, looked. “True. You are. I am. Your gift. Not a curse. Not."
Sebak beamed at him, brown eyes shining, almost gold. “My gift. Yes."
"Yes.” Azen took a deep breath, stepped closer. “The sun shines in with the stone moved."
"Yes, it is morning. Will you come into the sun with me?"
He nodded. The dark frightened him. Scared him. Whispered to him. “Please."
Sebak stood and set him on his feet, dressing quickly in his leathers. “Is there anything you wish to bring
with you, Azen? Achaffa! Who is there?"
"It is your family. Your brother's tribe.” The ones who kept him here.
"They are not my family. My family are dead.” Sebak strode toward the front of the cave. “What do you
want?"
Five warriors stood around, frowning. One man, braids white and thick stepped forward. “This place is a
cursed place. There is a ruined spirit within."
Sebak growled. “I am Sebak, guardian of the tribe at the Two Rivers. I have found a wounded spirit in this
cave and have claimed him as my own."
"Sebak? Son of Arbak the Deserter?” The old man blinked. “You have returned home? Come. Come away
from this place of sorrow and we will celebrate you."
Sebak's hand went to his rahat, his back grew even straighter. “I am son of Arbak the Abandoned. I came
to find my mother's people and instead was given a great gift by the winds."
"A gift?” One of the younger warriors snorted, tossed his head. “The Cursed One was not worthy to follow
his ki'ita."
Sebak snarled. “I have told you that I have been given a gift by the winds. I hear another word against my
gift and I shall have to meet you in the circle."
"The Cursed One is not welcome. The winds do not favor him. He should have followed his ki'ita."
"I will take him to my tribe with me. He will be welcomed.” Azen could see the muscles in Sebak's back
working, his new hi'icha clearly angry.
How lovely. He found himself stepping into the sunshine, towards those strong muscles.
Sebak seemed to know he was there, half turning and opening an arm for him.
Oh.
Oh, yes.
The warriors all turned from him—all of them, old friends, men he'd know since he was a child, and they all
turned from him.
He whimpered, stepping back into the darkness.
Sebak turned to him and opened both arms. “Come, webweaver. Come stand in the light with me. I have
no loyalty to men who turn from one of their own. It is no wonder my father chose to leave these people
when he was abandoned."
Azen stepped forward, moving into those arms. “N ... not cursed. A gift."
"The Cursed One is unwelcome. We will bring food no longer."
Sebak wrapped him in warm, strong arms. “Your food is no longer welcome here. And the webweaver's gift
will no longer be shared with those who do not respect him."
Sebak was so strong and warm, such a staunch defender. “Leave now, before I make you go."
Azen pressed close, Sebak's scent making him brave. “I loved Rebak. I loved him. I am not cursed. I am
Rebak's gift to his brother."
"That is right, webweaver. My gift.” Sebak growled at the backs of the warriors. “Go. Before I must send
you into the night."
The warriors shrugged and left, riding away without a word. Azen's eyes filled with tears. “Tab'ah! I miss
you! I miss your sister. I miss your children. I was a good uncle to them."
They kept riding, but as they disappeared down the path, he heard. “I am glad you were found, ki'ita of my
brother."
Sebak, petted him, hands warm on him. “I am glad you were found, too, ki'ita of
my brother."
"Are you? Are you glad you found me?” He looked up, eyes wide.
"I am, webweaver.” Sebak bent slowly toward him, lips warm and red.
Oh, the sun felt good, he felt alive.
Sebak's mouth met his, the kiss light, soft and deep at the same time.
Oh.
Oh, the light...
Heat flooded him and he pressed his hands against Sebak's chest, whimpering as the constant ache
disappeared.
"You taste of the light, Azen."
He nodded, “We do. Together. I feel it. In my belly."
One of Sebak's large hands slid along his cheek, stroking.
"The winds promised my ki'ita would come and lead me from the dark.” He nodded, nuzzled into the touch.
Oh, Rebak had brought him Sebak; no one loved him as Rebak had.
"I'm here,” Sebak murmured. “Stay in the sun with me."
"Yes. With you.” He met Sebak's eyes. “You will take me with you when you leave?"
"I give you my word of honor."
He reached up, stroked those scarred cheeks. “You are hi'icha. Your word is as law."
"Yes.” Sebak nodded and nuzzled into his touch. He hummed, fingers exploring, searching, tingling. “Oh,
Azen ... I have never felt the things your touch makes me feel. Your magic is huge."
"I. I just.” He shook his head. “I feel you, singing inside me."
"Yes. Yes. Singing. So lovely."
"I was, once. Rebak thought I was."
"My brother had excellent taste, it seems.” Sebak's mouth caught his fingertips, licking and sucking.
"Oh. Hungry.” He watched, moaning, his fingers so sensitive, so awake, filled with magic.
"Shall I eat you?” Sebak asked him, golden eyes shinning in the light.
"Would you eat me up like a wolf?” He laughed, then put his fingers over his mouth, surprised. He laughed.
Sebak's answering laughter was deep and rich, surrounding him with warmth. “Like a man, webweaver, I
would eat you like a man."
"I would ... Oh, your eyes. They shine. They shine for me..."
Sebak's fingers stroked his cheeks, his neck, his shoulders. “For you, Azen. Sweet ba'chi."
He moaned, stretching and arching toward the touch. Oh. Oh, he had been so blessed, then so alone and
now, touched again.
"I have furs with my mi'it. We could feast beneath the sun."
"Feast?” He looked about, curious. “Did they leave the food?"
Sebak chuckled, tilted his chin. “I meant on each other."
"Oh...” He searched Sebak's eyes. There was no shame in trusting the winds. No shame in trusting Rebak's
spirit to find Sebak for him. “Yes."
"Stay here,” murmured Sebak, lips sliding against his for a moment. Then Sebak was striding toward the
horse that waited patiently near the baya tree and pulling furs from his back.
Azen raised his face to the sun, luxuriating in its touch, its warmth.
"Your hair shines in the light as if it were a night sky full of stars,” murmured Sebak, returning to his side.
He blushed, ducked his head. “You make me feel beautiful."
"But you are!” Sebak chuckled. “And you make this old warrior find pretty words to admire you with."
"You're not old. You're warm and strong and you came for me."
"Sh,,,now, or you will make me feel beautiful, too.” Sebak smiled at him and spread out the furs on a
mostly even patch of ground.
Azen stepped forward, hands stroking Sebak's buttocks. “Most beautiful.” Sebak jumped, tanned cheeks
going pink.
"Is...” He stepped away, blushing. “Can I touch?"
"Yes, yes. Please. You just surprised me.” Sebak straightened and came toward him, smiling.
"A good surprise?"
"Yes, my webweaver, a very good surprise.” Sebak took his hands in those big ones, bringing them up to
Sebak's mouth for soft kisses.
Azen shuddered. “Oh. Oh. So good. You. You ease me."
"I hope I do more than just ease you.” Sebak's eyes held his as his fingers were sucked into the warmth of
Sebak's mouth.
He arched, hips jerking, passion and heat and magic flooding him in a rush. “Sebak!"
Sebak gave him an almost shy look. “It pleases you?"
"Yes. Yes, please. I ... Please, Sebak. I have need..."
Sebak rumbled, the sound pleased and happy. He was taken into the strong arms and drawn down onto
the furs. He went easily, eagerly, cuddling into Sebak's arms.
He had been alone too long.
End.
Visit www.torquerepress.com for information on additional titles by this and other authors.
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