The crashing of bushes and snapping of twigs and branches preceded the arrival of a bull elk. The creature was large, but it bounded through the underbrush with surprising agility, tan fur lightening and darkening under the variable sunlight that filtered through the canopy. A single throwing spear jutted from the creature's. Red flowed onto the creature's belly and onto the grass below as it ran. The elk bounded before turning off into the deep woods, disappearing into the mid-afternoon dimness beneath the thicker trees.
Just moments after, a group of four figures came running, following the sounds of the elk. They carried a variety of ranged weapons, just as their skins were a variety of greenish shades. Orcish hunters from the Red Sun clan, they kept low to the ground, vibrant red body and face paint concealed under dark cloaks made of leather and fur.
One orc raised up to fire an arrow at the elk, but the shaft found nothing but a tree trunk as the elk ducked away. Curses followed, and a fifth figure came in from behind, standing head, shoulders, and chest over his compatriots. Dressed in a large fur cloak and fur clothing, Motark carried his shield on his back and personal axe on his hip, but in his hands carried around four javelins, three bundled in one hand and one at the ready in the other.
"Where is it?" Motark said in orcish, and a hunter with a crude bow pointed into the deeper woods.
"In there, chief. The dark woods."
Motark looked over into the dim woods, and let out a thoughtful hum.
"Let's track it, then. The summer festival will need the meat."
The hunters were more superstitious than Motark, but they made no mention of their worries. The deep woods always carried with them a different energy than the wider forests, and there were always the tales of territorial spirits and hunters going missing, but their chief had made his decision and none of them were to argue. The festival would have its elk.
They set off into the deep woods, following the Elk's trail as they crept through, spreading out to cover more ground. They were confident that the beast couldn't have made it far anytime soon with its wound, but they had a certain hustle to their step nonetheless.
The distress of the elk almost called to her, and Fiala went very still, ears and tail perking up as she turned her head from side to side, trying to pinpoint the sounds.
Then, in a sudden burst of movement, she was off, bounding over the undergrowth toward the animal. She had never been so far from the grove, a fact she realized only vaguely as she passed a copse of blooming oak trees that she had never seen before.
But she didn't have time to dwell on it too long. She found the elk collapsed by a fallen log. He seemed to have tried to jump and caught a back hoof, sending him sprawling. The scent of blood hung thick in the air and the young fae woman paused, her hooves scratching nervously at the foliage beneath them. Then she steeled herself and moved forward, kneeling at the dying animal's side.
And he was dying. Blood loss and panic had taken their toll, and she could feel the life ebbing from him. Her eyes filled with tears that she hardly noticed as she lowered her head to press her brow to the noble beast's, their antlers clacking lightly against each other. She could feel his heartbeat in his chest, his labored breath, his fear and desperation. She could feel every summer her had lived, every winter borne through with the cows and their little ones, every spring welcomed with joy and trepidation for the year to come.
Fiala smiled. "You have lived well, brave one," she whispered to the massive buck. His breathing began to slow, his heartbeat pulsing in a less erratic rhythm of her magic washed over him. "You have earned your rest," she continued, stroking his neck. The elk sighed, his eyes drifting closed. His heartbeat slowed. "Sleep now, brave one. It's alright. You can rest."
The elk died content, without the fear of the hunt nipping at his heels. Fiala cried as she stroked his thick fur, but she could not say she was grieving, exactly. As much as her fae heritage connected her to the creatures of the wood, she also had lived and seen enough to know that the hunt was simply the way of nature. Predators ate prey.
Her eyes flickered to the spear still lodged in the buck's side and she reached out curiously to brush her fingers against it. Her vision was still a little blurry, and she raised one hand to brush the tears away.
She understand the nature of the hunt, but she had never really seen something like this before.
Motark crept through those deep, dark woods, surprisingly quiet for such a large orc. The other hunters had spread out. The trail was Motark's, and the others had fanned out behind him to catch sight of the large animal.
What stopped Motark in his tracks was the soft sound of someone quietly crying, the source concealed by tangling briars and thick bushes ahead. He shot a hand up, and as everyone stopped and went silent they all heard the sound too.
Their hands tightened on their weapons, a tension entering the air around the group of hunters. Mysterious crying in the woods was almost never a good thing. All eyes were on Motark, and he lowered his hand, giving it a few waves to tell his hunters to wait.
Steeling himself for whatever may lie ahead, he moved through the briars to follow the elk's trail. He tried to be quiet, but he was big and the underbrush thick. Worries of stealth, however, melted away once he stepped through.
The sight of a small, womanly figure knelt over the elk gave him pause, rooting him to the spot. In his life, he'd never seen such a creature. The features of human and deer and the soft sound of her crying had him spellbound. Wondering at the scene before him and trying to determine if he should just walk away.
If Fiala was observant, she'd be able to notice that the spear inside the elk was very much a match for the throwing spears Motark carried.
The young woman's head snapped up and immediately turned toward the sound of crackling underbrush, ears swiveling forward and standing upright from her hair. The sight might have been comical, were it not for the clear sorrow in her eyes and the sheer irrealism of her face. A creature both of the natural world and of the fae, both here and somehow distinctly...not.
After a moment of silent staring, Fiala tilted her head at the stranger. Her eyes moved over his form, glinting amber in the dappled sunlight. Slowly, she rose to her feet, carefully laying the elk's head on the soft moss, pressing a kiss to his brow between his antlers before she unfolded to her full height.
She was not so much impossing, standing there beside the felled buck, all delicate limbs and large, amber eyes. Even her antlers seemed so fine and elegant as to snap in a strong gale. But there was a power to her that could not be denied, something connected to every twig and root around her that almost seemed to shimmer around her in soft, golden-green light.
She didn't wear much-- what need had she for clothes?-- though her cascading mahogany hair provided some semblance of modesty where it fell over her breasts. Though her legs were clearly deer-like in nature, toward her upper thigh and hips they melded seamlessly into her more human anatomy. Her only garment was a loose loincloth of sorts, tied around her waist with a strip of green cloth to fall down her front, ending at about mid-thigh.
Her head tilted the other way, and for a moment it seemed that threads of gold in her antlers caught the light. "Who are you?" she asked softly. "You do not belong here."
It was not a threat, or even a judgement, merely a recognition. Orc-kind did not often venture so far into the dark wood, and those that did rarely returned.
Yes, Fiala was definitely not intimidating to Motark in the slightest, at least not conventionally. What gave him such pause was the sheer lack of knowledge he had about these sorts of things. The druids back in Bloodmorrow would know, but Motark himself was uncertain.
Was she going to level a curse at him? Cause branches to skewer his flesh? Set the beasts of the forest upon him? She was crying over the elk he himself had just killed, he couldn't help but think he'd wounded her personally.
Then, she stood. The tops of her antlers could probably tickle Motark's chin, but that was the least of what Motark saw. Her features struck him as completely alien, and the way the greenery seemed to twist and bend in towards her...
She spoke, then. Tone even but words ominous.
Motark considered them for a moment. Then, he sighed and staked his javelin into the ground, disarming himself. He was hesitant to give this spirit his name, for fear of it being able to use it against him, but he spoke nonetheless.
"I am a hunter," he started.
"And I will leave this place as soon as you let me leave with my quarry. I'm not looking for trouble, spirit."
“Spirit?” Finals tiltef her head the other way, brow furrowed slightly as she seemed to be trying to process the word.
Then, suddenly, she laughed.
Shaking her head, the young Fae woman smiled and told him, “I am no spirit, hunter. I am flesh and blood, same as you.” Well. Not the same, exactly, but fairly close.
An older one of her kind would have been more wary, hesitant to reveal what might be seen as a weakness. But for all the mysterious allure the forest gave her, for all the power she could wield, Fiala was still in many ways young and naive.
She looked between the orc and the fallen elk. Her frown came back. “Why must you take him?” she asked eventually, looking up to Motark. “Surely if you are hungry you can consume your meal where he has fallen. Then his remains may return to the earth.” That was the way of things, after all.
Her laughter set him on edge, but then the words she spoke after had the opposite effect. Another creature of the woods, then? Either way, he was emboldened by the revelation.
He stepped forwards cautiously, crossing his arms. He let his fur hood down so she could see him. He was far from the usual specimen of orc, sporting larger bottom teeth than most of his kind and a face that was rectangular in shape. He sported no hair. Not shaved, he just lacked it altogether.
"He'll return to the earth, but not today," he started, continuing to take slow paced steps towards the fallen elk, ever wary of Fiala.
"The summer festival needs his meat and his fur."
"Summer...festival?"
Once more Fiala let her head tilt to the side, a small, considering frown stealing across her face. "What is this thing you speak of?" She glanced to the elk again. "Why is he required?"
She understood taking the meet, but the fur befuddled her slightly. She wasn't entirely unaware of human-- or in this case orcish-- custom, but she couldn't really think of a use for that. Her own clothes were woven from magic and plant fiber after all, so it couldn't possibly be that.
Again, she didn't stop him. By this point, Motark was still wary, but at least confident that she posed no immediate threat.
He stepped past her, keeping her at arm's distance as he went to grab the elk around the midsection and just hoist it up onto his shoulder, an impressive feat given the size of the animal.
"His meat's needed for the feasting," Motark said, turning to face Fiala.
"We'll use the hide to make a costume for the Stag Dancer, and his heart will be sacrificed to Shok for good harvests and healthy births."
Fiala blinked. This man used so many strange words!
"I do not understand," she huffed quietly. Then she shrugged. "But I suppose that doesn't truly matter. This is none of my affair."
She twisted around to watch him as he moved, amber eyes bright with curiosity. "You do not belong here," she repeated. Again, her tone was even and nonthreatening. "Where do you come from?"
"I come from a village, a fair distance from these woods." Him and his group had traveled rather far by boar-back to reach the tribe's favored Elk grounds. Motark took all the festivals very seriously! He loved the celebrations and periods of peace that they brought on.
He spared her a look, before turning his gaze to where he came from. He stepped over, pulling his javelin from the ground and holding it to his side.
"I need to get this back to my village, while the kill is fresh..."
He paused. After a moment's thought, he put his fist to his chest, still clutching the javelin.
"But my name is Motark Bloodspear. I've never seen anything like you and that makes me curious. I may yet return."
The fae creature smiled, and the gold-green glow around her shimmered and twisted. "I am Fiala," she told him with a slight dip of her head. "I have never seen anything like you either, Motark Bloodspear."
She turned to walk back into the trees, back toward the glen, then paused. Her tail swept up in a flash of white fur as she looked back over her shoulder. Her lips twitched up on one side, eyes glinting.
"I may be here when you return."
[Time skip?]
[yeyeye]
Motark returned. The summer festival had happened the very next day that he'd returned from the hunt. By a twist of fate, he himself was selected to be the Stag Dancer for that year. Even though he was notorious among the tribe for being way too large to dance too well, he gave it his all and everything was good for a night and he didn't have to worry about the looming conflict. By sheer coincidence, the large elk's pelt was a great fit for the large orc, and the village elders and druids all concurred that the festivities had been a success.
So it was with high hearts and a desire to know of everything around his tribe that Motark entered the druid's tent to ask about reclusive, half-fawn forest dwellers, only to get differing accounts. What the druids did agree on was that the children of the forests were borne from magical groves, where the power of nature coalesced.
Power or not, Motark had the intent to at least scout out the deeper woods, which is why he returned by himself, again with his weapons but still no armor, just dark-stained leather and earthy furs to cover up in.
He hitched up his riding boar against a tree with a dense cluster of mushrooms growing on its base. He stood at the precipice of those woods once more before stepping through.
Fiala was waiting, as she said she'd be. She had kept her encounter with the orc quiet from her cousin, not wanting to worry Lakali— and also perhaps fearing that if the elder Fae creature learned of her ever more frequent explorations she might be panned from leaving the grove altogether.
Of course, she wasn't sure Lakali could do something like that, but she didn't exactly want to put it passed her.
So she slipped away for a few days at a time, never too long to around suspicion but long enough that she could press further and further away from her home each time. On this particular occasion, she had been away from the grove nearly three days already when she heard the telltale heavy tread of the orc.
Grinning impishly, Fiala kicked out her hooves from where she perched on a branch looking down at the twisting forest paths below. She whistled, a sound somewhere between the call of a lark and the trill of a robin.
It was an interesting experience, to walk through those woods alone. The large trees blocked the wind, reducing it to a light breeze that barely shook the branches. The thick, tall canopies provided for trees that just grew up into the darkness and let in light in slivers and splotches.
It was quiet, peaceful and unnerving all in the same way.
Then, Motark heard what he thought was a large bird call from up above him. He rest a hand on the nearest tree and looked up. It was dim up there, but he saw a faint shape, legs swinging and golden eyes glinting down on him.
"Fiala?" He said, unsure if it was her or some other dweller of the forest.
She smiled, revealing a flash of canine's that were far too sharp to belong to such a doe-like creature.
Easily, she swung down from the branch and landed before the orc. For such a sharp drop, her hooves made almost no sound when they connected with the loamy earth.
"I am here," she told him, cocking her head in an almost birdlike gesture. "I will admit, I almost did not expect you to return."
That was... impressive. How she could just jump down like that, even Motark didn't think he could stick a landing like that, and nowhere near as silently.
Still, he took his hood down again, stepping up to her and folding an arm onto his abdomen, giving her a slight dip of his head to greet her.
"And I wouldn't have been surprised if I didn't see you, as well. I am curious of your woods, and came back to explore."
Rather curious herself, Fiala mimicked his gesture, crossing her arm over her midsection and bowing her head slightly.
At Motark's words, she smiled enigmatically and shook her head, already turning to step away into the trees. "Not my words," she corrected blithely. "Though there are certainly a number of those like me who keep these wild places safe."
"They are the woods you live in, at any rate," Motark said. She was a stranger, so it was natural for him to be gruff and curt.
He stepped closer, arms crossed. He was confident now, and he didn't hesitate as he sought to test the boundaries a little by dropping his guard and approaching her plainly. An exercise in minor trust.
"I will be honest with you, I came to scout out these woods, to explore them. Will that be a problem?"
Fiala hesitated, turning her head to look back over her shoulder at him. "Scouting for what?" she replied slowly, almost warily.
These woods were not hers to protect, true enough, but if someone came to them with malicious intent, she could hardly just stand by.
"To see what's inside," Motark sad, daring to smile a little. He didn't quite know the boundaries with this creature, but last night's festivities had him in a better mood than usual.
"My people have told tales of this place. Hunters that go missing, mysterious lights, large beasts..."
He wanted to mention the rumors of a powerful grove, but he chose to omit that, in case it made her defensive. It made him curious how unafraid of him she seemed. Almost every non-orc he'd ever met found him imposing, even a little.
"I don't know if they have any stock, but I'm curious nonetheless."
Fiala laughed, and for a moment the trees seemed to lean in toward her, just barely, drinking in the chiming sound like sunlight.
Smiling, the fae girl turned on one hoof and skipped a few paces deeper into the foliage. Her tail flicked back and forth, a warning flash of white beneath the deep tan. Once again she wore only a low-slung, wrapped garment of shimmering green fabric, which hugged her hips and draped almost lazily over her upper thighs, baring much of her dappled skin to the elements, though she hardly minded.
"Curiosity can be a dangerous thing," she noted almost playfully, her eyes glinting. "What will you do if you find the truth behind these stories, hm?"
It's not that Motark was embarrassed by skin, Orcs tended to go topless on hot summer days regardless of sex. But she was so foreign to him that he wanted to see what she looked, and that came with the realization she was more or less buck naked.
Strange, he hadn't really noticed the first time. Instead, he chose to focus on how the trees actually moved at the sound of her voice. Shok above...
"Well, that's for me to figure out when I get there," Motark said.
"And you? You must be curious, too."
She tilted her head at him as she turned to face him properly, one eyebrow raised delicately. "What need have I for curiosity? I am faerie, stranger. Do you think I do not know these woods?"
A bald faced bluff, but no need for him to know that. As fae, she could not lie outright, but she could talk her way in circles if she had to.
Besides, it was more fun to let him think she knew more than she did.
"Not about these woods, but what's outside of it," Motark rebutted. He stepped past her, and leaned against a tree, crossing his arms. He hadn't come in his armor today, so apart from the fur cloak and hood he wore over his shoulders, his kilt made of dyed red cloth, boots, and his underclothing beneath the kilt. He was marginally more dressed than she was, and she'd be able to see that every inch of him rippled with powerful muscle.
He was quiet for a few moments.
"I trust you've never seen our village? Or any other of the orcs who live in this area?"
Fiala debated for a few moments how to answer that. Eventually, she gave him a single nod. Eyeing him up and down, she leaned back against a nearby trunk herself and tried to mimic his pose, arms folded over her chest.
"No. My knowledge beyond these trees...leaves a little to be desired, I'll admit."
"Then we've got plenty to learn from each other," Motark said simply, noting with amusement how she seemed to mimic his actions.
He straightened up off the tree and motioned for her to follow, and he started to walk further into the woods.
As he walked, he felt like experimenting a little, so he joined his hands behind his back as he walked, curious to see if she'd keep copying him.
"How long have you lived here?"
Completely oblivious to his game, Fiala did indeed clasp her own hands behind her back as she fell into step beside him, after a moment spent observing his gait and how exactly his shoulders rolled and hunched, then settled back.
"Did I say I lived here?" she asked with a bright smile, eyes glinting. More fae loopholes.
"Well, no," Motark admitted, shrugging at her statement.
"But you seem to spend most of your time here. After all, you told me you don't know much beyond these parts," he continued, looking over to her.
He smiled.
"How many winters have you spent here?"
Ah, that was a question she could answer and still remain enigmatic.
"None," she replied with something like a teasing grin. Almost daring him into a game-- just how much could he get out of her?
"And you? How many winters have you lived with your tribe?" She knew mortals were not bound to the same laws of truth as her kind, but she rather hoped he'd even the playing field that way.
Wait. Did he even know she couldn't lie? That was an interesting thought-- perhaps something to be explored later.
He wasn't oblivious to her game. He had a feeling getting a straight answer from her wouldn't be as easy as asking a question, yet he persisted with it for now.
"I was born there, and have live twenty and nine winters," he said. He passed a hand against a tree as they walked, marveling at how massive they got this deep into the woods.
Then, he looked at her, grinning back.
"Do you mean to tell me that you've never left these woods, yet never experienced a winter?"
Fiala's eyes lit up, sensing that he'd caught on to her game. "Very close," she praised, skipping back a few steps.
She knelt to pass her hands over a few twisting vines in the undergrowth. As she pulled her hand back, the green tendrils seemed to rise up and follow her, twining around her fingers gently before she extracted them.
"I have left these woods many times," she told Motark with another quick smile. "But no, I have never experienced a winter."
Interesting answer.
One of the druids had told him that the fae loved riddles and games, so he saw no harm in continuing to humor her. After he watched her play with the vines, he continued after her, letting her lead him along for now but making sure to remember where he'd come from.
She could just as easily be leading him to be lost in the woods.
"So where do you go, then? If not beyond the woods you've never left?" Motark wondered.
"What is this magical place that winter doesn't touch? Is it deeper inside?"
"Yes," Fiala replied easily, though she did not tell him which question she was answering. As intriguing as the orc was, she had a feeling Lakali would be none too pleased if she brought him to the Moonlit Glade.
She paused, seemed to consider, then turned sharply and began picking her way through the trees again, humming softly to herself and trailing her fingers over the leaves of the thick foliage.
She set off again, and Motark watched her easily pick her way through the foliage ahead. Looking backwards, he decided that with no clear destination in mind, he had nothing much better to do than keep following her. An intriguing creature indeed...
As he followed loosely, eyes not really on her but on the woods around him as they travelled. The white of exposed bark caught his eye, and he stopped to examine. There was a set of claw marks on one of the trees. They belonged to a bear, no doubt, but the marks were huge!
He passed a hand on the marks, measuring the width of the claws by fitting three fingers onto one of the marks.
"Big bears here," he muttered.
"And the animals, they don't give you any trouble?"
"Why should they?" She shrugged as she continued on her way, for all intents and purposes not seeming to care if he continued to follow her or not. "I am not their natural prey, nor are they mine. We live and let live."
"I had a feeling it was like that," Motark said, and carried on examining until he was satisfied with his theory that these woods housed a dire bear.
He watched her as she got farther and farther away, and sighed.
He had some woods to scout, he didn't have time to play the question game with a fairy creature. So, intending on seeing if she'd followed him, he went his own separate way. His first objective was to find a river to make camp by. He was tired from a long day of riding, and wouldn't mind getting all of his camp gear off of his back.
Fiala did not feel the need to follow him to the stream that cut through the woods-- originating in the Glade, actually, though most didn't know it. It was the only water source within easier reach, and she figured if she wanted to find him again it would be easy enough to do so.
It was, in fact. She managed to find his camp later that evening without too much effort. She decided to approach from the other side of the stream, curious how he might react to her.
Motark's camp wasn't much to go singing to the birds about. A freshly dug fire pit rimmed with stones and filled with sticks arranged into a cone shape and a single cloth tent, although the tent was rather big. He'd dragged a medium-sized fallen tree over and sheared off the branches on the upwards side, converting it into a makeshift bench. He was sitting against this log, fur cloak placed against it for cushioning, and was eating some food he'd brought from the village.
Nuts, alongside a cut of salted pig wrapped in spinach.
He leaned over to sprinkle a few more twigs into his fire, when he noticed her slowly approaching from the other side of the stream.
Rather than call out to her, he decided to give her the benefit of the doubt by merely scooting over and patting the ground next to him, not even sparing her a glance but inviting her nonetheless.
Fiala debated for a few moments, then sort of shrugged to herself and picked her way through the water, taking long, elegant steps to cross through the stream, occasionally leaping up onto a stepping stone and balancing delicately one her hooves before jumping to the next.
One she reached Motark's bank, she eyed the spot he indicated for a second or two before lowering herself to sit, folding her legs elegantly to the side.
"Hello again."
She sat down next to him, and he finally acknowledged her, giving her a welcoming smile.
"Hello, Fiala," he said, and he held out the wooden bowl full of nuts and seeds.
"Where I come from, it's custom to share your camp with visitors. Please, make yourself comfortable. I have food and drink," he said, and he turned to face her more.
"The woods here are beautiful."
Fiala leaned in to sniff at the bowl before cautiously selecting a single nut and crunching it between her teeth.
"They are," she agreed softly, looking up at the treetops above them. "Is it at all like your home, this place?"
Motark seemed to brighten when she accepted the food, and he laid the bowl down between them, grabbing one for himself.
"No, not as many trees. Our people make homes and tents out of them, and sometimes we need to clear space to grow food," Motark said.
"And everywhere, there's people. I don't know if you live with any others of your kind, but in the village there's always someone there..."
He trailed off, then resumed.
"I have to take care of them all. I'm their chief."
Her eyes seemed to soften as she listened to him, letting her head tilt to the side and propping her chin in her palm.
"That sounds...interesting," she mused.
Truthfully, it sounded fascinating. And strangely wonderful. Her life had always been so solitary, she couldn't even imagine what he was describing.
"Is it difficult? Being responsible for so many of your kin?"
"It is, but not for the reasons you'd think," Motark said, smiling a little more to himself.
"Sometimes, times are hard. But sometimes, they couldn't be better. But everyone always has expectations of you, and everything they cherish hinges on you to hold it all together," he said, and he took a drink from his water skin.
"Do you want anything to drink? I have a spare waterskin, and also some travelling brew."
She shook her head when offered water, though her ears actually perked up at the second offer. Curiously, she leaned toward him and asked, "What is...travelling brew?"
"It's a drink the herbalists in town make. Potato brew with some water and honey to make it sweet," he said, and he leaned over a bit, stretching to get his bag and pull it out.
"It's good like water, but if you drink enough of it it gets you feeling nice and good," he said, procuring the corked gourd that served as the bottle.
"I take mine a little strong, so it'll be an interesting taste at least."
Fiala leaned forward to sniff at the gourd, then jerked back again, crinkling her nose. It smelled strong!
"Alright, but why is it traveling?" she demanded. "Does it travel? Do you only drink it while traveling? What happens if you drink it out-of-travel?"
At her demanding tone, he held it closer to himself and grinned just a little wider. It was time to play some games of his own.
"It's called travelling brew because it's a good drink to have when you're travelling," he said, and then took a swig of it himself.
"It's delicious," he added.
Fiala licked her lips and tilted her head the other way curiously. "What does it taste of?"
She didn't want to try some. No, definitely not.
...She was pretty sure.
"Well, I won't lie it has a strong taste on the tongue," Motark said.
"But it's only for a moment, because after that it's sweet and smooth and leaves you nice and warm," he said, putting a hand on his stomach as he leaned more against the fur-covered log.
"Mmm." Fiala simply watched him, her eyes almost animalistic in the dimming light. "Does all mortal food taste that way?"
"No, we make food all kinds of ways," he said, turning his head to look at her, and then noting that she was just... watching him. Out here, cloak-less and in the gentle firelight, he was fully on display for her to curiously look at. He was all power, even when at rest.
"And there's mortal food I hate and mortal food I love," Motark said, looking to her eyes and finding himself a little speechless at the alien, yet curious nature of her.
"Hm."
Her ears flickered, and she considered for a moment offering to take him somewhere that he might taste fruits of the Faerie Realm. But no. No, that was a bad idea--her people's food had an ill effect on mortals, she'd been told.
Well...it might be interesting, but then if he became reliant on faerie fruit he'd never leave the Glade again, and that was ultimately a much less entertaining endeavor. She wanted an excuse to explore, not to be trapped right back where she'd started!
Suddenly getting to her feet, Fiala picked her way daintily around the campfire, exploring what exactly his camp entailed. She poked her head into the tent curiously, then skittered back with a soft nose of distress as the cloth snagged at her antlers.
She'd hear Motark chuckle at that. He had nothing much in his camp. The large tent with a comfortable looking bedroll made of fur and cloth, his pack leaning against the log, and the campfire. His weapons sat inside the tent. A bag of throwing spears and his ancestral axe.
"Careful, it's not made for someone with antlers," he said.
"Yes, I discovered that," the young woman noted wryly, shaking her head as she skipped back from the tent and glowered at it as though it had personally insulted her.
Glancing back to Motark, she asked, almost offended, "Do none of your people have antlers?"
"Nope. Most have hair, I don't even have that," he said, and he passed a hand over his bald head. He had no hair anywhere at all, actually.
"But all Orcs have tusks", he said, tapping his chin. He had a pretty impressive set, and they could probably do serious damage to something if he chose to bite.
"If the tent's got you in a sour mood, try this," he said, and he offered her the travelling brew.
Fiala "hmm"ed quietly and moved to kneel in front of him, taking the offered flask. She didn't drink anything though, instead leaning closer to peer at his tusks.
After a moment, she laid the flask to the side and reached up to pull his lower lip down slightly, evidently entirely unaware that her actions might be seen as rude. "Do you have two sets? Or just the one?"
With most animals she'd met who'd had tusks, they either had a larger top or bottom set, with smaller, almost canine-esque teeth opposite.
She was tugging his lip down before he could object, so he just looked at her, perhaps a little bewildered, hands still, shoulders just a little tense. She was suddenly very close to him and he wasn't sure how he felt about it.
"Just the one," he said, letting her have her curiosity. She'd be able to see that he had a set of omnivorous teeth like humans, but with a higher ratio of sharper, carnivore teeth than normal.
"Ah." She sat back, tilting her head back and forth as she released his lip. "Interesting."
Her tongue flicked over her own teeth, tracing the subtle points of her canines. In a lot of ways she could find similarities between herself and the orc-- beneath the obvious differences, of course.
She seemed to be settling back, giving him some space. But then she was rocking up onto her knees and leaning over Motark again, examining his smooth scalp. "Do you not have hair intentionally?" she asked. "Or do you just shed it all?"
And just as Motark was settling back down from her first surprise, she was coming back in for more! This time, her hands were on his scalp, and he didn't find that as objectionable.
"Ever since I was born, not a single hair has grown on me. Anywhere," he said, eyes rolling up to look at her as she looked at him. And with her so close to him like this, his curiosity overtook him and they wandered down about halfway down her body before he stopped himself and focused on looking up at her antlers.
Fiala's mouth curved up at the corners and she rubbed her palms over his scalp. It was rather fascinating; most of the animals she interacted with had fur or hair of some kinda, and even those that were hairless often had pebbled skin or scales instead.
"Oh." Eyes widening slightly, she sat back and picked up the flask again, turning it over in her hands. "I forgot." She held it back out to him. "You want this, yes?"
Motark laughed.
"You're the one who wanted it, but then got distracted," he said, and he put a finger against the flask and pushed it so that it was against her.
"Or did you forget?"
"Ah. Yes."
She hadn't forgotten, but she'd sort of been hoping that he had. She was a little leery of trying the brew, but didn't want to back down in front of him. This felt like a challenge now.
Warily, Fiala lifted the flask to her nose and took a sniff. Her whole face scrunched up and she jerked back, mouth open slightly as she drew in a sharp breath of fresh air. "You drink this?"
"I do," Motark said.
He'd called it potato brew and honey, but in all fairness that was the layman's way of describing it. Motark didn't know much about the drink past that, just that the druids knew how to brew it for the scouts. What he referred to as "potato brew" was actually something that was in between and ale and a hard liquor. The rest was a mix of honey, herbs, and a dash of druidic magic.
it was a demi-magical brew that smelled strong and sweet, brewed for an earthy, sweet flavor and almost no bite at all.
"Many orcs love it, myself included. I've seen honor duels over spilled bottles of this brew."
Fiala sniffed the drink again, and again she crinkled her nose up at the strength of the scent. Giving the orc a wary look, she lifted the flask to her lips and sipped cautiously.
"Oh." She blinked and looked down at it. "That's...not bad, actually."
"Not bad at all," he repeated with a wider smile, and he reached over to take the flask back for a moment to satisfy his own thirst before he held it back out to her.
"Did you think I was going to poison you?"
She gave him a very droll stare. "I doubt you could," she responded as she took the flask again. "I do not believe mortal toxins would harm me."
Well, most of them. And not in the same way they would someone who wasn't fae, certainly.
She sipped, a little longer this time, and held it back out to Motark. A strange ritual, but rather...satisfying. Sip, pass, talk. It was almost quaint.
"How far a journey did you make to come to these woods?" she asked, eyes glinting in the glow of the campfire.
Her stern response caused him to chuckle, and he spoke as she drank. "That's impressive," he commented, leaning more against the log and stretching out.
When she passed it to him, he smiled a little wider, happy to see that she picked up on things quickly.
He took it with a grateful nod and swigged a little heavier from it. Figuring it was safe to get a little buzzed if she was drinking too.
He mused that she probably wasn't used to alcohol either.
"It was a day's travel. I'll likely leave by tomorrow night," Motark said.
He held out the flask for her.
Taking it once more, Fiala found herself sniffing the lip of the flask again before she drank. Almost despite herself, the smell was growing on her-- she still wasn't sure that she liked it, but it was rather fascinating, trying to sort through the myriad of ingredients.
And the honey was just intoxicating. She knew Lakali kept bees on the mortal side of the Glade, but she had only tasted honey once or twice in her life. It was quite nice.
"Will you ever return?" she asked as she passed the brew back.
"Perhaps," Motark answered, taking the brew but not drinking from it just yet.
"I have responsibilities, but the deepness of these woods is so intriguing to me," he said, looking out into the nighttime glades. His riding boar was still out there, but Motark knew the beast could handle itself. He didn't want to risk bringing it into the woods when he didn't know what was inside.
Then, he looked to Fiala, offering her a smile before drinking deeply of the brew. He held it back out to her.
"And the people that live in it have only made my curiosity stronger,"
Fiala smirked before taking a swig, savoring the sweetness on her tongue. "You still seem to assume I live here," she noted almost playfully as she handed the flask back to him.
With a sigh, she leaned back against the log he was using as a bench and let her head tip back, staring up through the canopy at the patches of starlight she could make out.
"Perhaps I am wandering," she mused softly. "Perhaps my home is far away, and so painfully dull that I have set out to experience something new."
Motark hummed thoughtfully at that.
"That sounds like truth to me," he said, looking down at her. Watching the stars reflected in those large eyes of hers.
"But out in the green, you're free, aren't you?"
He accepted the flask, and drank. He wiped off his lips with a forearm and sighed, breath heavy with the smell of honey. He held it down for her.
"Or do you have to make up excuses to leave home too?"
"Free." Fiala turned the word over in her mouth slowly, carefully, tasting it before she allowed it to become sound. "Was I not before? Am I now?"
She shrugged and took the flask, taking a long swig this time. A delicate shudder ran down her spine and she drew in a sharp breath as she let her hands fall into her lap, her eyes sliding closed. Her head was beginning to buzz pleasantly.
Hm. Perhaps this was why Lakali did not like her consuming honey...
"I am beholden to none, not the way you are," she answered Motark after a moment. "I need make no excuses to do as I wish, save to myself."
"I get that," Motark said.
He wanted to rest his back, so he slid down so he could rest his back against the log.
"D you eat meat?" he asked, purely out of curiosity.
She twisted to better face him, sitting with her legs splayed out to the side, haphazard but somehow elegant at the same time.
"I have, once or twice," she replied easily. "I do not prefer it though. It is not sweet enough for my tastes."
"Ah, a sweet tooth. I ask because I have dried meats in my pack. In case you were hungry," Motark said, feeling the brew in his head as he inspected her, finding details to latch onto like how her legs turned to hooves at the end or how she seemed to have both the skin of a human and a deer...
He met her eyes again, then they wandered a little upwards.
"I've never met anyone with antlers before," he noted, leaning a bit closer to inspect how the gold threaded through them.
"They look sturdy," he commented.
"And I have never met anyone without antlers," Fiala replied with a wink and a small giggle.
Hm. Giggling. That was a bit odd.
"I thought at first you must be in the middle of a shed— that's awfully silly of males, don't you think? To lose their sign of virility and protection annually. Now we females keep our antlers year-round, yet ours are not nearly as prized!"
She frowned at him as though she was trying to work through a difficult puzzle. "Mine are quite strong, too. And pretty, aren't they?" She twisted her head back and forth so the firelight could catch the threads of gold through the mahogany.
Appreciatively, he followed her antlers as she twisted her head about, watching the glimmering threads with a growing smile.
"They're really impressive," Motark admitted, and then motioned to his own face.
"For Orcs it's all about the tusks. Good thing we don't shed those, though," he said with a shudder.
He motioned to her lap.
"Are you going to drink, or just hold it?" he asked, buzzed enough to be a little bold with her.
"Mm? Oh." She looked down at the flask as though she'd forgotten she was still holding it, then shrugged and took another quick gulp before she passed it back.
"Thank you," she told him belatedly for the compliment. Then she frowned abruptly and twisted to eye him almost warily. "Assuming you mean it. Mortals can be tricky that way."
"Of course I mean it," Motark said, putting a hand on his chest to put on a little mock offense. He took thr flask from her, noting just how much of it they'd gone through with a slight rise of his eyebrows before he drank.
"I'm done with this, you can keep having it if you want," he said as he put his hands behind his head, arcing his back for a bit as he stretched.
"So much of you is so different from Orcs. You have actual fur" he said, letting himself smile a bit wider.
"It makes you look soft, but I know you're not..."
"And now how do you know that?" Fiala demanded as she took the flask back and threw back a large gulp. She swayed slightly, narrowing her eyes as she tried to bring the surrounding trees back into focus. The taste of honey hung thick on her tongue, its sweetness invaded her senses.
"And how do I know that you mean what you say?" she asked suddenly, pointing a finger at his nose and frowning. "I may spend my whole life studying the subtle arts of deceptions and half-truths, but you, you, you tiny mortal thing, you could just..." She waved her arms expressively, then sat back with a sudden pout. "Just sit there and say things that aren't true! It's maddening!"
With a huff, she added almost petulantly, "And my fur is very soft. And you know that is truth!"
"Just because I could lie about something doesn't mean I'm going to. And why would I lie about your horns being impressive?" Motark shrugged, now it was his turn to wave a finger at her.
"The way you carry yourself, the way you jumped down from that high branch like it was nothing, I know you're stronger than you let on," he continued, and just buzzed enough he extended a hand to run a finger against the soft fur of her leg.
"Really soft..." he commented.
It was; though she was clearly a grown creature, the fur on her legs had the almost baby-down softness of a day-old fawn, even speckled with white flecks toward her hips, as her face was.
"I told you." She looked proud of herself for moment, then her face fell again and she slumped back against the log. "But that's just the thing, isn't it? I must be stronger, faster, cleverer than I seem. Because I could not look an enemy in the face and tell him an untruth, I must make him underestimate me and hope it is enough, that my bluff will not be called."
Yeah, she definitely shouldn't be saying these things. But with the honey of that orcish brew still thick on her tongue she couldn't seem to stop herself.
Oh.
Motark's face fell a little at her words, and he shifted a bit closer, joining his hands on his. Ever since he first laid eyes on her, he just automatically assumed that beneath the soft fur and light voice was sharp teeth and claws that could tear.
He idly felt the fur as her words sat, and he looked down at her. It was one of the softest things he'd ever felt...
"You could learn how to use a bow, or... a spear?" he offered.
"I know those don't seem like natural weapons, but it'll add to your bluff," he added, unsure of his suggestion.
"Many lose their nerve when they face down a spear..."
Fiala huffed and suddenly got to her feet, throwing her arms wide. This had the unintended effect of tossing her hair back to tumble around her shoulders and leaving her breasts bare. She didn't seem to care much.
"I'm not entirely defenseless," she exclaimed to no one in particular. Perhaps the stars, that's what she was glaring at.
But just as quickly as she'd risen she seemed to deflate again, collapsing back down onto her knees, then her rear, swinging her legs around so she could draw her knees up to rest her chin on them. "Perhaps," she finally admitted quietly, eyes fixed on the fire.
Her head was fuzzy. She felt hot. Was she too close to the flames? No. No, she actually liked the warmth. Why was this so difficult to sort out so suddenly?
"I'm not saying you are," he said, giving her a few moments of silence after her outburst. He sat up and crossed his legs, resting his hands on his knees. He was starting to realize that she really couldn't keep anything to herself. One of the druids had said that fairies never told lies, but spoke in riddles...
"But... There is a lot of swiftness within you. Your eyes are sharp and I've seen you move through these woods with much greater ease than me. I have seen warriors made from much less," he said.
"You should visit my people. I could make sure you're welcome."
Fiala blinked at him for a moment in silence. “You could,” she repated quietly, almost as though the words were a foreign tongue she was attempting to decipher.
“Would you?” The question was earnest. As she had said, a faerie could not lie, so they relied on the complexity of language to weave deception. Even in her evidently intoxicated state, she had enough presence of mind to challenge his use of words, wanting to know if what he intended was in fact what he said.
"If you wanted to visit, the approval of the chief is very important, so of course I would do that for you," Motark said, placing a hand on his chest.
"That's the honest trutth, Fiala," he added.
He laid back against the log and motioned to himself.
"But I've told you plenty about myself and my people. Can I ask you where you are from?"
"Far from here," she sighed, letting her head tip back until her antlers brushed against the log behind her. "And yet not so very far at all."
She drummed her fingers against the earth, eyes sliding to half closed as she peered up at the stars through the canopy. "It is always moonlit," she murmured. "Time stands still. Or perhaps it happens all at once, I'm not sure. I've never asked."
"That sounds... magical," Motark said.
He followed her gaze to the stars, and then joined his hands on his stomach.
"And you have friends there? Family?"
Fiala laughed, nodding in agreement. "Magical."
At his question, she turned her head and narrowed her eyes at him, trying to focus passed the strange blurriness at the edges of her vision.
"Yes, I--"
Her voice choked off and her eyes went wide. That wasn't a lie. She had Lakali. Why couldn't she say it?
"I--"
Again she couldn't speak. Growling in frustration, she suddenly sat up and snapped at no one in particular, "I think so! Is that enough?!"
He watched as she seemingly had the words stolen from her mouth time and time again. When she finally spoke, he nodded
"That's enough," he said, and he sat up with her, and then after a few moments of looking around, trying to spot who she was talking to, he spoke up again.
"But thinking that you have friends isn't a substitute, so... we can be friends," Motark said simply, smiling at her as he laid back.
"So the next time someone asks you, you can say a definite yes," he said. His head was swimming in brew, causing the kindness he usually hid under his gruff exterior to come out. Not that he was worried about showing his gentler side to Fiala, of course...
"Oh." She blinked at him, then slowly, cautiously laid back beside him again. "Thank...you."
The words were strange on her tongue, not often used. She wasn't accustomed to not doing everything herself, she didn't often need to thank people.
"You're welcome," he said, turning his head so he could look at her again.
He fell silent, sort of studying all of what made her different as his eyes scanned her. The way she had those dots on her skin, even where the fur didn't cover. The structure of her legs, the way her sole piece of clothing covered her...
He flushed, but couldn't stop studying her. He found her utterly spellbinding, not in the sense of traditional attraction, but she just had this enchanting air about her that seemed to draw him in.
"You said your home was close, yet far away," he said, looking to keep talking.
"How is that possible?"
Fiala shrugged, her eyes falling closed even as she felt his gaze roaming over her. She wasn't particularly perturbed by it, though a distant part of her brain wondered at it idly.
"It is..." She frowned, trying to think of how to explain it, if she even could, if she should. "It simply is," she sighed after a moment. "If you follow the right path, you could find in from here in a matter of minutes. But take a wrong turn, and you could wander these woods for days without ever catching a glimpse of it."
"So, it's not a place, then?" Motark wondered, looking back out into the fire.
"At least, not a place like we are in now, but... That's interesting," Motark said, smiling at the fantastical implications.
"And it sounds so pretty..."
"It's beautiful." She sighed softly and closed her eyes. "Beautiful, and eternal. And...well, boring."
She huffed out another breath, crooking one leg up, dragging her hoof through the soft soil as she did. "I suppose I must return eventually," she mused. "But there is so much of the world to see. What else does one do with immortality?"
Immortality?
Motark's eyes widened a bit at that, but he chuckled. He gave her knee a pat.
"There's lots of world out there to see. I hear that to the south of my village, the lands turn to sand and wind if you go far enough," he said.
"And we've sent scouts as far east as they could go, and they came back telling stories of a gigantic lake that stretches on as far as the eye can see," he continued.
He looked to her.
"If I was immortal, I'd never stay in the same place two days in a row."
Fiala smiled, a little wistful. "Perhaps one day I will see such things," she murmured quietly.
She turned to curl onto her side, one leg still drawn up slightly and the other extending out toward the fire. "Does it bother you?" she asked abruptly. "Mortality?"
"No. I do not fear growing old, or being swept away by time," Motark said, and he turned his head and shifted about so he could loosely face her. He didn't like supporting himself on his side, he was much too large for that!
The way she was sat gave him interesting view and he just focused on her eyes.
"But... I do want to make my mark on the world before I go. I guess that's what every mortal wants," he said.
"Hmm..."
Fiala turned her head to look at the sky again, watching a popping spark drift from the fire and up up up, as though it intended to join the stars. Then it fizzled out. Short, bright, beautiful.
"And what mark is that?" she asked after a moment, not looking at him. "What would you leave the world to remember you by?"
"My people are not like me," he said, looking away from her.
"They are good folks, but they do not share my desires for peace or balance. We could be great, but the old ways of war and blood hold us back."
He smiled a bit to himself.
"While I am chief, I want to change that. I want to build a tribe that will last forever."
"And what would they be?" She finally turned her attention back to him fully, eyes reflecting the firelight. "This eternal tribe of yours. What would they be?"
He could feel her eyes on him, so he turned to look at her in kind.
"They would be happy, I hope," Motark said.
"And at peace with those around them."
Fiala licked her lips. "At peace. Balance."
She huffed a small chuckle and looked away again. A strange combination of wry and wistful, she murmured, "You sound like my cousin."
"I'll take that as a compliment," Motark said.
He leaned a bit closer and turned over onto his side a bit more.
"It's not a bad thing to work towards. Even if my people don't understand it now, I hope that they will in the future."
"What if you could see?" Fiala asked abruptly. She turned fully onto her side, crossing her arms and letting her cheek rest against them. "What if you could see that future? Learn how you may have changed them, for better or worse?"
"I..."
He paused, uncertain around her for the first time. He sat, up, resting his hands on his legs.
"You could do that? Show me?"
Fiala paused herself, not having expected him to take that particular bait. "I...no," she admitted after several long moments. "No, I cannot. But I...know of places. Secret whispers. Realms where such things are possible."
She hesitated. "I do not know how a mortal would fare in such places. But I do know how to reach them. Or--"
She stopped herself. No, that was silly. That was his traveling brew affecting her, it must be. She shook her head with a little huff.
So it seemed the druids had something else right. There were secret places in the woods, this all but confirmed them, but when she hesitated to tell him, he understood.
"I understand if I am forbidden from these places," Motark said.
"The future is tempting, but my place is here, in the present. I feel like if I knew, it... it wouldn't be the same," he continued.
He smiled a little at her.
"You said you had a cousin?"
She let out a soft breath, relieved he would not press her. In her current state, she wasn't sure she'd be capable of talking the required circles around him to keep such secret places safe.
"I do." Fiala nodded and smiled, her eyes drifted half closed even as she looked up at him from where she lay. "She is very kind, and beautiful, and wise. I do not see her often though."
"Well, family is family, even if it's not seen often," Motark said, nodding simply.
Motark had no true ambitions beyond the preservation of his people. She was fortunate in that regard. Had he been a true Red Sun orc, she probably wouldn't have been able to keep him off of the question.
"I never had much. Mother died, and father, he--"
He was interrupted by the rustling of bushes near his camp site, and he paused. He glanced around, trying to determine what was lingering nearby, and then looked to Fiala.
"We're not alone."
Damn that honeyed brew!
Fiala shot upright, her eyes wide and ears swiveling back and forth as she looked around. She cursed herself internally; if she'd been keeping her head, she would have noticed that there was another presence.
As it was, she held her place, body tensed to leap up and run if need be.
Motark glanced to his tent, where his weapons were, and kept his cool. He could see them, wolves. Nasty or desperate enough to see him as a big enough meal for the pack.
They were waiting to pounce, just looking for an excuse to set upon him and Fiala. He spoke, low and still. Knowing that any sudden movement would set off the attack.
"I'm going to stand, Fiala. They're all around us, so go for my tent," Motark said, and he locked eyes with her, wanting to make sure she understood.
Fiala didn't move. Her eyes were fixed on Motark rather than the wolves.
"Are you going to kill them?"
"Only if they don't give me another choice."
He steeled himself, listening as the wolves prowled about.
"Go."
He stood up to his full height, deceptively fast for such a large orc. As he stood, a large grey wolf came bounding out of the brush, seeking to jump onto his upper half and bite him. In a blur, he raised and swung his arm like a club, knocking the wolf clear out of the way and sending it to the ground. It got back on its feet, snarling.
Even then, another one was getting ready to come out.
"No, wait!"
Killing for food was one thing, but this-- her heart twisted painfully in her chest. But Fiala knew that to these wolves this was a hunt. They must be truly desperate.
She did not see anything she could do. Dodging back and forth she ran for the tent.
The wolf that had crept up on Motark saw Fiala make a break for it and ran past Motark. In a flash, he grabbed that wolf by the neck from behind as it closed on her, even as the first one jumped and sunk its fangs into his other shoulder.
Motark let out a bellowing yell as he turned about, trying to shake the wolf off even as he threw the other one straight into a tree.
That wolf hit the trunk with a wet crack and started to limp away when it hit the ground. Two more wolves appeared from the brush.
-------
Inside Motark's tent was his bag, his axe, and his javelins. The axe was much too large for Fiala, but if she so desired the javelins had been cut down and lightened for throwing and one of them would serve her nicely as a spear.
She didn't want to attack these wolves, but she knew they would not back down.
Perhaps they could simply scare them off. Prove that Motark was too powerful an opponent to tangle with, not worth the hunt.
Gritting her teeth, Fiala grabbed the nearest javelin and sprang back out of the tent, whirling and skidding on her hooves until she stood back to back with the orc. Her ears and tail stood straight up, betraying her fear, but she knocked a lunging wolf aside with the staff of the javelin and tried to make herself seem bigger, threading magic through her voice as she shouted, "Go away!"
When she came out, it was in the nick of time. Motark had reached up to grab the wolf on his shoulder, slamming it down onto the ground and kicking it, sending it rolling into the bushes and out of sight. The other two had moved in, but Fiala arrived right on time to cover his back.
The other wolf, now without his flanking partner, was Motark's to handle. He swung down to hit it, but it twisted and bit his hand. Rather than pull away, Motark roared and clenched his fist to grab the wolf by the lower jaw with one hand and he struck with the other. He punched the wolf across the face, sending teeth and blood scattering as it stumbled to regain its posture.
They were still surrounded, however, but the wolves seemed more hesitant to strike, many of them with their eyes on Fiala. The wolves recognized something in her. Her fear, mostly, but also the unmistakable scent of someone tied to the forest.
Motark stomped the ground, causing the wolves to all flinch. What was supposed to be a quick ambush was turning into a stand up fight, and almost every member of the four-wolf pack had been battered about in some way.
Fiala's eyes traveled from one wolf to another, locking her gaze with each member of the pack in turn. Baring her teeth, she told them again, "Go."
She did not want to hurt them more than they had already been hurt, but if they continued to press the attack she feared that they might have no choice.
"This hunt is over," the fae woman hissed. The trees around them creaked softly, a few branches almost seeming to curve in toward her.
The wolves seemed unabated by her words at first, and they started to close in, step by step. Motark stepped back, putting his back against Fiala's as he raised his hands once again.
They were hungry and injured, and just as it seemed they were about to strike again, Fiala declared the hunt over. The trees creaked and moved, and that was enough to spook the wolves, sending them scattering and limping away.
Motark stood there until he was absolutely sure he couldn't hear the wolves anymore, and then he relaxed, letting himself rock back as he sat back down. He looked to Fiala. He had a few bites in assorted places, and plenty of scratches, but these wounds seemed to not even bother him that much.
He'd just fought a pack of wolves with his bare hands, and he felt alive.
"Thank you," he said, and he looked to her.
"It looks like you were a warrior all along," he added with a smile.
Shaking, Fiala dropped the javelin. She covered her face with her hands and laughed weakly at Motark's words, shaking her head-- it wasn't denial, necessarily, something closer to disbelief.
After a moment or two she lifted her head with a sigh and looked to him, and her brows drew together in concern. "You are hurt." She knelt beside him, fingers skimming over his wounds with a feather-light touch.
"It's just scratches," Motark said, meeting her eyes as she skimmed over his wounds. She'd find that he had almost no fat at all to him. He was just rock hard muscle and power.
Even as he said they were just scratches, it was clear that many of them ran deeper than he wanted to admit, and the bite on his hand was fairly nasty.
Fiala gave him a very dry look at that. "Mortals and their lies," she huffed, shaking her head as she took his much larger hand between her own and looked it over. She tutted quietly. "Hold still. This may sting."
Gripping his hand gently in her left, she raised her right and bit down into the pad of her thumb, tearing it open with one of those sharp canines. She hissed at the brief flash of pain, but quickly put it aside and lowered her hand to his, dragging her thumb over the wound so their blood mingled.
Fiala was a being of magic; that her blood would hold healing properties was perhaps not exactly surprising, but it wasn't something she thought she should be particularly vocal about either.
Motark could only watch as the wolf bite on his hand started to glow once their blood mixed. He felt a shot of something go through him as her fae blood mixed in with his own. He felt warm and prickly all over as it circulated, and while it worked he sighed and gasped, letting his big hand rest in her lap. He felt the pain of his wounds dull, and the shallow ones started to scab over while the deeper ones slowly stopped bleeding.
"Oh, that's..."
He sighed again, wincing a bit as his wounds started to sting.
"Fiala..."
She looked up into his face, still clearly worried. "Are you alright?"
She'd never done this before. Lakali had said her blood could heal mortals, but her cousin had also warned her to be careful with this power. Not only would it make her a target for those who would only see her gift as fuel for their greed, but faerie blood could be just as dangerous as faerie fruit to a mortal, if misused.
Biting her lip, Fiala murmured, "I dare not give you more. I'm sorry."
"No, it's..."
Faerie blood coursed through him, through his heart and brain. And even though she'd only given him a little bit it was potent. His vision started to swim, brighten. He knew the trees were watching him...
"...I don't...want..."
He looked at her, and she seemed to radiate the very forest itself. His eyes widened, and he reached out to stroke her face, dumbstruck.
"I'm tired..." he finally said, and he couldn't sit up anymore, resting back on his elbows. He could feel his veins boiling with warmth, his body driving itself mad to recover, and he coughed, resting backwards.
Too much faerie blood. Even as he healed, he started to fall into what felt like a deep sleep...
"Oh-- Oh no!"
Fiala scrambled forward to catch him by the shoulders, twisting so that when he came to rest his head was in her lap. She looked around, starting to panic.
Had she been fully sober, she may have been able to better keep her head. As it was, the taste of honey still lingered on her tongue and her emotions felt far too close to the surface.
She didn't know what to do, what she could do. Helplessly, she cupped his face in her hand and closed her eyes, attempting to draw whatever excess faerie magic might be racing through his blood back into her.
The soft fur of her legs was like a pillow, and he looked up at her, eyes almost glazed over as he just hallucinated. She was so radiant, even to Motark, who had more orcish tastes in women. He stared up at her golden eyes and for a moment he saw the elk that he had killed not two days ago.
And behind that, his father, wreathed in flame and clutching the wound that killed him. The wound Motark had dealt to him.
Dumbly, blindly, he covered one of her hands, mumbling something incoherent in orcish. He was starting to sweat.
Fiala stroked a hand across his brow, her jaw tightening as she did her best to regulate the flow of magic she could now feel pulsing through him, and through her...
It was almost a circuit. Her blood within him, calling out to her, connecting them. Connected in a way she feared no mortal and fae should ever be.
"Shh, shh..." She leaned down to press her brow to his, just breathing, hoping she could pull that magic back to its proper place even as she coaxed him into a calmer state.
You could never kill me, you undergrown whelp. I should've stood up and killed you when you let me bleed. But I let my blood spill, weak fool that I am.
He closed his eyes, muttering more to himself.
"No, you're dead. I followed tradition, I did..." he said to himself in orcish.
You let me bleed to death and took my skull for the throne when I was dead! My spirit burns in hell because you were TOO WEAK to finish me properly!
The fires were getting hotter as his father got closer. Then, Fiala pressed her brow to his and he gasped. It all seemed to melt away, and the only thing he heard now was her shushing him.
"Fiala...?" he murmured softly, delirious, before falling fully unconscious. He was stable, however. It seemed she'd saved him from the fae magic and his wounds, and now he was just out cold.
“Yes, it’s me...”
He was already out.
But she could no longer feel that tug of magic in his blood. Fiala breathed out a long, relieved sigh and simply stared down at him for a few moments. The barest hint of a smile curved at her lips.
“Sleep, brave one,” she murmured softly, tracing two fingertips over his brow before letting her hand fall to the side. “I will watch over you this night.”
Sleep he did. The only thing he really did past that was turn his head sideways in her lap as he slipped into a black, dreamless sleep.
It seemed the massive orc was at the small fae girls' total mercy that night.
With no other real idea of what she could or should do, it to mention a head still slightly fuzzy with honey, Fiala remained with Motark throughout the night, keeping what just as she had said she would.
She sang softly under her breath sometimes, old songs that Lakali had taught her when she was small. But for the most part she simply waited, her legs tucked slightly to the side and the orc's head in her lap, her hands tracing absent patterns over his neck and shoulders whenever he stirred in his sleep.
Motark did stir a few times, but she was more than capable of soothing him back to sleep. Fortunately for her, though, she did not need to wait the whole night for him to return. He was strong, and despite the alien, confusing dreams that he had in the wake of the event, dreams where he'd hear Fiala's singing and feel a tingling sensation on his collar and shoulders.
And just when he realized that he wasn't dreaming, that the lush, off-colored trees and twinkling lights felt all to real and bright to be a dream, he returned to her.
It was only a few hours into her vigil that he stirred, and no amount of shoulder and collar rubbing got him settled down. He turned his head in her lap and let out a groan, eyes cracking open to look up at her, golden eyes with stars in the background.
He didn't say anything, instead he just looked up at her.
As she felt him come to consciousness, Fiala peered into the orc's face, her brow furrowed and her mouth drawn in a tight line.
"You awake." She laid her hand in his cheek gently, turning his head from side to side as her eyes flickered over his face. "How do you feel?"
"I feel..."
Really good, actually! If he hadn't experienced it himself he would've never believe that he was seriously wounded by wolves just a few hours ago.
"I feel better," he said finally, and he offered her a smile. There was something comforting about having his head on her lap like that. Also, something about her seemed... different. She didn't seem so alien anymore, but familiar. The touch of her hands on his head were more than welcome.
And they'd shared blood. Ancient Orc and Fae was no doubt a rare, powerful mix and they'd both gotten some of it. he looked up at her and let her turn his head about as she wished. He shifted a bit so he could rest his neck, pressing the top of his head to her stomach.
"You saved my life, Fiala..."
She smiled a little wanly and shrugged, almost...bashful. "I just...wanted to help. I didn't realize it would do that to you, though. You have my apologies."
She glanced down at him, a little perturbed by the prolonged closeness but not uncomfortable exactly.
[I've noticed a trend where some of our characters tend to bond metaphysically in one way or another, but never the same way twice :P]
"It was... an experience," Motark finally said. He was a bit too out of it too really be bothered by the closeness. But even then, there was something about her touch that was different. Before, when she'd grabbed his lip or examined his head it'd just felt like touching. But everywhere she touched him now seemed to glow with warmth and he was hyper-aware of her every movement, even when he looked away.
"I saw things. Trees that weren't green, dancing lights... It was incredible..."
Then, he looked back up to her.
"How long was I out?"
[Aww, jee >.< I swear I don't do this on purpose!]
Fiala smiled softly and let her fingertips stroke over his face again. He was a conundrum, that was certainly true. She had no idea how her blood might have affected him, and though she could no longer hear her own magic singing through his veins there was still a...a sort of warmth.
"A few hours," she told him quietly. "It is not yet daylight. You may rest longer, if you wish it."
He wanted to sit up and at least make it to his furs inside the tent, but the way she was stroking his face felt great after a long day of scouting and a fight with wolves.
"I have bedding in my tent. Better for resting than the grass and rocks," Motark said, smirking at her, not quite sure what he was doing but finding nothing wrong with it.
"And I wouldn't mind getting a few more hours of rest."
She smiled rather enigmatically and shrugged. "I will certainly not stop you from moving if you wish." The fire was warm, after all, and she could be just as comfortable beside it without him as with.
Right?
He sat up eventually, reluctant to part from her comfort. It gave her a wonderful view of the muscles on his back as they rippled with every motion.
"I can't thank you enough," he started, ducking into his tent and setting himself down on the furs. He stayed there, sitting. He'd left the flap of his tent open, although he wasn't quite sure himself if he did so as an invitation to her.
"You're welcome in my village any time. It's the least I can do."
Fiala hesitated a few moments, simply watching, then got to her feet and moved tentatively toward the front of the tent.
She shook her head at him when he thanked her. "It was my fault you were in such a state to begin with. Rectifying it was the least I could do."
Carefully, she settled herself down by the tent flap, just outside it. She tilted her head to him and smiled. "Thank you, Motark."
"Well, either way it was better than staying wounded," Motark said with a smile. She came to the front of his tent and settled outside, and he laid back. He remained propped up on an elbow, however, looking over to her.
"You can... come inside if you want..." he said, voice low.
"Oh." She glanced around the inside of the tent, considering. After a few moments, she crawled cautiously inside, settling with her back to the canvas of the tent.
"Thank you... But you should rest now."
Motark nodded at that and laid back, drawing an arm up to rest it on his chest. He passed his fingers over the light marks left behind by his wounds.
"And you, you don't sleep?" Motark said, looking up at his tent's ceiling.
"You watched me for hours... you deserve rest too."
Fiala hesitated again, then relented with a quiet, "Yes...I suppose I could do that." Carefully, she allowed herself to lay down, stretched out along the outside wall of the tent, sprawled before the entrance almost like a guard.
Motark nodded and set his head back down. He felt rested and recovered from the dosage of faerie blood, but he still made an effort to rest by just closing his eyes. He wasn't tired in the slightest.
But he resolved to lay there until dawn, at least, unless he was disturbed again.
Fiala fell into sleep fairly quickly, and she was so deeply asleep that not even the gentle, worried whispering of the trees could wake her, as they usually did.
By the time dawn's light began to shine behind the tent, several soft green tendrils had reached inside the entrance, twining gently around Fiala's ankles and fingertips. She stirred slightly and the new shoots moved with her, not binding her down but simply following the curve of her form as she shifted.
He couldn't do it.
Shortly before dawn, he'd sat up to check to see if she was still there, and was rather surprised to see her resting there, wreathed in vines. So he stayed there, deciding to watch over her the same way ahe'd done for him.
He reached into his bag and procured a knife and an apple and started to eat his breakfast.
Eventually the call of the day could not be ignored, and Fiala slowly started to rouse from sleep, murmuring and twisting slightly.
"Oh. Hello." She smiled down at the greenery twisting around her and gently pulled herself free. "I'm quite alright, thank you," she told the vines as they slowly began to retreat back out through the tent flap.
Finally, she lifted her head to see that Motark was already awake. Blinking, she tilted her head and offered a carefully even, "Good morning."
"Good morning," he answered, and he cut a quarter from his apple to offer to her. He honestly hadn't been awake that long.
"You can talk to plants?"
Reaching out to take the offered food, she nodded. "Sometimes."
she took a bite of the apple, sighing happily as the familiar, crisp taste flooded her mouth, chasing away whatever lingered of the honey. "When they are in a talkative mood, yes, I can."
"That's incredible," Motark said, taking a bite of his apple. He couldn't really comprehend the idea of plants being able to think, let alone talk.
"What do they say?" he asked, scooting closer to properly speak to her.
"Well, that depends." She shrugged and smiled, reaching up to pull her hair over one shoulder and absently combing her fingers through it. "Usually drabble about the weather, how wet the soil is, which animals are the most irritating with their foraging, that sort of thing."
She smiled almost slyly and tilted her head, adding, "But they whisper to each other you know. Tree and root and growing things. The forest has secrets, and if you listen closely enough they may tell you..."
He shook his head, resting back on his elbows. He tried to stifle a chuckle, but failed.
"Well, if I ever learn how to speak to trees and flowers I'll keep an ear open,"
He observed the still-healing wounds on his arm.
"We've mixed blood," he noted.
"Do you know what that means?"
Fiala stiffened. She turned her head to look back out through the tent flap, eyes a little unfocused.
"I'm afraid I don't," she said after several long moments of quiet. Slowly, she turned back to face him. "At least, not what it might mean to you.... Enlighten me?"
He caught her stiffness and waved his hands.
"Nothing bad, I promise," he said with a short chuckle. He looked at the half apple he had left and cut it in half, handing her another quarter.
"Orcs who want to seal a bond with a great friend or fellow warrior will cut their hands and place them together so the blood will mix," he said.
He motioned to the light mark where she'd cut her own thumb, and then to the wolf bite on his hand.
"And for saving me, I would gladly call you a Blood Sister."
"I— oh. Well." Fiala cleated her throat slightly and dropped her eyes. "That is...thank you?"
She winced a bit and reached up to run her fingers through her hair, almost nervously. A very human gesture. "I still feel if was simply my responsibility. I was the reason you were unwell..."
Motark shook his head.
"Well, then thank you for not letting me bleed to death, even when I was too proud to admit it," he said, firmly committed to making sure she accepted his gratitude.
"And it wasn't all that bad, It was... interesting. I didn't dream, but I still went somewhere. Like these woods but... wilder. Enchanted," he said.
Fiala suddenly stiffened, her eyes going a little wider as she looked at him. "You...what?"
Was that normal? Was there a normal when it came to these sorts of things? Lakali may know, but in order to ask she'd have to return, and explain what she'd done, and...
She swallowed, suddenly nervous. "What-- what do you remember about that?"
Motark paused, going through his memories. It had all been a blur. Between the alcohol, the faerie blood, the adrenaline, and blood loss there wasn't much he could really concretely say.
"The trees moved, but there was no wind," he finally said, and he rested back on his elbows with a groan, pondering.
"And the air smelled too sweet, and..."
He went still, not quite of his own volition.
"...I think... someone saw me? I felt like I was being watched. It wasn't a dream, it felt too real to be one..."
"Oh. I see."
That-- that could be bad. That could be very, very bad.
Or not?
Trying not to let her thoughts show on her face, she shifted slightly where she sat and laid her hands in her lap. "Motark. You said I could visit your village."
It was an abrupt change in topic, and she was rather hoping he wouldn't question it.
"I did!" Motark said, perking up. The sudden subject change was not lost on him, but if she didn't want to talk about it he wouldn't press her.
"My people aren't used to non-orcs in the village, but I'm sure you'll get along just fine," Motark said.
"Good." She nodded firmly. "If that is the case, I think I'd very much like to take you up on your offer, Chieftain of the Bloodspear tribe. As soon as possible."
"Oh..."
He was still for a bit, and then shrugged. He stood the ret of the way up inside the tent and stretched. The furs didn't do much to cushion against the hard ground so he had a few tender spots. He spoke back up.
"We could go now, if you wanted. I think I've seen enough of these woods," he said as he stepped outside. he wanted to get some sunlight on his skin, and he got his wish.The sun was shining through in beams through the dense canopy, it seemed like it was going to be a brighter day than yesterday.
"It's also a good day for travel."
"Very well." Fiala got to her feet as well and followed him out of the tent. "If you are content with your time here, I encourage you to lead the way."
She was almost trying too hard, trying to slip back into the ethereal presence she had managed to hold most of the day before.
With passing amusement, he noticed she was putting her "distant fae" act from yesterday back on, but Motark knew better. Or at least he thought he did. He set about kicking dirt onto his fire pit and taking his fur cloak off the log. He gave it a shake to remove bugs and leaves and rolled it up, returning to his tent so he could take it down.
It didn't take him long, and he did it in silence.
Finally, he picked up the discarded javelin from the ground, and rather than slip it back into his bag he turned it about and held the blunt end out to her.
"You should keep it. You fought well with it," Motark said.
She stared at the weapon for a moment, then looked up into his face. "I am...not sure that I should," she murmured eventually. "I do not know that I would continue to wield it well. I am...not truly a warrior."
Motark nodded, a little disappointed, and he slipped it into his javelin bag.
He packed his tent into his bag and slung it onto his back, motioning for her to follow as he walked, more or less remembering the way.
"Warrior or not, you handled yourself well," Motark said, and he looked to her as he walked.
"Have you ever been out of the forest?
"Yes, of course." Not a lie, of course, though perhaps not the kind of truth he may have understood it as. "Not perhaps in the direction you are taking me, however..."
"The woods become much lighter in this direction," Motark said, stepping over some thick roots.
"My village is within the forest. Beyond that, there's grassy plains as far as the eye can see. Very few trees," he continued.
He shot her a look and a smile.
"I'm honored that you'd visit. I think the druids would love to get a chance to speak with you as well," Motark mused.
"Druids." She repeated the word slowly. It was familiar, though not overly so. "Mortal mages who use the magic of the wild, yes?"
Instead of stepping over the roots as Motark had-- a step for him was quite a larger distance for her, after all-- she leaped lightly over the gnarled bark and landed delicately on one hoof, twisting sightly to look into the trees before she put the other down, like a doe prepared to flee at a moment's notice.
"Mhm," he said. He went slow for her, as one step for him was three for her, and it caused him to have a methodical, lumbering walk.
"Healers and herbalists, all. Except for the war caller," Motark said.
"Before I came here I asked them for advice, and they were right about some things and wrong about others," he chuckled.
"I described you to them and none of them had ever seen anything like it."
"Well, is that so surprising?" She smirked at him almost playfully. "I am rather a unique creature, Motark."
She walked a few paces more in silence, then asked rather abruptly, "What exactly is a war caller?"
"That you are," Motark said, looking at her sidelong as they walked together. Ahead, the brighter, looser forests could be seen, and Motark picked his pace up a little bit.
"Nature has many powerful forces. Storms, beasts, and others," he started.
"The war caller channels these aspects. The strength of the bear to invigorate warriors, the fires of lightning to strike at enemies. The war caller is as much a warrior as he is a druid."
"Mm..." Fiala processed his words slowly as they walked, turning them over in her mind. It was not surprising to her that mortal mages would have thought to harness the destructive powers of nature as well as the more healing, gentler aspects of it.
"Have you any such gifts?" It was really a redundant question; she assumed if he did, she would have sensed them by now.
"No. No gifts of nature, anyways," Motark said as they walked.
"But my bloodline runs back to ancient times, all the way back to the very first orcs. The purest, in a way," he continued.
"And you've got it in you just as I have yours in me."
She almost tripped. She'd rather been hoping he wouldn't bring that up.
"Ah. Yes." Straightening her shoulders, Fiala looked ahead as they walked, tone blithe and almost bored. "Yes, I suppose that is true, isn't it?"
"It is true," Motark said, watching her as they moved along.
"But it's not that big of a deal," Motark said.
"I'm not a nature child, or an immortal. Just Motark."
"Mmm. In my experience--" Limited though it may be, though of course she didn't voice that-- "no one is really just anything, Motark."
She continued on in silence, evidently content to simply walk beside him as the trees gradually began to thin.
As the trees thinned and they exited the forest, Motark stilled for a few moments and looked back. He had felt... something, just then. Nothing he could really describe.
Shrugging to himself, he turned back about and kept going. They walked in silence for a few minutes before huffing and grunting could be heard ahead, and Motark picked up, looking eager.
It wasn't long at all before they found Motark's riding boar, wandering about on its rope as it snuffled at the ground.
"There you are, Ratta," Motark said, and he approached the boar, giving her tusks a llittle stroke as it came up to him to smell at his hand affectionately. He reached into his pack and procured another of the fruits he'd brought as part of his travel rations, a pear, and fed it to Ratta.
"This is Ratta," Motark said as he stood back up, motioning to the large boar. She had a silvery back with shaggy black fur on the rest of her body. She was fitted with a wide saddle that accommodated cargo hooks and loops for weapons. He set his pack down on the hooks and started strapping it down.
"She's how I got here."
Fiala hesitated before leaving the forest to follow him. She simply stared for a moment, contemplating the quiet enormity of what she was about to do.
When she finally took that first-- or perhaps last-- step, she fancied for a moment that she could feel the curving roots of her woods writhing beneath her, warning her to turn back.
But she steeled herself with a breath and shook her head, following Motark until they came upon the boar. When she caught sight of the creature, she smiled softly and simply stood back to let the orc fuss over her.
Once introduced, she dipped her head to the large pig and murmured, "I am Fiala. It is good to meet you, Ratta."
Ratta whuffed and sniffed, obviously a response of sorts, but Motark could only muse as to what his large riding boar had communicated to Fiala. Without much ceremony, Motark slipped Ratta's reigns onto her tusks and swung onto her back. She was massive compared to a regular boar, as Red Sun herders had bred boars specifically to carry orc warriors into battle.
Once he got situated, he scooted back a bit and motioned for Fiala to sit on the saddle space in front of him.
"She's been with me ever since she was a little piglet," Motark said.
"Sturdier and nastier than most orcs I know."
The fae woman chuckled a bit and nodded to Ratta before turning her attention back to Motark. "I suppose she would be. Most boars are cantankerous creatures, at least the ones I've met."
She eyed the saddle for a moment or two, judging the distance, then backed up a step before springing forward and up. The leap was lithe and agile, graceful as a doe, and she landed lightly on Ratta's back, settling herself into the space in front of Motark with only a moment of hesitation.
Once she was on, Motark turned Ratta about and they set off. Riding boars weren't exactly built for speed. In fact, she traveled about as fast as Motark could run (charging was a different story), but she could handle the terrain better than any other animal and made even the most well-trained horses seem skittish by comparison.
"She's no different, but she loves me. Isn't that right?" Motark said, leaning forward to pat the boar's side but staying mindful of Fiala.
"She's a gentle girl once you get to know her."
He settled his arms down on either side of Fiala, resting them on his hips as Ratta found her stride and followed her own scent back home.
"We'll have to prepare something for our visitor from the forest. What kind of foods do you like best?"
"Yes, I can tell," Fiala murmured absently. Considering her nature, it was almost impossible to discern if that was a platitude or a simple statement of fact.
Glancing back and up at her companion, she answered, "Oh, I've no real preferences when it comes to mortal food, I suppose. I am sure whatever is available will do just fine." She paused a moment, then added, "I suppose I am partial to certain fruits?"
"Certain fruits? Which fruits?" he asked, looking down at her in kind, a curious expression in those reddish eyes of his.
"I like peaches, myself," he said with a smile.
She tried for a small smile, feeling rather awkward though entirely unsure as to why. "Peaches are nice," she agreed. "I rather like strawberries, actually..."
"We grow those too, so we've got you all set for that," Motark said, nodding confidently.
"And maybe the beekeepers will share some of their honey with you if you ask," he added, tone playful as he chuckled after.
"That was a fun night, wolves aside. It isn't every day I have a good conversation by a campfire."
Fiala flushed a little bit for the honey comment; she'd rather hoped he would simply think she liked it, and maybe hadn't noticed the effect it had on her.
Wishful thinking, it seemed.
"Yes. Fun," she agreed softly after a moment. It wasn't a word she had much context for, but she thought it applied-- before the wolves of course. "I do not think I understand, though; what is a good conversation? Why can you not find it elsewhere in your life?"
"It's not that I don't ever have good conversations, but... I don't really act like myself when I'm around my people," Motark said, voice almost hesitant as he spoke his greatest secret to this fae woman.
"They expect me to be like them. They clamor for war, they want to make blood sacrifices to Shok. They want me to crush their enemies without mercy," he continued, gesturing vaguely with his hands.
"But the truth is that even though I excel at it, I hate the war and needless killing. If they discover that I'm holding back, everything I'm trying to build could just go crashing down..."
"I see." She was quiet for several long moments. Eventually, Fiala noted, "It seems unlikely that you would be able to keep such a thing from your comrades indefinitely. Surely the truth will become clear to them, will it not?"
"For know, I've got them convinced. So I need to work fast. Even give them what they want, perhaps," He said. Ratta maneuvered through a copse of trees and crossed a shallow stream.
"Maybe a visit from a curious forest dweller will take their minds off of things," he said, glancing down at her, then he smiled.
"Expect many gifts."
Her brow crinkled up and she tilted her head back to look at him, mindful of her antlers. "Wait, really? Why?"
"Because they'll want nature's blessing, of course!" Motark said.
"So they'll give you small offerings. And don't try to convince them otherwise, they'll be happy if you just accept it," Motark said.
"But--!" Fiala actually gaped for a moment, then her frown deepened. "But I can't give them anything in return! That is...it would seem dishonest to except gifts for a feat which I cannot work."
Motark wanted to say it wasn't that big of a deal, that it was just baubles or offerings of food and just the act of giving them to her would give them peace of mind. But when he saw how her face twisted, he nodded.
"Alright, alright," he conceded, and he gave her leg a pat.
"I'll tell them you don't want anything," he said
"Yes. Good." She nodded firmly and turned to face forward again. If she were honest with herself, even she wasn't really sure why that idea had struck her so deeply; most fae probably wouldn't care either way whether or not they could give mortals their expected return for a gift.
Fiala wasn't even sure that she really cared exactly, it was just...a distasteful idea, for some reason.
"if you mind me asking," Motark started, looking back out to the travels ahead.
"Why so eager to get out beyond your words? Just curious?"
"Do I need another reason?" Fiala glanced back over her shoulder at him. "Curiosity drove you to the depths of the wood, did it not? Is it so strange to think curiosity might drive one to leave?"
"I suppose not," Motark said, resting his hands on his legs, shifting up a bit further on the saddle so he didn't get jostled as much.
"I guess... I don't know. I guess I underestimated how interested you were," Motark commented. They came upon another stream, and this time Motark parked Ratta in front of it so she could drink.
"Do you want to try the reigns?" he asked, suddenly curious and eager to speak on something else. He held the reigns close to Fiala.
"It's not hard, she'll do most of the work."
"Oh. Ah..." She looked down at the reins before her for a few moments, considering. Slowly, cautiously, she reached out to take them, pinching between thumb and forefinger and tucking her little finger beneath the leather as she'd seen him do.
"Very well." Fiala peered over Ratta's shoulder at the stream before them. "Shall we begin moving again?" Her question appeared to be directed at the massive sow.
"Well, you need to give her a--Oi!"
And just like that, Ratta snorted and started trotting along, although not at full speed. Motark was actually a little surprised by the movement and tilted forwards a bit, feeling Fiala's antlers against his chest and catching himself.
"Or you can just speak to her, that works too," Motark said, mightily impressed. He gave Fiala a pat on the shoulder.
"Looks like you're getting along just fine without me."
"I have done for just about two decades," Fiala chuckled in response, shooting a smirk at him over her shoulder. "Don't seem so surprised."
It did not occur to her that she had indirectly perhaps revealed her age until the words were already out of her mouth. She stiffened, just a bit, but otherwise did not react.
"Just two decades?" he echoed, looking down at her and returning her smile.
"I thought you'd be older. Well, older than me at least," he said, and then shrugged.
"You're wise beyond your years."
"Wisdom is not such a very hard thing to find," Fiala replied with a blithe shrug. "Painful, sometimes, but not difficult. The wisdom to use wisdom is what is unknown."
Ah yes, speaking in riddles. A much more comfortable place for her to be.
"And common sense isn't all that common," Motark said, chuckling a little. Once they'd gotten out into flatter terrain Ratta sped up and started hustling along, kicking up dust behind them.
"She smells home, won't be too far now," Motark said. Then, a thought crossed his mind.
"Tell me a riddle," he said, looking down to her.
"A riddle?" Fiala laughed, startled but still amused by the request. "Why do you ask this of me?"
"For fun," Motark said, looking down at her curiously.
"I noticed you like them, so maybe you can tell me one? I know a few myself," he continued.
"Very well." She considered for a few moments, then posed: "The more you take of me, the more you leave behind. What am I?"
"Hrm..." Motark said, drumming his fingers on his thigh as they rode along.
"Is it taking breaths?" Motark started, and then looked down to her.
"You breathe in and breath out."
Fiala laughed quietly, a glimmer of something close to pride in her eyes. "Impressively close," she praised. "I suppose that case could be made. But no. The answer I've been taught is footsteps."
She pointed to the path ahead of them, the steady clop-clop-clop of Ratta's hoofbeats, then behind, where her hooves had left tracks in the earth. "The more you take, the more you leave behind."
[Footsteps was my second answer :P]
"It wasn't a bad guess," Motark said, and he found himself chuckling at the reasoning for her answer. Her praise sat well with him
"Okay, my turn," Motark said, and he hummed a little to himself. Then, he tapped her leg with his hand to get her attention.
"The sun always beats on me, yet I am as cold as the northern winds. What am I?"
[Lol my brain is too fried from my thesis for this one XD]
Fiala tilted her head from side to side as she considered the riddle. "Is the answer the earth itself?" she ventured after a few moments. "All lands are lit by the sun, though some are perpetually covered in ice."
"Close, close... but no," Motark said, going so far as to mimic her tone slightly.
"The answer is the peak of a mountain," Motark said.
"They are covered in snow, but sit above the clouds so they always see the sun."
"Fascinating." Fiala smiled, apparently not at all perturbed to have been unable to solve the riddle. "Have you seen many mountains, Motark?"
"There are many mountains in these lands," Motark said.
"My village sits in a valley, and we have many nearby," he continued.
She shook her head slowly.
"I have never seen a mountain," she admitted after several moments, not entirely sure why she did. "You cannot see the peaks through the branches of the forest."
[That moment when you're trying to remember what the SoTE Map looks like]
"They edge the forests. Travel far enough through the forests and you will reach the foothills," Motark said. He pointed to the left ahead of them.
"Go right once you pass that boulder. It's bumpy, so be careful," he said, motioning to a large boulder, shattered in two amidst low bushes.
The terrain was starting to get rougher, so Motark put his hands on Fiala's sides to hold steady. It struck him how warm she felt.
Ratta herself seemed to not have much issue with the terrain, and seemed quite familiar and adapted to the rough patches of gravel mixed in with the earth and the sudden dips and rises.
After a single moment of unbalance, Fiala managed to adjust herself to the changes in Ratta's gait and settled more comfortably into the rhythm of the massive sow's steps.
When Motark's hands came to rest against her, she glanced over her shoulder at him. A rather sly little smile curved her lips. "Is that for my comfort, or yours?" she teased lightly, tossing her head so the threads of gold through her antlers caught the light.
Motark's intentions were platonic. He was top-heavy and Fiala was the only thing he could really use to steady himself. All this made it all the more confusing when her teasing tone and words brought out some sheepishness all the same.
"No, it's just, ah... to hold steady," he said. Orcs couldn't flush like humans but his skin darkened a bit beneath his eyes. He found it tough to hold her gaze but he did so.
Fiala seemed entirely unaware of any discomfort she may have caused, just smiling enigmatically and turning back to face the path ahead of them again. "How much further will we travel before we reach your people?"
And Motark continued to hold on. She hadn't objected, after all, so even if she made him feel weird about it he wasn't going to stop. Not only was she warm, but his hands on her really did highlight how much larger he was than her. He was nearly two feet taller, if her antler's weren't counted.
"There's a pass between the cliffs and rises. Once we go through we'll be in Bloodmorrow," Motark said, letting his hands rest a bit lower as he settled into the new position.
"You won't be able to miss the village once you see it."
"I see." She settled back, content enough to let Ratta pretty much lead the way while she looked around curiously. This was the furthest she'd ever been from her home, after all, and she was anxious to see as much as she could.
The hilly lowlands they entered were wider and ore exposed than her home woods. Instead of even ground with treacherous roots and bushes, it was the ground itself that was dangerous.
But, despite the harsh terrain, the mountain grasses grew long and beautiful under a clear blue sky, and sometimes boulders and stones grew in odd shapes.
During their travel, they passed a conical stone wreathed with old looking bones and stained rusty red.
"A long time ago, there was a great battle here. My clan defeated another here, but that was centuries before my time," Motark said, looking down at the fae woman. The terrain had calmed down somewhat but he found his hands comfortable where they were.
"But I doubt you know much of war."
"I...know a little," Fiala replied, unwilling to admit total ignorance-- though her only real knowledge of such conflict came from warning stories told by her cousin.
With a shrug, she tossed her hair and added, "Not all of my kind are peaceful. There have been wars between Seelie and Unseelie Fae for generations." Whether or not that was still true she didn't really know, but she remembered Lakali mentioning once.
That was interesting. It made Motark think of dark, sinister forms of Fiala, stalking the woods at night with fangs and claws.
He looked down at the fae woman.
"I have seen war. Felt it and gained the scars to prove it. It's a force of nature all on its own," he said.
"And I might hate war, but I also know it is better to win fights than to lose them."
"Is it?"
It was perhaps a typical answer of a creature like herself, but Fiala seemed...strangely genuine in her question. She did not turn her head, but continued, "Is it better to win a fight if in the process one loses oneself?"
"Maybe. But I only know one fight, and it's life or death. To lose is to die. Sometimes, you need to sacrifice pieces of yourself to keep going," Motark said, speaking symbolically.
She'd be able to hear his tone shift as he remembered the battles he'd fought. Stepping in the ground and not knowing if that was blood or mud that splashed under his feet. And the smell...
His hands tightened on her waist a little bit, and he continued to speak.
"Sometimes you don't get to make that choice. But I like to think that it's made me stronger."
Fiala was quiet for a long while, seeming to consider. Sacrifice pieces of oneself for survival...
Her brow knitted together and she shook her head, almost imperceptibly. I'd rather die.
She didn't voice her thoughts though, just shrugging and tossing her hair again. "I suppose if you believe it that may make all the difference. Confidence in one's own strength is often just as vital as the strength itself."
She didn't understand, that much was clear. Not that he expected her to, but he couldn't help but feel a little disappointed.
"Through this pass here," Motark said, motioning ahead. There was a rocky, jagged tunnel carved out of a massive crack in the cliff wall here, an entirely natural formation. Light could be seen on the other side of the tunnel.
"Either way, I hope you enjoy the village. I'm sure you and the villagers will have plenty to ask each other about."
"Yes, I'm sure we will," Fiala agreed quietly, once more seemingly captivated by the land around them. This was as close to a mountain as she had ever been in her life, and she was determined to remember every detail.
As they approached the pass and traveled into the great wound in the cliffs, the rock walls stifled the wind. Ratta's hooves echoed up and down the tunnel as they passed on through. Motark was willing to bet the young woman had never been surrounded by stone before in her life.
But, they reached the end, and the passage broke to reveal a fertile, misty valley with a mountain spring river that ran along the length of it. Even from the pass, the village could be seen.
And to call it a village was a grave understatement. Bloodmorrow was like a small city, surrounded by palisades of sharpened logs and taking up a good half of the valley. It was a sprawl of house-tents, huts, and wooden structures, with several plazas spread out around the settlement. These plazas contained ritual poles set into what looked like large fire pits. The central plaza was the most impressive one
. It was only a few minute's ride from the pass to the village entrance, so she'd be able to see the breadth of Motark's entire life from where they were stopped.
"So, what do you think?"
Fiala tensed as they traveled through the pass, unconsciously reaching out with her magic to feel something other than the rock that surrounded them.
But they were entering the valley soon enough, and the surge of relief that spilled through her was quickly drowned out by the sheer newness spread out before them.
"It's..." She blinked, mind racing as she tried to think of a way to answer that would not give away exactly how out of her depth she felt. "It is...large."
Indeed, with it's thousand or so inhabitants, Bloodmorrow really did seem large. there was a small outline of wilderness around the village but for the most part it took up the entirety of the valley.
Motark chuckled at her surprised look .
"Bigger than you expected?"
Motark reached out in front of her and put one hand around the reigns.
"Here, let me take us in," he offered.
Fiala took a breath and made no show of resistance as he took the reins. For the first time in her life, she felt the energy of the mortal world pressing down around her from all sides and it was...overwhelming.
She swallowed and closed her eyes, leaning back against Motark's chest as she attempted to compose herself. "Lead on, brave one."
Brave one... why did that sound so familiar?
She leaned back against his chest and Motark scooted in closer to her so she could better rest her back against him. His hands settled on the reins and he let them rest on her legs, only making minor motions to guide Ratta along the thin path.
They'd barely made it a minute into the forests around the village before the rustling of bushes and the movement of shapes rang out ahead of them and two orcs, one with a spear and one with an axe, jumped out of the brush just eight feet ahead of them.
"Stop! Who goes... there," said one of them. His voice trailed off as he not only saw he was pointing a spear at his chief, but there was an incredibly curious creature with him!
"Relax, relax. It's me," Motark said, and the two warriors immediately stood down, even smiling at their chief.
The young fae woman stiffened at the approach of strangers, baring her teeth and snarling when the weapons pointed in their direction
They seemed to back down quickly enough when faced with Motark though, and she glanced back and forth between them before allowing herself to relax slightly.
She straightened up a bit, tossing her hair and narrowing her eyes suspiciously at the other two orcs. The leaves around them rustled in a nonexistent wind, and her eyes suddenly flashed with a reflection of light that wasn't there.
The orcs bowed their heads and stood out of the way, although as Motark made to ride past one of them spoke up. Motark laid a hand on Fiala's shoulder to ease her.
"And this one with you?" one of them said. They both looked at Fiala with mixed expressions of curiosity and wonder.
"A deep forest dweller. She's a good friend of mine and she's visiting Bloodmorrow. One of you go on ahead and spread the news. We'll make introductions later."
The orc with the spear nodded and took off back to the village. The one with the axe followed alongside as Ratta trotted along.
The warriors of Bloodmorrow wore little more than leathers and body paint, and this one seemed particularly young. He kept sparing Fiala glances as he escorted them.
"Why the caution?" asked Motark, and the warrior spoke up.
"Deathskulls tested our borders again last night," he said, and Motark shot a look over at him. A rival tribe had made a pass on Bloodmorrow, and he was away exploring the woods. Fiala'd be able to feel the tension go through him at that revelation.
It was only a couple more minutes before they were approaching the entrance to Bloodmorrow, and the door to pass the wall was starting to be hoisted up.
Fiala felt Motark tense behind her, and without quite knowing why she did it, she let her hand slip to cover his where it rested on her leg, sending an almost unconscious pulse of magic through her fingertips to dance over his skin in green and gold sparks before sinking beneath the surface.
As she did, a gasp slipped past her lips and her eyes widened. Her blood sang with the brief connection, and her whole body thrummed with magic for the barest instant before fading away again.
She blinked, befuddled. Why on earth had that happened? Hadn't her blood run its course through his system by now?
The young orc warrior was about to ask Fiala who she was and make small talk, but fell quiet and widened his eyes when he saw this fae creature so casually send some magic into their chief.
For Motark, it was an interesting sensation. He felt the warmth rush through him and for a brief moment, his hand tightened on her leg before he let out a sigh, the tension bleeding out of him as if it'd never been there.
He was back now, it was going to be all right.
Still, he looked down at Fiala, watching the glow disappear in his skin. That felt, well... that felt pretty damn good. Before he could ask her what she'd done, the young orc spoke up.
"Well, here we are," he said, motioning ahead, and looked back to Fiala and Motark.
Motark motioned ahead, and the young orc went running back into the village. As they waited for the crude gate to open, Motark gave Fiala's leg a short stroke, marvelling at the softness of her fur.
"What... What was that? That felt nice," he said.
"I--"
Her voice stopped dead in her throat as the lie jumped instinctively to her throat. She frowned, opened her mouth to try again, made no sound, then growled and admitted, "I do not...entirely...know."
She cleared her throat and looked ahead again, brow drawn into a furrowed line as her mind turned over what had happened. She was sure it had something to do with the connection that had been forged between them when she used her blood to heal him, but she didn't know exactly what it meant.
Regardless, neither of them had much time to think about it. The gates were up and Motark took them through, and there was a small group of orcish villagers waiting, excited for their chief's return. He spared them a look before he dismounted from Ratta, offering Fiala his hand to help her down if she needed it mostly out of habit. Apart from the orcs waiting for the chief's return, there were countless others going about their lives, really letting Fiala drink in the air of civilization as Motark met the group.
The group (mostly old orc women and younglings) came forward and Motark greeted them all before he turned about and presented Fiala.
"This is Fiala, she lives in the woods around our village," he proclaimed to them, and offered her a smile and motioned for her to come introduce herself.
Without really thinking about it, Fiala accepted his help to dismount from Ratta, finding herself drawn close to his side as she eyed the crowd of waiting villagers warily.
She had never really met any creature not a member of the fae realms before Motark, and now a whole small city at once... It was rather a lot to process.
"I...am called Fiala," she said slowly, glancing up sidelong at Motark as though searching for some sort of cue. "I come from the deep woods. I am here to...learn."
Indeed, she was quite the curious sight, as she drew at least glances from just about everyone. None of them had ever seen anything quite like her.
"You'll want to meet the druids," one of the older women said, and Motark nodded at that. Before he could talk to her, he was distracted by another orc. A young orc boy approached Fiala, just a foot shorter than her.
"Are you a deer?" he asked. It seemed the other children were too busy gawking at her to really approach her.
Fiala skittered back a step, cocking her head at the strange little creature that had approached. "I...am not," she replied slowly.
Tilting her head to the other side, she crouched slightly to be on eye level with the boy-- crouching was rather odd, with the shape of her legs, but she somehow managed to make it seem graceful.
"Do you want me to be?"
"You look like a human," the orc child said, and then Motark was back. He knelt down
"She's anything but, little Dokrush," Motark said, and he mussed up the little orc's hair. He put a hand on Fiala's shoulder, and it seemed their chief's confidence in the stranger emboldened them to approach. Some were curious about her furry legs, others her antlers.
A young orc girl with yellow eyes cheerfully proposed that they must've been sisters.
"Chidlren, children, give our guest a little space," Motark said, and they relented on her a little.
Fiala had to resist the urge to bolt as she was suddenly surrounded by chattering orcish children, her eyes rather wide as they all seemed to take some signal that was unknown to her to begin crowding and asking questions.
"Are all mortal children like this?"
"Until they grow up, yes," Motark said, and he was quick to save her. He turned to the children, and they all seemed spellbound to him. If there was one thing that was clearly visible it was that Motark's people loved and revered him.
"Fiala'll be in Bloodmorrow for plenty of time, kids. But we've had a long travel and she's looking forwards to seeing the rest of the village. Run along now."
And just like that, they were alone. Or as alone as they could be at any rate. Ratta was taken by a stableboy and Motark returned his gaze to the fae woman, offering her a hand.
"Shall we, then? Do you want to meet our druids?"
Rather wide eyed, Fiala took Motark's offered hand almost on reflex and nodded slowly, looking more than a little lost.
"They are...very loud," she noted after a moment, though whether she was talking about the children specifically or the people of the village in general wasn't entirely clear.
"In nature, the animals don't talk to one another and keep their distance," Motark mused, slowing a bit as he guided her through.
Bloodmorrow was a loosely organized place. Many clans had been absorbed into the Red Sun clan over its existence and thus Bloodmorrow itself was a melting pot of orc-kind. Shades of green, brown, and even some rare bluish hues performed all kinds of regular tasks. Orcs smithing metal, moving piles of wood, guiding farm animals along, all speaking to one another and shooting her curious glances as she walked through Bloodmorrow with their chief.
And there were also plenty of warriors, orcs wearing leathers or thick hides and sporting either spears or axes, patrolling around or protecting stockpiles and important work areas.
"Here, not so much," he said. There was something inherently wholesome about holding her hand like that and guiding her along. There was an intoxicating warmth every time they touched, that much he couldn't deny, but the feeling made him feel strange in quite a few directions.
"That, or their languages are just...softer," Fiala mused.
In truth, she only knew the creature languages of the forest in passing. Most animals listened to her when she spoke, and she returned the courtesy, though they did not carry on lengthy conversations. It was the plants she usually chatted with, trading gossip about the change of seasons or the movement of water beneath the earth.
Bloodmorrow was not like that.
She glanced down at her hand joined with Motark's as he pulled her along, realizing that she hadn't even paid much attention to the prolonged contact in her reverie, but now that she was...
Well. She didn't mind it. Which was perhaps what was worrying.
Bloodmorrow was split in half by the valley's river, and thus they stepped onto one of the many wooden bridges constructed to provide connectivity to both halves of the village. One side of Bloodmorrow's central area was dedicated to a large ritual bonfire and monument, while the other side of the river held the warrior's quarter.
Motark paused for a moment, looking out to the training fields and watching the warriors practice. He leaned on the bridge's railing, letting go of Fiala's hand to lean both his arms on it.
He smiled.
"Deathskulls don't stand a chance, if it comes to it," he said, exuding confidence. He turned back to face her.
"But, border threats aside, you picked a good time to visit. It's the harvest season."
"Harvest?" Fiala blinked up at him in complete confusion. The word was foreign to her-- the creatures of the forest or the Glade did not need to manage the growth of their food, hewing fruit from vine and wheat from sheath with the turning of the seasons. They simply ate what they could find and moved on when there was nothing to eat.
"We grow plants and raise animals for food," Motark said.
"Harvest season is when we collect it all. We're going to have a big harvest this season," he noted, and started walking again.
"Animals live solitary and independent lives in nature. Here in Bloodmorrow everyone works to protect the village, their home. Everybody needs to do their part to make it work."
"That's not entirely true," Fiala pointed out almost blithely, her gaze sweeping over the view before them a moment longer before she turned to follow him. Her hand flickered out, fingertips brushed against his, before she suddenly remembered herself and snatched her hand back.
"Many animals live in groups. Wolves for instance," she noted with a meaningfully quirked eyebrow. "They simply do not attempt to cultivate and bend nature to their whims."
"This is different from a pack of wolves," Motark said conclusively They stepped off the bridge to the northern half of Bloodmorrow. They walked past tents and buildings alike along double-wide foot paths that functioned as Bloodmorrow's streets. The population wasn't all too dense, but Orcs were definitely plentiful here.
This half had most of Bloodmorrow's agriculture, and as they walked along the edge of this area it quickly became apparent that Bloodmorrow's agriculture was not only bountiful, but varied as well. In the center of the agricultural zone stood a round hill of earth with a stone tower that stretched twenty feet into the sky. Motark pointed to it.
"That's where the druids live. Around it, they help raise bees, fruits, pigs, even more beyond that. We haven't had to go on raids for years." he mused.
"And I was the one who pushed for it. It's not easy to change a culture, but I take my victories where I can get them."
They started walking on a path that took them right to the center of that area, and she'd be able to see much activity in the fields and animal pens.
"Clearly," Fiala replied wryly, but she fell silent again as Motark brought her through this section of the village to the stone tower.
She tilted her head at it, listening to him speak. As they started moving again, she spoke up. "What is a...raid?"
"An aspect of war," Motark answered, wanting mince no words or hide any truths from her. He passed his hand along a fence to an enclosure full of fat, snorting hogs as they walked past. He glanced at the beasts and gave the orc attending the pen a short wave before focusing back on her.
"Where one side attacks another's home or people with the aim to cause death, terror, and to take resources. It's a common occurence when orcs are at war, and some of the tribes who live on the edge of this region even raid the human lands around us," he said, talking as they walked. Now that they were close, they'd be able to smell the wreaths of honeyed herbs and protective incense arranged around the fields and pens immediately adjacent to their little enclave.
"There were a few raids out of necessity just after I became chief, but ever since the fields and pens started bearing food we haven't had the need since. I want to keep it that way."
"Mmm." Fiala listened in silence as Motark explained, and she said nothing when he had finished. If she had any judgement for what he described, it didn't show on her face.
"Why am I to meet these druids, exactly?" she asked instead, a rather abrupt switch in topic. "That is-- should I be aware of any peculiarity? Have they met any of my kind before?"
Her lack of true reaction to his words left him mildly stumped. For whatever reason, he found himself anxious to tell her about his people's warlike ways. Then again, peace was not the way of nature, either...
"Well, there's no particular reason," Motark said, shrugging his shoulders.
"But I feel like you'd like to meet them. You may have some common ground," Motark said, giving her a teasing smile.
"Common ground," the fae woman repeated slowly, considering. "Perhaps, I suppose." She seemed to be considering that-- or perhaps her mind was far away, contemplating something else entirely.
She drifted a little closer to Motark as they walked, her eyes still skimming over the village around them curiously.
He glanced down at her as she walked closer to him.
"I just thought you would get along, is all. You're my honored guest, so if you don't want to go anywhere I won't make you," he added, and he gave her a nudge.
"But you could ask the druids to make you more brew, and to make it lighter for you," he added with a grin.
Fiala stumbled a bit under his nudge, surprised by the touch, then blinked up at him. She furrowed her brow and flipped her hair haughtily.
"I have no need of such things," she informed him primly, skipping ahead a few paces and flicking her tail up to show a flash of white. Secretly, she turned the idea over in her mind. While strange, the brew hadn't been...unpleasant, precisely.
Glancing back at him almost coyly over her shoulder, she wondered briefly if he would catch onto her game.
"You don't need it, no," Motark said, and he looked at her a little curiously when she skipped ahead and flashed her tail to him.
He didn't quite know the meaning of the gesture, but it brought his attention to her rear and then back to her eyes and he didn't quite know what to think.
"But would you accept it as a gift?" he offered, and he stepped after her. The curiosity was visible in his eyes and he found himself pondering what this strange fae woman was getting at.
Fiala considered that, tilting her head from side to side. Her tail flickered from side to side, another brief flash of white. The motion didn't seem to be entirely conscious.
"Perhaps," she answered after a moment, the hint of a playful smile curving at the edges of her lips. "Although that would require a gift given in turn. The laws of hospitality are strict among my kind."
"Ah, but you are our guest, so you must respect our hospitality," Motark said with a grin, and he laughed a bit after that. He continued to note the frequent movement of her tail.
What was she signalling? He wished he was a stag, perhaps he would know...
She kept walking ahead of him so he made to catch up to her, having forgotten the druids for a moment.
"What are you up to?" he said, thinking out loud.
She blinked up at him innocently. "Why must I be up to something?" she asked with an almost convincingly bland tone.
She really had no idea where they were going, but it was rather entertaining that the orc would chase after her if she stepped away from their intended path. Subtly, she changed direction with another little flick of her tail, wondering if he would continue the pattern.
"Something about the way you smile, I don't know," Motark said.
He continued to follow alongside her. If she wanted to take a detour, he wouldn't stop her. This side of Bloodmorrow held all the more interesting things, anyways. Apart from the central ritual bonfire and the agricultural zones this side of the orc village also had Motark's very own home (alongside the homes of his underchiefs and elders) and the training field for the warriors.
Her tail caught his eyes again and he looked back up.
"If you want to just wander and look around, we can do that to. The druids will complain but you can always see them later," he offered.
"Oh, very well." Fiala stopped and turned to face him, waving a hand airily. "Lead on, then. It would not do for me to reject your people's hospitality, as you said."
He seemed to lighten up when she conceded to him. He genuinely did want her to meet the druids, for he believed they could provide each other with valuable insights and perhaps they could even be friends.
He looked around. He hadn't followed her for very far, but they'd still taken the odd turn here and there.
He offered her his hand, he didn't quite know why, and smiled down.
"Come on, then. We've got some backtracking to do."
Fiala blinked at his offered hand, hesitating. It was a brief moment, but there was a flash of...something behind the gold of her eyes. Something that even she wasn't sure she could identify.
It passed quickly and she reached out to take his hand, staring intently at the way her slender fingers fit into his much larger hand for a moment before she blinked and lifted her gaze to his face.
"I suppose you would know better than I."
It felt all too natural to guide her along like that, her small fingers holding his hand like that as he retraced their steps. He could feel her eyes on him, but not in a bad way. He looked down, eyes immediately drawn to hers.
"Well, after the druids the village is yours to explore, with me to guide you," he said.
"How long will you be visiting us?"
That was an excellent question, and one Fiala probably should have given at least cursory though before now.
She attempted to mask the sudden unease with an airy wave of her hand and a quick shrug. "As long as need be, I suppose," she replied with a toss of her hair.
"Well, you will be welcome to stay as long as you like. The others will get used to you eventually," he said, playfully smiling at her. They made it back to the druid tower, and Motark went up and knocked on the thin wooden door, warded and sealed with trinkets and harsh, jagged symbols.
"Enter," came a voice from inside, stern and unwavering.
Motark pushed the door aside and stepped in, holding it open for Fiala to enter.
The inside was seperated into an central chamber with two smaller chambers attached on each side via open archways curtiained with strings of vines.
It was like a den of nature, cradled within the heart of the village. Plants grew freely, either on the ground or in planters on the ceilings and walls. A mixture of herbs, exotic magical plants, and even a placid beehive were all arranged about the room. The room itself was peppered with small totems affixed to the walls or doorways or charms that hung from plants. There was a full array of primitive but varied alchemy and herbalism tools, as well as a thick clay cauldron where some travelling brew was currently being cooked.
The place smelled like flowers, honey, and earth.
from the right side chamber, the voice came again.
"Make yourself comfortable we-"
The orc that emerged trailed off when he saw Motark and Fiala. He had vibrant blue paint spread out over his face, arms, and legs and wore a cloak decorated with hawk and eagle feathers over his reed tunic. A largish, rugged looking raven sat on his shoulder and bird-bone trinkets and jewelry hung and clicked together on various parts of his body.
"My chief, you've returned, and... with a visitor..." he ventured, stepping forwards fully out of the chamber. The raven took off from his shoulder and occupied a perch in the room.
Motark motioned to Fiala.
"You were right, old friend. Eukus, meet Fiala," he said, and Eukus stepped forwards and knelt to give Fiala a short dip of his head before standing again.
"I am Eukus, cloudwatcher for the Red Sun clan. It is a pleasure to meet you, Forest Child,"
Stepping into the druids' den was a surprising breath of relief. Fiala felt a tension she hadn't even realized she'd been carrying lift from her shoulders and she breathed deep, closing her eyes to simply bask for a moment in the scent of green and growing things.
When Eukus appeared, she turned toward him and smiled serenely-- though the expression morphed rather quickly into surprise when he knelt before her and bowed his head.
"Ah...well met," she replied with a brief nod of her own. She shifted her weight between her hooves slightly and looked around again. "This place is...not what I expected to find, I'll admit."
Eukus chuckled at that,
"Most of the villagers say the same," he remarked, and he joined his hands.
"I watch the skies and guide the clouds above Bloodmorrow," he said, and he looked like he was going to say something else but then the raven cawed gruffly.
"...we do that, I meant to say. My raven is named Grosh, he greets you."
He motioned for them to follow and moved deeper into the hut. There was a small area close to the back wall where the grassy floor was covered by a rug and turned into a humble seating area. He sat down and Motark sat to the side, letting Fiala sit directly across from him.
"So, what do you think of Bloodmorrow so far, Fiala?"
Fiala dipped her head slightly to the raven before following the druid and taking a seat across of him. She considered his question for a few moments before answering, "It is very different from what I am used to."
A small vining plant, some sort of ivy she thought, rustled quietly as it began to stretch across the floor toward her almost curiously. She smiled a bit and stretched a hand out, allowing the green shoot to twine through her fingers gently.
Both Motark and Eukus watched as she attracted one of the vined plants that were potted off to the side. Motark found it utterly fascinating, how she seemed to coax life and even personality from plants of all things.
He couldn't quite comprehend it, but Eukus did.
"Well, it's better than "terrible," he said with a laugh, trying his best to be friendly.
"We haven't had creatures of the forest among us for a very long time. The other druids are off seeing to their duties, so it's my absolute honor to be the one speaking to you first," he added with a smile.
"Could I offer you anything to refresh you from your journey? We have fruits, nuts, vegetables..." he trailed off, but quickly remembered.
"There's some brew going in the center chamber too. Meat too, if you eat that."
Ignoring the offer of food, Fiala found herself leaning forward just a bit and looking searchingly into the druid's face, suddenly curious. "You say you have not had my kind among you for a long time-- but you have seen my kind walk among you before?"
"I haven't, not personally. But there are tales from the older times where warriors would take pilgrimages to the woods to gain the blessings of nature," Eukus said, setting his hands down on his lap.
"And the druids could call the forest's dwellers to live among us and lend their aid. But those rites are lost to us now. The connections have grown weaker with time."
Despite his momentarily solemn tone, he offered a smile.
"But maybe those times are coming back."
A shock of-- of something shot through her body, something between fear and anticipation, which she did not understand. Her fingers curled in toward her palms, knuckles going white as she clenched tight, but otherwise she gave no tell of the sudden surge of emotion and confusion in her breast.
She smiled vaguely and dipped her head just slightly toward the druid. "Perhaps." She looked from Eukus to Motark with a long, slow blink. "What would the return of such times mean to you, I wonder?"
Motark shot Fiala a concerned glance. He couldn't tell much, but he found himself unusually aware of her. He caught the tightening of her hand and then looked back to her face in time to meet her eyes when she looked at him.
He could almost feel the restlessness in the air around her. He decided to speak.
"The legends are so old, we wouldn't know what to expect."
Eukus chuckled and nodded at Motark's words.
"That's one way to put it. Not much history has survived from those olden times, but I'd hope it would be prosperous for everyone. We'd have much to learn from one another."
The door to the hut creaked open and Motark glanced back to see who'd entered. It was a larger, younger orc than Eukus. He wore light armor made of painted hides on his torso and legs. The hides were painted a dim yellow, but it was also decorated and stitched with bones that had been painted red. He bore an interesting combination of a long axe and a druid's staff in one hand, and wore a normal axe on his belt.
"Geshur, you're back" Eukus said, and the Geshur "hmphed" with amusement.
"Fresh recruits were smart today. Besides, didn't want to miss the chief's visitor," he said. Unlike Eukus, he didn't bow. Instead, he simply acknowledged her with a good nod and the usual fist-to-chest greeting common among the orcs of Bloodmorrow.
"I'm the War Caller."
Fiala started a bit when the new druid entered, but it was so subtle a movement that she doubted any of the orcs had noticed-- or at least they shouldn't have.
She merely raised one eyebrow in response to Geshur's introduction and nodded her head to him once. "And I am the Plant Weaver, apparently," she replied flippantly, raising a hand that was by now twined through with small green shoots, some still stretching up to curve around her fingers. Lowering her hand again, she murmured under her breath, "Go on, shoo," and the vines began to disperse back to their natural growing places.
Geshur seemed to catch her tone and even smiled. He was a younger druid, lacking the traditional decorum of the elderly Eukus.
"Plant Weaver's not a bad title. You'll make the Green Keeper jealous, too," he added with a chortle, and stepped past them to see to the boiling cauldron of honeyed Travel Brew. He stirred the wooden spoon and brought it up to taste, and nodded.
Motark himself startled more visibly at the same time as Fiala. It was only after Geshur's entrance that he realized it was mutual and gave Fiala a glance almost on instinct, almost as if he could see the tension go through her.
It was only for a moment. The sound of the wooden spoon brought him out of that mental space and he blinked to the ground, then looked up at Geshur.
"Is it done?" Eukus asked, and Geshur nodded again. "Just so." Eukus gave him a knowing look and a raise of his eyebrows and the younger orc read him like a book.
"Time for some traditional Bloodmorrow hospitality," Motark said as Geshur filled up four small wooden cups with steamy warm Travel Brew.
"For good luck, and a cleansing start to your visit," Geshur said, tone playful as he came back. Motark stood to take two of the squat cups and sat next to Fiala, holding it to her.
The fae woman stared at the offered cup for a few moments, her lips thinned into a considering sort of line.
"...Thank you," she murmured eventually as she accepted the offered drink. She merely held it between her hands though, still wary of actually drinking any, considering what had happened the last time.
She frowned slightly to herself. It was just like Lakali to warn her to be wary of honey's sweetness without actually telling her why.
The orcs didb't seem to heed her trepidation much.
The greenskins sitting about all lifted their steamy clay cups up to the sky and clinked them. "Good health!" was said in orcish and they all proceeded to take the first sips of their drink.
Motark sighed and glanced down to fiala. He leaned down, motioning to her drink.
"It's much lighter when it's fresh. You might like it more," he said with a warm smile before he took another sip.
Fiala shot him a quick, droll look, but she didn't speak up, instead drawing the cup toward her lips with no small amount of wariness and taking a very small, cautious sip.
It felt rather like admitting a sort of defeat if she didn't. And that was a concept she did not find agreeable.
Just a sip shouldn't hurt, should it?
Indeed, it was a lot smoother and lighter on the honey. Storage and cool temperatures cause the honey to concentrate but while its hot the honey is smooth and dispersed, and much lighter on the tongue.
Either way, it was clear the orcs appreciated the gesture, because they all nodded among themselves and set their cups aside so they could keep speaking.
"So how did you two run into each other, anyways?" Asked Eukus, and Motark smiled at the question.
"On the elk hunt," he said, and then looked down to Fiala next to him. "Four days ago, right?"
"Yes," Fiala replied evenly. The taste of honey was still strong on her tongue-- it certainly wasn't as potent as the last brew she'd tried, which oddly made her want to take another sip.
Of course, if she kept drinking, she was sure the end result would be the same, and she was not interested in leaving herself indisposed in front of a cluster of strangers.
Her eyes flicked toward Motark and then away again. Strangers... They still were, really. Weren't they?
Oh...hells. She downed another gulp of her drink, looking away.
Her answer was short, but Motark nodded nonetheless, looking back to the druids.
"We didn't quite know what to think of each other. We went our seperate ways, but ran into one another again when I returned to explore the woods," he explained, and the two druids nodded, spellbound by his story.
"We shared a good conversation and fought off wolves together. If she hadn't have been there..." he trailed off, looking to Fiala. The druids seemed to read his tone and similarly went quiet at the unspoken implications.
"So I decided to offer for her to visit us. So she could see what life was like in the civilized world."
Fiala felt her cheeks flushing just slightly under the orcs' collective gaze, and quickly took another sip from her cup.
She really didn't think she'd done anything all that special-- the wolves had been desperate, she'd just sort of...shooed them away.
Well. And fed Motark faerie blood. She'd done that too.
Her eyes flickered up to the chieftain and she quirked an eyebrow. "Civilized world. That is an...interesting way of phrasing it."
"Still apt," Eukus chimed in.
"Do they not seem like two different worlds, the forest and the village?" He mused, and the other two orcs nodded.
"But still connected. We depend on the wilds around us and the life we grow just as much as the deer or boar depend on the trees and rivers," Geshur added, and Eukus smiled.
Motark looked to Fiala and addressed her directly.
"What else would you like to see?"
The fae woman blinked at him, then looked away and shrugged. "Whatever you see fit to show me, I suppose," she answered blithely. "I am here merely as a guest, after all. I have no true motive, nothing I specifically wish to seek out."
Motark nodded, and Geshur shot him a quick look that Motark caught. He was rather... blank on what to show her. It had all become so... mundane to him.
Geshur seemed to sense this, and he spoke up again.
"Unblooded are doing their Axe Dances today. It's a time-honored tradition and I'd be honored if our guest would witness it."
Eukus perked up, and Motark paled. He'd completely forgotten!
"Oh, the Axe Dances! The feasting's always good after one of those," he said, and took a drink of his brew, sighing pleasantly.
Motark nodded and drank.
"Well, I can't miss it," he said and looked down to Fiala.
"How does that sound?"
Fiala blinked at him. Why did he seem...nervous? Was that the right word.
Ah well. She tried to put it from her mind.
“I...understood all of those words individually,” she offered after a few moments with the barest hint of a wry smile. “But yes, if that is what you wish me to see I will join you happily.”
She glanced around at the three orcs, then decided to just get it over with and asked, “Unblooded?”
"Unblooded are young warriors who haven't seen a battle yet," Motark said, and Geshur nodded and spoke up in turn.
"They perform the Axe Dances at the end of their training and officially start on their warrior's path. It's a big moment for them," said the war-caller and Motark took a final drink of his brew before setting the finished cup down next to him.
"It's held in the moonlight," Motark added.
"So we've got a few hours until then."
"And what shall we do until then?" She looked around at the three of them again, slowly drawing one leg in toward her body, her other knee sort of skewed out to the side. "I do not suppose you typically sit here all day and drink...this."
She lifted her cup slightly as she spoke in indication, one eyebrow quirked up.
"Not really, no. But it was a long ride, nice to sit down and have something refreshing," Motark said.
He considered what they'd do next, and then it came to him! He put his hands on his legs, nervousness banished.
"We usually do thing when we finish. And the sooner you finish yours, the sooner you can see the orchard. I'm sure the trees there would like someone to talk to."
"Orchard?" She perked up, just slightly, though her ears betrayed her with a flicker forward. She hadn't sensed the typical personalities she was used to in fruit-bearing trees when he'd been showing her the village earlier--though she had been rather frazzled, she had to admit.
"Mmm. I can try, but they may be tired," she mused to herself as she took another sip of the brew. "We are fast approaching autumn; changing trees will be sleeping soon."
Motark definitely noted her interest and continued. He bid the druids a bow and stood, offering Fiala his hand to rise with almost unconsciously.
"Well, either way I'm sure you'll like it. C'mon," he said, for once feeling... relaxed. Like he'd actually caught her interest for once. It was tough having a guest who provided no input.
Both druids gave her curt bows of their heads. Geshur spoke, unafraid to look at her instead or humbling himself.
"It'll be an honor to have you present for the Axe Dances, Fiala. Shok will be pleased," he said.
Fiala twitched a bit when they bowed to her. She still wasn't sure she much cared for that particular gesture. But outwardly she gave no sign, just nodded to them in turn as she moved to follow their chief back out of the hut.
Despite the cool, collected exterior, she was rather intrigued to speak with trees that had been domesticated. She'd never had the chance before. The anticipation only manifested as a slight tingle through her body, a buzz pricking at her magic, but it was there.
She eyed Motark's back curiously. There had been a few moments in their conversation with the druids when she'd begun to wonder... Curious, she focused on the excitement and attempted to—to reach out to him with it, as it were, like she was lobbing the emotion at his back.
He'd gotten back out into the sun and was stretching when he felt an odd sort of tingle go through him. It gently layered over the nice buzz from the traveler's brew and he turned to look back at Fiala. He smiled, perhaps giving off a little restless energy of his own back to her.
"It's not too far," he said, beckoning her along as he walked on. He felt like he should offer her his arm to go along, so he did. He felt the sudden need to guide her along, excited for her to meet their trees.
The fae creature took his arm when he offered it, eyeing him sidelong. Hm. Interesting.
She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow and simply stared at the study of contrast before her: slim fingers against broad muscle, tan on green, her own touch just slightly too cool while his skin was warm...
Interesting indeed. She'd have to tell her cousin about this when she returned.
Of course, the thought of returning stirred up a whole host of emotions that she really didn't want to deal with in that moment. She shook her head, a few strands of her hair catching on her antlers, and put a slight skip into her step as they walked, hooves clacking. "Well, then let's make haste."
She'd find that there was no give to his muscles. He was raw strength and power, that much was clear. The coldness of her touch was curious to Motark and it allowed him to focus on the feeling of her hand tucked up into his arm. It was a small, innocuous touch, so why was he focusing on that?
"There might be some trees that are more awake than others. Our snow peaches start growing when the fall turns to winter," he said, and they passed by fields and pens before a dense gathering of trees was visible up ahead, corralled by a small fence.
"Ah, there it is," he said, motioning up ahead and matching her pace.
"Snow peaches?" It wasn't often that she heard the name of a plant that was new to her, but that one did it. She was aware of a few rare strains of winter-flowering plants, but none that bore fruit. Interesting.
As they approached the orchard, she found herself quickening her pace further and tugging lightly on his arm. She stopped quickly when she realized what she was doing, glancing down at her own hand for a moment as though the appendage confused her.
"Ah. Forgive me." She drew her hand back and stepped away, frowning slightly. Then she shook herself and continued on down the path, already starting to reach out with a few tendrils of magic toward the trees.
It was like a small piece of the forest had been cut out and placed within Bloodmorrow. Under the Green Speaker's guidance, trees were allowed to grow freely, rather than be constrained to rows. It was dimmer under their shade and the only thing that was missing was the undergrowth.
"This place is a favorite of mine.i I find that it's... good for reflecting." he said as they walked in. The dense trees seemed to block out the village around them. The orchard was in a post-harvest state. Most trees were relieved of their fruity burdens although many still clung to their flowers, albeit in a diminished state.
There was nobody there save for the two of them and it was a quiet, breezy place.
"The snow peaches are a northern tree. Not from around here but our valley is mild enough for them," he said, passing his hand against a tree as he passed. Wind rustled some tree branches up above and Motark's head shot up. No, it must've just been the wind in the branches, but it'd sounded almost like... a yawn?
The moment passed quickly, and he was quick to dismiss it. Something inside him kept him from fully denying it, however silly it may have seemed. Regardless, he moved on, eager to see what the trees in his orchards had to say.
From that first step taken among the trees, Fiala began to relax. She hadn't even truly realized how on edge she'd been until she suddenly...wasn't. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, allowing herself to mull over the scent of green and growing things.
She felt Motark start slightly behind her more than anything else, and cast a glance back over her shoulder. One hand rested on the trunk of the tree closest to her, a familiar gesture.
Her eyes widened slightly. No. No, surely not... And yet...
The same curious impulse that had urged her extend her own anticipation and nerves toward him urged her froward again. One hand still resting on the park of what appeared to be a pear tree, she coaxed the branches above their heads to shudder and whisper to one another, passing along a message to the tree Motark stood beside.
Wake up.
It was like nothing he'd seen or heard. He didn't quite know how to contextualize it, but it was as if an entire row of trees came to life until he felt the very one he was touching shudder ever so slightly. It was an incredible experience, to feel a tree move, and he backed away, astonished by the experience.
Wherever branches rattled and shook in the wind there were noises he couldn't quite understand, much like hearing a foreign language. It could've just been the wind whistling through the branches, but somehow he knew better.
"That... that was incredible, Fiala," he said, in awe of her. He lowered onto his knees, mostly out of bewilderment.
"I heard them. I couldn't understand, but... wow," he said, looking around as she said so before his eyes met Fiala's and a strange, warm moment passed where he understood her just a little more now.
Fiala's own eyes widened, gleaming gold in the dim light that filtered through the trees. "Oh..."
She picked her way delicately toward Motark until she stood just in front of him. Even with the orc on his knees, he still came about up to her chest, so all she really had to do was stretch out her hands slightly to hold his face between her palms.
After a long moment of consideration, she bent toward him until her brow touched his, careful of her antlers, and closed her eyes with a soft exhale. At the same time, she reached out to the trees around them again, calling for their presence.
The branches trembled above their heads, the trees whispering to one another, simply intrigued by the fae woman's presence. Keeping her contact with Motark, Fiala wrapped their words in the green tangle of her power and attempted to filter the magic over the orc's skin--an experiment more than anything else.
He watched her make her way towards him. He didn't say anything, instead letting himself feel this silent wonder as the strangely beautiful woman made her way towards him. Something deep and fiery in him reacted to the magic, and when she bent down and put her hands on his cheeks she'd no doubt be able to feel him simmering with energy.
And yet, when her hands found their purchase and she leaned in to rest her forehead against his own he was hesitant to act. Her breath tickled his nose and mouth, smelling of the brew they'd both drunk not but a few minutes ago. This was madness, he'd never felt anything like he did right then and there, and yet...
The connection didn't feel complete.
He didn't quite understand why, but his own hands moved and he held her own head like she held his. The thumb of his right hand curiously ran along her jaw before stopping at her chin.
As soon as the touch was made, it felt incredible. Magic washed through him and settled somewhere in his chest "Fiala," he whispered, and his eyes opened to find her own. The trees groaned and slowly there was a messy jumble of words starting to build up. Motark might be able to hear them, but understanding was beyond him.
A soft shudder ran through Fiala's entire body; though she knew her doe-like legs seemed delicate they had never before truly felt so--but quite suddenly she found herself worrying that they might buckle as magic flowed through her hands, washed over Motark, and then circled back to tingle at her fingertips and race up her arms to settle in her breast.
The way he breathed her name sent an entirely new shudder running through her, and she found herself gasping quietly. She was quiet abruptly and intensely aware of his touch, and how very small she felt with his hands cupping her face. Their gazes locked and suddenly she could feel him as clearly as the roots twisting beneath their feet, could feel the pulse of blood through his veins and each breath as though it was her own.
She ripped her hands away from him and staggered back, breathing heavily. Her eyes were wide, tail snapped up as though prepared to run, and she clutched one hand to her suddenly heaving chest, searching desperately for her own heartbeat to steady herself.
What in the name of all the stars was that?! She hadn't intended that, she'd just wanted to--to see if his connection to her might allow him to hear the trees!
Trembling like the branches and leaves around them as she stood before him, Fiala took a few more breaths in an effort to calm herself and managed to breathe rather raggedly, "I--Forgive me. Are...you alright?"
It was so much, sensory overload was an understatement. There wasn't much that could make a creature such as him weak but his arms felt like they were made of lead, maintaining their closeness was all he was really able to do. She was drawing something from him, just as he felt something traveling from her and into his fingers and into his chest, coursing through his heart. He felt like a font of energy and almost instinctually he matched her fae energies with the primal fire that burns in the hearts of all orcs of his bloodline. He didn't know he could even do it but all that strength and fire coursed into her with just a thought from him, even as their senses mixed and became one.
Every one of her shakes, every shiver and breath. The faint feeling of fur tingling against his legs and the breeze against his antlers.
His antlers? Her antlers.
This went beyond basic intimacy or familiarity and it was over before he got his bearings with the alien sensations. She was a step away but it felt like an ocean was between them as he reached up to get his bearings and ended up with a hand on her side, which he used to steady himself. That touch by itself was an anchor and the rush of warmth that went through him made him look up at her, skin beaded with sweat.
"That was... I... I heard them but I don't think I speak the language," he commented, eyes closing as he rested back on his knees, looking her up and down as if seeing her in a new light.
"Don't apologize, that was... I can still feel it. I've never felt so awake."
Fiala could only give a short, shaky nod in response to that. She was still trembling, goosebumps raised across her flesh, though she felt not in the least bit cold. In fact, she was warm--almost too warm, feverish, as though the blood in her veins was not entirely her own.
His hand against her side was nearly a brand--not painful, but still intense. She carefully laid her own hand over his, the other reaching for him, hesitating, then landing lightly on his shoulder.
"I do not know...I did not mean to do that," she admitted softly. "I'm not sure I could do it again if I tried..." It had been mostly instinct, allowing magic to flow as it would, using herself merely as a channel.
A hint of concern colored the edges of her tone and she asked again in a murmur, "Are you sure you're alright?"
"I feel alright," came his response, and he glanced down at himself to dispel those lingering out-of-body feelings. He rolled and flexed his shoulders, ending it with a sigh.
"Much better than alright, actually," he started, glancing to the hand that laid over his own on her side. Her tanned skin felt a little cold to him but it was that sweet, relaxing cold that only helped bleed the tension away and it took a bit of effort to prevent his thumb from stroking.
His eyes lowered and he regarded her trembling legs, then back up to her wide eyes.
"You look tired, sit down with me," Motark said, motioning to himself as he lifted up off of his knees and sat crosslegged. He found it in himself to smile.
"Are you alright?" He teased, lifting his other hand to cover hers on his shoulder.
"I...believe so," Fiala replied slowly. She eyed him for a moment, then let out a long, slow breath and sank down to sit in front of him, drawing her hands back into her lap as she did. It was uncomfortable for her to sit as he did, simply because of the shape of her legs, so she sort of curled them to the side.
His touch was still warm. She could actually still feel the heat of it on her skin. Her head tilted slightly, staring down at his hand still on her side. "I'm not actually tired," she murmured, thoughtful. It was only after the words were out of her mouth that she realized she was still shaking lightly.
"I'm not," she repeated, frowning at nothing. "I--I feel...strange. But not tired. I am..." She looked down at her hands in her lap and flexed her fingers, considering. "Stronger?"
"Stronger?" He repeated, and he looked her up and down, carefully picking over her with his eyes to see if she was visibly stronger. Of course she hadn't gained any more muscle or something like that, but as he watched her flex her hand he found it hard to disagree.
He held a hand up, palm facing her as he beckoned her a bit closer.
"Let's try something. I'm just as curious as you," he said, and then motioned to his open palm. If he was hearing trees whisper now, then just maybe...
"Close your eyes. Reach into that deep, silent place in your head and focus in on that stillness..."
He shifted back and held his palm at chest level to her.
"Once you've found it, make a fist. Channel your focus into that. Tell me when you've found it."
Not entirely sure herself why she did it, Fiala closed her eyes and tried to do as he said, sinking back into herself almost as if in meditation.
Typically, if she were to reach inward in such a manner, it was to call on her magic. The pulsing green core of her power responded instinctively, and for a moment she tried to push it away, then simply accepted its presence with a soft exhale; it was a part of her, and it seemed that no "mind over matter" on her part could avoid it.
Still, she managed to reach a point of relative silence in her own mind, for a moment hearing only the sound of her own heartbeat, the rush of air in and out of her lungs. Carefully, she curled her fingers in toward her palm and nodded once.
"I am...ready?"
She wasn't quite sure what he wanted her to do, but she supposed she was reasonably prepared for whatever it was.
Motark couldn't help but smile. There was a power hidden deep in the ancient orcish bloodlines. Back before the power of the berserker was muddled by time and the inevitable spreading of bloodlines, the most powerful orcish warriors of old could find a cold, simmering flame inside of them that offered focus instead of blind hatred.
What set Motark apart from other orc warriors wasn't his size or intelligence, but the ability to become more effective by focusing inward instead of projecting his energy via a bloodlusted rage. The ability to control one's adrenaline responses, to effectively slow down time and enter a battle trance. Where one would expect to find blind rage and indestructible willpower, they will find a cold, silent focus that doesn't overpower the foe, but rather outmatches them.
"You are ready," he repeated, watching her grow still. He covered her hand with his own, balling her relatively small digits into a tight fist, letting go once he was satisfied with it. Then, he sat up a bit straighter and rested his own hands on his lap, focusing on the sight of her as he let the world bleed away to enter a trance of his own.
"Take that energy, that strength. Channel all that destruction into your fist. Then, once you've found that perfect focus..."
He smiled.
"Open your eyes and strike at me."
Fiala twitched, her ears flicking up and swiveling forward as her eyebrows shot up toward her hairline. Her instinct was to protest, to simply open her eyes, stand, and say that this little experiment was over with. She did not want to strike him.
But then she took a breath, felt the earth shifting almost imperceptibly beneath her, and she went still again.
Strange as it may have been, she trusted Motark. And she was intrigued to see where this may be going--though the word destruction made her instinctively wary, for some reason she fully believed that he would not ask of her something beyond her abilities.
With a sharp exhale, Fiala opened her eyes and almost felt her pupils shrink to slits at the sudden invasion of light. At the same instant her fist flew forward, toward the center of Motark's chest.
The orchard moved with her. Though the blow, when it came, was actually rather light--almost more a simply tap of her fist against his chest--every bough and root of the trees surrounding them suddenly leaned in, just slightly, bark creaking and leaves rustling.
Fiala threw up her other hand, palm flat, and the trees went suddenly, eerily still, their branches still reaching as though to cage orc and fae woman to the earth. She stared at him, the burning gold of her eyes gradually fading back to warm amber as her pupils rounded.
Slowly, she lowered her hands. The trees shuddered and groaned, gradually sliding back into place.
"...Was that what you had in mind?"
He nodded breathlessly when she finally spoke, and couldn't hide his smile from her.
In a light trance of his own, he'd seen how the movement rippled through her, how she let her strength guide her and not her eyes or mind. He'd intended to catch her hand at first, but she was nimble enough to tap him before he could even react.
And then the trees had moved in, and it took his breath away. How she could strike, and make even the trees themselves stand against her foe. And before he'd realized it, she was calling off the trees.
"That was... impressive," he said, looking down at her to meet her eyes as he lowered into a seated position from his kneeling position.
"You have an incredible power within you, Fiala," Motark continued, and he offered her both his hands.
"Same power as mine. You can feel it in someone else, see for yourself."
With the same slow deliberateness that had permeated her body since this little experiment began, Fiala took a tiny step toward him and reached out her own hands, pressing her palms to his and just staring for a moment.
His hands positively dwarfed hers; he probably could have crushed the slender fingers pressed against his own without even thinking about it. An odd observation in the moment, perhaps, but one that just sprang to the forefront of her mind.
And she could feel it. Could feel the energy and raw power pulsing under his skin, as though every vein was a twisting root of an ancient tree, his heart the center.
She jerked her hands back as though she'd been burned, and curled her fingers in toward her tingling palms. "That is...interesting," she admitted quietly. "I am not sure--I don't think this should be possible, Motark." Her voice dropped as she said it, almost as though she was afraid of being overheard.
He liked the contact of her hands and despite the images that ran through her head Motark was completely docile. He shared in her fascination with this blood connection they'd inadvertently forged together.
When they held hands it was like she was a font of unseen light and warmth, and it always had the effect of soothing Motark. An odd thing, as Orcs never really take to comforting contact as much as other races.
He frowned when she retreated, and lowered his hands.
"Possible or not, it's happening," he said, looking up at her.
"But you shouldn't shy from it. I... I want to see what else we can do."
Fiala flexed her fingers again; for perhaps the first time since she had met the orc chieftain, she was visibly unsure. Almost afraid.
But she was curious too, and it shone clearly in her eyes. Curious and...and something close to excited, some sort of anticipation--for what, she didn't know--coiled tight just beneath her breast, setting her heart fluttering and quickening her breath.
Her tongue flicked out to wet her lips and she took a step back toward him, reaching out as though to take his hand again. Then she hesitated, hand still outstretched, and rather abruptly changed direction, stepping in even closer so she could lay her palm against his chest, over his heartbeat.
She stood there for a moment, still, listening. Then a small smile curved at the edges of her lips and she shifted just slightly closer, reaching out with her free hand to take his wrist and guide his palm to rest against her breast, just over her own heart--which beat in perfect time with his, the pulse rushing through her ears and thudding against her palm.
Her smile widened slightly as she felt the magic echoing that beat, pulsing between them. "Is this not miracle enough?" she whispered, her eyes searching his. "Two creatures such as us...our worlds only rarely intersect. That we can even accomplish this--" She pressed her palm more firmly against his chest. "It is...wondrous."
There was an anxious, restless air about her, that much was apparent from the very beginning. She was smaller than him, so much that Motark could straighten up on his knees while she stood and force her to look up at him. But instead, this small creature seemed to radiate so much more than him and he remained sitting normally, looking up at her with eyes that matched her own.
When she wet her lips, his eyes were automatically drawn to the movement, and the small thoughts that came in by themselves were enough to have him a little redder in the face when she stepped closer and he looked up at her. Then, she came closer still, resting her hand on his chest and eliciting a small, curious look from him as he glanced at her hand and then met her eyes. He could feel his own heart beating beneath her hand, thundering in his chest and against her fingers.
Fiala came even closer then, and before he could wonder about just how close they were getting she'd taken his hand and put it somewhere he didn't expect. The first thing that struck him was how clearly he could hear and feel her heartbeat, and past the initial fluster there was something truly awe-inspiring about this moment. His hand was large and ever curious to feel more, he pressed it against her like she was doing to him, ignoring how her breast actually felt and instead focusing on how a strange rush of restless, exciting energy went through him.
When she finally whispered to him, he couldn't help but nod.
"It is, I... I've never felt like this," he started, and raised his other hand to rest it on her lower side, on the boundary where skin gave way to fur. He pulled her in just a little closer and looked up at her, red eyes to her gold.
"You're beautiful," he finally said, words tumbling out without his conscious consent.
The faun went very still as his hand came to rest on her side, and her eyes widened just a bit. Slowly, with the same care and wariness with which she might approach an injured animal, she reached out with her free hand and delicately traced her fingertips against the side of his face from his temple to the curve of his jaw, where she lingered.
A soft exhale, almost a sigh but not quite, and she tilted her head just slightly as she looked down into his face. Her hand came up to cup his cheek in her palm gently.
"...As are you."
And he was, to her, beautiful. The mystery of him was part of that, she'd freely admit, and she had the distinct feeling that this connection between them may have colored her opinion somewhat. But even more than that, there was just...something. Something about him that put her in mind of the ancient oaks near the center of her forests, the trees that were as old as the mountains cradling this valley, powerful and strange and beautiful in a way she'd never truly been able to put into words.
Motark smiled a little at that, genuinely warmed by her words.
"Nobody's ever called me beautiful before," he said, and the hand at her side rose up to her neck and he traced the line of her jaw with his thumb. He even passed his thumb over her lower lip, exploring her for a few moments before it drifted back down and he ushered her in just that much closer.
"Your fur is so soft," he commented, curiously feeling a bit lower with his finger tips. His eyes wandered her for a brief moment, as it'd occurred to him he'd never seen her this up close before, only for him to be reminded that she wore basically nothing. In came his usual embarrassment, but there was something else this time as well. A new kind of boldness, was the best way he could describe it.
If just feeling it with their hands was this intense, what if... they were closer? The small distance between them suddenly seemed vast and he looked up at her, subconsciously projecting this bold, inviting energy to her.
"Come closer? The breeze is nice and the shade is good," he said, motioning downwards to himself with one hand while the other tugged her playfully.
Fiala smiled again and found herself almost automatically tilting her head into his hand. A small giggle escaped her as his thumb brushed over her lip, the touch surprisingly ticklish. "Well that's a shame," she murmured as he pulled her a little closer. "You are. People should tell you more."
With the way she was standing in front of him while he knelt and their difference in size, her chest almost brushed his at this point. She could feel the heat of his body against her skin, his pulse still echoing her own. Her smile widened and she glanced down at his hand on her upper thigh. "Yes, it is," she agreed with a small chuckle. "Very soft. I told you once before, remember--? Oh!"
He hadn't actually drawn her closer again, but she found herself suddenly almost stumbling into him, pressed chest to chest, her face hovering just above his own as she looked down at him with wide eyes. It wasn't until after she'd nearly fallen into his lap that she realized she'd actually moved forward on her own, a pulse of--of something warm and sharp and shivering wrapping around her core and tugging her forward so her hooves skittered in the earth and she almost lost her footing.
"I-I-- Forgive me, that..." She blinked at him, lips slightly parted and eyes wide as heat and a shuddering urge pulsed through her whole body. Her brow furrowed slightly as she stared at him, puzzled. "That was...odd."
He hadn't expected her to nearly fall against him like that but he was ready to catch her, rising up on his knees a bit to catch her by the sides and waist only to return to his position when she'd come chest to chest against him. Hes, it did seem a bit odd to Motark, he'd known her so far to be more distant than affectionate. But all of that was washed away when she came to rest against him like that.
She'd no doubt be able to feel his heartbeat against her chest, a beat that went in time with her own, and Motark's eyes went a little wider, his heart and heat picking up at the closeness.
Wanting to experiment, to be closer to this beautiful creature he had a connection with, he drew a hand up her front, fingers brushing between her breasts as he explored her neck and collar, the other hand holding onto her waist rather nicely.
The heat was unbearable, and there only seemed to be one outlet for it as his eyes caught her parted lips and wide eyes. Before his nerves could stop him, he tilted his head up and pecked a chaste kiss against her chin, feeling unusually shy.
The moment he touched her Fiala let her head fall back, her spine curving slightly as a shudder followed the path his hand traced up her body. Her lashes fluttered against her cheeks and she released a shaky breath. The heat of him was almost scorching everywhere they touched, and yet she found that she just wanted more of it.
His lips brushed against her chin and she clenched her eyes shut, jaw tensing as her hands grasped his shoulders tightly. "I...don't..." She swallowed thickly and tilted her head back down to meet his eyes. "I don't...understand this," she admitted on a shallow breath. "This--this connection, it should have...faded, by now. But I feel it has only grown stronger..."
And she found that she wanted it to be stronger still. Like Motark, she wanted to see what else they could do--but she wasn't sure why this was even happening, let alone how to deepen the bond between them so that they might better explore it. She couldn't risk giving him her blood again.
Slowly, carefully, she let her fingertips trace over his cheek and then down to cup his jaw gently, her eyes searching his face intently. Tremors still pulsed through her body, that heat urging her forward, drawing her in. Shaking now, she took his face between her hands and tipped her head forward to rest her brow against his.
When she tipped her head back and breathed like that in response to his touch, Motark felt more satisfaction than he necessarily wanted to.
"Your skin feels like fire, I can't get enough," he muttered.
There was something about this he did understand, but so much more he didn't. Every touch from her was so warm and pleasant that once she'd laid her forehead against his he shuddered. Arms at her side pulled her closer, until they were so close now they were practically sharing breath, chest to chest.
"It's incredible, a miracle. Together, we can understand it.," Motark continued.
One of Motark's hands drifted down her leg, feeling the fur as he met her eyes.
"You can sit, if you want," he said, motioning down to himself.
"Must be kinda weird to do that while standing," he offered, promising her more warmth and closeness with his eyes.
Fiala laughed, her voice sort of trembling through the air, and the trees around them shivered lightly in a nonexistent wind. Eyes flickering with a subtle golden light, she tilted her head at him and stroked his cheek once more.
"I can...try," she replied with a soft, sideways smile. Not only was the energy that pulsed between them enough to keep her on her feet, shifting and almost jittery, but the shape of her legs made sitting as he proposed not exactly the easiest prospect.
Still, she shifted slightly and cautiously lowered herself to his lap, perching on his thigh with her legs sort of thrown out over his other leg, her hooves just barely brushing the earth. She kept her hands on his shoulders to steady herself, her eyes never leaving his face.
"...You're so gentle with me," she noted softly after a long moment. It was almost as though the thought had just occurred to her. "I can see how much you want to--to know more about this. It would be easier for you to simply take my blood, or...I'm not sure. But you don't." Her gaze locked on his, searching his eyes.
She settled down in him and his smile widened. Curiously, he trailed a hand down her legs, raising his eyes to her when she spoke. A hand went around her legs and he pulled her in more securely, raising an eyebrow at her words.
"I don't want that. The last thing I want is to hurt you," Motark said, stroking his other hand along her back before it went to her chin. He took it gently and peered into her eyes like she did to him. He kept stroking her legs, loving how her fur felt.
"Did you like it?" He started, and he touched her like he'd done previously, stroking her neck and jaw and even repeating that touch to the lips.
"When I touched you like this?"
Another shudder rippled through her, once again that same heat following the path of his hand over her body. She swallowed, the muscles in her throat fluttering under his touch as he stroked her neck.
"...Yes." Though her voice was a whisper, the orchard around them almost seem to echo it with a dry rustling of leaves. Fiala attempted to school her expression back toward neutrality, but it was rather difficult when she could feel his pulse as well as her own and every inch their skin touched was positively burning.
"I am perhaps not so naive as you may think, brave one," the fae woman noted with a delicately arched brow. "I am aware of the implications of such advances as this." She gestured between them with an airy wave of her hand to indicate this. Though she'd managed to keep her voice relatively even, her eyes were still overly bright, cheeks flushed as she looked up at him.
"...It would, perhaps, be a way in which we could deepen this--this connection," she mused slowly. His other hand had continued to stroke her legs, which sent a whole new shudder skittering up her spine when his fingers slipped behind the digitigrade curve of her knee and found a surprisingly sensitive spot. Her ears flickered back and her spine curved again as she shifted unconsciously, lips parting to draw in a sharp breath.
Well. That was new.
The shape of her legs was curious to him, so when he found that spot behind the curve of her knee and she reacted in a way he'd never seen before he knew he'd found a golden spot.
"Do you think so?" Motark ventured, even as he went and rested his head against hers, finding he wanted to be closer to her. He continued exploring her legs, repeating that touch that made her shift and squirm.
"I can't lie to you, I feel this... heat and attraction. I just want to be close to you," he admitted, and he returned her flushed look with a breathless smile of his own. He stroked back down her neck, tracing the shape of her front with his fingers before resting both of his hands on her legs.
"I want to give in to it."
"Mmm..." Fiala closed her eyes and pressed her brow back against his gently, letting one hand cup his jaw as she did. She could feel the shifting power of the bond between them, pulsing back and forth like an ebbing tide.
Carefully, as she would with a new spring shoot, she tugged at a thread if the power, the part she knew was his, calling it up to curl and twine with her own green-gold magic.
The contact between that bond and the very core of her self elicited a small gasp and she arched up under his touch. It was...intense, to say the least.
"Can you feel that?" she asked breathlessly, opening her eyes to look up into his face with gently parted lips as she fought for breath. Magic and heat tightened in her chest, making her heart race and her breath come in soft, shallow pants. "Th-that is...the source of the attraction, I believe. I can..." She swallowed thickly and let her head fall back, exposing the curve of her throat as his fingers traced up through the soft fur of the back of her thigh. "I may be able to...repress it. Or I can amplify it. I do not know what will happen in either case..."
She wet her lips, feeling as though the heat and pressure would build and tear her apart at the seams if she didn't do something. "I must do one or the other, tell me which," she managed to rasp out, her voice breathy and far too desperate for her liking.
Something definitely stirred within Motark when she reached in and manipulated the magics of their connection. It took his breath away, feeling magic swirl within his very being for the first time. She tilted her head back, exposing her neck to Motark in a conspicuous enough way that it made him blush brighter.
Hesitantly, he lowered his head and laid another short kiss on her throat, where it seemed she wanted the contact the most.
"Make it stronger," came his immediate response, seeing the urgency in her eyes as he rose his head again.
"I don't want to go back when we've already discovered so much," he said, passing his fingers down her throat and laying his hand over her heart again.
Her hand flew up to cover his, at least as best she could, pressing his palm more firmly against her chest with a soft whimper as the touch felt to be all but branding her skin.
"I don't...know what will happen," she repeated, her eyes searching for his as he lifted his head from her throat. For some reason she found her attention lingering on the curve of his tusks, and just for a moment she wondered idly at how it might feel were she to kiss him properly.
Drawing in a shuddering breath, Fiala once more reached for that intertwined power, this time with intent. She called to it as she would call to a sapling, or a flowering tree that had yet to bloom for the season, coaxing out the life within until it burst forth in a riot of color.
The sudden surge of power ripped through her in a flash of heat, spreading out from the center of her chest through each and every inch of her body, lighting her up from the inside--literally. With the amplification of magic, her skin actually glowed with a soft golden light, flaring oh so subtly brighter where Motark's touch traced against her body.
Fiala gasped as her spine curved deeply, her head thrown back and lips parted while she took in desperate, ragged breaths. Her whole body shook, the trembling matched by the sudden shudders that rippled through the trees around them.
In a sudden burst of movement, she raised her hand to press over Motark's heart, mirroring his touch, and she watched with wide-eyed wonder as the golden glow of magic formed the image of her hand-print against his skin.
Motark hadn't seen all that much magic in his life. There were the druids, yes, but he didn't quite make it a habit to observe their rituals, to watch the magic itself flow. Which is why he was so confused and overstimulated when she started weaving their magic together.
It felt like someone was stroking his very soul. And then when it all came together in that glorious bloom of color Motark's eyes widened as it seemed like every nerve of his was flooded with heat and an intoxicating feeling of power. He shivered with her, holding her tightly to him as she arced, panted and moaned.
And then she was literally radiant, and Motark could only wonder at this magnificient new power literally glowing from her skin. He held her sides and drew his hands up, awed by how he could leave trails of brighter light on her skin, and then he was stunned when she left a glowing hand print on his chest.
It burned in all the best ways possible and he could feel her magic diffusing through him, permeating him. He passed a hand over the glowing mark, and then looked back up to her, eyes just as wide as hers, and smiled.
"Share your light with me, Fiala," he said, no longer able to quite resist the temptation of her. He rest his head on her shoulder, hands gripping her sides.
"It's so good..."
She smiled and reached up to hold his face in her hands, the light that gathered between them growing steadily brighter in soft pulses as she did. When his head came to rest on her shoulder, she shifted against him until she was settled more firmly in his lap, her legs tucked up under her body so that she slotted into place strangely perfectly against him. They shouldn't fit together so easily, and yet they did.
"It's already yours," Fiala whispered, laying one hand against the back of his head and pressing her cheek to his. Slowly, wonderingly, she traced the fingers of her other hand over his arm and shoulder, watching with rapt fascination as she drew subtle, glowing patterns to the surface of his skin that pulsed, flared, and then faded when she withdrew her touch.
The power, the connection, surged up in her breast and she gasped, then laughed, letting her head fall back and spreading her arms wide while his hands grasped her sides, trusting his grip to keep her from tumbling backward. Her magic, her soul, pulsed and soared within her, a feeling so intense that she had no words to describe it, even to herself.
Shivering with the strange ecstasy of it, she let her hands fall to grip his upper arms and just breathed: inhale, the trees curved toward them, exhale, they arced away. "Can you feel the forest?" she whispered, sounding almost dazed. "It is all around us, within me..."
She raised her head to meet his eyes again, her own gaze bright gold and shimmering. "Within me," she repeated, slowly drawing her right hand down to his chest, once more branding the golden outline to his skin. "As I am now within you..."
The fit of her against him was delicious and it took his breath away at just how much of them was touching. While she radiated magic, Motark absorbed it. Routed it. It was like she was the center if a blooming plant and he was the green stem that rooted it all. He drew the excess and kept her literally stable, and he couldn't help but make small chuckles alongside her.
And then her fingers were like lightning when they drew patterns on his flesh and he did the same to her in return. He passed his hands down her side a bit tighter this time, confident in his motions. He was big enough to stroke closer to her stomach with his thumbs. He drew some thick lines of his own, loving how he could have a similar effect on her.
He'd been intimate before. just because he didn't have a partner now doesn't mean he hadn't tried in the past. But this was... this was an entire new dimension of intimacy. It was like the earth itself moved with her breathing and he couldn't help but move with it.
"I can see it, I can feel it," he said, referring to the forests.
He covered her hand with his own. Leaned back like that, she was pretty much on full display for him and for once, he wasn't shy about how he stole a glance. Then she came back up to rest her hand on him again, and it really did feel like a brand. His head tilted back, exposing his neck to her, inviting her to give in.
"As I am within you. Mark me more, please..."
Her eyes snapped up to the arched column of his throat and her hand tensed slightly against his chest, fingers digging more firmly into flesh. She drew in a deep breath in an effort to center herself, to focus passed the surging waves of their bond, but it was a difficult task. Every instinct in her body wanted her to give in, to fall fully into the heat and light and just surrender herself to the strange connection.
With a low, shuddering exhale that held a soft groan within it, Fiala splayed her fingers wider as she braced her hand against his chest and leaned in until she could taste the skin of his throat. A sigh shivered through the air, from her or from the forest she really couldn't tell, and she let her teeth scrape lightly against his pulse, drawing a brighter burst of gold to the surface of his skin, one that took longer to fade this time.
And whatever control she'd held came crumbling down around her. Any hit of a wall between them broke apart into burst of light and she had to tear her lips from his neck to cry out as she felt the core of his power suddenly come rushing into her while her own magic flooded through him. The light was within them both now, green-gold beneath her skin and golden-green beneath his, brighter, hotter where they touched, but still everywhere, pulsing and growing until it felt as though her skin could no longer contain it, that she would simply fracture and fragment into the light itself--
Fiala's spine arched again as she pressed herself to him, hands clutching desperately at his shoulders and back, eyes wide and lips parted while she gasped for breath. Though she had never before known really any form of physical intimacy with a partner, she knew her own body, and she knew that was...an echo of something else.
If it had felt like--like that even with the relatively chaste contact between them now...
Pressing her brow to his, she desperately drew in air before she could manage to whisper, "Touch me." Her hand tensed against his back, nails digging in as she pressed him closer. The scratches she left trailed golden patterns in their wake rather than red welts. "Please, I--I need to know you. I need you to know me. Please..."
It was better than he ever thought it could be. He'd been doing a lot of the physical exploration so far, so when she leaned in and sealed her lips to his throat like that the best he could do was shudder. She was such a small, delicate looking creature but he couldn't resist her. His green magic came out in waves against her skin where he touched her, spreading coolness to those areas where she might've been too warm. One arm went to her waist and he leaned a bit so she could rest against him easier.
"I want to know you. I want it," he said breathlessly, making a small gasp when she scratched down his back.
Using his other hand, he stroked up her torso, drawing pulsing green lines up her body. Boldly, he sought to know everything about her. His large hand passed over her breasts and settled against the back if her neck. Then, he brought her in to give her a true, proper kiss.
"But you need to promise to learn every piece of me as well."
Fiala shuddered and gasped against his mouth, feeling the tingle of magic against her skin where his fingers drew green patterns over her body. She clutched at his shoulders, sinking into the kiss until she all but melted against him, bathing in the joining of their light.
"Yes," she whispered, holding his face between her hands and pressing her brow to his. "Yes, I will. I promise. I will..."
She kissed him again, noting with interest the way his tusks scraped lightly against her lips as she molded her mouth to his. She nipped lightly at his lower lip with those just-a-little-too-sharp canines, trying to replicate the feeling for him as best she could.
Motark gasped when he felt those teeth on his lips, then he chuckled as that spurred him into deepening their kiss. It was literally magical and he wanted to drown in it. He kissed her again, exploring, and then he kissed her neck, this time giving her some teeth there in return.
His tusks didn't pose much of a poking threat in intimate situations, but they still framed his mouth rather well. And when he'd bare his teeth against her neck it was like having the fangs of a powerful beast brushing against your neck affectionately.
"Amazing," he breathed, hands stroking down to her waist so he could find her fur again. This time, however, he stroked down her thighs and then back up, hands edging around more intimate areas of her hips.
"I need to experience you. All of you," he said.
A low moan slipped passed her lips as his attentions moved to her neck and she once more let her head fall back, baring her throat to him eagerly. She nodded quickly in response to him, taking a moment to find words of her own.
Fiala shifted against him as his hands found her hips, shivering as she was once more reminded how easily his hands could wrap around her, fingers and thumbs almost touching. "I believe you have done that already, brave one," she finally managed to chuckle, watching the dance of light across their skin as her hand traced spirals across his chest.
"You...have learned a part of me that was unknown even to myself," she breathed softly after a moment, and lifted her eyes to his face. Her eyes were wide and shimmering, each breath felt as though she fought for air, and yet she found that she loved the sensation. "But if you wish to know more of my physical form, I would gladly welcome it."
She smiled and leaned in to kiss him again, shifting on his lap so she could arch up higher and wrap one arm around his shoulders, the other falling to rest on his hand at her hip, lingering for a moment before she guided his his fingers slowly through her fur, which elicited yet another shiver.
He focused on the feeling of that fur, even gripping a measure tighter when she leaned in and kissed him. He kissed back with a passion not quite his own, and the contact made swirling lights shine around them.
His hands stroked further down, repeating that effective touch to her leg before they slid back up and he stroked the sides of her hips. She was almost doll-like compared to him, and he was conscious of it with every movement. "I'm very curious," he said, and he leaned in to whisper into her ear.
"I like it when you call me that. Brave One. It sounds so natural," he said, and kissed the side of her head. It sent a rousing chill through him to hear those words. Hands going up her sides, he made a bold move to cover her breasts as he went in for another deep kiss.
"I want it all," he breathed into her mouth. He couldn't deny his arousal anymore, not after the kisses from a literal faey. "To be within you. To know you and for you to know me," he said, no longer able to contain his orcish desire.
Fiala turned her head slightly to the side when he leaned in to whisper to her, ever conscious of her antlers, and even just the feel of his breath against her flushed skin quickly had her near panting with want.
She groaned into his kiss, breath hitching in her chest as he palmed her breasts and sent a new wave of sensation scurrying over her skin. Hands clutching tightly at his shoulders, she forced herself to break away from his mouth and drew in a harsh few breaths, chest rising and falling heavily as she stared at him for a moment.
Holding his eyes, she shifted against him again, using her hands one his shoulders to brace herself so she could arch up over him slightly, pressing as close as she could possibly manage. "Then I give you everything," she breathed in reply, and swooped in to drag a trail of heated, biting kisses along the line of his throat. Her legs trembled as she continued to hold herself just slightly above him, one hand cupping the back of his neck while the other still braced against his shoulder.
"Everything, Brave One," she repeated, voice an almost ragged whisper.
[M tag goin' up]
He gazed up at her, shining down on him from above. By this point they were both covered in patterns and marks from one another, reminders of their intimacy, and Motark only wanted to give her more, to see those legs of hers tremble.
His hands went from her hips to her bottom and he pulled her towards him so he could lay a kiss on her stomach and a nibble on her side. He squeezed her almost greedily before his hands were back on her hips. They slid down, across the curve of her knee and down to himself.
He looked up at her as he undid his loincloth and revealed his sizeable length to her, only for his hands to slide back up her legs. With a daring smile on his face he turned that long strip of cloth she wore for basic decency so that the strip was against her right leg instead of going down in front of her.
He leaned back in and kissed her lower this time, but still not where she probably wanted him to.
Her eyes fluttered closed and she gave a soft, needy sound that could almost be a called a whine when he kissed her stomach, then gasped in a combination of slight surprise and delight when his teeth scraped gently against her side.
He legs trembled again under his touch, and as his hands slid down she tilted her head to watch him undo and shift the fabric that covered them. Another shiver, this one pure anticipation, as his hands slid back up her legs. Her heart fluttered and swooped erratically in her chest, the patterns he’d traced in glowing magic over her skin pulsing gently.
Then he kissed her again and she let her head fall back with a sigh, her hand on his shoulder clenching tight so her nails dig into his flesh. “Oh... Do not stop there, my Brave One,” she whispered, a smile playing at the edges of her lips.
She tilted her head back down to look at him, eyes glinting. “You said you wanted everything, did you not?”
My brave one.
Motark nodded and gave her lower stomach one last kiss before moving downwards. He wrinkled his nose at the feeling of fur but he still moved with excitement. He gripped her ass and pulled her in, looking up at her as he gave her what she wanted, large tongue moving in gentle laps against the core of her heat. He couldn't contain the shakes and shivers that came after
It was pure intoxication, the smell and taste of her. Nothing he'd ever done with anyone else felt auite as right as this and he pulled her in tighter for he was hungry for her and couldn't stop once he'd started. Gods, what was happening to him?
He pulled away to meet her eyes, mouth covered in her gently glowing juices.
"And you? Isn't there something you want?" He asked, right before diving back in to work her, this time with more intensity.
Fiala shivered delightedly under his attention, unabashed. At first it was just gentle vibration, but when he pulled her closer and began to positively devour her the slight twitches and shivers grew to full-body shudders and she closed her eyes with a soft mew of pleasure. Her legs trembled, threatening to give out beneath her, and she grabbed desperately for his shoulders to keep herself upright.
"Ohh...oh yes, yes." She bit her lip as she looked down at him, another shiver wracking her frame when she met his eyes. The patterns he'd traced over her skin flared with each new pulse of pleasure, and she let her fingertips trail over his cheek just to watch the golden light swirl to the surface as his mouth worked her so sweetly.
"You," she breathed. "I want you, I want everything. I want to join with you, I want to know your form as I now know your power--" His tongue swept against her and she tensed, hooves digging into the earth as she clutched desperately at his neck and shoulders. Head thrown back, shivering with frantic breaths, she gasped, "I want to feel you within me, body and soul, and I don't want it to stop oh please..."
Three days ago, the idea of begging a mortal for anything would have been absurd. Now she would have gladly thrown herself to the earth at his feet if she knew it meant they would come together and he could sate the burning desire that had now utterly consumed her.
And something in her knew that he must have felt the same, and she reveled in it, even as her back arched and she gasped again, utterly at his mercy.
He couldn't help but smile because gods yes the feeling was mutual. Motark couldn't tell the difference between what was his own will and what the bond was doing to him but he was drunk on her love and magic when he finally pulled away again. Satisfied with the fact that her private area now pulsed green, he leaned back, settling down on his rear. He let himself down on his elbows, leaning back so she could see that his length was hardening, just for her. He was the most desirable male in the village, and it showed.
"Give me marks somewhere else," he said, looking up at her as he reached up with an arm and stroked her leg and hip.
"Taste me like I tasted you, maybe?"
His hand drifted a bit higher and his thumb teased her wetness, and he looked up at her with fire in his eyes.
As though pulled by the pulse of magic itself, Fiala slowly lowered herself down to settle on his lap, wincing as yet another jolt of pleasure rushed through her when she straddled his thighs. Her eyes roamed over him, equal parts curious and passionate, and she leaned forward slightly to brace her hands against his hips.
Her lips twitched up slightly to one side and she cocked her head at him as she lowered herself further until her breath ghosted along the length of him. She trailed one hand down over his hip to the fork of his legs, leaving golden streaks in her wake.
Unable to stop herself, she laughed, bright and happy and breathless. "I suppose I should warn you to mind the antlers," she murmured as she traced her fingertips lightly up along his length, drawing a spiraling pattern in golden light to the tip. Then she dipped her head again to replace the touch of her fingers with her tongue in a long, slow lick along the entirety of his shaft. She wriggled her hips back as she did, her other hand sliding down to rest against his inner thigh so she could keep her balance, burning a new handprint against his skin.
He did mind the antlers. He sat up a bit more, stroking his hands down her head, fingers teasing around the base of them as she breathed on him. Even just her breath was ecstasy against him and when she actually got started he gasped. The way she could draw patterns on him was incredible, to say the least.
"That feels so good, Fiala," he breathed. He sat ut further so he could stroke his hands down her back, drawing green lines, to grab those wriggly hips of hers and squeeze them while she worked him. He stroked down the fur and even teased her with his middle finger before slipping it into her.
She was so small compared to him, something he noticed with a shot of fresh arousal as she licked on his length. Would he even fit?
"Lose yourself in it," he whispered.
Fiala all but purred as his touch moved to her hips, then gasped when he teased her heat. Her lashes fluttered as she took a breath to steady herself before refocusing her attention on him, licking and stroking along his shaft with a kind of methodical curiosity.
Glancing up at him through the tumble of mahogany curls that had fallen around her face, she nudged her head briefly into his hand for a moment, encouraging the way he stroked her hair and antlers, before she dipped her head and wrapped her lips around him.
She was careful of her sharp canines, but otherwise set to this new form of intimacy with almost surprising enthusiasm, licking and sucking and nibbling until the golden patterns she raised to his skin were glowing bright and bold in the shadows of the trees. All the while she kept her eyes on his face with rapt attention, squirming her hips in an effort to take his finger deeper.
She squirmed for it and Motark gave her what she wanted, sinking that finger deeper into her until it was deep enough for him to curl it wiithin her. He made something between a moan and a growl when she took him in. Taken by passion, by this enchanted lust under the shade of a tree, he urged her to take him deeper.
She was not as naive as she seemed, Motark thought. But watching her work on him like he was a new delicacy sent a shudder through him. He marveled at how those small hands and lips seemed to know exactly what to do.
"I want to take you," he groaned, and his other hand slapped onto her ass, letting her know just how raring to go he was for her. Motark laughed when it sent a puff of golden shimmers from her fur, and he squeezed with that hand so she'd have his own handprint emblazoned onto her asscheek.
"Your brave one needs it."
That little curl of his finger sent a jolt through her, her whole body jerking slightly while she gave a small squeal of surprise around him, the sound muffled as her reaction had her swallowing his cock deeper.
With a gasp she lifted her head, lips parted as her chest rose and fell rapidly in quick, ragged pants. She licked her lips as she looked up at him and pressed herself more firmly back into his hands with a groan.
"I want you to take me," she whispered, crawling slowly up his body. "I want to feel you so deep within me that it's seared into my memory like this magic on your skin." She dipped her head to kiss the center of his chest, looking up at him through her lashes, before slowly continuing to make her way up his body. "I want you to take me, make love to me, fuck me..."
She kissed his neck with a low, growling moan, her hands settling flat against his ribs, nails scratching oh so gently at the skin. Her fur allowed her legs to slide against his smoothly, silkily, as she pressed herself closer. "Your soul with mine, Brave One, until we don't know where one ends and the other begins. Now."
That was a nice image of her down there, mouth full of as much cock as she could handle while she squirmed against his finger. He took a sadistic sort of pleasure fingering her like that before she was up against him again, leaving a trail of golden lip marks up his torso even as he squeezed her furry behind with his hands.
And he continued to squeeze and finger her, even as she whispered things in his ear that made his face burn on its own, no magic required, especially when she told him to fuck her. How a faey learned language like that he didn't know but her lips were on his neck and he found that he didn't quite care.
As soon as the word "Now" left her lips, it was like flipping a switch in him. With his grip on her ass and back he turned around on his knees and set Fiala down on her back amongst the roots of an apple tree. The tip of his length teased at her clit before he slid his massive, twitching length up against her opening and laid it on her belly so she could see just what she was in for, a tiny faun pairing with an absolute beast of an orc. It left a dick-shaped magic imprint against her belly and he planted both hands by her head so he could lean down and kiss her with fiery passion, even as he oriented himself against her.
He seated the head of his cock against her warmth, and now that he'd gotten it slick with her golden juices he gave one of her ears a nip before he started to push in, and he immediately cried out her name because it felt divine.
Fiala laughed when he turned her into the roots of the tree, evidently delighted by the sudden change in position. She arched up beneath him when his length dragged against her, sighing out a pleasured breath as her hands traced up the roots to either side of her before coming to a stop at the base of the trunk just above her head.
When he laid himself against her she bit her lip, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes, and a pulse of shivering anticipation rippled through their bond and into the earth around them, sending green-gold light skittering briefly up through the bark of the apple tree.
Then he was kissing her again, the tip of him pressing against the center of her heat and she positively writhed up beneath him, spine curved deeply while her hooves struggled for purchase against the soft earth so she could press her legs around his hips. Her lips parted against his with a heavy breath and she reached up to wrap her arms around his neck as she threw herself into another kiss.
He began to slide into her, cried her name, and she broke away from the kiss to give a high, keening wail of pleasure. She was not human, her body was not quite the same as a mortal woman's—but though she had no virginity to “take”, as it were, this intimacy was still very much new to her; she felt herself so tight around him it was a miracle he could move at all, and she panted desperately as she wriggled and squirmed beneath him until she figured out how to roll her hips up to take him deeper the way she wanted and oh she was never going to let him go.
“Ohh...Motark, that—A-ah, ahh!”
Another cry, impassioned and unabashed, tore from her lips. There was no trace here of the enigmatic young forest guardian who so loved to speak in riddles and keep him guessing. With the bond between them wrapped around the core of her very self, feeling him within her both body and soul, Fiala had become a creature of pure passion and light, hungry for him and unashamed as she cried his name again, begging him to take her.
He was fully convinced he couldn't go deeper and then she bucked up and the final few inches of him slid into her and pressed against the very end of her. It was beyond belief, emotional and pleasurable all at once. Her insides were slicker than oil and tighter than a vice, and when he looked down to see where they were joined he was in her to the very root, length glowing green beneath her skin even as the sheer size of him left an impression in her.
He straightened up to tower over her, tusks and eyes glinting in her light as he started to move. Gently at first, but as soon as he'd started he couldn't control himself and so began to drive into her harder, laughing a little at how it made the patterns on their bodies dance and shine.
"I'm dreaming," he murmured lowering down a little so he could be within arm's reach of her, sensing her desire to touch him before she could even voice it. He proved himself wrong by giving her what she wanted again and again.
"Fiala!"
When he called her name again she answered with an aching, breathless cry that shivered and spun through the trees. "Oh yes, yes," she gasped, reaching up to drag her nails down his chest as he leaned in closer.
A vague corner of her mind thought that perhaps she should have been intimated by how small she was compared to him, especially in such an intimate moment, but she just felt...joy. His body over hers was protective rather than dangerous, his touch surprisingly gentle, as he was himself. The glint of his tusks in the light from their skin only reminded her of how those sharp teeth felt against her throat and she arched her back even deeper with a long, trembling wail.
"I—I can feel your heartbeat," she whispered, staring up into his face with wide eyes and gently parted lips. "I feel your power pulsing in time, I can feel it all beneath my own skin, I—aahhhh..." she tossed her head back as he drove into her and knocked a breathy moan from her lips. Hands clutching at his shoulders, nails digging in, she gasped, "Hold me, my brave one. Tighter, closer, I want to feel you everywhere, please..."
The patterns he'd traced over her skin shifted and swirled, burned brightest where his own skin glowed in streaks and spirals, almost as if the Magic itself was reaching for him.
Her words were absolute as she tore his very soul open with her nails on his chest. He lifted her, and she was like a leaf to him as he picked her up. Kissing her chest, her throat, and her lips he moved her like she weighed nothing. Once, twice, and then regularly he brought her against his length, using her like a doll.
Then, he held her tighter, pressing her body to his own. Moving up on his knees, he put her back against the tree, watching in wonder as the bark lit up from the contact. He kept on fucking her, lost in this animalistic lust for her. Disbelief and pleasure melded into a potent mix as he mated her, fucked her, made love to her."
"Turn around," he said, and kissed her fiercely.
"Turn around and we'll give this tree something to talk about."
Fiala panted and moaned in delight as he lifted her, his mouth burning out a trail over her skin even while he moved her so easily along his length. She grabbed for him, one hand cupping the back of his neck as they crashed together, over and over, and she kissed him like she would die if she didn't.
Somehow she'd managed to hook her knees over his hips, using the leverage to help raise and lower her hips powerfully. Then he told her to turn around, and for a moment she thought she could see an echo of what he wanted in her mind's eye, her own hands grasping and clawing at the glowing bark as he took her from behind--
She groaned into the kiss, already nodding her assent. Her hands slipped down to his chest again, pushing gently so she could have the space to twist in his arms and put her back to him. A quiet whimper rose in her throat when the motion caused him to leave her, and she quickly pressed back against him, one hand grasping for his wrist so she could wrap his fingers over her hip even as the other braced against the trunk of the tree and she took the moment to try to catch her breath.
A rather panting laugh bubbled up from her chest and she turned her head to look at him over her shoulder, as always careful of her antlers. "They already talk of us," she chuckled breathlessly. The glow of magic threading through the bark of the tree pulsed as though in agreement. "This power, this magic...it feeds their roots, makes them strong. They revel in it."
She twisted her head further and leaned up as far as she could to kiss him passionately, almost desperately, and with a quick, sure buck of her hips she rocked back to take him in once again.
When she pulled away to turn about, Motark couldn't help but look down at himself in disbelief, watching as his glowing member pulsed with magic. This was better than a dream, he'd never had a dream this good in his life. When she pressed back against him and moved his hand he gripped her nice and tight with both hands, appreciating the sight of his thumbs nearly touching. He sighed from the feeling of silky soft fur against his member as it rested against her buttocks, and as she situated herself he couldn't help but slide it along a few times.
She leaned up to kiss him and he took the chance to drag a hand up her front, across her breasts, and to her throat where it tightened just a little bit as he kissed her deeply, Teeth catching her lower lip for a brief moment. "I'll have you until apples grow from this tree again," he said, smiling wider as he thought of it. Every beat of their hearts sent a pulse not just through the tree but down through the roots, washing through the dirt and reaching nearby trees as well.
Then, he watched in wonder as with a single sure movement of her hips she'd gotten the first piece of him into her. He gasped, then squeezed her hips as he rocked forwards and sheathed the rest of himself in a motion that had his hips come to a stop against Fiala's and his cock could go no further. Taken by lust, he started having at her right then and there, one hand gripping her hip while the other went to her head and he even went so far as to use one her antlers as a grip as he just fucked away with abandon.
The moans and cries that slipped from her lips and echoed through the orchard might have raised a flush to Fiala's cheeks if her skin had not already been lit up with magic from within. With their difference in size, Motark had to essentially cover her entire body with his in order to mate her as he did, and even that feeling alone was enough to coax a pleasured whine up from her chest.
Her hands clutched frantically at the tree, which now shimmered with veins of glowing green and gold--as did the others clustered closest to the pair--and she started slightly when he gripped her antler. It was a strange sensation, rather like a gentle tug on her hair, but not necessarily unpleasant. Moreover, she hardly had time to consider it before he was driving into her with a kind of wildness that took her breath away, and she reciprocated, crying out his name desperately.
Burning with passion and magic, she felt herself climbing toward her peak. Her stomach tightened, her breath came in ever shorter pants and gasps, and she felt as much as heard the tree creak and groan softly as she grasped at the trunk. Her heart beat frantically, and she could still feel his breath and pulse as an echo of her own.
Taken by a sudden impulse, Fiala rocked her hips back against him with a new burst of hunger and flung the sensation out across their bond; no longer simply allowing him to feel as she felt, she attempted to flood their connection with the pleasure and desperation that burned through her whole body, trying to drag him closer to the edge with her.
Motark kept diving into her insides, every pulse of magic only making him more and more frantic with his movements. That sweet, playful voice that she used to ask him riddles was now the very same one crying her pleasure in the orchard as Motark used the joined beating of their hearts as a rhythm with which he drove into her.
But, as he would come to learn, these things always had a way of getting better. Motark had always considered himself a good lay and the women he'd been with seemed to agree, but the pleasure he was feeling was beyond belief. He was already feeling his peak start to approach when all of a sudden the magic surged within him.
Every nerve sang with fiery pleasure and it was too much, and he could only gasp as a new fire burned into his heart, a desperate need to not just take Fiala but to seed her. He surged forwards, pinning her more securely against the tree as he made her his with every movement, nearly leaving her with each thrust only for him to come crashing back in just before completely leaving her.
He leaned in and snarled into her ear. His peak was fast approaching but he still had a little left
"I'm going to breed you until you can't walk," Motark started, having lost any form of shyness or shame. "I need to," he panted.
Fiala's pupils blew wide and she curved back against him as their pleasure clashed and surged back through the bond, redoubling the burning, desperate frenzy that already coursed through every inch of her. She was close, she knew he was too. Then he drove forward into her again, and she screamed his name, clutching at the trunk of the tree so fiercely that her nails threatened to crack the bark.
Her peak came in a burst of golden light. The patterns he'd drawn over her skin with lips and hands were no longer distinguishable as her entire body lit up from within, flared brightly, then slowly began to fade back to the gentle glow
She slumped forward against the tree, legs trembling and threatening to give out—if Motark's body hadn't been holding her up, she thought she probably would have simply collapsed to her knees as the aftershocks continued to pulse through her in smaller waves of pleasure.
"Ohh, Brave One..." her breath was short and ragged, hands she grasping at the tree for an anchor as it flickered with light. Twisting her head to look back over her shoulder, she managed to catch his lips in a fierce, slightly clumsy kiss as she shivered against him.
I want to look in your eyes as you take me. It was a whisper of a thought she sent skittering across their connection. I want to feel you fall apart inside me, I want to see the look in your eyes as you mate me, make me yours...
Motark was chasing Fiala's peak with his own, but the bright light that burned from her skin was actually really bright! He paused, fully sheathed within her, to shield his eyes as it seemed she could light the whole orchard with her power.
"Oh!" Was about all he could say as he felt her insides tighten down and milk him and it seemed like as good a moment as any to take a few breaths. He looked down at her, and a unique kind of heat shot through him when he saw her against the tree like that, so rattled by his efforts that she could barely stand.
He was admiring his handiwork when she turned her head and kissed him fiercely. He didn't know exactly what she wanted, but he could feel the desire bubbling at her surface and so he rocked his hips back to slide out of her and turned her around. He had her like that against the tree and continued the kiss until he needed to breathe again.
Passion, it seemed, could never be kept down for long. Breaking their kiss, he switched their positions again and set himself down to rest among the roots of the tree, leaning back and inviting her to join him by giving his cock a stroke.
And just how she'd sent her desires to him, he did the same, albeit differently and unwittingly. Sensitive to his thoughts as she was, she'd get a nice mental image of herself doing quite many lewd things with both her mouth and womanhood in that position.
Another whimper bubbled up from her throat when he slipped out of her and turned her back against the tree before sheathing himself within her again. She rocked and gasped against him, toeing close to the line of too overstimulated from the relentless waves of sensation that wracked her body with every move he made.
When he finally paused for breath, then moved back to rest nestled in the gently glowing roots around them, her knees finally gave out and she sank to the ground, leaning back heavily against the tree as she simply watched him for a moment. A soft laugh caught in her throat as she felt the bark scratching at the skin of her back and she just didn't care, watching the way his hand stroked along his length with burning intensity.
She could feel his desires pulsing through the bond and had to take another breath before she leaned forward and began crawling her way up his body, pausing for a moment to dip her head and lick his shaft, eyes fixed on his face. She lingered there, licking and sucking and nibbling gently, enough to tease but not enough to sate his desire.
Then she began kissing her way up his body again, sharp teeth occasionally grazing gently against his skin. She rocked her hips down to gently rub herself against him as she moved, lashes fluttering and a low groan echoing in her chest as she did. Finally, she reached his mouth and sealed her lips to his in a fierce, hungry kiss while she rolled her hips forward to grind against him deliciously.
"Do you want me to take you?" she asked in a rough whisper, moving her lips to his cheek, then his jaw, then nipping softly just below his ear. "I don't believe I can do it as you took me, but..." She found his lips again, her tongue flicking out to test and tease. "I would be very happy to try."
That moment of rest was everything he needed to regain himself. He'd been getting too warm, too stimulated. And not to mention that the shirt break had delayed his release, so much so that when she started crawling up his body and enacting his fantasies it was like she was touching him for the first time again.
Watching her small hands go up and down his shaft while she licked and sucked on his head was beyond amazing. When she started nibbling he was the one who was gripping the tree roots tightly and squirming their hips, urging her to enact lewder and lewder things.
And then she was moving back up, grinding and kissing and when she finally broke away he was panting. She was so small and tight, meaning that she could really press down and tease without him actually slipping up into her. As she moved her hips and took his breath away Motark lifted a hand to her ass to help her gyrate and grind. He kissed her back desperately and his hand tightened, while the other held her breast to give her some attention there.
"Take me," Motark said quickly. He dragged his hands down her thighs and legs, stopping curiously to pass a thumb over her dainty hooves before they were sliding back up to her hips.
"Go wild on me."
Fiala moaned quietly into his mouth as he kissed her so heatedly, and her hips gave a short rock forward quite without her actually telling them to. When his hands trailed down her legs, fingertips stroking through the soft fur, she shivered delicately and had to turn her face away for a moment in an effort to catch her breath.
His thumb skated over her hoof and she found herself laughing breathlessly, shaking her head. “Not what you are used to, I imagine?” she murmured as she turned to kiss his neck again, a small, teasing smile twitching at her lips.
She rocked her hips against him again, grinding deliciously, but not taking him inside. It was a double edged sword; much as she wanted to drive him wild—more so than the blending of magic and intimacy already had—the teasing, tempting touches had begun to stoke the fire in her core again, and she soon was panting lightly as she pressed and rubbed against him.
Finally, with a low groan, she reached down between them to grasp his shaft, pressing the tip against herself for a moment before she rolled her hips forward and sheathed him entirely in one slow, smooth motion.
“Ah—! Mmm...” Lips parted as she panted gently, she grabbed for his hands and laced her fingers through his, using the grip to help brace herself above him as she began to move along his length, torturously slow at first but gradually building in speed and desperation.
"No, but they're cute," he said, even as his hands came back up for her sides, eyes wandering to the action at their hips. He sighed and put a hand in the back of her head to encourage her to keep kissing him there. This time, the tree pulsed to his beat. It was like every breath of his caused the tree to expand, almost as if it was breathing through him, branches curling upwards as roots moved to better accommodate them.
She took him and his hands tightened on the roots, and he gave her a wide-eyed and heated look as he pressed her down further against him, going deeper than ever before. He passed a hand up her front, wanting that dalliance of the flesh to complement this spirituality and emotion, and watching how he moved into her so easily despite their drastically different sizes sent new chills up his spine.
"I love how you move, Fiala," he gasped, moving his hips in time with hers as she rise and fell, using his strength to help her move with greater force. He wanted to come undone inside of her, to flood her with his warmth and vigor, to keep going until all she knew was how stuffed she was.
"My bright one," he murmured, and kissed her again.
Cute.
That was a word that had never been used to describe any part of her before, and at first she didn't quite know how to react to it.
Of course those thoughts were pushed clean from her mind when he pulled her down on him and she stretched around him so deliciously. She arched her back into his touch, grinding herself down against him more firmly for a moment before she rocked up until he almost left her, then dropped back down hard.
She gasped and the trees around them flared brighter for a moment—at least half a dozen of the closest were glowing gently now, pulsing with veins of green and gold, the apple above them shifting and curving with Motark's breath.
Skin starting to shimmer again, always brighter where they touched, Fiala let out another soft moan and swooped in to kiss him, nipping lightly at his lower lip. "You make me shine, Brave One," she whispered into his mouth. Her hands trailed down his chest as she slid down his length again with a sharp groan. "Let me do the same for you..."
She drove down onto him and his hips rocked up to meet her. The way they desperately collided time and time again. He let out a snarl and bared his teeth as his pleasure kept mounting, a flaming-hot coil that grew tighter and tighter in his body. He was getting close to his peak but he still had a little bit left to go.
Every drop of her hips made a new noise come out of him and when she slowed down he took over by gripping her tighter and bringing her down a couple more times as he crushed his lips to her.
"Make me shine, make me fall apart," he begged, never the one to do so but finding himself helpless to do anything except burn for her.
He nipped at her neck.
"I want to fill you with my seed."
"Oh, oh, oh!"
If she'd ever been taught to worship a god or gods, she would have invoked them as they came crashing together again and again. Each time their hips clashed a new pulse of magic surged through their bond and she grabbed for his shoulders, her nails biting into the skin as she clutched him desperately for an anchor.
His teeth grazed her neck and she responded by practically writhing atop him, wriggling and squirming in delight as she felt herself once more circling her peak.
"Mmm..." She sealed her lips to his, slipping her arms around his shoulders so that when she sat back she pulled him with her, pressing them chest to chest as their hips continued to rock together. "I told you, my brave one," she gasped when they broke apart for a moment. Her lips moved to his ear, kissing and nibbling before she whispered, "I want everything from you..."
There was something to be said about the implications of further mixing. Something about spilling his seed into her felt so... final. Like a point of no return. But he didn't want to think about that, what would happen if he spilled his vigor into her and something more happened.
He just wanted her. Wanted to forget his stresses and despairs and lose himself in her light. He wrapped his arms around her and held her like she was made of glass even as their lovemaking turned a little more desperate.
"Fiala, I... I'm coming!" He finally gasped, unable to resist the constant pleasure. She moved her hips like no other woman he'd even seen and it was absolutely melting him. His hands went lower and he moved her harder, faster, until he weighed her down completely against him as his climax came.
Impossibly, he filled her even more as his own skin flared with green lights, the tree they were loving against groaned as the branches were suddenly weighed down by freshly growing apples. The sheer outflux of magic caused nearby trees to regain some of their fertility and even flower once more.
Motark thrust deep into her and his seed came like a torrent of hot magic, filling up every centimeter of empty space within her as he came and came and just when he though it'd never end he finally wound down after having made an absolute mess of their pelvic regions and filled her to the very brim with his come.
"Fiala..." he breathed, still holding her tightly to himself.
The way he held her so carefully, delicately, even as they just writhed and took one another--the contrast in sensation itself was almost enough to send her over the edge. Then he was gripping her hips and holding her against him and she cried her pleasure to the roots and leaves around them as magic flooded the trees and her skin lit up with golden light moments after his shone green.
She shivered and moaned through her peak, unable to come down from the high until the flood of his seed had stopped and the over-stimulation of heat and magic began to ebb slowly. She went limp against him, resting her head on his shoulder and panting lightly.
He still held her so tight. She gave a soft sound that was something between a sigh and a whimper and nuzzled into his neck, kissing his skin tiredly. She was utterly spent, and she had never felt so good in her life.
"Motark." She smiled gently against his throat and shifted so that her thighs could better hug his hips, keeping them locked together. "You are...unlike anything I have ever known," she whispered with a soft laugh, her arms tight around his neck.
"I can say the same for you," he murmured, mindful of her antlers as he dipped down to kiss her head. Still trapped within her as deep as he could go, he started to go soft and his throbbing within her weakened and drained by their experience.
The lights started to fade, leaving them in darkness with just a gentle glow emanating from their bodies. The bliss of that moment was everything he could've wanted after such searing passion. He closed his eyes, wandering her with his hands until he finally settled on having his arms around the small of her back. He almost drifted away there, with her breath on his neck and skin pressed to his.
Almost.
His eyes shot open, and he looked up. It was getting dark! What was supposed to be a short visit to the orchard turned into almost an hour, and they'd made an absolute mess of themselves. A shiver of tension ran through him and he looked down at her.
"The Axe Dances are in an hour..." he said, gently and without urgency.
He tested moving his hips and glanced down to see they were quite messy, and while the sight sent a rush of heated arousal through him it also meant that they couldn't quite go as they were.
"Come bathe with me, and we'll go there? There's a washing hut near my home," he continued, even as he curiously touched her ears with a a pair of fingers.
Fiala sighed quietly, resigned, and nodded when he mentioned the Axe Dances. Yes, she had agreed to go, she would be doing her hosts if a disservice if she didn't--not to mention she was sure the villagers would be none to pleased if she caused their chief to arrive late, not matter what mystical gifts they believed her presence might bring.
But there was still an hour, and she couldn't imagine that washing up would take more than a few minutes...
"Alright," she agreed softly, nuzzling under his jaw to place a light kiss just over the pulse point of his throat. His fingertips stroked over her ears and she giggled quietly, flicking them back against her skull on reflex. "We will wash and go. But...in a moment? Please?"
She pressed a little closer, shifting her hips slightly against him. Even now that the passion had died down, the mess between them becoming more apparent, she was loathed to lose that connection. "Just...stay with me a moment longer, please. Just like this," Fiala whispered, reaching up to cup his jaw in her palm and rest her brow against his.
"Well," he started, and held her a little more securely. His smile widened when she put her brow against his, and since that seemed to be her preferred intimate action he deepened the contact and even nuzzled noses with her.
"If we get enough time in the bath, you can have me again and we won't get messy," he whispered, but he was content to just be there with her a moment longer. It had been a while since he'd had a moment like this. He settled a little further back, resting with her among the roots of the trees. Her little test motions made him gasp, which then turned into a smile as he leaned in to kiss her on the cheek.
"But we can stay here for as long as you wish."
She smiled and nuzzled him back, then pressed a soft kiss to the tip of his nose. As he settled back among the roots he shifted inside her and she hissed in a sharp breath, then shifted to fit more comfortably against him.
Glancing up, she laughed brightly, head tilted to the side. "I believe your people may have a larger harvest than normal this season," she chuckled, looking back to him with a glint in her eyes. Shrugging, she added, "Perhaps they were right about my abilities bringing them good fortune after all."
She really would have liked to just stay there, just for a little while longer, but she did not want to risk keeping Motark from his responsibilities. She darted in to kiss him again and murmured, "Well, that was very enjoyable, Brave One. But I believe perhaps you are right, and we should remove ourselves."
Her lips quirked up teasingly and she added a little softer, "Though if it will not interfere with your people's customs, I will be having you in that bath."
At her declaration, Motark could only smile and nod. He wet his lips and squeezed her hips, sitting up to kiss her heatedly one last time before breaking away. He slid her waistcloth back to where it was on the front of her waist, and he put his hands back on her hips, hands idly stroking at her silky fur.
He lost himself in his thoughts then. Wondering at how quickly they'd gone from eyeing each other suspiciously in a forest to... this. Whatever this was. All he knew was that he had a feeling that this was just the start of something. Maybe the druids were right, and nature was returning to Bloodmorrow?
He stopped before he could think way too deeply on the subject and instead gave Fiala's hip a pat.
"On then, up you go. Just not too quickly, hmm?" He said, and rested his arms on the roots, hoping she'd catch his meaning.
She did indeed catch his meaning, and oh but she was sorely tempted to defy him, to torture him with that just a bit.
But she thought better of it, relenting with a quiet sigh and nodding as she sat back. "Very well, Brave one." She shifted onto her knees, slowly rising up off him until she could get her hooves under her and stand properly.
"Mmmm..." She bit her lip, lashes fluttering at the new sensation, then let out a sharp breath and reached down to twitch at the fabric around her hips, getting it to settle properly. She tilted her head at him and crinkled her nose, feeling his seed begin to drop down her inner thigh.
"Very well. Shall we?"
She stood up over him and he was quick to follow, brushing some grass and leaves off his back as he did so. He stretched a bit, and when he looked down at her his cheeks were immediately red as a caught the sight of some white trickling down her legs and dripping from between them. A silent reminder of what they'd done and what she wanted to do again as soon as they were by themselves. He hoped nobody would notice!
"Do you like that?" He asked, still feeling hints of that desperate lust. There were no more real barriers between them and Motark let out the following words with no shame, even as he motioned for her to walk with him.
"So full of my vigor that it leaks out of you?"
"Hmm." She tilted her head, considering. Eventually, she settled on, "It is...a new sensation. I'm not entirely sure just how I feel about it yet."
As she began to follow him back through the orchard, she crinkled her nose and added after a moment, "It is not exactly subtle, I will say that much. I suppose it remains to be seen if that is a good thing or a bad one." Or neither, that was always an option. Many things in the world just were, no inherent aspect of ill or good will required.
She looked up at Motark's back, finding herself drawn into her thoughts. Some things just...are.
Were they one of those things?
"Ah," he said, and his heat wore off just a bit more. He took to walking beside her, keeping his hands joined behind his back as he did so. He chuckled a bit and looked back at her.
"I can't help that I make so much," he said, voice a little lower, and then he looked back at her, offering her his hand.
"We'll take the shorter route, not through the common paths," he said, and he guided her out of the orchard, across the paths (nobody there, fortunately) and into the areas in between the tents and structures. The alleyways of Bloodmorrow, so to speak.
They were moving between two wooden half-houses when they came across a small courtyard. They came in through the side passages but the path that they would've walked took them straight up a red house-sized tent with a square front and a wide, tall back.
"That's where I live," he said, and motioned for her to follow.
Next to it was a circular hut that let steam out from the top and he led her into that. The floor was earthwork covered by wooden planking and the bath basin itself was a 6 foot diameter hole in the ground about three feet deep and heated from underneath by slow-burning coals to last the day.
"Perfect, the coals are still going," he said as he slipped his loincloth off of himself and lowered himself down, sighing pleasantly.
Fiala took his hand easily when he offered it, and walked just a step behind him as he led her through the village. Now that there was some distance between them and the trees--and the wild passion has sufficiently cooled in her chest--the gentle glow to her skin had almost entirely faded away, and she was able to focus once more on taking in each new sight of Bloodmorrow curiously.
Her eyebrows crept up a bit when Motark told her the massive red tent was his home. Surely no one needed so much space indoors? What was there to do, besides sleep?
She didn't have time to ask though, as he led her into the steamy hut and she immediately felt herself start to relax again, not even realizing that tension had been building in her shoulders when they left the orchard.
"This is quite comfortable," she noted, turning in a small circle even as she fiddled with her waistcloth to let it fall to the ground. She picked her way delicately over to the basin and tested the water with one hoof cautiously. "Oh!" Her eyes widened a bit and she looked up to Motark. "That is very warm."
While logically she knew that heating water was a common mortal habit, her own baths had exclusive taken place in forest streams and ponds, heated by the sun or nothing at all. This was...interesting.
He watched her keenly when she undressed and stepped towards the bath. So alien, so different, but alluring. And now that the intimacy barrier had been broken he couldn't help but see her in a new light entirely as she tested the water with her hoof.
"Cozy and private. This one is mine but there's a few more out in the village for the others," he explained, reaching up to pass a hand along her leg, eyes drawn to the curious shape of the hoof.
"Not quite what you're used to?" He asked, eyes bright as he used her own words against her.
He chuckled and motioned down towards himself.
"Won't you join me, Bright One?"
"No," Fiala agreed with a slightly startled chuckle, "it is not." She glanced up at him and her lips twitched slightly to one side as she slowly began to lower herself into the warm water. "But it is...nice, I believe."
She didn't seem all that much interested in personal space as she allowed herself to almost fully submerge—after all, if she sat the water would be above her head, so she didn't see much point in attempting to do so on her own.
Shifting over so she could perch daintily on his thigh, she swung her legs around through the water so they were tucked between both of his and wriggled a bit to settle herself properly against him. "I am not so bright now," she murmured with a faint, teasing smile, gesturing to the fact that her skin no longer glowed, or at least not intensely. "But I believe I am becoming fond of that moniker. At least when you use it."
She sat on his thigh and he tilted his head at her. She wasn't glowing all too brightly now, but there were lingering flickers in her hair and the golden thread of her antlers still shone brighter than before. Eager to get her closer he laid one of his hands on her lap and he pulled her in just that bit closer.
Wetting his hands, he started going over the parts of himself that sat above the water, although his eyes watched her, eternally curious about the faerie girl on his lap.
"Now you know how I feel when you call me Brave One," Motark said, smiling wider. He leaned in and left a heated little kiss on her head, pulling away with an inviting smile as he continued to clean himself.
She chuckled again and twisted slightly as he pulled her close so she could lean against his chest.
"Mm...Ah, but brave one can be true all the time." She smiled and tilted her head at him, idly letting her gaze roam up and down his body. "I am not always bright."
She leaned in to return his kiss with one to his cheek, soft and almost experimental. Despite what had just occurred between them, now that the blinding passion had somewhat faded she found herself once more simply curious about him, eager to test and explore.
He let out a small chuckle when she kissed his cheek and then stroked a thumb along her chin, looking at her for a moment before he leaned in and gave her a real kiss, stroking her ears once again with the other hand. They'd taken to everything so quickly in the orchard that he still didn't quite know what it was like to do something more... gentle.
Because that's what Motark wanted most in the world, someone to be gentle with. Here, with the orcs of Bloodmorrow, he had to pretend. He loved them and wanted nothing but prosperity for them, but they didn't or wouldn't understand him, the real him. But here, in this crude washing hut with an enchanting Faerie woman sitting in his lap and kissing on his cheek, he'd never felt more like himself in his life.
"I think you're.... radiant right now," Motark said, pausing as the fancier word tweaked his usually passable common. He pulled her a little tighter to him, hands wandering up her back before going down to her hips. He felt a familiar chord of heat as her eyes took in his body.
"See something you like?"
Fiala flushed slightly at his words, ducking her eyes for a moment--though she made no move to twist her head away, rather enjoying the gentle stroke of his fingertips over her ears. Like the fur on her legs, they were velvety soft, and rather more sensitive than she'd realized, flicking gently under his touch.
More than the implication in his tone, it was the way his voice hitched slightly on the word "radiant" and the slight hint of an accent that she'd never noticed before that made her heart leap. Odd.
"I should think my interest was rather plain by now," she murmured in response after a moment, smiling softly. She raised a hand to cup his cheek in her palm, slender fingers tracing gently over the line of his jaw. As his hands settled on her hips she shifted subtly closer, and her eyes swept once more over his form.
"You are utterly and completely confounding, do you know that?" she said eventually with a quiet chuckle, shaking her head.
"Confounding? What's so confounding about me?" He asked, even as he tipped his head back to give her fingers better access to his jaw, the front of which was thick-set to support his virile tusks. Even as he said that, he played with one of her ears between his index finger and thumb, stroking idly and marveling at the new curiosity.
"I'm just a simple orc," he said, and one of his hands stroked down her legs, and he even caught one by the hoof and gently stretched her leg out so he could lift it above the water and look.
"Who's wondering what it's like to not have any toes..."
She laughed, startled, and squirmed a bit in an effort to keep her balance as he stretched her leg out. Her hands fell to his shoulders to help keep her in place and she tilted her head at him, ears flicking back instinctively.
"I don't believe I can answer that question, as I have never known what it's like to have toes," she pointed out, eyes glinting.
Then her expression sobered slightly and her eyes moved over his face again, considering. "Simple?" She shook her head slowly. "I don't think so."
She pulled her leg back so she could sit up in his lap again, one arm draped around his shoulders while her other hand rested against his chest gently. "I admit I know little of most mortal customs, but from my brief time here I have gathered that conflict and its many facets are paramount to your people. You are the leader of such a people, and yet you do this." Her hand found his, guiding his fingers to run over her legs again, softly, slowly. "Even as you took me beneath that tree, I felt safe with you. You are gentle in a way I did not expect."
Her smile quirked up on one side and she lifted her hand to cup his jaw again, thumb running over his cheek. "And I just realized that the Common tongue is not your first language. I hadn't even noticed before--and that is a feat, as my kind speak nearly every mortal language."
Her brow furrowed just a bit and she tilted her head into his hand slightly. "What are you trying so hard to hide, Motark?"
He got some of his fluster back when she brought up their fiery tryst in the orchard. He looked away for a moment, only to meet her eyes as she continued speaking. She sat in his lap and a zap of pleasure punctuated that final question of hers.
"I learned it from the few human books the raiders brought back when I was a child," Motark said. There was a pause as he held her, unsure of how to proceed. He didn't want to keep anything from her, but...
"I'm not trying to hide anything from you, Fiala. There are things about Bloodmorrow I don't want you to see, things that my people are accustomed to that I think would make you want to leave this place," he continued, and then he hugged her more securely against him.
"I don't fit in here, but fate has chosen me to lead this place."
"Oh, Brave One." She held his face between her hands, eyes searching his. "I am not here for them," she murmured finally. "I am here for you."
She leaned in to kiss him softly, letting her hands trail down to rest lightly on his shoulders as she pressed a little closer.
Pulling away, Fiala murmured, "Regardless of what your people do or want, they will not change my opinion of you." She shrugged lightly and added, "Perhaps I will want to leave this place, soon. Perhaps not. But that doesn't mean I want to leave you." Her hand came to rest over his heart, and the faintest echo of that glow from earlier rose to her touch. "No matter what happens...this connection is a part of us now. I'm not sure we could be rid of it if we tried."
"I don't want to be rid of it," came his immediate answer, and he covered her hand with his own. He couldn't help it, she sent waves if heat coursing through him whenever she covered his heart like that and this time was no exception. It wasn't a scorching fire, but rather a steady pulse that also brought the first waves of arousal with it.
Motark's hands tightened on her legs, on her fur, and he returned her kiss with one of his own, this time more heated and he only stopped when he needed to breathe.
"I'd hope you wouldn't leave soon," he said, teasing, and his hands finally went to her furry bottom and he squeezed, loving how small she felt beneath his hands.
"I've grown to like having you around," Motark smirked.
Fiala smiled against his lips, even as she shifted on his lap when his grip moved to her rear. Her tail flicked through the water, an absent motion she didn't even realize she was doing, and she let her other hand slide up so she could wrap her arm gently around his shoulders.
"I'll admit I have found your company...pleasing. At times," she teased back lightly. She tipped her head to kiss his cheek, then let her lips trail down to the line of his jaw and back until she could murmur in his ear, "Perhaps I will stay a little longer..."
He chuckled, a sound that was calmed when her arm went around his shoulders and the intimacy made quieting down feel right. One of his thumbs tested at her tail, curious about the appendage.
"Only at times?" he said, and leaned back against the rim of the bath more, giving her more access to all of him even as he drew a hand up her own body to explore her in kind. He stopped to grip a breast and meet her eyes with a confident smile.
"Would you like some of my... company?"
Her tail flicked again, fur still surprisingly silky even under the water.
"Yes, at times," she repeated softly, amber eyes dancing. As he leaned back she shifted on his lap yet again so that she could straddle his hips, though she was careful to keep from pressing against him too much. This wasn't the same wild passion from earlier, this was something--something softer. Curious.
Head tilted so her hair spilled forward over one shoulder, she allowed her eyes to roam up and down his body before landing on his face again. "I did warn you that if you took me here I'd be having you again," she noted with a slight smile. Then her expression softened a bit and she leaned in to kiss his cheek with a murmured, "But only if you want me to."
He smiled wider and even chuckled at her use of the word "warn", and nodded. Those red orcish eyes of his held no malice for her as he looked down at her with warmth and trust.
"You did warn me," Motark said, and even though he talked hot the way he moved his hands over her was just as much to sate his curiosity as to gently please her.
"And yet, despite those warnings, I chose to bring you here," he said, and let out a sigh when she kissed his cheek and he drew his hands down her sides.
"And I will gladly face the consequences."
“Mmm...” Fiala closed her eyes and leaned back slightly into his hands, trusting his grip as much as her knees on either side of his hips to keep her in place. Heat began to gather just beneath her skin, similar to that heat in the orchard but still softer, somehow.
Laying her hands gently on his chest once again, she took a moment to simply look at him, curiosity clear in her eyes as much as building desire. “Relax,” she cooed quietly, and leaned in to kiss his brow. “You said you wished to be gentle, yes? Let me be gentle with you...”
Her hands slid down his chest and stomach slowly, softly, learning every line and curve, until they came to rest lightly on his hips. She dipped her head to kiss him gently, at the same time letting her hips move against his almost tentatively, exploring.
She leaned back and he studied her, always curious. This time his eyes fell quite unsubtly to her breasts, and then they wandered up until he was meeting her eyes. She told him to relax and the command shivered through him. He rested back in the tub, giving her total access to him.
She kissed him and he held the contact for as long as she would. He wanted to know her more than anything else, and so he started to explore with his tongue, something a girl had done to him in the past. Very intimate, but oddly right for the moment.
"Fiala," he breathed, and he closed his eyes and kissed her again.
"Be as gentle as you want."
Another soft, pleased hum shivered in her throat and Fiala parted her lips for him easily, eagerly even, flicking her tongue out to delicately trace the line of his bottom lip as she explored in turn.
A shiver ran down her spine and she sighed against his mouth, pressing closer and giving a gentle roll forward with her hips. “I’m not sure why,” she murmured when she paused to catch a breath, “but I rather like hearing you say my name like that...”
She rolled her hips forward against his again, more insistently this time but still achingly gentle. Pleasure rippled up through her body from the contact and she repeated the motion with a soft groan, hands braced on his chest and shoulder so she could lift herself up to drag against his length and then rock back down oh so slowly.
“Touch me?” She let the hand on his chest slide down to his wrist and pulled his hand up, guiding him to palm her breast. Eyes shimmering, lips slightly parted, she rocked against him again with a soft whimper as sensation pulsed through her.
It was a thrill to have her tongue reply to his and he panted against her lips even as her words made him smile. This was an ecstasy all on its own, to find warmth and comfort even in such a brutal place as Bloodmorrow. There was a curve to her body and a tone to her voice that called to him more than any orcish woman he'd ever seen and he wanted to know every piece of her.
Last time was quick, but here? They had plenty of time to learn from each other.
"Do well enough, and you'll be hearing it more," Motark said, voice a low growl even as his own arousal started to become apparent. He grew against her, even as she pushed down on him with her hips. He squeezed her breast and then stroked with his thumbs and hands.
"Also, if it's alright to ask... where did you learn the word fuck?" He said, too curious to not bring it up.
Fiala found herself grinning against his lips and she pulled back far enough to murmur, “Is that a challenge, Motark?”
Then his hands were stroking, his arousal growing against her as she continued to move her hips in those agonizingly slow, gentle rolls, and a shuddering sigh dragged up from her chest. His thumb passed over the peak of her breast, earning a slight start and a momentary widening of her eyes as a whole new tingle of pleasure arched over her skin.
She actually giggled quietly at his question, head tilted slightly and eyes dancing. “I told you that my kind know nearly every mortal language, did I not?” She leaned in to kiss him again, hands passing gently over the muscles of his chest and arms, committing the feeling to memory. “I’ll admit I didn’t exactly have...context for that particular word before. But judging from your earlier reaction am I to guess I used it correctly?”
She pulled back slightly, holding his face between her hands so, so gently, as though the bond that had forged between them was made of glass and she was unwilling to hold him more than delicately for fear of shattering it. “...But I don’t think I want to fuck you again,” she murmured after a moment. Still she pressed herself against him, slowly rubbing their sexes together beneath the water. “I...want to make love to you. Is that alright?”
She moved against him and Motark wanted more. He reached down between them grab his cock and he pulled Fiala in, causing her to slide along the entirety of his length before they were chest-to-chest.
"Move like that," he offered, spellbound by her hands on his cheeks, holding him so gently yet rooting him to the spot like he'd never felt before. His other hand continued to play with her breasts, thumbing her nipples and flesh.
"Make love to me," Motark said, but he had another desire as well. With her hands still on his cheeks he leaned in and kissed her, pulling away after a heated moment to speak again.
"With your hands and mouth, I've never had anyone do it to me like that. Please, Fiala..."
"Oh..." She closed her eyes for a moment and drew her lower lip between her teeth, one sharp canine pricking at the skin as she swallowed back a soft groan while they continued to move against one another.
Then she sighed into the kiss, all but melting against him as one hand drifted down to gently cup the back of his neck, tilting his head slightly to deepen the contact. When they broke apart she was close to panting, a steady heat building tortuously slowly in her core.
Amber eyes locked with crimson and she let her hands slide down his chest, fingertips trailing lightly over the planes of his stomach until she reached his hips, where she lingered for a moment, before cautiously wrapping slim fingers around his length. Head tilted, she stroked upward gently but firmly, allowing her thumb to tease at the tip of him while her other hand circled the base of his shaft and moved in shorter, quicker strokes.
This was very different from the orchard, which had been mostly pure lust and instinct. Though the growing heat and desire was undeniable, they hadn't quite tapped into their connection in the same way, she couldn't know what he wanted as she had then. Licking her lips, she murmured softly, "Like this...?"
Motark liked this. Learning someone as they were learning him. Their time beneath the tree was pure bliss and light but this was something entirely new. He stroked her neck and cheek with one hand as she worked on him. He drew his legs in to lift his hips closer to the water's surface, giving her much easier access to him and also lifting her out of the water. A casual display of strength.
"Like that, Fiala. Don't be afraid to explore it," he said, keenly observing her as she worked, giving out small sounds so she knew she was having an effect. He slid one hand down beneath her legs, teasing her with a thick finger before sliding it up into her.
"You can do whatever you want to me, as gentle as you want," he said. His cheeks darkened, and he seemed a little more bashful.
"I don't usually get treated so gently," he added.
Fiala sighed quietly and leaned into his touch as he stroked her cheek, then gave a short, startled laugh when he pulled his legs in and lifted her slightly out of the water.
Smiling playfully, she shifted in his lap to resettle herself and returned her attention to the teasing, exploratory touches along his length, occasionally stroking but mostly just tracing her fingertips over velvety skin, learning the shape of him.
When his finger slide inside she gave an instinctive rock of her hips against his hand, breath caught in her throat in a soft gasp. Biting her lip again, she leaned in to kiss him delicately, molding her lips to his before tracing along the outline of his lips with her tongue. Her hands wrapped fully around him as she did and she gave another little squirm with her hips.
Breaking away with another quiet gasp, she let her brow rest against his and breathed, "Again, I admit my ignorance of mortal customs, but that seems a true misdeed." She lifted one hand from him even as the other continued to pump along his length, shifting on his lap again so she could take his finger in deeper and grind herself against his palm. A long, low moan rose up in her throat.
"Something--something as precious as you should be familiar with a delicate hand," she managed to whisper, voice rasping and breathy.
"Orcs, ah..." he drifted off when she started to regularly pump him. He looked into her eyes, and upon hearing her unfamiliar words he could only rest his head back and give in more to her attentions. It was such a bizarre thing, to be called precious. To be told that you deserved gentle caresses.
"Orcs are a little rougher," he said finally. He pressed his palm up against her heat and she'd practically be able to sit on his hand as he fucked upwards with his fingers. He wanted to keep talking but then her lips were against his and he kissed back fervently.
"Nobody's ever called me precious. Or beautiful. Or touched me like you have," he said, and rolled his finger inside of her.
"Whatever you want, I'll share it with you."
She whimpered, utterly shameless, and ground herself more potently against his hand. Her own hand came up to cup his jaw and tilt his head into another kiss while the other continued to stroke along his length, pausing every so often to trace her fingertips over and around the tip of him, learning by touch.
Breaking away from his lips with a sharp breath, she panted, “And once more...I find myself baffled, Brave One. No matter their inclinations, after seeing how you react to it...”
She dragged her hand up his shaft slowly, lips a soft caress against his cheek, then his jaw, then she was nibbling gently at his ear. “I cannot imagine not wanting to touch you like this,” she finished on a sigh.
Pulling back enough to meet his eyes, she smiled almost shyly and rocked her hips back a bit to slip away from his fingers, though she groaned quietly at the loss of contact. She quickly made up for it by shifting forward just enough to drag her sex against his shaft again, one hand still working him gently. Desire was a bright glow in her eyes, cheeks flushed and lips slightly parted. “May I? Please?”
This was a heaven all on its own. Motark let himself melt into the kiss even as his hips gave small squirms to her touches. His head tilted naturally against her lips when she kissed at his ear, long and elf-like, if not as delicate.
Fiala pulled away from his fingers and he made up for the lost contact by resting his hand on her thigh, stroking the fur as he gazed at her like she was something wondrous. He bit his lip a bit at the sensation of her sex dragging against his, and couldn't help but nod at her question.
"Please do," he retorted, other hand sliding up to grip her side.
Fiala nodded in turn, her eyes never leaving his face. Gazes locked, she shifted her hips and guided him to her core with gentle touches until she could feel him pressing against her, then she gave that final little twitch to take him inside.
A soft, moaning sigh slipped passed her lips as she slid down his length, her eyes on his until their hips pressed together beneath the warm water and she finally had to close her eyes and just take a breath. Her hands moved blindly over his chest and shoulders, eager to commit the feeling of everything to memory.
“What do you want?” she whispered after a moment, eyes fluttering open to search his face. She dropped one hand to rest over his on her side, encouraging the contact, while the other slipped around to cup the back of his neck and trace absent, swirling patterns against his nape.
“When we are together like this...” She pressed her hips even tighter against him, until they physically could not be any closer, and a soft groan shuddered in her chest. “Oh, Motark, I would give you anything you desired, everything. You need only ask.”
He gasped when she took him so deeply eyes widening at how easily he was able to slip into her despite the fact she was so damn tight. His hand gripped tighter on her side while the other went around her back so he could hold her like she held him.
He met her eyes and smiled breathlessly, even as his fingers stroked her back and side and his hips gave a small buck upwards.
"I want you to make me yours," he said, stroking down her belly until he could tease her clit with his thumb.
"I just... want your kindness, and soft touches. And I want to be close to you."
"Hmm--!" Fiala had to bite her lip again to hold back a stronger reaction as his touch wandered south, sending new bolts of pleasure out from her core. She gave a little wriggle of her hips to encourage the attention, then slowly began to rise up onto her knees, a breathless sigh escaping her as she did.
Hands on his shoulders to anchor herself, she slid back down slowly, carefully, eyes still on his. "I'd like that," she murmured, and leaned in for another kiss.
Breaking from the kiss, she tilted her head to rest gently on his shoulder--ever mindful of her antlers--and began to ride him, tortuously slow. Every movement was careful and deliberate, and though she was still gentle there was an undeniable passion behind each rock of her hips.
Motark lost himself in the feeling of her around him, in his lap. Delicate little fingers on his shoulders as that body of hers started to move so sweetly against him. There was plenty of him for her to enjoy and every long movement of her hips had him positively writhing beneath her.
The hand on her hips helped her move but didn't urge or slow her, all the while his other went to the back of her head to hold her as she laid her head against him.
"Just like that, Fiala. Keep going like that," he sighed, baring his teeth as he gripped her more passionately.
"You're amazing."
Another quiet gasped turned into a soft moan somewhere between her chest and throat, and Fiala turned her head slightly so she could pressed heated, hungry kisses to his neck and shoulder as she continued to rise and fall on him in that almost painfully slow rhythm.
She felt his grip tighten slightly and her arms wrapped around his shoulders more securely, though she did finally lift her head from his shoulder so she could claim his lips with hers. "This—you feel so good," she gasped quietly as her hips came down again, grinding herself firmly against the flesh of his groin and shivering for the added stimulation.
She didn't even realize that she was beginning to glow again; not the same bright patterns of gold that flared and swirled where they touched, but a soft, steady shimmer just beneath her skin, creating a faint halo around her as she made love to him with a heady mixture of passion and delicate softness.
Tighter still he gripped her, and the strength of it waned and surged with her movements. At first, Motark's eyes were glued to the action at their hips, and his smile widened and cheeks darkened further as he helped the smaller woman move against him. He was gentle and delicate with her, stroking gently with his other hand even as his other helped her rise higher and come down just that much harder.
And then she was glowing again, and he stroked the side of her head as he watched that halo of light build around her.
"You're shining again, Bright One," he said, drawing a hand up her front, eyes dancing over her form as the dim inside of the bathing hut was lit by her radiance.
"You can go faster, do it a bit harder if you want," he murmured, drunk off of her lips and light.
"Watching you bounce on my manhood is one of the sexiest things I've ever seen."
Fiala gasped and squirmed delightedly as his hands moved against her, the heat that had spread from her core to her chest now trickling out to fill every inch of her skin until she was panting lightly as she continued to ride him.
She laughed breathlessly when he told her that she was shining and she realized he was right. She glanced down at herself, then drew in a sharp breath and licked her lips unconsciously as she was once again greeted with the sight of his length disappearing into her as she rocked her hips against his.
That doesn't look probable...
Shaking herself out of it, she lifted her eyes to his face again and leaned slightly into his hand against the side of her head. A tiny smile curved her lips up on one side and she murmured, "I think I can manage that."
The next roll of her hips was quick, the movement sharper, though when she came to a sharp stop with her hips pressed to his to paused for a breath to really just feel the connection before rocking back to repeat the motion. Her hands on his shoulders tightened and her back arched slightly as the ripples of pleasure began to wash through her body more potently, the golden glow pulsing gently in time with the rhythm of their movements.
He wasn't usually one to fluster but when he caught sight of her looking down and licking at her lips, gods above did it send fresh arousal and passion through him. Not like that almost instinctual rut they shared in the orchard but something more...
...loving?
He caught that tiny smile on her face and it spread to his own expression. Every time she came down against him the dim washing hut would momentarily brighten, only to dim again as she rose. There was something else in him, something that shone in his eyes when he looked up at her and matched her movements with a buck of his hips to amplify their joining.
"Kiss me again," he said, hand against her head stroking down to her neck.
"Kiss me and don't stop, please."
A soft whimper caught in her throat at that request, and she answered by surging forward to press her lips to his, catching his lower lip gently between her teeth for a moment before she soothed the nip with a soft swipe of her tongue.
Still rolling her hips slowly against his, she tilted her head into the kiss and reached up to cup the back of his neck with one hand, the other coming to rest delicately on his cheek.
She took his words to heart; as she continued to rock against him, she didn't stop kissing him, moving her lips from his to trail down the line of his jaw to his neck, lingered a moment, then worked her way back up until she could claim his lips again fiercely, heatedly, almost desperately.
That shivery tension was steadily building in her core, but she didn't want to stop. She wanted to hang suspended in this moment for as long as they possibly could.
She wasn't the only one who wanted to melt away into the moment. Motark's eyes closed and they stayed that way as she melted him with her kisses and soft strokes to his shoulders. He wrapped an arm around her back and held her tight, keeping his eyes closed so he could let the world melt away until all he knew was the woman in his arms and the water they sat in.
"Just like that, Fiala..." he breathed, and his desperation matched hers as he moved his hips in time with hers. Every time she came down water splashed about at the point of connection. Her warmth and tightness was beyond compare and Motark could feel his peak coming.
"I'm close," he said into her mouth, and then punctuated it with a particularly deep kiss.
"Take my seed, Fiala. Please..."
Fiala groaned into his kiss and surged forward against him, pressing every inch of her body from her chest to her hips against his for one long, blissful moment.
"Yes, Brave One," she whispered, kissing him again and again as she began to move just a little faster, a tinge of desperation to her passion, hips grinding and rocking against him. Her hand slid down to press flat against the nape of his neck, the other clutching at his shoulder as she drew him in for another long, heated kiss and whimpered against his mouth.
Her own peak came in a gentle wave that washed through her body in an ebbing pulse of warm, glowing gold. She gave a soft cry that was muffled as she turned her face into the dip of his throat, kissing and nipping gently as she slumped and shivered against him.
Again, despite their radically different shapes and sizes, she fit perfectly against him when she pressed into him like that and he held her by the head and hips.
She came, and Motark remained on the edge just like last time, except this time once her climax had almost passed he used his strength to move her just a few more times and then pressed her down, getting himself into her all the way to the root as he spilled his love inside of her, holding her flush to him as he just filled and filled. When it was over he went semi-soft but his cock still pulsed inside her, and he was already starting to stiffen again.
"It's not enough, I want more, one more time," Motark said, tilting his head back as she worked his neck with her teeth and lips so sweetly. Her love was incredible and now that the gentle moment had passed...
"Until you're full," he said, not quite sure where that came from but... Shok above, he wanted to fuck her silly!
"Oh stars..." She gasped against his skin as he pressed her hips down against him and clutched tighter at his upper arms, shivering with another, slightly dimmer pulse of gold as the aftershocks of her climax joined beautifully with his own release.
"You--you're not done," she noted quietly, more to herself than to him, and shifted her hips as she felt his arousal growing hard again inside her.
She chuckled breathlessly when he almost immediately echoed her whisper. Another tingle of heat raced down her spine, and despite the fact that she was still breathing a little heavily, still not able to fully wind down from her own peak, she gave a quick, frantic nod and rocked against him, rising up to seal her lips to his heatedly.
"You aren't worried we might be late?" she whispered when they broke apart for a moment, but she was smiling, and did not seem at all concerned that they might be late to the dances for the sake of another round in the bath.
"We have time, if we're quick," came his immediate reply, eyes wandering her as she leaned back after their lips parted. He had a greenish magical glint to his eyes for a brief moment as he took her in with his gaze.
He rose and turned their positioning around, placing her belly-up on the raised floor that surrounded the wooden basin. He nearly left her but managed to avoid it, thrusting back in to to the base as he loomed over her.
"You... are magical," he said, and he knew she couldn't deny that compliment, but the tone in his voice held so much more than mere plain observation.
He drew back and thrusted again, this time with a bit more power and he leaned down over her to kiss her fiercely.
"Tell me how badly you want it."
Fiala's eyes widened and she grabbed for the edge of the basin as he turned them over. She was honestly a little astounded that he somehow managed the maneuver without leaving her--more than that, it took him less than a second to plunge back in fully.
Magical. Well, he wasn't wrong...but something in his eyes made her stomach tighten and her heart skip up into her throat for a moment. She slid her hand down to lace her fingers with his, squeezing tightly.
Then he was diving into her again. "Oh!" Her spine bowed and she kissed him back fiercely, hooking one leg up over his hip as he thrust against her. "I want it," she gasped in response. "I want you, I want you so badly it aches, Motark..."
Covering her with his body like that, there wasn't much he could do to get closer. But when her leg came over his hip and pulled him in he found himself chest-to-chest with Fiala again. Pressed close like that he could only move his hips and drive downwards into her again and again. He went so far as to grab her other unoccupied leg and hold it up high, even placing it onto his shoulder if she was flexible enough.
One hand planted by her head, the other brushed up her chest before he slotted her throat between his thumb and index and held her there, looking down at her with lustful intent.
"You gave me what I wanted, now I'm going to reward you..."
He leaned down to capture her lips fiercely for a few moments before straightening back out, resuming the punishing pace. It normally shouldn't be possible but their previous lovemaking made it deliciously slick and he couldn't get enough of how he could drive into her so passionately and she could just take all of it.
"...I'm going to fuck your brains out."
She gasped as he drew her leg up, muscles burning with the strain--she was unused to it, but it wasn't necessarily painful, just different.
When his hand closed on her throat she tensed slightly, her eyes flashing gold, animalistic and wary. She didn't comment on it, but she did raise her hand to twine her fingers through his and silently pull his hand down to clasp against her chest.
Then he was driving into her again and again and she moaned, her eyes fluttering shut as she just basked in the sensation. "Oh yes, please." She licked her lips, panting in earnest now as she did her best to writhe her hips up against him with her limited range of movement. "I--I feel like I'm burning up, Motark, I need you!"
Motark winced internally, but he didn't make any comments either about how she'd silently rejected that touch, just made a mental note that she wasn't a fan of that. He didn't resist her moving his hand and as if to make it up to her he leaned down and kissed her neck before he straightened up fully.
He didn't quite know where that dominant impulse came from, he got heavy at times yes but... it sent a shiver down his spine just thinking about it.
"Burn for me," he panted, letting her writhe and move to her heart's desire as he pulled back almost too far and came crashing into her, again and again. His hand on her chest slid further down and he swore he could feel himself moving under her skin, each thrust heralded by wet noises but no fleshy slapping, as her fur absorbed that noise.
And what she wanted is what she got. He fucked away with a lust and abandon he didn't quite think he had, and it was all just for her, just to see her eyes roll back and to watch her surrender to the pleasure.
Because for the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt true passion here, a real desire to watch her come undone.
Fiala arched her back and squirmed again as he kissed her neck, mewling quietly, delightedly. She gave his hand a quick, firm squeeze before he pulled it back, wanting to convey how much she loved in that moment that he could take her silent cue and adjust to it, that he was both willing and eager to listen to her even in the midst of passion.
She didn't have the words, or really the focus. He came crashing into her again and she cried out, spine bowed as she arched up under him into a sharp angle and both legs fell to wrap around his waist as best she could, gripping tightly enough to hold him close but still allowing him to move as fiercely as he did.
Lips parted as she drew in harsh, ragged breaths, she managed to gasp out, "I do, I do, oh stars you feel so good..."
Another rock forward and she practically wailed as her pleasure threatened to reach its crest but didn't quite tip her over the edge, leaving her writhing and moaning beneath him as a soft string of "So close, oh please, please, please," came spilling from her lips.
She started begging and he couldn't find it in himself to deny her. So rather than pace himself, Motark took her by the hips and brought her against him once, twice, and then he started to pound her, drawing back and crashing into her like a drum.
"It's coming," he said, and he stole down to catch her lips briefly before he straightened back up and thrust into her a few more time until his peak finally came. His back bent and he drive himself into her until he could go no further and started spilling his vigor into her, and by now she had to have been completely full.
Good.
He didn't move, though, instead lowering once again and propping himself up on his forearms so he could kiss her gently, and he couldn't hide the genuine smile on his face.
"I'm glad you came," he said, comfortable enough with her to share his vulnerabilities.
All it took was his moving her against him like that and Fiala went crashing over the edge with a sharp, high cry.
But it didn’t stop, he didn’t stop, and then he was bending over her for a kiss before straightening up again and the relentless pace combined with the fact that her own peak had not had a chance to ebb brought another wave of fierce, hot pleasure rushing through her body, leaving her gasping and trembling beneath him.
He kissed her again and she returned the gesture as best she could, though she was near panting by now. One arm wrapped lazily around his shoulder, hand resting against the back of his neck, and she found herself almost giggling as she looked up into his face.
“Twice,” she teased with a quirked eyebrow, eyes glinting with laughter. But then her expression softened, sobered slightly, and she lifted her other hand to stroke his cheek gently. “I...am glad too. I am glad we met in the forest that day.”
This time, he'd spent himself utterly. Sweat beaded his green skin and for a short moment the only sound in the washing hut was their mutual panting. All Motark could do was stay like that over her, cock going soft inside her.
He smiled a little warmer when she affirmed him, and after a moment he drew his hips back to slide out of her, slowly. His skin darkened when he looked down and saw just how well he'd filled her and he couldn't help but smile. Passing a hand down her front and stomach, he leaned in to give her a slow smooch before picking her up like she was made of glass and lowering back down into the bath with her.
He sat down and deposited her on his lap, and then looped an arm around her back to bring her close so he could just enjoy the simple sweetness of holding someone.
"We have a little time. Stay with me, like this... just for a bit longer?"
Fiala's breath caught on a soft sort of exhale as he pulled back from her, and she squirmed her hips a bit once they were no longer connected, readjusting to the feeling.
Then he'd scooped her up and settled them back into the water. She curled herself easily against his chest, by now rather adept at figuring out how to rest her head against his shoulder without jabbing him with her antlers.
"Of course, Brave One," she murmured in response, tipping her head back just a bit to smile at him gently. One hand came to rest against his chest, just over his heart, and her smile widened a fraction as the faintest remnant of that golden glow traced the outline of her hand print, then faded away.
With a soft sigh she let her head turn into the curve of his neck and shoulder, drawing her legs up even tighter to her body so she was nestled entirely withing his lap, in the circle of his arms.
He let out a comforted noise when she curled up against him like that and he just held her and basked in the aftershocks, and with that came tricklings of things he'd only ever felt briefly before...
...it sent a combination of warmth and conflict through him but he banished it by stroking at her hair and smiling quietly to himself.
"We can stay a few minutes. They never start early anyways," he murmured.
She chuckled quietly and nuzzled a little closer with a contented hum. The warmth of his body and the water around them was beginning to lull her toward a kind of sleepiness she'd never actually experienced before--which she abruptly realized was physical. She slept of course, she needed rest, but she'd never actually been physically tired before.
Interesting.
"As long as your village won't call me an ill omen for keeping you distracted from the dances," Fiala murmured after a moment, shifting a bit so she could press a soft kiss to the curve of his shoulder.
"We won't be late," he murmured, and he let himself rest back a bit more. He brought her a bit closer and let his head tip back against the edge. He knew if he closed his eyes, he was liable to actually fall asleep, so instead he just rested. He looked down at this beautiful creature in his arms, mysterious and alien and despite all that, she felt more familiar than a lot of things in his life.
He stroked down her back and pet the back of her head, holding her gently.
The first time was purely by curiosity, borne from a desire to know one another. While their time here in this bath had a similar motivation he couldn't help but feel the afterglow of real passion. It felt like making love...
"When the dances are over, you can spend your night in my bed. If you want," he whispered.
Fiala, who had begun swirling absent loops and whorls over the skin of his shoulder with a fingertip, paused at that. She lifted her head to look at him, eyes bright but inscrutable.
While their time in the grove had been driven more by a combination of instinct and curiosity more than anything else, that had been something she understood—it was new and intriguing, of course, and the bond between them was still a mystery, but the act itself at least she understood.
This, laying against him in the bath, feeing the soft rumble of his voice through his chest when he spoke, and moreover feeling the strange warmth in the pit of her stomach that ignited at his words...that was a little more confusing.
"Truly?" She tilted her head at him, as though considering. Her expression wasn't quite as bland or calculating as it might once have been though; either she'd forgotten to mask the spark of vulnerability-laced happiness in her eyes, or she simply hadn't bothered. "Then...yes. That sounds...rather nice. I believe I will."
"Yes, really," he answered, smiling warmly at her even as he noted her expressions with a certain curiosity. It was odd, he suddenly realized, that her eyes were conducting emotion all of a sudden. She had this mysterious ability to obfuscate her emotions, to make herself difficult to read.
As he met her eyes, though, he could read everything all of a sudden. Seeing those sprinkles of joy was contagious and he smiled and stroked her cheek.
"We should go get ready for the dances, there's a couple things I need from my home," he said, even as the hand on her cheek drifted down to her shoulder and eventually her side. Even like this, when passionate thoughts were farther from his mind, the sight of his large hand against her sent a fresh jolt of something through him.
"There are blessed paints we need to apply, among other things."
Fiala's own smiled widened a bit in response to his and she tilted her head into his touch, sort of nuzzling her cheek into his hand and twisting her head to press a light kiss to his palm before he allowed his hand to drift lower to her shoulder, then her side.
Her brow crinkled up after a moment though and she cocked her head at him curiously even as she settled herself more comfortably against her side. "Blessed...paints?"
She didn't wait for his answer before sighing quietly and starting to get to her feet so she could climb from the bath, though the questioning look she cast him made it clear that even if she was willing to participate, she didn't entirely understand what he was talking about.
"It's like..."
Motark trailed off as he tried to describe paint. He stood up and quickly gave himself a few more token washes to make sure he was clean (The point, after all, was to take a quick bath!) and then he rose out of the water after submersing himself one final time. There were coarse sheets of cloth meant to absorb extra moisture, not quite a towel but a serviceable alternative.
"A paste you can make from plants and oils and you can use it to put color onto things. You'll see," he said.
"We must have the paints so that Shok can see us and smile on us with his blessing."
He started to wrap his loincloth around himself so they could go out.
"Come, then. I'll apply them to you."
Fiala blinked, then chuckled as she realized the misunderstanding. "I know what paint is," she assured Motark with a small smile as she stood from the path and picked her way delicately out of the water. For a moment she closed her eyes, and the shimmering golden glow of her magic surrounded her in a faint halo as she inhaled deeply. When she exhaled, any water clinging to her skin, hair, or fur evaporated, and she bent to tie her simple covering back in place.
The magic, when it faded, seemed to hold a hint of green, just for a moment. Sunlight seen through a leafy canopy.
"I was unsure how one could bless such a thing," she elaborated as she stepped up beside her companion. Another smile. "But you have elaborated, so thank you."
He watched as she bathed herself with light to dry herself and he couldn't help but marvel at her. He stood patiently for her to get ready, and once she was decent he ushered her out with a hand on her back. Stepping out into the cool dusk air, he stretched his arms upwards, sighing as he joined his hands behind his head and just gazed up at the stars.
Gods, he hadn't felt this good in ages. He looked back to Fiala and motioned for her to follow him. The moon was not yet high but they were still on borrowed time. They passed through the front entrance of Motark's tent, revealing that the front half of the large structure was his "throne room" in a sense. There was a large seat wrought from wood, with axes built into its design and skulls adorning the backrest, sides, and stacked aesthetically at the foot. The rest of the room was an assembly chamber of sorts. Motark's throne overlooked a wide room decorated modestly with war trophies and the finest of tribal comforts.
As they walked past the throne and towards the other half of the building, Motark motioned to the skulls.
"My predecessors. They live on in death and watch over my rule," he said. "Each one is an ancestor of mine that has sat that throne. The Bloodspear line has existed for as long as Bloodmorrow has."
Motark's chambers were humble but comfortable. A "bed" made of a cloth mattress stuffed with straw with blankets and pillows made of furs, a few trunks nearby for his things, a corner with his armor and weapons all racked up, and a quiet little cubby with a fire pit and a chair, which had a book perched on the armrest.
"This is my home," he said, motioning around. He looked back at her with a smile.
"What do you think? Not too shabby, right?"
Fiala paused before the throne, her eyes moving over the structure of once-living wood and bone with a strange, almost calculated kind of curiosity. She listened to Motark's words, but didn't respond. Slowly, she took a few steps closer to the throne, her steps once more wary and wild as they had been when she met the orc chieftain out in the forest.
She knelt onto one knee, a hand reaching out toward the skulls arranged at the base of the throne, bleached white with age but still thrumming with power. Magic gathered around her again, pulsing faintly in that same golden halo, catching in her hair and antlers like flecks of gold dust that she shook from her body absently.
She could feel the life of the earth rising up to meet her, stretching toward her fingertips, writhing beneath a throne built on blood and bone--
With a sharp gasp she snapped her hand back and staggered to her feet, turning quickly away. Without so much as a glance to her companion, she hurried into what he'd indicated to be his chambers. It only took a few seconds of steady breaths and looking around for the glow to fade from her body, and her expression melted back into innocent curiosity.
"I'm sure it's quite lovely," she told Motark with a smile, finally looking at him again. With a hint of teasing to her voice and eyes, she added, "Though I will admit I don't have much of a basis for comparison."
He turned about in time to watch her hurry through into his chambers, glowing gently and eyes wide. He watched her collect herself, and then busied himself with gathering the ritual adornments they'd need to attend the Axe Dances. She seemed to have collected herself when he returned and he lowered himself to sit at the edge of his bed, beckoning her towards himself.
"You looked tense earlier, coming from the throne room," he noted, even as he opened a bowl of bright red paint that looked like vibrant, freshly spilled blood. "And bright," he added with a smile. He dipped his thumb into the paint.
"Did you... sense something?" He asked on a limb. The throne always had this air about it, even in the days when he was just a three-year old and his grandfather was chief, there seemed to be a quiet menace about it, as if the very thing dripped with soaked-in ferocity from all the skulls that guard it.
"If you did, that is the power of my ancestors. The orcs that built Bloodmorrow," he added, and finally met her eyes.
"Tell me, do you want just your face, or do you want me to do all of you?" Motark asked, a silent desire hidden in his tone of voice and how he subtly glanced her over as he prepared the paint.
Fiala raised her eyebrows a fraction. "I suppose that depends on if you have the time to do all of me," she murmured, mimicking his tone, though with a gentle, teasing glint to her eye.
Sobering a bit, she stepped toward him so she was within arm's reach and glanced back over her shoulder toward the throne. A delicate shiver rippled down her frame. "I sensed...something," she admitted after another moment or two of quiet, and finally brought her gaze back to rest on his.
"It is old. Not even the bones themselves, just..." She couldn't quite put it into words. There was magic in the earth here, but unlike anything she'd ever known. Dark and red and hungry. It was not a kind of magic that mortals could hope to achieve, or even harness, though it was not Fae in nature either.
"The entire lineage of Bloodspear chiefs lend their power to the throne," Motark said, and he started with her face, although he couldn't resist getting his hands on the rest of her. Funnily enough, he already had experience drawing lines on her body, except rather than trails of light there were jagged patterns and bold lines, all in bright red. It didn't take him all that long at all to anoint her from head to stomach, even painting a few red bands on her horns. He wasn't shy about painting her chest or hips, either
"There we go. Now, do me," he said, and he gave her a knowing smirk.
Fiala held admirably still as his hands traced over her body, though she did wrinkle her nose a bit at the odd sensation of the paint against her skin. She giggled slightly when he traced rings over her antlers, quirking an eyebrow at him but saying nothing.
When he offered her the paint however, she paused, frowning slightly. "I... Are you sure?" She looked from him down to her own body and back. "I'm not... I am unfamiliar with the meaning of these designs. I would not wish to cause undue offense with my ignorance."
Still, she dipped two fingers into the red paint and cautiously stepped forward, reaching out to trace a firm, bold line down the center of his throat, one that matched the mark he'd already placed on her. That seemed safe enough, at least.
"One marks themselves for Shok however they wish. I think you'd draw some beautiful lines," he said, and he cleaned his hands before applying a single line of white between her eyes and down to the tip of her nose.
"You have experience," he added, giving her a knowing smile. He let his hands rest on her legs, stroking the fur gently as he let her work.
She gave him a very dry look for that even as she set about tracing firm, geometric lines over his chest and shoulders, lifting his massive hand in hers so she could draw a line around his bicep. "Perhaps, but I rather suspect that particular method of decoration may not exactly be approved of by a god of war," she noted flippantly.
Still, she swayed a little closer to him as his fingers stroked over her fur, unconsciously gravitating toward the touch. It only took her a few minutes to finish up with the body paint, and she was actually quite pleased with the results. She'd tried to emulate the bold, firm lines that now decorated her own body, and thought she'd done a fairly decent job of it.
"Shok is a god of many things," Motark started, watching with keen interest as she decorated him. It was a classic Bloodmorrow pattern but there was something about the way she did it that just felt... right. Usually, he wasn't a big fan of the body paint, but he couldn't help but smile as he looked down at himself. Strangely enough, it looked just like how he thought it would. He let go of her legs and rose back to his full height.
"He is the fire in a warrior's heart, yes, but he is also the fire that burns life away, leaving the grounds fertile for a stronger regrowth, or the fire between a pair of lovers..." he said, meeting her eyes on that last one.
There was only one last detail to attend to. He clipped his large war-axe to his belt, and then paused for a moment, and then went looking through his trunks and containers until he found one of his old throwing axes, and a leather loop with a ring to accommodate it.
Smaller and lighter than the average ones, it made a dinky weapon for Motark, but for someone pf slighter frame and build...
He knelt down by her again, friendly but with a serious look about him. He unbuckled the loop and put it around Fiala's waist, buckling it and tightening it so it fit on her, and then he got onto his knees proper and ducked his head to look down at the ground by her hooves. with two hands, he presented the axe to her.
"For you to wear with honor."
Fiala chuckled slightly and returned his meaningful look with a playful grin, eyes glinting. Allowing her voice to lilt casually, reminiscent of the tone she'd used more often when they first met, she mused, "If that is so, it seems most of the orcish people would frequently participate in a sort of divine threesome, does it not?"
The teasing left her as he suddenly looped the leather around her waist. Then he knelt in front of her, and she simply stared.
Her eyes fixed on the offered ax, wide and...unsure. Not so much of the weapon itself, but rather of the sudden servility of the gesture. She felt like there was...something. Some sort of context she was missing.
After several long moments, she drew in a slightly quivering breath and reached out to grasp the handle of the ax and slowly, carefully, accepted it from his hands.
"...Thank you."
Indeed, the passing of an axe was an important gesture in Bloodmorrow. They were the holy weapons of Shok himself, used to channel one's inner strength and skill. Nobody in Bloodmorrow went without one.
To pass one along was almost like giving up a part of yourself. And while Motark wasn't as zealous about the religion as other orcs, he still held a deep respect for the traditions and philosophies. It was what made Bloodmorrow into the place he knew.
He rose to his feet.
"Thank you for accepting it. You don't even have to touch it, but wearing it is important for the ceremony."
Finally, he slipped on a cloak made of long eagle feathers and bear fur that clasped around his collar and went down to his elbows. It also sported a hood, but he kept it down for now. Finally, he was ready.
He offered an arm down to her, clad in the thin, geometric markings she'd drawn and traced all over him. He quite liked how it contrasted with the bold, thick lines he'd given her.
"Shall we, Bright One?"
The ax was...new. An odd weight at her side that she wasn't quite sure how to feel about. She decided to give it more thought later.
The faun smiled slightly and took his offered arm. "I am honored." And though her eyes once more held that bright, teasing glint, she seemed to mean the words sincerely.
She had to stick close to his side to keep her hand settled in the crook of his arm, to account for their difference in size. The proximity didn't bother her unduly, and she allowed herself to once more observe Bloodmorrow curiously as its chieftain escorted her.
The side of Bloodmorrow dedicated to agriculture stood as a stark contrast to the older part of town. All of the industry and anything that went towards the upkeep of the warriors was found here. This part of town also held the butchers and bakers and all the other things crucial to the nascent civilization that Motark was trying to create.
The few orcs around were all filtering towards the training grounds, where the gathering could already be seen growing in the background.
"Looks like they haven't started yet," he commented. He'd been quiet during the walk, taking the moment to appreciate Bloodmorrow when it was quiet, at least for the moment.
"Is there some sort of ceremony?" Fiala asked curiously, tilting her head back to look up into his face. While she was still intrigued by the village around her, she found herself more and more drawn to him, to observe how he reacted to the people and things around him.
"I mean, do you have to be present for the whole thing to begin, formally?"
"Oh yes, all the ceremony is important. But sometimes the people start celebrating before The Dances have even started," he explained. He looked onward, towards the slowly growing sounds of music and revelry.
There was also the curious looks the villagers gave him and Fiala. There wasn't any ill-will towards her, although many had heard that the chief had brought a visitor from the forest. More curious to some, however, was how she held his arm. Or how Motark had a more blissful look than usual on his face...
"Mmm..."
Fiala glanced around, just as curious about the villagers as they were about her, though she managed to hide it behind the face of the blithe, riddling forest guardian. She did smile cautiously at a few of the children, an expression that morphed into a laugh when they darted away as though she'd cast a spell on them.
The adults eyed her...differently. She eyed them back for a few moments, then cocked her head and said to Motark, not loud, but not exactly trying to be quiet either, "I think your people know you've mated me. Or at least suspect."
It was a casual enough observation, but there was an unspoken question in it: how would they react to that, if at all?
It seemed her speaking was mostly lost in the sound of the building crowd around them, which was parting to welcome their chief and guest. He didn't quite respond, not for fear of being overheard, but because he'd only had time to widen his eyes and look down at Fiala before the crowd was truly surging around them and they'd arrived at one the ritual plazas.
An intricate ritual circle of interlocking triangles had been made of red stones and a tall, humanoid idol made of kindling and dry leaves was erected atop a grand bonfire mound in the center. The outer edge of he circle was fringed with axes embedded blade-first into the ground to form a ring of axe-hafts.
While the circle itself was clear, there was already food and strong drinks being served.
"Maybe?" he finally answered.
"We haven't exactly been...quiet," he added, gaining a bit of fluster as he remembered their time together.
The look of surprise and something close to bashfulness was almost gratifying, in a way, and Fiala smiled a bit as he blinked down at her, then spoke a little haltingly.
"No, I suppose we were not," she agreed carelessly. "Are your people, usually? I didn't imagine so, but I don't want to assume."
Though her voice was easy and almost bored, there was a glimmer to her gold eyes that spoke to humor behind the words. She eyed him sidelong even as she followed him into the ritual space, taking in the crowd and the effigy out of the corner of her eye.
"Well, no, not quiet," Motark admitted. He just didn't quite know what the villagers would make of it, hearing that their chief was having loud sex with a visiting nature spirit. He hadn't exactly known anybody here to be prudish, hell, it might even be a positive thing.
But it was the uncertainty that scared him. He was so close to achieving his goals of building an orcish society that could stand on its own without the need for violence.
"So in that sense, you're very much acting like one of us," he teased back.
Fiala glanced up at him with a slightly crooked, clearly delighted smile. She was really starting to enjoy this, the...teasing. The gentle back-and-forth. She'd never really interacted with someone as she did with him--on a number of levels, but she was starting to think that just talking to him was perhaps the most baffling. Fascinating, but baffling.
"Well, I suppose I can be adaptable, when the occasion calls for it," she replied blithely, and skipped ahead a few steps before pausing to turn and look properly around the ceremonial space. She drew a few more curious looks, some of which she returned just as curiously before picking her way easily back to Motark's side and taking his arm again.
"So...how does this begin?"
Motark brightened at the opportunity to share.
"Well, the axe dances tells the sto-"
"The chief is here!" came a cry from one of the revelers, and the crowd turned exultant, and before Motark could speak any more, the crowd was herding the both of them along. Celebrants showered them with feather charms, strings of beads, and handed them frothing cups of sweet-smelling drinks. It all happened in a blur and Motark looked down at Fiala after it had all taken place, curious to see how she'd react to festive orcs.
Drums and primitive horns played a simple, thrumming tune that shook the chest. They were officially in the party now.
"Looks like the ritual's going to start soon. But not yet," Motark said, and he dipped a hand in to tap his wooden mug against hers. He took a swig of his drink, which elicited some cheers and matching swigs from some orcs around them.
The faun almost tried to skitter back, but she fetched up against Motark's side as his people swarmed them. She suffered through the touching and the fussing with a slightly gritted smile, though when someone tried to trace a finger over the marks Motark had painted on her hip she did skip backward, using the larger orc as a semi-shield against the crowd.
She did manage to smile and tap her mug back against Motark's and took a small, curious sip. Spirits. That was strong. Why was all of their alcohol so strong?
Well...they were rather large. Hm.
"They all seem...quite excited," she noted dryly, glancing around at the crowd again before back up at him.
"Yes, it's not very often we can just relax and celebrate during peace time," Motark said, unfazed by the curious hands and reverent pats that greeted him as they moved through the crowd. It was hard to keep track of all the orcs greeting or exchanging gestures with him.
His place was near the front, and as the crowd slowly herded him and Fiala on, he instinctively put a hand on Fiala's back, a source of strength to ease and help along.
"It's been a while since the whole tribe has come together to get drunk and rowdy. The harvest season has been busy, even a little dangerous," Motark said, and he took a moment to look out across the crowd, seeing the throngs of joyous celebrants.
When they reached the front, they were greeted by an eager Geshur, who looked much more like a war druid now with his ceremonial wood and chain-mail armor and adorned axe hanging by his belt. His face was brightly colored with full red, yellow, and orange face paint in layered rings. He had two mugs of frothing brew and a puzzled expression on his face.
"Oh, the chief's already got one," he chuckled, and then proceeded to nonchalantly top up Fiala and Motark by splitting the extra drink, solving the problem rather practically.
"How do you mean?" Fiala stepped a little closer to his side when she felt his hand on her back. "Dangerous?" She'd admit her own ignorance of how exactly a harvest season worked, but she thought she understood the basic principle, and she was struggling to understand how it could be dangerous.
She didn't have time to ask anymore clarifying questions before Geshur was before them, and no sooner was he there when he was filling up what little she'd managed to drink from her mug.
Ah. Of course. While the alcohol thus far didn't seem to affect her as much as the honey, she had a feeling that even a creature of the fae would start to feel this.
"Should I still be here?" she murmured to Motark, quiet enough that she hoped only he would hear her. "I mean...so close. Do you not have specific duties in this ceremony?" If she was being honest, she was torn: she didn't want to stray too far from his side as he was a rare bastion of familiarity in this place. But on the other hand, by Motark's side seemed to be a rather...crowded place to be at the moment.
"I do, it's just that everyone's getting a little cheery before the warriors-in-training get here," Motark, and despite the roiling crowd of exuberant Orcs, Motark found focus only for her.
"Besides, this festival belongs mostly to the druids. I'm just here to kick it off when the time comes," Motark said with a wink, and he let his hand drift up to her shoulder. He looked past her, across the ritual circle and towards a procession of lights slowly approaching from the other side of the village.
"They'll be here soon. Come along, we can find a quieter spot and I'll answer your questions."
She glanced at his hand on her shoulder as though she didn't entirely understand what it was for a moment, but seemed to dismiss whatever she was thinking with a quick shake of her head.
"You're sure I will not...upset this balance, here?" she murmured as she pressed a little closer to his side. He seemed comfortable enough catering to her curiosity and comfort, but she didn't want to interfere too much in this ritual. They may not be her gods, but she could understand the importance of a rite.
While the ground was littered with cushions, there was a spot close to the circle's edge that seemed fit for a chief. The others could see their mighty leader seeking his place, and soon enough the crowd had humbled and quieted.
In the distance, the sounds of bells, ringing drums, and hollering voices hushed the crowd further and brought an excited tension in the air.
Motark took a seat on his knees, and turned his head to meet her eyes.
"You are welcome," Motark said, giving her an affirming nod.
With all the wary grace of a doe approaching unknown territory, Fiala picked her way over to Motark's side and slowly lowered herself to sit beside him, legs curled to the side and back straight as she looked around.
She did feel rather small here.
But she could hardly turn back now without drawing attention to herself, which in her current state was the last thing she wanted. So she shifted subtly closer to Motark, hoping the movement didn't read as nervous as it felt, and folded her hands in her lap as she settled in to wait and watch.
The orcs of Bloodmorrow settled, drinks down and eyes patient, as the procession of dancers came forwards. Through all the ritual and lore and symbology of it all, it was ultimately a way for the warriors to cut back and celebrate.
The veteran troops whirled long shafts with axes at both ends, laden with bells and ribbons while the elder instructors danced about nearly naked, skin highlighted with dazzling paints. Finally, the unblooded warriors, each with a pair of axes. Some flipped, others juggled, even more "fought" with their peers with graceful movements. All wore masks, with size indicating veterancy.
Suddenly, the bonfire in the center flared up, and Eukus, dressed in blacks, whites, and blues, appeared on stage with a flash of magical spectacle. He held a ceremonial sword in one hand and a mace in the other. He had a scowling mask and shaggy cowl big enough to conceal most of his body save for his shins and arms.
Everyone gasped, some children squealed. It was Ahwa, Shok's chaotic brother. In a booming voice, he called out, asking if there were any real warriors among his brother's people. The ceremony began and the dancers all tried to banish Ahwa with increasingly elaborate displays of dancing and prowess. The whole thing had a rowdy energy to it, with the crowd calling out and some even standing to dance in the perimeter.
Motark was captivated, but he was right next to her if she wanted to get his attention.
Fiala watched the proceeding ceremonies with rapt attention. They may not be her gods, but most of the Folk were fascinated by stories—in every form. It was the closest any of her people could come to a lie, after all.
She pressed a little closer to Motark's side as the crowd began to grow more animated. She didn't truly fear the orcs, but she was very much aware of how much smaller she was than them, and how their attention might be muddled by the alcohol. It didn't seem out of the realm of possibility that someone might injure her on accident.
A fear that culminated in her climbing fully into Motark's lap when one of their neighbors in the crowd stumbled and nearly stepped on her tail. She tried not to make herself a nuisance, other than flashing her sharp teeth at the distracted orc for a brief moment, and wrapped her arms around Motark's neck firmly as she pressed herself against his chest. She seemed entirely unashamed to use his bulk as a shield from the rest of the crowd.
Sitting where he was, watching the ceremony and his people celebrating around him... it was like looking into a different side of them. It was times like these where he was filled with warmth and a confidence for the future. Barely four winters ago, and they were just like any other tribe. Brutal, practical. Merciless out of necessity.
But now, they had celebrations. They had plenty. They could afford to take their minds off of the constant claw for survival. And so, while everyone was getting smashed and the music really set in, Motark merely sipped lightly on his drink and basked in it all, a glowing smile on his face.
Someone nearly bumped into him, and when he looked he saw a slightly pale-faced orc, a young man, giving Fiala an apologetic dip of his head. The teeth surprised the young orc, that was clear, and it spooked him enough to send him back into the crowd.
Before Motark could get anything in edge-wise, Fiala had turned and fully clambered onto his lap. He could feel the tension in her, and while he couldn't use magic to calm her nerves like she'd done to him in the past, he still did his best to soothe a hand along her back.
The dancers were now engaged in a complex dance that involved passing axes from one individual to another. Some throws sent the ceremonial hatchets arcing over "Ahwa" and he cowered theatrically as the warriors of Bloodmorrow proved their mettle.
She continued to watch the dance and the crowd around them, attention fairly evenly split between the two spectacles; though his light touch against her back did seem to remove some of the tension in her shoulders, she was still clearly wary.
But that didn't mean she wasn't also fascinated. Fiala settled herself a little more comfortably against him and turned slightly for a better view, head tipped just a bit to one side like a curious pup as her eyes darted from orc to orc, a faint furrow between her brows, like she was puzzling through a riddle.
Once Fiala seemed to settle, Motark smiled to himself and turned his head slightly so he could take a sip from his drink. When he glanced back down to her, her puzzled expression piqued his own curiosity. His hand still soothed at her back, now a regular motion.
"What's on your mind?" Motark said, low enough for just her.
And yet, the spectacle continued.
"Awha" cowered down into a tiny ball as the various dancers now made a circle around him. Suddenly, in a flash of blue light, "Awha" stood back up to full height and the dancers all jumped back with exaggerated motions, some even taking controlled dives.
The music slowed down and everyone's dancing changed pace. Everybody was getting drunk and dancing their tails off, so nobody was paying attention to the chief, who was swaying his head and shoulders to the slower beat. His free hand came to rest on the small of Fiala's back, and he let his eyes close.
There was one more final challenge. Awha could only be repelled by the blessing of Shok, and so far, he was convinced that many of the dancers were worthy, but none for sure. With the confidence of a snake, Awha posed a challenge.
Shok blesses his favored with a quick mind and a strong arm. What better way to prove it than by hitting a distant target? All of the dancers, save for the Chosen One, descended from the stage to part the festive crowd and make a lane of sorts. Another member of the performance sashayed their way over to the edge of the dancing grounds and threw the cloth off of something that had always been there; a long pole with a shield bolted to the very end.
Quickly, they erected the target and held it up.
Cruelly, Awha added one more stipulation. The target... would be moving! The target started to sway back and forth to the tune of the music, and everyone waited at the edges of their metaphorical seats as the chosen dancer tested the weight of the axe in their hand, and eyeballed the shot...
Fila started slightly, as though Motark's voice had startled her--which was perhaps a little odd, considering she was sitting on his lap. Still, she leaned into the touch of his hand against her back and tipped her head so it was resting lightly on his shoulder. Careful of the antlers, as always.
"There is magic in this," she murmured in answer to his question, eyes flickering back and forth over the dancers as the ceremony moved forward. "Can you see it?"
Unthinking, she allowed the connection between them to widen, deepen slightly--not quite the way she had in the orchard, more an extension of her awareness of the world being offered to his.
As she watched the dance, her eyes caught on pulsing, almost imperceptible streams of power through the air, following the movements of the dance in dips and whirls, like dozens of tiny rivers of magic. Most were some shade of red, but a few seemed to hold the same emerald and woodsy greens that his own power had been. They flickered oddly at the edge of one's vision, more clearly seen from the corner of the eye than if she tried to look at them directly.
She shook her head slowly, frown deepening in thought. "I didn't expect..."
Well. Perhaps it would be insensitive to say, but though she had a healthy respect for mortal rituals and ceremony, she hadn't expected to see something real. She couldn't tell exactly what the magic was doing, but it was most definitely there.
"Can I see it?" he repeated, his expression containing a newfound awe and disappointment all at the same time. Something wondrous was happening and he couldn't see it?
"I wish I could. I don't exactly have eye's like-" He cut off suddenly when he felt some of her warmth rush into him, the now-familiar tingle in his heart whenever Fiala played with their connection. His eyes widened, and the sights ahead left him speechless.
As the Chosen One gauged the shot and the other dancers continued to whirl around the stage, the energies crept higher and higher, and the streams and whirls became bolder. It floated off of the dancers like steam and drifted up into the sky as flecks alongside the crowd. Every orc present had either a deep red glow in their chests or some rare few, like Motark, had begun to resonate with deep green light. Once the conflux of power reached the top, something started to coalesce.
To everyone else, the bonfire had merely gained its second wind, burning ever brighter as the flames reached their peak.
Motark and Fiala, however, would see the conflux of power at the top flash and snap into shape. The top of the bonfire parted and twisted until it made a vague, humanoid shape. No... it was an orc, judging by the ears and head. The shape grew taller, existing just as much in the flames of the bonfire as the smoke above it and the burning timbers beneath.
Completely unseen by the crowd, this nebulous giant of smoke and fire cast its blood-red gaze upon all the celebrants. It scanned every passionate face, every moving body and filled mug of brew, and delivered its boon upon them. Under its eyes, the body paint of the revelers glowed boldly, and they became rowdier, drunker, and happier. As it gazed upon the crowd, it's vision actually paused on Motark and Fiala, still on his lap. Instantly, his heart accelerated and spirits lifted. Fiala, connected as she was to Motark, would be just as helpless as he was against the rousing gaze of this entity. The paint on their bodies burned and even shifted in places, patterns on Motark's body re-arranging to connect to where the lines on Fiala ended, and vice versa.
The crowd slowly returned to raucousness. They crowd started to chant for the Chosen One, and the instruments resumed to add to the tension, the great spirit finally seemed to take notice. Slowly, it turned its gaze downward to its Chosen One. Shok had been pleased so far, but would he grant his Chosen One a blessing? After a few seconds, the festival's Chosen One raised his arm, a motion instantly mirrored by the fiery god above him, and threw.
The axe sailed, and hit the target dead center.
The crowd went wild, and magic seemed to start spilling everywhere, becoming a carnival of colors and emotions. The music was back in full swing. Shok had receded into a lingering presence at the festival. Occasionally, a waft of smoke from the bonfire would blow into some of the celebrants and they became even more exultant.
Motark looked back down at Fiala, awe, affection, and restless energy fighting for dominance in his heart. His hands drifted down Fiala's back and searched for her own. Once he found them, he brought them securely onto his own sides, wanting to expand the contact between them. He gave his shoulders a few sways, slowly left-to-right, and let his head dip down to rest on Fiala's. Nothing but an inch or two of air separated their lips.
"I definitely saw that..." he breathed, heart hammering in his chest for what seemed all the right reasons. He'd been keeping pace with Fiala, who drank like a bird, but even he had a flush of color to his cheeks.
She could feel it when their vision overlapped, allowing him to see the magic as she did. A smile spread across her face and she settled more comfortably against him as she allowed her head to tip back slightly so she could watch his face as the gravity of what he was seeing struck him.
"I didn't expect something real," she murmured, unthinking, her eyes never leaving his face.
Then the power surged, morphed and molded, and she drew in a sharp breath as she felt Motark reacting to it. The shape above the fire was...not what she had been expecting. She'd never seen magic like this--it wasn't fae in nature, but it certainly wasn't something mortal either. Or at least not entirely.
The Folk didn't necessarily believe in divinity. But it was difficult for her to reconcile what she was seeing--what was seeing her--with her understanding of the magicks of the world. Instinctively, she shrank back against Motark a little further, a kind of hunted-prey instinct as that red gaze settled on them for a moment. Her heartbeat quickened--not for the same reasons his did, but it wasn't entirely a fear response either. She didn't really know what it was.
Whatever the phenomenon was, it passed relatively quickly and she sank back against him, only realizing as she did that she had been holding her breath. A shaky laugh caught in her throat and she turned her face into the curve of his shoulder as the ceremony moved on, the crowd chanting and the music swelling around them.
Motark's hands sliding down her back raised a shiver to her skin that was completely at odds with the heat of the bonfire, and she twisted slightly to better face him as his head came to rest against hers. Her hands draped cautiously around his neck and she tipped her head back until there was less than a whisper of space between them.
"I've never..." She swallowed convulsively, then gave a helpless little laugh and shook her head, her nose brushing against his. "I've never seen magic like that. It...that..."
For perhaps only the second time in her life, she found herself speechless. Rather than searching futilely for words she knew wouldn't come, she just shook her head again, smiling, and closed the fraction of space between them with a kiss, one arm wrapped lazily around his neck while her other hand swept up to cup his jaw carefully, delicately. If they were drawing any attention, she certainly wasn't in any state to notice.
For once, Motark saw nobody else but the person in front of him. They could have been alone for all intents and purposes, because between everyone's jubilation, the frenzy of the music and the haze of celebratory brew, there was hardly anyone left to notice. Motark made a surprised sound when her lips touched his, and the tension bled away from him as he felt her arm around the back of his neck.
With his thumbs, he traced the lines of body paint along her sides, heart hammering in his chest like a drum as he naturally sought to deepen their kiss.
"Do you dance?" came Motark's desperate question, delivered in between breaths when their lips were parted.
Fiala shifted against him when she felt his touch brushing along the swirls of paint over her sides. She tilted her head when he deepened the kiss, wrapping her hands around the back of his neck and pressing in close until she could feel his heartbeat pounding against hers.
At his question, she smiled breathlessly and pressed another kiss to the bridge of his nose, then his cheek, then his lips again.
"Most stories of my kind would warn you not to dance with one of the fae," she murmured, eyes shimmering playfully. "If you're not careful, I could spirit you away to dance forever." She kissed him again quickly, then stood from his lap, reaching down to take his hands in hers. "Would you take the risk?"
Funnily enough, Motark had heard of that tale. Fiala, of course, spoke as one of the very Fae mentioned, but Orcish tales often told of creatures that dwelled within the forests. They would offer drink, rowdiness, and even sexual temptation to all manner of villagers that came by, seeking to capture baubles they could keep in their glades forever. It is said that an Orc should never enter the woods alone without something to make them unattractive, like wearing the pelts of lower beasts or stuffing their clothes with strong-smelling herbs.
"It seems you've caught me without my stinkflower blooms," Motark started, eyes following every movement of her body as she stood up from him. Her hands slid into his and he rose to his feet after her, taking a wider stance as he started to move his shoulders, tugging her a little closer. The beats from the drums were fiery, almost visceral to his ears.
"And there's no trees for me to tie myself to," he said with teasing dismay.
"I'm at your mercy."
"Are you now?" Her eyes glittered, reflecting the firelight like an animal's, and though her grin was playful, there was a sharpness to it. She followed his movements as he pulled her closer and began to listen more intently to the drums. She took another step closer, still keeping a fraction of distance between their bodies as she began to mirror him.
"Most would tell you that's a dangerous place to be," she murmured teasingly, looking up at him through her lashes--that wasn't even intentional, really. He was so much taller than her she didn't have much choice if she didn't want to crane her neck back every time she met his eyes. "You should mind your step."
At her dry reminder to watch his footing, Motark only dipped his eyes down with a smile and started to move his feet. Quick, rhythmic stomps to the ground that matched the rhythm of the crowd around them. Orcish dancing could barely be called such, one simply moved with the crowd and the music until nobody could really tell each other apart and there were no chiefs or woodcutters, just bodies. And with the fervent blessings of their passionate God-Spirit, all manner of wildness and raunchiness was in full kaleidoscopic display around them.
And fitting, too. A party like this only came once in a generation.
While Fiala had teased him with mortal tales of wildwood dancing, she may have been hard pressed to admit that she had never actually been to such an event. As Motark pulled her through the jumping, writhing crowd, she couldn't help thinking that orcish dances may even come close to the chaos of the fae ones, no magic required.
She was so much smaller than everyone else around her, the only sense of security she could find was keeping herself as close to Motark as she could feasibly manage. She balanced delicately as she skipped from hoof to hoof, twirling herself around the chief's body once or twice, but always returning to press close into his chest.
The faintly pulsing streams of magic still spiraled through the air around them, and she gave Motark a breathless smile as she moved in close and nuzzled briefly against his shoulder. "Do you still find yourself at my mercy, brave one?" she murmured, and somehow despite the noise around them and the softness of her own voice, she was sure he'd be able to hear her.
It felt good to move, to disperse some of the restless energy he'd gained from Shok's gaze while also building an altogether different warmth as he danced close to his fae companion. Those moments where she was pressed close to him, his arm around her waist as the drums pounded away at his heart...
...Or maybe it was his heart pounding away for Fiala. He didn't know anymore.
She came in to nuzzle his shoulder and he took the opportunity to embrace her, slowing down his movements to savor the closeness.
"Lead me away, and I wouldn't be able to resist," Motark said, cheeks coloring further as his hands slid to her hips.
"Oh?" Her eyes flashed in the firelight, animalistic, and she stepped back just a little, dropping her hands to take his as she did. "That is hardly the wisest thing to admit." She took another step back, away from the circle of firelight. "After all, if I lead you away, I may never bring you back."
Her tone was teasing, but there was just the barest hint of something other behind the light in her eyes.
She must have weighed as much as one of Motark's arms by themselves, but he could not resist her. She stepped away from the firelight, from the distracted crowd and thrumming music. With his hands in hers, he moved like she had the strength of a thousand orcs and himself, a feather.
Was this what bewitchment felt like?
She certainly had him bewitched then, with that distinct something simmering in her eyes and the firelight glimmering off of the swirls of paint on her body.
"Take me with you," came his final admission as she led him away from the light.
They were not the only couple to have had the idea of sneaking off. In the dimness that made the fire-ground's perimeter, a few others could be seen embracing or otherwise enjoying each-other's company.
Fiala laughed quietly, the sound chiming in a way that somehow both contrasted and harmonized with the pulsing rhythm of the dance she pulled him away from step by step. With the fire to his back, his whole form was cast in a distinct clash of light and shadow, emphasizing the sharp lines and planes of his body, the occasional leap of flame highlighting the curls and swoops of paint she'd traced over him.
She smiled at him, flashing sharp canines, but that faint, fae light in her eyes had softened from something teasing and maybe a little wicked to something warmer: the reflection of a bonfire in the hearth. There was still that almost primal edge to it, but her body seemed to soften with each step they took into the shadows.
"What would you have of me?" she murmured as she pulled him fully out of the firelight. Faeries were twilit creatures at heart, and something about her just came alive under the starlight--she was perhaps a little wilder, a little closer to the wary, riddling creature he had first met in dark woods. Wild, but still soft. A study in contradiction.
A little like the two of them, she supposed.
Her eyes held his and she asked even more quietly, "Where would you have me?" The soft--well, mostly soft--sounds of other couples who had snuck away into the shadows were easy to pick up with her sensitive ears still this close to the edges of the festivities. It seemed Motark had not been exaggerating when he'd said his people were not particularly concerned with modesty. Fiala tipped her head at him, going still under the shifting shadows. "Where would you have me?" she repeated, pulling lightly at his hands to draw him closer. "Under stars and open air? By firelight, safe and hidden away in your tent?"
She took a step into him, magic buzzing under her skin, following the lines of paint like they were veins and her magic blood. "Tell me, and I will take you there," she murmured, inhuman eyes searching his.
Once he was clear of the crowd of revelers, Motark could feel the cool breeze tickling at his skin once again, clashing with the heat he still felt at his back and coursing through his heart. In that moment every sense of his felt more alive than it had ever been. Somehow, he heard both the slamming drums and Fiala's softly spoken words. He saw the details of every blade of grass around them, yet Fiala's bright, alien eyes were the only things he could truly see, shining up at him like the eyes of a predator.
A predator that had wrapped her magic all around him, enticing him further into the dark with gentle pulls and flashes of her sharp teeth. When he finally came to a stop, he was close enough that he could feel the energy radiating from her.
Sharp and warm, bleeding in through the paint, through his skin. She pulled him even closer, stepped into him and then his arms were around her. His heart was a drum of its own kind, thundering against hers.
A hand on her side kept her in place while the other wandered momentarily along her furry hip and leg, before settling low on her back, over where much of her paint lines met.
"Take me just a little further, to a nice dark spot under the stars," he finally said.
"Just us," he continued, easily meeting her eyes when she came searching for them. They took his breath away, and after an infinite moment he leaned in to speak into her ear.
"And then I'll take you to my fire. And then my bed," he offered with a discreet smile.
Fiala leaned into him as his hands traveled down her sides and along her back, reveling quietly in the solidity he offered, grounding her. She nodded slowly, still holding his eyes, and took a few steps back deeper into the shadows. She moved to take his hands in hers again as her hooves traced backward over the earth until they were sequestered entirely from the firelight.
She smiled at him, a flash of silver in the darkness to match the flaring gold of her eyes, then she reached up to cup one hand around the back of his neck and draw him down into a slow, soft kiss.
Wordlessly, she let her hands trace delicately over the patterns of paint that marked his upper body as she placed another kiss at on the corner of his mouth, then another at the edge of his jaw, the line of his throat, slowly working her way down to his collar and then--even more slowly--lower.
As she reached his chest she hesitated, looking up at him again, before placing an almost cautious kiss just over his heartbeat, letting the touch linger while she leaned into him once more. She let one hand slide down to rest on his hip, but went no further, waiting for his direction.
It was after they'd fully hidden from the firelight that Motark seemed to come alive. Lit by just the moon and stars above, the part of Fiala settled deep in his chest thrummed to life. In the darkness with her, his outline lost some of its definition, as if distorted by fur her did not possess and stag-like features that only existed in his shadow. His own eyes flashed a dim green in response to her own, a flash that stuck around once she'd finally kissed him.
Heat and magic skittered through him, down his body along the lines of paint. As Fiala stroked the patterns, they seemed to come alive with a light of their own. At first, it came in erratic sparks and flashes. Once Fiala kissed him over the heart, that seemed to complete the circuit.
He gasped, both at that and at the hand on his hip, burning so hot it could almost hurt.
Without saying much else, he let Fiala exact her desires on him for a little longer before parting away just enough to set himself down on the soft grass, propped up on his hands. He looked up at Fiala and the invitation was clear in his glowing eyes and glinting fangs. His broad chest, dancing with lights from his magically charged paint.
"Take me..." he murmured, gazing up at Fiala as he reached up to stroke a hand along her stomach and up her side. Sitting up, he kissed her navel, and looked up to meet her eyes.
"...Wherever and however you want."
Her hands came to settle lightly on his shoulders when he kissed her lower belly, and her eyes fluttered shut with a brief, soft sigh of utter contentment. His words sent a ripple through her magic that translated to a tiny shudder starting at the top of her head and trickling down her spine.
She opened her eyes and smiled at him again, basking in the starlight and the connection between them. "As you wish."
Without another word, she lowered herself gracefully to kneel before him, kissing him soundly on the mouth, once, before she began trailing her lips down along the line of his throat again. Once more, she traced the curves and dips of paint over his body, though this time with lips and tongue rather than her hands, which had drifted down to brace gently against his hips as she worked her way down his body. When she reached the fork of his legs she paused just long enough to shift his clothing aside, then bent to take him into her mouth. She was still gentle, but there was a new energy to her now, an eagerness as the connection between them seemed to only be reinforced with every touch.
She pulled back just enough to look at him, parting with a quick, playful lick. "Tell me how you feel?" she murmured, her voice little more than wind through leaves. One hand stroked lightly over his hip, her thumb following the edge of a whorl of paint. "Tell me what you want?"
She lowered her mouth to him again, though eyes remained on his face, flashes of amber gold through the shadows around them as she watched him intently.
Every visitation of her lips upon his skin drew air from his lungs. More and more, the paint on his skin felt like a physical covering, wrapping him tighter and tighter with each kiss she left along the way. Once Fiala's hands came to rest on Motark's hips, he smoothed his own down her forearms and covered them.
"I feel--ah!"
He'd barely been exposed to the air for more than a moment before her head bobbed down and sheathed him in rapturous warmth. He'd lost his composure just then, and his paint flickered with a red hot glow for just a moment.
"I feel alive," He managed, still covering the hand that wasn't exploring his hip. He cast his gaze down his own body and regarded her with wonder and delight in his eyes.
"When we join like this... it's like my life until then was just a dream."
She went down once again and he had to lay his head back as his hips gave small movements into the laving of her tongue and bobbing of her head.
"I want all of you," he finally said between his breaths.
"To hold, and taste..."
Her lashes fluttered briefly as she glanced up at him for the gentle movement of his hips and the way his hand covered hers. She gave him another lick, then leaned back to smile at him, head cocked slightly to one side.
"As you wish, brave one," she murmured, rolling onto her side next to him, then allowing herself to sprawl out fully on her back over the grass. Leaves shivered in a nonexistent wind as she stretched her arms up over her head and arched her back slightly, highlighting every curve of her body in the starlight as her smile turned wicked.
"Here I am," she coaxed quietly, reaching one hand up to him. "Here for you to hold and taste as you like..."
When she joined him on her side in the grass, Motark couldn't help but face her with a smile, trailing a hand down Fiala's side. When she sprawled out onto her back, he planted his hand in the grass by her hip and swung up over her. She reached up for him and he guided it around his shoulders. He paused for a moment to kiss her deeply, looping his other hand beneath her to arc her back just that bit higher and bring her closer.
When they parted, he was nearly panting.
"You wear the stars like no other," he said, kissing over her heart, then her breast, and then letting her feel his tusks against her belly as he lavished her with affection ever lower.
"Mmm..." Fiala arched up slightly under his touch, lips parted on a heavy breath as his attention moved down from her chest to her belly, and lower. "I—oh, there, please, that..." Her voice trailed off in another small, purring sort of moan and she squirmed under him, trying to get his mouth where she wanted it.
She slid her hand up to cup the back of his neck, nails catching lightly at his skin as her fingers clenched at the feel of his tusks scraping low along her body. "Please, Brave One, please..."