Sonne dragged Al, her muscles bulging as her tree like arm latched on and pulled him through the underbrush, past tree after tree. Al had since resigned himself to his fate, crossing arms over the top of his stomach as he was pulled along like some sort of toy. Illuminated by deepened greens and shallow blues, held in by the encroaching afternoon light, Al was thrown out into a soft ruff surface, scrambling in the gravel and sand, righting himself on hands feet and bottom as he looked up at the woman, and then to their location. Turning to the right, Al caught the large fat snaking body of a river, deep at the center, it shimmered like fire in the sun, rushing past rocks and roots, pushing flimsy reeds, as moss skippers and land-flys drank deep.
“Alright boy get moving” Sonne’s stern but singing voice came, as he turned back to the woman who had dropped her cuirass during his marveling, she looked up at the sky, exposing her large muscular chest with its soft weight, Al swiftly turned his head away a subtle heat rising into his throat.
“We ain’t got all day, get moving lad, or I’ll have to undress ye myself” she said, as ripples shuddered the water, the sounds of her slipping in, coming from behind him.
The warrior boy stood up, unstrapping his heavy metal armor, throwing them near the woman’s before he slothed his mud and sweat greased clothing, piling them on a nice little patch of grass near the bank. His back turned the whole while, he moved slowly cupping and covering his most prized possessions as his bare feet slid through the sharpened rocks, down into the chilled water. He shuddered as the heat of his body equalized with the ice below, pushing forward with a deep chesty breath, he slipped into the clear, causing ripples in his wake. Looking up from his own water pushing waist, his eyes caught Sonne’s back, who’s manuscript of crossing lashing scars, rivaled even his own. He was stunned by the shimmering yellow and deep ruby of her un-tied hair, wavy and unkempt like a lion’s mane, it bristled and glowed trailing all the way down to the small of her back like a waterfall of flame. Her fire caressed some of the muscles, but others rippled more, she gathered her hair, soaking it in the river, exposing the banded tendons that made up her back, which descended into the round of her lower body, just as much muscle as the rest, yet curvier, her waist was higher than Al’s within the water, yet he still felt ashamed. As color touched his cheeks, the boy caught himself approaching before a gruff voice cut through the clear air.
“Come over here boy, I don’t bite, I needa geta good look at those wounds of yours.” She said, cupping water over her hips, as her back stayed to the boy like a wall.
“I said get over here, don’t make me repeat myself” she said as Al shuffled near her, wading, his waist just below, as he kept his eyes to himself, or at least tried too.
Head held down, he only briefly glimpsed her chiseled abdominal muscles before standing with his back to her, stark and possibly indifferent. He winced, a wince of cold and uncomfortable, as Sonne’s large fingers pressed into skin, muscle, and what felt like bone. She pawed over his frame, stretching and pulling at skin and scars. Lightening up around the wounds, a relief to Al who stood as the orc surgically studied his form. A subtle tingling touched his back, he bit his tongue as Sonne scraped out the deepest of his gashes with a washing-fur, the boy grumbled but held firm as the pain washed over in waves.
“Turn” the woman said, and Al stepped, but paused, just as the larger warrior let out a bull like snort, causing him to redouble his efforts. He held his head, hanging it, almost level with her navel, as the woman poured over his chest and slashed shoulders, inspecting for green or signs of deeper infection, again she painfully scrubbed the boy’s gashes. Al had to keep himself from latching onto the woman out of pain alone. Eventually she finished with her assessment and cupped her hands to the side of their waists, cascading a shower over Al’s matted ragged hair. He coughed slightly, sputtering through a curtain of sopping hair, before he broke the subtle sound of water and birds with words.
“I’m not a child, I can do the rest” he said, as Sonne held out her large hand, Al scooping the damp fur from her palm.
They proceeded to wash themselves in silence, the boy barely able to look at her as he focused on letting the water heal wounds and sap fatigue. Sonne had turned, washing the rest of her plumed hair, and Al traced his eyes up her powerful horse like legs, up to her arms, which were busy. Rippling, cable like muscles moved under skin, next to boulder like biceps and deltoids that were five if not ten times the size of his. He walked his eyes back down, to her large hands, strong and thick, then to her wrists and forearms. Peculiarly the most scarred part of her body, so marked they appeared as a different lighter color, a gradient rising to her shoulders. Al surmised, that this might be the reason Sonne wore gauntlets, or gloves even in camp. Just then, something came over the boy, conviction, kinship perhaps. Whatever it was he did not really know, even to this day, but it took hold of the young man’s hand and gently pulled it, placing his fingers delicately along the woman’s arm. Fear drained from Al’s heart, a cold washing from the chest as his hands traced the trenches that cut the woman’s skin, feeling their depth, new over old, all of them. Hands traced around then fluttered up, reaching the woman’s bicep where the marks thinned, right as Sonne turned abruptly to face the boy, a swift and startling turn, she snatched the fur from Al’s hand.
Roughly turning back, Al deflated slinking back slightly before the woman spoke behind a curtain of red hair “I never let anyone touch them, and if they try, I usually remove their hands, although… nobody has ever given them a compliment in that way before… so thank you.”
They continued to wash and rinse, back-to-back, side to side, under a veil of taught silence until both were clean, the lax tension following them out of the water as the two used different hides to dry themselves on a small grassy patch beneath a tree. “There’s a change of clothes on this rock over here” Sonne said as she pulled her armor on once again “don’t keep the others waiting” the orc finished as she stomped off into the darkness, back towards camp.
Al stared after her for a bit, the noon sun smiling sweetly on his skin, he ruffled his head drying out the last of the clear water before standing. A brisling of hair puffing up out into the air, standing tall and unkempt, before the boy was able to wrangle it in, back to its previous form. He sat on a large squat monolith of a grey rock with a slanted top, unraveling a pair of surprisingly well-fitting androgynous clothes. The outfit consisting of a bound leather tunic, and thick wool tights, which Al put on, neglecting his armor, in which he draped over the elbow as he made his way back.
Drapes of dry crisp sun, blanketed slices of flowing leaves, all standing still in the lightest of breezes, the earth breathing a gentle heat from above and below. Nearing noon, the sun crawled its way to the sky, gracing rock and skin alike in warming seeping rays. Al pushed a large long limbed bush to the side, letting its fingers brush roughly against his skin. He emerged out into the little clearing under the large thick oak, obviously lived in, dictated by the sporadic mess of personal effects strewn around a couple lopped logs and an ashen fire. The boy’s boots snapped twigs, signaling his return under the guise of chirping sing-wings. Right as Al’s hand came up to shield his changing eyes from the sudden tide of aggressive lighting, a small shadow flew vertical from within his peripheral, a second later, the boy’s hands came up protectively, a little too late, as a weighted object slammed into the warrior's chest, knocking him off balance. Al shifted his feet, wrapping fingers around smooth leather as he barely caught the object, its flight leaving a bruise upon his body. Looking up, Al’s eyes followed the hypothetical trajectory, vision sprinting across the clearing from the far side, where from under the large westerly oak, crept the old man, still standing with his hand outstretched. Argjend walked forwarded slowly, stalking, the other hand protruding from his cloak, balancing the man’s weight on an illustrious midnight cane, he moved with deftness, he moved without weight, waltzing over to the edge of his shaded domain.
“Well, well, well, decided to come back did ya? Kinda thought you might just turn tail and run” Argjend laughed a coarse wheezing chuckle, directed at his own words, flowing from his stern angular face. “Well, if you’ll actually be joining us after all, then you’ll have to show me what you got” the man said, as he gestured to the sword resting on his shaded hip. “I gotta warn you though, I don’t go easy on people, especially with people who think they can bathe with MY daughter.” Argjend laughed out again, for an older man he sure was full of energy Al thought, as he stood, clutching the sheathed sword to his chest for dear life, drinking in the show before him. The shade’s chuckling died off, a subtle movement signaled his intent as the older man drew a short blade from behind, where it lay poised in his left hand.
Al looked around, at the sun, the trees, the sky, anything, searching for help, right as Sonne walked back into camp, now without chest armor, she stood in a rather plain tunic top. The boy’s eyes shot to her, pleading, questioning, asking, yet she turned cheek, walking over to the older warrior, where she stood behind with a wicked grin, like an animal, like a killer mocking a victim.
Sonne locked eyes with the boy from across the span, “Galena and Argjend here raised me as a youngling, practically my ma and pa they are.” the orc finished, just as a small grunt pulled Al’s head to the right.
Galena sat, somehow Al had not noticed her before, and yet she sat on a small cushion clad stump along the northern side, appearing to choke on her delicately porcelain served tea, her legs uncrossed, and she tried to regain composure with a few curt coughs.
“Ma, or mother, makes me sound old, too old, and wrinkly at that, yuck” Galena finished taking another tentative sip, legs crossing perfectly now, shoes dainty and pointed, she pulled the cup to her face, eyeing the two men and the scene before, from over the rim.
“Where’s Every?” Sonne asked to anyone who would listen, which was met with a response from Argjend and Galena, vocalizing at roughly the same time.
“She went off, so she didn’t have to see the boy on his arse” the man wheezed, just as the witch mirrored his words “Off collecting some herbs that I requested for a little project” Galena said, an annoyed face drilling into the older man’s general direction, she rolled her eyes and continued to sip and judge in response.
“Draw you steel lad” Argjend started with a disturbing amount of giddiness, “don’t care if ye get injured, I’m an old man now, you should be able to handle me, just don’t try nothin fishy.” Argjend smiled after those words, a grin like that of some wicked man sized weasel, his teeth splayed out further than humanly possible, cascading deep wrinkled trenches across his cheeks.
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