Lost in the Light Ch. 07

The spearman picked her up by her hips until she was bent over between the two of them. Something invasive pressed against her bare womanhood and she knew what was next. With no tenderness, and not one soft caress, there were only her tears to moisten the skin that separated his hard manhood from her tender pussy, and they were too far away. He penetrated her roughly, and with each inch she squirmed in reflex and whimpered against the man meat in her mouth. It only fueled their passions further and caused more forceful entry.

* * *

Grelwuf had left the moment the Zecarins revealed themselves. He could not involve himself in their war – generations of Furrel neutrality was at stake. There was only one thing he could do for the poor girl. He looked to the next sturdiest branch at the nearest tree and leapt.

Heavily muscled legs propelled him through the air as he leapt from tree to tree. The ground sped away below him, and his lungs heaved with each powerful stride. To any watcher below he was nothing more than a blur of red fur, come and gone before they could tell what he was. It was an old technique his people could use for fast travel. It was not as efficient as running along the ground, but enabled him to see more of the terrain around him. Tree leaping also drained his stamina rapidly, and his lungs were already burning from the spastic intake of air. Grelwuf only hoped the person he sought hadn't moved far from where he had last seen him.

He stopped and lifted his head to the air, his panting breaths took in the smells and he had to concentrate on their faint presence among the crisp oxygen that rushed into his lungs.

West!

He turned and launched himself into the air. The next tree came and went along with its neighbor, and its neighbor. The scent grew stronger now. So strong he immediately knew where to go next. One more tree and...

Higher up than the Furrel that approached sat a motionless elf in a green cloak. He watched the ground below from his high vantage point. A flying Furrel was no stealthy creature, but the speed at which it came was so impossibly fast that by the time he heard the branch twang from the creature's weight he could not turn around fast enough before the two collided and fell to the ground below.

With a thud they landed in a thick sapling below and tumbled apart. Grelwuf wheezed heavily, and the moment the stars cleared from his eyes he wrestled the elf's cloak from off his sprawled form. The Eltharian yelped, thinking himself attacked, and slashed out clumsily in his dazed state with a knife. The panting Grelwuf rolled clear of the weapon and faced off with his quarry. The Eltharian scout collected his disheveled bow from the ground and moved to immediately nock an arrow, prompting the red beast to make a hasty retreat.

"Hey!" He shouted and gave chase. It fled as fast as it had ambushed him, and the cloak it dragged in its mouth pulled and snagged on all sorts of saplings and bushes, making its trail easy to follow. There was no way it was getting away now, not with his cloak. Had his senses not been scrambled from the high fall he would be second guessing perusing any four-legged creature that dared tackle an Eltharian from his perch.

Whatever this red beast was it had impressive endurance. He couldn't understand what in the world it would want with his cloak, but he needed it more than the animal did. The Eltharian chased it for what seemed like hours, the red blur had quickly outdistanced him, but its trail was easy to find.

It was only a matter of time...

****

The most perfect flute melody woke her from her dream. Riyarra's emerald gaze opened to the storm clouds above. It had not yet started raining but she could tell it would soon. Her meadow had lost its pleasant breeze. The air was stiflingly humid and very heavy. Her chest heaved with each wheezing breath that passed her pale lips. The rhythm of the music resonated with her breathing, and she found herself having an easier time breathing when she focused on its sound.

She rose to her feet. The sound had summoned her. A sweaty, tangled mess of blonde hair fell around her face and shoulders with each urgent step towards the music. The fever would not be denied; it clouded her judgment and her ability to separate reality from delusion. Yet the music felt real, the music called to her, and she would answer it.

Sweat was already beading from her pores, making her clothes uncomfortably sticky. She shed them as best she could along her determined, delirious trudge across the grass towards the trees in the distance and towards the music. Her vest fell to the ground leaving the sweaty shirt to cling to her chest and revealing the shape of her bosom as it refused to follow the law of gravity. With a grunt she yanked it over her head and threw it away, but it didn't make her skin feel any cooler. Bare to the hot air, her breasts rubbed against the swaying wet hair, tickling the skin. With a growl she swatted the blond tendrils out of the way and stopped to unfasten her brown trousers. They had to be peeled off of her sticky skin before she could toss them away. Her hands slid sensually up both thighs, over her curvy hips and up her taut, flat stomach to cup each breast and squeeze them against her chest. The elf woman let loose a deep groan of desire despite the delirium.

The music grew louder. Loud enough to distract her from the self pleasure of her nipples and breasts to stand again and follow it. A cool breeze picked up and washed over her naked body, tossing her hair briefly about before its dampness brought it back down around her. As she neared the closest tall pine she stopped to steady herself against the rough bark. Trembling fingers caressed the hardened knot that grew waist high from its trunk. They migrated immediately to the wet blond bush between her legs.

"Aahhhh!" she moaned loudly as they pushed inside her burning womanhood and she shuddered in appreciation. Again the sharp cry of the flute broke her out of the need and she lumbered forward under the leaves to search for its source. The moment she stepped past the tree line the scenery changed to a white marbled sitting room. Architecturally carved stone pillars supported arches above that left the room open to the sea air. Outside, the dark night sky lit up with a full moon and cast its dark blue hue over the inky waters of the shoreline bay. Cold stone welcomed her bare feet as they padded uncoordinatedly over the floor. The flutist sat on the edge of a circular bed adorned with pale blue silk sheets and satin magenta and azure pillows. Whispery strands of fabric that hung from the domed ceiling floated lightly in the air above. The air in the room was cold, and the shock to her fevered body made her stumble a moment and gasp sharply of the crisp air.

Gayne, the other resident of her mind, sat demurely in his fwasir and vest at the edge of the bed playing a soothing lullaby on his silver flute. Riyarra stared at him from under sweaty curls of hair as her feet treaded forward. The flutists didn't seem to notice her presence as he continued his calming melody. The music didn't seem to affect her stalking trudge until she was within arms reach of him, when suddenly the strength seemed to leave her and she wobbled on her feet.

Gayne let go of the flute and seized her in his arms. With the spell broken, Riyarra wilted into him. Her feverish breath became a mix of pleasure and panic as he laid her gently down onto the silk sheets. Her arms went to her cheeks to rub the heat away, but he took them firmly in each hand and placed them over her head.

With her body stretched out, her ample breasts rose and fell with each deep gasping breath. Her eyes fluttered into her head as the fever took her away from the moment, and away from his touch. Gayne approached her slowly, climbing atop only to hover a few inches away. Skilled hands caressed her cheek softly. They touched her with the back of his fingers and were cool to the touch. With a musician's grace they traced the curves of her jaw, chin, lips, and throat coming to rest over her heart and between her breasts. His palm pressed to her skin, and the coldness of his hands drank in the devilish fever. Riyarra arched her back at the sudden shock of his cold touch and drew in sharp breath. It felt as if he was pulling all the heat out of her, but before long his hand grew as warm as her own skin.

Gayne shifted his weight onto the elbow of his warmed hand and lay on his side next to her. Those deft fingers dragged icy lines up her thigh to her hip as she undulated against his touch. His lady moaned and squirmed sensually in reaction, lifting her leg trying to press more of the burning skin to his soothing embrace. His hand caressed her hip, side, and lower ribs before trailing a straight line down her flexing abdomen to the soaked blond patch of hair between her legs. It overshot her aching mound and pressed against her inner thigh as she lifted the leg into the air. Those strong fingers pressed her flesh as they traversed up her leg into the air, behind the knee, over the calf, and around the Achilles tendon.

Riyarra was purring pleasantly in his hands. The fever had ebbed slightly as her breathing had grown more regular. The Elven princess had taken to stretching her limbs about her, squirming and flexing them in response to the sensual touch of her minstrel. Despite the calming effect he had on her body, Riyarra's mind still seemed to be lost to the heat borne delirium. Gayne touched his lips to her taut stomach and was rewarded with a sigh of pleasure. He kissed down her body and up one long, stretched leg. However this deliberately arousing attention had an immediate effect of reversing the calm in Riyarra. She started panting heavily and swaying her body underneath him needfully. Her moaning became more pleading as she grabbed the parts of him she could reach, only to have him slip from her grasp and be unable to reclaim him.

One sudden rush of lucidity and she sat up clutching his vest firmly. Gayne seemed suddenly taken aback and paused as she regarded him with unfocused eyes and a panting breath. The vest was almost torn from his body by her aggressiveness. She clawed at his skin and hissed wantonly as her tongue tasted his shoulder, neck, and ear. Despite himself, Gayne let loose an uncontrolled moan as she danced her articulate tongue over the ridges and valleys of his long ear. The fight for dominance of will had begun.

Distracted by her spellbinding pleasuring, Gayne was unaware when she snuck a hand under the thin material of his fwasir and took firm hold of his man flesh. His breath caught in his throat to stifle a squeal of surprise. Riyarra's hands were not as delicate or agile as the minstrels as they hurriedly stroked his cock until it throbbed hard in her hand. Ravenous with lust, she wasted no time leaning in and swallowing his thick shaft into her mouth. Her tongue danced along its underside and coated his member with her saliva, as her fingers had found their way up his chest where they pinched at each nipple equally. His cock throbbed in her mouth in response.

It didn't take long before his manhood was fully hard, wet and slippery. Riyarra pulled away and placed her hands behind his neck. She leaned back and took him with her as she felt backwards to the silk sheets.

"Now," she said in a husky tone that brooked no argument. "Take me, my love."

Gayne did as instructed, and his manhood pressed against her wet hot flesh, parting her outer lips before entering her slowly. With each passing inch of his member Riyarra gasped deeper and deeper. Her lungs filled with air as she took all of him insider of her. When his shaft was buried to the hilt she let out all of that stored tension in one long squeal of pleasure.

"More!" she whined, wrapping her legs around his waist and digging her heels into his buttocks, trying to push more of him into her. Gayne rocked his hips forward as he attempted to comply with her wishes. The tip of his hard member reached the entrance to her womb deep inside, causing her to moan pleadingly. Her back arched suddenly and her nails dug into his shoulder blades, but what she wanted just wouldn't come. "Please, love, more!" she pleaded and kissed his neck. Her lover's hips undulated against her, rocking his engorged cock back and forth deep within.

Despite the ecstasy that swarmed through her being, it did little to sate the desire that had built for so long. Each thrust into her was accompanied by a passionate cry but the moment he pulled back for a return thrust she begged and pleaded before he could deliver. Her lust was voracious; she dug deep claw marks into his back as her body writhed under him. Maintaining his tantric pace was beginning to take its toll on her vigorous lover. Riyarra had yet to experience the release of her pleasure when a strong hand grasped Gayne by the shoulder and threw him off the bed in one powerful jerk.

"ENOUGH!" The guttural growl of the red skinned shaman shook the room to its foundations. "Thou would expire trying to alleviate her in such a way. Thine spirit has no substance!" He shouted angrily.

Riyarra woke with a start to find herself still within the root cavern, covered in a fur blanket. Her senses suddenly came flooding into her and they coalesced into one focal point of indignant rage. But as they focused they took in the sight and sounds of the room around her. Grelwuf's face was mere inches from her own as he stood over her. His fearsome visage of piercing yellow eyes, clenched maw of fangs and terrible teeth bored into her. It brought her anger to an abrupt halt. A deep guttural growl rumbled from between those sharp teeth, and his humid breath saturated her nostrils. Riyarra's tender shoulder spasmed in empathy.

The beast man sat back. His mood calmed and turned to silent disapproving judgment. Riyarra could still hear his angry voice echoing in her mind. His meaning sank in, and a horrible realization of what she almost cost herself overruled and subjugated her anger. She closed her eyes and brought her arms up to the beast's thick, corded neck. It was a caring embrace, and she pressed one side of her face into his soft fur and cried in shame.

"Forgive me," She pleaded.

Grelwuf relaxed. His jowls shifted as he digested her words. The harsh lessons he taught her were not without sympathy or compassion for her plight. For this one moment he allowed himself to show a bit of tenderness and placed a soothing hand on her shoulder, allowing her to vent her frustration into his neck as she sobbed.

Her pain did not take long to expend; the warrior inside traded places with the princess and wrangled her emotional turbulence under control. Riyarra pulled back and wiped the puffiness from her eyes. She placed two hands on the beast's cheeks and looked him straight in the eyes. She searched him for some meaning, some possibility to the thought that was coming to her mind – the only solution she could reach, the only escape she had. She knew it would be uncomfortable for them, so she pursued the alternatives first.

"Can you cure me?" She asked sternly.

"Nay," He grunted. "Poison, venom, disease... all this I may banish. What possesses thee is not natural." They both knew what followed.

"Then will you mate with me?" She asked in all honesty. "I cannot let this beat me, but the longer I deny it the more dangerous I become. To myself and to those I love." She stroked his cheek affectionately. "We have only just met, but I do not deny the compassion you have shown me through your teachings. Twice now, you have stopped me when my curse would cause harm to others. But despite such compassion, you leave me no choice but to burn...." She spelled out his actions.

"Dost thou think me perverrrse, for visiting the dreams of otherrrs and feeling their love through their eyes and skin? Should I find thee attractive to mate with, am I then detestful? Souls love, regardless of form. Hearts hate for differences." Grelwuf cocked his head to one side. Riyarra was taken aback as she digested all he had said. It was such a profound, and somewhat romantic, admission she didn't know how to respond.

"As odd as it does sound, I can understand that." Riyarra let out tear streaked smile and laughed.

"Mule..." Grelwuf nodded knowingly. "Thou didst love him."

"For his qualities, not his deeds." Riyarra begrudgingly nodded. It had been tormenting her for some time, but to finally say it released a huge weight from her shoulders. She took a deep calming breath.

"And me?" Grelwuf said as he tilted his head in a stoic, hardened stare.

"The same," she laughed and wiped the joyous moisture from her eyes.

"It is the start," He nodded and licked her cheek. "It was my hope, to have thine friend take thee to the Eltharians near here. But thy fever is too great..." The bestial man pulled away from her embrace and padded silently towards the exit hole of the small earthen hut. "I will need to gatherrr mertlesweep stalks. For the juice...Thou should stay. Resst... forgive the Spirrrit within... ask him for forrrrgivness as well." He said as he exited out into the late afternoon sun.

Riyarra settled in and retreated to her inner mind, and to the meadow that was her refuge. Gayne was there waiting for her, sunning himself on the grass. But he looked much, much older. His skin clung loosely to his bones, his long ears sagged in a profound downward curve, and blonde tufts of hair waved in the wind above his eyes where thin streaks of hair would make up his eyebrows.

"I'm sorry Ry," he said in a crackled, aged voice as she approached. Old Gayne didn't bother to get up or open his eyes. "I thought I could help you, but it was too strong." Riyarra sat down beside him and kissed his weathered forehead gently. "It fed on me. There's not much left."

"I forgive you, love. You tried." She smiled and stroked his wrinkled cheek. Even as old as he was, he managed to maintain his handsome, distinguished features. A different yearning formed inside her heart – she wanted to see this side of Gayne many, many years later. She would bring him back, and they would grow old together. Her fingers found his hand and entwined their fingers together. Slowly his eyes opened and milky white orbs, blinded by extreme old age stared blankly out at the sunny sky. His chest lifted up with a long, deep, profound intake of breath.

"I cannot help anymore," he sighed, and tried to look at her. "I cannot see what you see anymore, nor can I search your memories for the answers. I am truly trapped."

"You've already done so much. Don't blame Grelwuf from stopping us." She stroked his cheek affectionately. "Stay here and rest. I will come visit when I can, and I will tell you of the world outside."

Old Gayne closed his eyes and nodded. He sighed and relaxed his grip on her hand just as a breeze played over them. Riyarra left him there to nap. There was nothing more to do. Not until she could talk to an Eltharian Cleric about bringing him back.

The sound of a grinding mortar and pestle woke her slowly. She turned her head on the pillow to see Grelwuf hunched over a small stone mortar grinding small plant stalks. The slow rhythmic sound almost put her right back to sleep. She watched him pour a clear liquid from the stone bowl into a larger wooden one and toss the crushed stalk away.

The soft patter of raindrops echoed in from outside. Night had finally come; Riyarra decided she had stayed in bed too long and sat up. The fever had subsided some, but she could still feel the ache in her muscles and behind her eyes. She felt good enough to pull back the fur cover and expose her sweaty skin to the cool afternoon air. It was a welcome comfort that made it seem that the worst of her fever was over.