Breaking Waves

A boar wandered through the forest, shaking its shaggy head in the morning chill. It was thirsty and it rooted in the earth for the smell of water. It knew the way to the nearest pond, having been to this particular watering hole numerous times over its life, but the scent was something to follow. It snorted and huffed and trotted away. The branches rustled overhead, and it froze for a moment, tilting its head low, before waddling once more. A breeze, a gust, a shift of the wind to carry more scents and smells into his nose. The wind carried no threat, just the scent of a female not quite ready from over the hill. Something to pursue after thirst and maybe hunger. There was a palm fruit tree that had decided to shed some of its heavier treasures that it passed on the way. A little overripe for its taste, but still good.

It trundled through the underbrush under the shade of a dense canopy until it came to the watering hole. Cool, clear water rained down from a cliff and formed a pool constantly swirling. It snuffled the air again and found nothing but the water and the fruit and a handful of mushrooms on the opposite bank. Those would be better than the fruit, in all honesty, and that would be its next meal. The branches overhead shifted again, and it was just the wind. It bent its head low and drank long and deep and the cool water flushed down its throat. This was nice, really nice. It was perfectly happy with this part of its life and could go on for a good long while. It might even go for a swim. Part of its sharp hide had a mat of mud that was not quite comfortable, and the stream would take care of that.

Lina fell from her perch in the trees and drove an elbow into the back of its neck. It didn't snap, but at least the action got the attention of the grand old boar. And it was in pain. That wasn't good. Her hands found the beast's snout and the top of the skull. Squeezing and twisting and wrenching she tightened her arms around the thrashing animal until a sharp crack echoed from the trees and the beast went still. Sloppy, not her best work, and it would make a terrible gift, but it was the best she could do on such short notice. If everything lined up the way it should, the boar would be a deer, a doe preferably, but this island did not have deer. It just had boars and birds and the occasional snake. Gregor did not particularly care for snake or bird, so boar it was. It was a good enough gift for her purposes. Gregor would understand. He knew this island had no deer, no animals properly suited for gift giving, and he would take it in stride.

It would have been cleaner if she had her axes on hand, but it would spoil the gift. The hide needed to be intact so that he could use it however he saw fit. It wouldn't do if the skin had a tear in it, no matter how quick or clean. And the blood would spill and a gift without blood was hardly a gift at all. The best type of gifts had blood and you could eat them and cook them. Gregor would like it.

She gazed into the water, trying to find herself in the reflections. She was below the clouds, but in front of the reeds. Long, thick braids of red hair, dark skin, broad features always scowling even when she was smiling. She liked the way she looked. Especially the hair. It thumped against the back of her neck when she moved like a drum line. She shook her head back and forth and the weight comforted her. It kept going when she stopped moving. She rolled her shoulders back and savored the soft rolling of the joints, the slow stretch and slack of her muscles. Movement was nice. Soft movement, taking in every sensation in agonizing sloth was better. The other way and the sensation changed, just a bit. She didn't need to do it, but it would help a little with the next part of her grand scheme.

She stole away from the water, the brief bout of self-conscious preening subsided with the realization that her prey was lying in the grass and it couldn't stay that way for very long. It needed to be delivered and the sooner, the better. Meat had a way of going bad fast and now was not the time to dilly or dally. Lina flexed her neck, one side, then the other, the snaps and pops roll down her spine. With a deep breath, she heaved the boar to sit on her shoulders, snug and safe from the horrors of the ground. Her broad shoulders would keep the worst of it out. She headed off back into the forest, steps slow and careful with her new prize. It was a gift after all, although she didn't quite know the occasion.

Gregor had simply asked if she wanted to steal away from the rest of their companions for a handful of days and she had said yes. She liked them all, more or less, but she was still a creature of the forests and jungles, solitary and alone and wandering. It was nice to be that again. Gregor hadn't said why, or even hinted at such a proposition, but their captain was willing to accommodate them while he attended to some business in Los Lauros. Lina wasn't a particular fan of that port anyway. It was better to stay on this little key and hunt with someone else and wait for their ship to swing back and pick them up. And she could kill more boars to bring back for everyone. And she liked Gregor and she liked that he could hunt. She hoped that he would have a gift for her as well.

---

Gregor sat in a clearing, a soft babble of a stream to his back, his blade planted in the earth. The cold scarred metal served as a passable brace for his spine. He ran a hand through his hair, parting the strands down his neck. He had spent most of the morning clearing the site, getting a fire pit started, a nice setup for a tent in case the weather turns, drawing water, and now he found himself idle. He could hunt, but then he might miss the arrival and he did not want to miss that moment. He and Lina could hunt together should the desire for food arise but that was a task for later. He just had to wait here for Lina and then go from there.

There was nothing after that moment when she came through the brush and that left an odd pit in the bottom of his stomach that would not dissipate. It coiled and writhed as it wormed its way into his hands. They shook and he could not make them stop. It was a fear, but not the one that came with violence or storm or snakes. It would not fade. Nothing came to mind to chase it away. It just sat there and grew and grew into it something that took control away from his body. He did not like that.

He wanted stillness and there was none to be found. The forest was a living thing, rustling wind and animal chatter, birds chirping and warbling from overhead. Even the water had to move and prattle on and on about how it was moving. And it was much too hot for him. Even after years much farther south than he ever thought he would travel; it was still too hot. Maybe it was just this island, too loud and warm. Somewhere out there, there had to be an island that would settle into stillness with him. And the internal movement was not pleasant.

There were motions he enjoyed. Swinging the hunk of iron with the force of an avalanche was one. The slow building pressure in his forearms as he squeezed muscle and bone of something else. Those quick sharp ducks and dodges of combat. Those were fine. The itch in his palms that jittered, and shook was not one of them. Those could die off in the tundra for all he cared. He wanted stillness and there was none to be found, neither within nor without.

It was better to let this thing win. There was no fighting it. He wanted, needed to move more, so he moved, getting up, leaving his sword planted in the earth and paced, slowly, taking his time to measure the steps and hopefully sate the coil in his core. It was not enough. It wanted frantic, manic energy, to uproot trees and crush mountains beneath his fingertips.

With no small amount of surprise, Gregor realized he was nervous. He did not particularly care for being nervous. He would rather not, if given the chance, but it seemed that was out of the cards at this point. He had been this way once before and preferred not to think about it. Captain Sandskin had taken him after he first came aboard to a house with a red light out front. A woman took him upstairs and made him undress and then she stopped when she realized that he wasn't comfortable and that was the end of that. She tried touching him and that really didn't go in any pleasant way. And then they sat and talked for a bit and then he went back out where Sandskin laughed and clapped him on the back and then they got drunk. Gregor liked that part. He liked that part a lot because everyone else took his silence and spun lies from it and he didn't have to tell the truth because they didn't want to hear that.

He was nervous about Lina and that was foolish. He knew her. They had sat together and ate together and drank together, but never alone together. He eyed the barrel of rum he had decided to bring with him. He needed to borrow the power of the burning water now, but that was a dangerous path. Memory and control for power was a tight balance and he found himself wanting to keep his senses about him for a little longer.

He should have brought something more than a barrel of rum. Furs and jewels and houses and all the things Jack talked about giving to L'bombe. That was what women wanted. Not a barrel of rum and tent by a stream. He was stupid, incredibly so. He never should have done any of this. He should have just stayed on the boat, gazing out to sea, fighting when the call came and then nothing else. Lina would come and stand by him every so often and that was enough. This was too much. He did not know what to do. He wanted to find somewhere dark and cold and damp and box himself in so that no one would ever know of his idiocy and shame. Women liked shiny things and soft things and warm things, and he could only offer a barrel of rum that tasted like medicine and sickness and headaches and a shoddily constructed laavu that would fall over at the slightest breeze. At the very least he could have made his with logs and wood and not sticks and sail canvas.

Gregor splashed himself with the stream water, running his fingers through his hair and over his face in a desperate attempt to make himself more presentable. It just made his face look shiny and his hair matted and now he looked like he was being drowned. Mistakes, so many mistakes that should not have happened, would not have happened if he just stayed the course and stood at the prow of the ship, hands over the pommel of his sword, gazing unflinchingly out into the water. Lina could be there too, occasional, draped over the prow on her belly, gazing out to sea with him. That would be enough.

The scent of a boar drifted through the air. Male, past the halfway point in terms of its life, but still strong. Boars were dangerous things, especially the ones with tusks. That finally chased the nerves away, the call of muscle and strength pitted against one another to see what would happen. That was all he wanted really. Simple, clean, clear cut. Either he was stronger than the boar and he would win, or the boar would be stronger than him and he would lose. He strode towards his blade, wrenching it free and letting it settle across his shoulders in a shower of damp earth. That weight was good, the best even. Something to pull him into the ground and tether the thoughts so that they would not run rampant. He needed clarity because the boar would not grant him that much mercy.

The head poked out first and Gregor took a step back. It was taller than a boar should be, coming almost eye to eye with him. And it was already dead, tongue lolling out the corner of its mouth, eyes vacant and glossy.

Lina came after the dead boar, shrugging the beast off and throwing it with a loud thud.

"I brough a boar," she said with pride.

---

Lina brought a boar and it cooked wonderfully over the open flames. She took it upon herself to construct a spit and let him gather wood. He had taken a lot, probably too much, but she was grateful, and by the time he returned, the beast was skinless and strung up. Lina looked proud of herself as she scraped the skin of all the muscle and fat still clinging to it. Gregor watched her work as he set down log after log. Her own musculature flexed and shifted with the task, clenching and releasing and clenching again, gentle, at rest. Undulation, wavering rolls of movement, up and down, side to side, showing where each and every little movement came and went. Dark skin, a combination of tree bark and the space between the scars, a little damp with sweat, over an ocean of power, waves cresting and breaking upon the shore of her body. It was hypnotic, the power she held etched into her skin for anyone to see save the blindest of sages. She felt him staring and wondered why by meeting his gaze. Gregor looked away. The body, the back was making the coil in his core tighter and tighter. The eyes might fold him in half. He busied himself with starting a fire. It was still afternoon, but the animal would take some time to cook and it gave him an excuse not to look at Lina, even though his eyes kept finding her back.

Mistakes, mistakes, and yet more mistakes, all by his hand and he should have never done any of this. They sat in silence in the afternoon sun, baking them through the trees as the boar filled the air with the scent of sizzling pork and smoke. That at least was something pleasant. Gregor always had a sharp nose, and this was a good prize. He should have been the one to bring it in, mistake, but it was here now, and Lina seemed more than pleased with the progress as she slowly turned the spit. It would be his turn in a little bit and then he could at least do something to show he was strong and capable and deserving of this entire affair. Lina did not mind turning the spit. It was mindless work, but that was all work. It would be worth it once the thing was done and they were eating.

Gregor watched her work, putting her entire body into the motion, over and over again. Just as with the hide, every movement sent the rest of her body in trance-inducing energy. A beast at rest, this woman was a beast a rest, moving only the minimum of what she could fathom to get the job done. There was more behind that, enough to shatter bone and rip wood and steel. And it all collected in tranquility to turn a pig she had brought down. He watched her chest, up and down, following the rhythm of the work, her breathes on the offbeat. He liked watching her chest rise and fall, the mass and weight of her breasts almost tangible in his hands. Then he felt shame and looked away.

He had never seen her hunt. Lina always went off alone when the task fell to her and a few hours later, she would come back with meat on her shoulders. Often deer, almost exclusively deer, now that he devoted some thought to it, but the occasional wolf once they were around. Once she had even dragged back a tiger with a savage grin of pride across her face and a bruise already forming over her left hip, rakes over her right, still bleeding.

She was a scarred thing, lines of slightly paler flesh running over her frame, each showing a fight she had won. They were all fights she had won. If she lost, she wouldn't be here, turning the pig with her sculpted shoulders, setting what little softness there was to her body dancing with her movements. Gregor traced the lines up and down. So, so many of them. They were beautiful. She was a tapestry of violence and she was here in front of him, covered in rough cotton and canvas that could not hide the shape and figure as it dipped and bulged and rippled. It was a mistake to have this event, but it was a mistake worth making.

"Your turn," she said as she rolled her shoulder with a deep pop. Gregor felt the noise deep in his core, his own shoulders shifting out of sympathy, something else ringing in his belly. She let the boar come to a settled stop and that was Gregor's cue to get up off of his ass and actually make himself useful. This was his entire idea after all. He shouldn't be leaving all the work to what amounted to his guest. He rolled back and rocked forward until his feet were underneath him.

He turned the spit, slowly, putting power and strength into every movement, watching the fat liquefy and bubble down to his and sputter in the flame. It smelled delicious. He just had to rotate the stick and not look at Lina as she stretched on the ground, bending and contorting putting limbs in places designed to make him feel when he should be focused on the work. It didn't help when she finally settled on her stomach. Her back had frayed the cotton shirt, letting him glimpse the machinations underneath. Muscle and bone and scar wound their way down her flesh, hypnotic and enticing. He wanted, need to lay a hand on her, to trace all the hills and valleys and rivers, to explore the world of Lina and feel the soft give of her muscle underneath his rough hands. But no, he was here to turn the spit and cook the pig until everything was perfect and rare and juicy. Then they would both eat and sleep and then they would wait for their ship to come back and everyone would make their lies that were better than the truth. He really only did all of this because Django would not stop pestering him to do so. That was it. Really.

---

Lina felt Gregor watch her as he took his turn in preparing the dinner. She felt them when it was her turn too. She didn't mind him watching. It was fun to watch things move and she had no qualms about watching Gregor as he turned the pig. Big, he was big and tall and broad, even more so than she was. He was a head above her and she was a head above most everyone else she knew. She supposed everyone else could be fairly short, but that seemed unlikely. Pale as a cloud, burned easily in the sun, but strong, with dark lines of ink crossing his body like mountain trails.

He looked soft. Not with fat, but with almost a feather down of blonde hair, covering his body, like a blanket. If she squinted it almost disappeared and left a broad chest, rock and metal and wood meeting to form a man with shaggy hair and a beard that was more than a little unkempt. But it all looked soft. He was a blanket on two legs, eager to be draped over a body and hold it close and warm. Lina liked soft and warm things. She wished she could catch his blue eyes, but he kept taking them away from her. He was the color of a pale sun and the eyes of the gap between clouds. Really, he was the perfect package for a nap. Large body with soft down, enough support through all his muscles and the image of a clear sky overhead. It was really all she wanted in life and it was currently turning a pig for her.

The campsite he had prepared was rather impressive. Nothing too extravagant or wasteful, maybe a little lacking in bedding, but that had to be hauled out here and that meant the barrel of rum probably wouldn't have made it out here. That was a worthy trade off if there ever was one. And he got firewood, enough for a month in less than an afternoon. She had gotten by with less for a lot longer than this. And she got to watch Gregor work, although there was something to be said for him in stillness.

The man was a mountain, still, calm unmoving. Even when he fought, there was a deliberation with every step, sending out force through will alone. Now, just with a simple arm twist, a rumble came through the ground from his form. The man was will and power condensed into something soft and unyielding. And he did not wear a shirt, despite the ease at which he burned. Lina watched him in silence, her own brown-red eyes trying to find relief in his sky blue, almost white. But she had the rest of him to wash her gaze over and that was certainly enough.

Ink, black as closed eyes, and the bottom of the sea ran trails across his pale flesh, connecting and looping, forming letters that she couldn't read. They moved with him, rippling over his skin. They would be fun to trace if she let him. Lina had tried a handful of times and he always pulled away. Shame, because the tattoos led to some interesting places that she would like to touch as well. She didn't have a lot of experience, but she knew that she wanted Gregor and that was enough to go after him. But the pull of the sizzling pork was a little greater at the moment. Gregor could wait until she had eaten and then she would eat again.