Crone Ch. 01: Healer and Lass

She lay on her back, eyes closed, arms over her head, body open to the sun and air. Relaxed, fearless, no longer retreating.

She was beautiful! Flawless skin, sharp cheekbones, wet hair arrayed out like an angel's halo.

Belly with ridged muscles, breasts like ripe fruit!

And those legs! Strong, lean, shapely calves, perfect feet!

He was speechless.

"Want to paint a picture? It'd last longer than your gawking."

It made no sense, but he found himself laughing.

She opened one eye, appraised him, smiled, closed it again.

"A sense of humor? That's good. I'd hope you weren't all good looks and hair."

He felt a rush to his face. He was good looking? That had never been said to him.

"Well, the hair part is fair. I'm like my father, with a healthy winter coat all the year."

She opened both eyes this time.

"I wondered at first what was lying by my pool? Was it a bear? Too small. A wolf? No tail."

"What did you conclude?"

"Why, a Gruagach of course! A hairy demon of the forest!"

"Yet you didn't run away. Instead stripped out of your clothes and decided to go swimming!"

She sighed theatrically. "I'm not afraid of any woodwose. They should be afraid of me!"

He nodded agreement, which got a halfhearted kick from her.

"Hey! Your pool! Is this your land? I'm sorry to trespass; I was told, here would be a diverting way to spend the afternoon."

She grinned easily. "No, not really my pool. It's common ground. I just come here a lot. Since I was but a wee lass."

He tilted his head. "Can't have been coming for very long! You're not an old lady now. In fact, you're not much older than a lass."

"A lass that bested a Gruagach!"

He held up both hands in mock defense. "I admit it! I concede! I'll leave you to your pool and your privacy."

He thought to himself, she's not much concerned with privacy, the way she strips naked before strangers. The way she sucks a stranger's cock for a lark!

This was some girl. Definitely not a wee lass.

"You may stay a while." She spoke it as a lord granting a boon.

He responded in kind. "If it please milady, I would tarry a while. Also, you're lying on my shirt, so I cannot easily depart."

She glanced over her shoulder. "I wondered why it stank here so. You may have it back, if you must."

"Please! Enjoy all that is mine your worship! I have but little, nay nothing, but it is all yours as your whim takes you."

She acknowledged that as the natural order, and continued to lay on his shirt.

He stropped his limbs of remaining water, spraying her not a little, and settled into the grass.

Putting his hands under his head he considered the sky. She pretended to be asleep for a while. At any rate she ignored him.

Then impulsively she sat up, reached across him and took his far hard. He didn't resist.

She settled back and pulled his hand over her body to the cleft between her legs. Her skin was warm and soft; her cleft covered in ticklish down.

He rolled a little to make her easier to reach.

She let go. He laid his hand there on her fine hair, warming her mound with his body heat.

She grew impatient, and taking one of his fingers she moved it to touch her slit. She was a little wet, both from the swim and from the heat of the day?

Moving the finger up and down, he quickly took the hint. She released him again and he continued the motion.

Soon her slit was more than wet; it was slippery! She smiled and bent one knee to allow easier access. Her slit gaped slightly, letting his finger slide deeper into her folds.

He knew something of women, and moved his thumb over her fringe of hair. Feeling around he found her nub and pressed it. She gave out an involuntary Mmmmmhmmmm.

Alternating slippery slides up and down her wet folds with gentle circular massage of her mound, she was soon humming along with his motions.

"Hmmm. Hmm! Hhhhaaaaa. Hmmm."

Taking her voicing as permission he ventured a second finger. Using them to stroke both sides of her opening he pulled her further apart, exposing her deepest sex to the sun and air.

She shifter her butt to further widen her thighs, her hips began to move in response to his probing. He increased his pace, taking more time on her nub. Her voicing increased.

"Hhhaaa. Hhhaa!"

Now he got brave, and slid one finger inside her. She made no motion to resist, so he put both fingers inside.

Grasping her sex in a pincer-like motion he stroked in and out her wet hole while pressing harder on her tiny protruding button.

Her hips increased their response, now rocking to take his fingers further inside on each stroke.

Her wetness suddenly increased.

"Hhhaa! Haaa! Aaaah! Aaaaagh!"

She freely spoke her joy, her hips bucking against his hand, her sex beginning to clench his fingers.

She grabbed his hand and crushed it into her, cramming his fingers into her slot as far as they would go, grinding his thumb into her nub.

Her back arched; her hips thrust up; her hole pulsed and spewed an alarming amount of fluid, gushing twice - three times to wet his hand and the grass.

"Gaaaaaaaaaahhhhh."

She froze like that, and then slumped down to the grass and released him.

He carefully retrieved his arm, raising the wet hand so it wouldn't smear her perfect belly.

Her features relaxed from a ferocious grimace to a small smile, her lips parted slightly, her breathing slowing.

She abruptly sat up, took his wet hand and pressed it to his chest, leaned over to give him a peck on the cheek.

Standing she took one-two-three steps and dived into the pool!

He sat to get a better view of her strong legs and apple bottom as her sure strokes carried her to the other bank.

She surged out of the water onto the grass, standing, stretching and retrieved her clothes.

Slipping her shift over her head and raised arms, it settled down over her startlingly pleasing body. He regretted that dress mightily.

Fetching boots, she bent and slid her dainty feet into them. Then without a glance at him she darted to the edge of the wood and disappeared behind a fern.

She was gone! Like she had never been there!

Well, except for his limp cock and wet hand, which were proof of her passing.

He stood, taking his shirt from where she'd lain. The hem was soaked in her wet ejaculations. He sniffed it, caught her smell and smiled.

No matter; it would soon dry in the sun and breeze. He struggled into it, fastened the toggles he used instead of buttons.

The day couldn't get much better than that, he decided. Time to return, maybe tidy up the cowshed, look for that wood saw.

It took less time to return that it had to come, as the way was with the flow of the stream, gently downhill. Soon enough the gloom descended and the house appeared.

Feeling limber and refreshed he decided to do some work on his home, the cowshed.

Taking a manure fork from where it had been abandoned against a wall he began methodically piling the old dung into a heap.

From time to time he found abandoned tools under the litter - a hammer, a pry bar, a file, a broom with no straw. These he collected and put on a shelf.

The floor under was dressed stone! This had once been a farmstead of some wealth. Most cowsheds had cobbles or fieldstone laid to keep the cattle's feet dry.

The shoveling done, he opened the stalls and mucked out what remained there. It was not much. No cattle had been here for some time.

A stall door was hanging off one hinge. Raising it and dragging it open, he examined the damage. A ring screwed into the frame was missing. The door had an iron prong that would socket into it.

Poking around in the straw he found the old ring, rusty and bent but serviceable.

Taking it and the hammer to the stump in the back yard, he soon had it reasonably straight. But the coarse threads had been blunted by the hammering.

With the file from the shelf he retired to the front bench. Sitting there leaning against the wall, he proceeded to file away the rust and sharpen the threads.

While thus occupied he heard someone approach from down the lane. Sitting up, putting one hand over his brow to shield his eyes from what sunlight there was someone, a woman it seemed from her slight frame and gait.

As she approached he saw it was the Crone! How had he not seen that? At a distance she seemed an ordinary person.

"Halloo!" she cried in greeting. He raised a hand to acknowledge her.

Soon enough she came to the clearing, vaulted the stone wall with surprising grace, met him at the bench.

"Been visiting a sister! No, not my sister. A sister diviner! We had tea and read the leaves. I saw thereby you would be here, and might provide me with some company."

"Glad to oblige ma'am! Just doing a little housekeeping, fixing up my barracks."

"Again, to see the work without being told! A habit as valuable as gold! I am constantly finding things to like about you."

He smiled, remembered not to say anything but just continue his humble work.

The ring's bolt and threads were beginning to shine. Soon it was good enough.

"How did you find the pool? Cool and refreshing, is it not?" The Crone seemed content to sit and chat. She smiled a small smile with her sickly broken teeth and blue lips which he found somehow familiar and safe.

"Yes, cool enough, a shady glade and the grassy bank comfortable!

"Even more enjoyable was the company of a fair lass! Do you know of one around here, flaxen hair, about my age?

"With a wonderful smile. Strong, graceful. Amazing skin."

He stopped, aware he had been about to prattle. Again the Crone smiled, leaned back against the house. He waited for her to speak.

"Yes, there is such a lass. In fact.." She paused, came to a decision, "She helps me out from time to time! Some nights she will spell me in crafting cures."

"So she is also a witch?"

The Crone didn't answer that.

"I find her ... useful. You may meet her, if you stay long enough."

He was surprised at that. "Do you want me to leave?"

"No, but I've never had a boy stay longer than a month. Something about the gloom, the work, I suppose my aspect as well.

"They stay a while then one morning the shed is empty, their pack gone."

He spoke resolutely. "I do not have any plans to leave. I could be quite happy here!

"The work is fine. The gloom I find not oppressive, but peaceful.

"And your aspect? Agreeable and fair; what more should I desire in an employer?"

She laughed out loud at that, her head back, one hand to her bosom.

"Oh you have a silver tongue! Some young lass will fall for you, I'm certain! You will talk her into believing the sun is the moon."

With that she rose, went into her house, still laughing.

He took his hinge to the shed, re-fitted it into the frame where it had fallen out. It was loose.

With the axe in the back yard he shaved some splinters from a stick of firewood.

Returning he pounded them into the stripped hole with his hammer. He screwed the ring into the much-reduced gap and it fit tightly.

Rehanging the door, it moved easily. He latched it.

Next? The saw!

Peering down the well he thought he might just see something sticking up out of the water. It looked like the frame of a saw well enough. Probably the previous boy had set it on the rim of the well, then bump! and it fell in.

Removing the bucket from the rope, he retied it to the pry bar with a stout lashing. The last thing he needed was to lose something else down the well!

The bar was bent on one end, which formed a serviceable hook for his purposes. He lowered it carefully into the well until it hit bottom.

He raised it a little, free of the mud. Swinging it to and fro, slowly, slowly, he tried to catch the saw frame.

It was maddening! One moment it would be aligned right, then the pry bar would lazily twist and bump! the frame with the hook the wrong direction.

Or the pry bar would swing in lazy circles around the frame but never hitting it.

His arms were getting tired, his back sore from leaning over.

About to give up, then the hook went bonk! against the frame, pointing the right direction! He jerked almost too late, but the hook bit, and the frame moved!

Gently he pulled until the saw sucked free of the mud.

Carefully, carefully he raised the rope hand over hand, not wanting to lose the precious prize by bumping against the side of the well or jerking the line.

It worked. He reached the end of the rope, took the pry bar carefully in one hand, raised it to clear the rim.

Bonk! the saw frame hit the side and jumped free of the hook. With a lurch he snagged it before it disappeared again into the depths.

His heart racing he carried rope, bar and saw away from the menacing opening and collapsed on the grass.

He just breathed for a time, letting his heart and back recover.

He resolved to build a cover for the well, lest something else be lost by carelessly leaving it on the rim to be bumped in.

When he felt his arms had recovered he rose and put his tools away. Taking again the file, he retired to the bench to sharpen the saw teeth.

It was much rusted from it's time underwater. Still there was enough metal left to be serviceable.

Scrape! Scrape! He methodically filed each prong from end to end. It was a job requiring patience.

A bird sang, the wind rattled some leaves. Would it rain? He would welcome that, for it would help the oats.

Oh, the oats! Not his concern any more. His father would prosper or fail on his own with no son to support him.

He turned his thoughts from that, the memory of being rejected from his home still fresh and raw.

The girl with the maddening smile! And the heart-stopping tits. And strong legs, and perfect feet...

He smiled and remembered her for a while, his cock stirring in his pants.

Teeth sharp, the saw was still red and stained. It would bind and buck in a log.

Knocking at the door, he asked the Crone for a rag and perhaps a little fat. She nodded, smiled at seeing the saw returned from it's watery grave, gave Jordan a strip of cloth and a little pot of lard.

Sitting again he dipped the rag and began to polish the blade. Inch by inch he removed the corrosion leaving the metal bright.

When all was right he returned the pot, kept the soiled cloth and hung the saw on a hook in the shed.

Surveying his domain he saw a clean stone floor, sturdy stall doors, a shelf of tools, a shovel and an axe and saw. What more could a farm lad need?

The day had spent itself, he determined from the deepening gloom. Returning to his cell he made a small supper of Johnny-cake and what was left in his wineskin.

Too early to sleep, he cast his mind over the events of the day.

That girl! She had been a pip. He would like to see more of her!

Those breasts! Those legs! And that maddening smile!

Absently he stroked his cock through his pants. Soon it was too confining, his cock swelling beyond the bounds of the waistband.

Loosening the cord he kicked them off and laid back in the straw.

One hand holding the shaft he put the palm of his other over the tip. The wet already there, he spread it with circular motions over the head.

Thinking of the girl, her strong back, her perfect butt! he stroked from root to tip, his manhood hardening.

Her mouth on his cock! Her face when he spurted his seed into her!

He quickened his stroking and blurt! ejected himself into the straw, the second time that day.

Wiping his hand on some straw, he settled in for the night. His last waking thought was of her smile.

In the morning the swill was standing outside the front door when he emerged.

Carrying it carefully to the paddock he dumped it again into the trough and called quietly "Hey! Hey! Pig pig pig!"

That was the only animal call he knew, since his father had no cattle. And no bears.

In the clearing mist instead of bears, this morning three wolves trotted from the gloom!

Brown and grey, with stiff tails and bright eyes they came toward him.

With a strange mincing gait they approached the trough. The same one (?) climbed in, and all started to eat the slimy mess.

Impulsively, he reached to pet the wolf he could reach. It responded by nudging his hand with its head and continuing to feed.

Enough! Petting a wolf was as far as he would go today.

Leaving the slop bucket at the front door he went around back. The water duties first.

Reattaching the bucket with a double knot, he raised and lowered it three times and topped up the cistern.

Next the wood cutting. The woodpile was already visibly diminished.

But before he began the day in earnest, he should wash. He was sticky and sweaty from the warm night.

He skinned out of his shirt and pants, and dumped a bucket of clean cold water over himself. Sluicing it around his limbs and torso with his hand, he substantially improved his state of cleanliness. And his smell.

Pulling his clothes back on, he fetched the axe and saw and headed off into the forest.

Unheeded by Jordan, a face left a window having seen all.

The log was where he left it.

His 'new' saw made short work of piecing it up into manageable spools.

Having no sledge nor a beast to pull one, he considered what to do next.

Seeing no alternative, he set to work. Selecting cut branches with relatively straight segments he trimmed until he had half a dozen lengths of stout wood.

Notching them with his axe he fit them together into a frame on the ground, two runners and a few crossbars.

There was nothing to fasten it together, but its own weight and the weight of its load. He rolled two spools onto it carefully, setting them on their sides.

Now, how to pull his skid? Cutting some green brush he twisted new growth into a sort of harness. Not very durable, but it might last until he got one load back and then he could find a better solution.

Attaching it to his skid by the simple expedient of jamming it between a crossbar and around a runner, he tugged experimentally. It held, pretty much.

Putting the harness loop around his waist he began trekking back, the axe and saw in his hands.

Twice or three times the harness came loose, spilling him face-down into the brush. He had the presence of mind to toss the saw and axe aside lest he land on them and do himself harm.

More than a few times a crossbar would jiggle out of its notch and require reseating.

But only an hour later he reentered the gloomy clearing with his load!

Scratched, sweaty, stained by the harness and brush he'd fallen into, he collapsed on the ground by the well.

When he recovered he disentangled himself from the harness, stripped again, and went to get water.

He fetched a bucket of clean cool water and poured it over his head. Streaming down his face, shoulders, back and breast, it was a welcome coolness.

He enjoyed that for a time, then began scrubbing off the grime in earnest. His coating of coarse hair matted and held the water as well as twigs and leaf mould. It took some doing to get it all out.

His scratches he scrubbed carefully to avoid corruption setting in.

When he was content he poured the remaining water over his clothes and wrung them out. These he laid on the grass to dry as they might.

More work to do! The tree had been dead more than one season, and the spools quite dry and ready to split.

He rolled a spool to the stump, heaved it up. Axe in hand he swung hard and crack! the spool parted.

Dumping half onto the ground, he split the remaining half into sticks of firewood. He continued with the other half-spool.

Since no real sunlight entered here, he was not overly hot. Still sweat beaded on his back, his chest, his stomach and legs. He gleamed wetly.

The Crone saw him from a window, and watched a while. She was only human!

His back rippled with each strong stroke. His legs set wide, strong and stable. His neck corded with each impact!