For a Song Pt. 10

"We're not going to do it," Gawain says, "but what if we have to, how would it go?"

"I refuse to sacrifice Tombstalker," says Eliza.

"And I'm not going to ask. But how would you do it? I know a good recipe for paprika hendl, and I think it would be the same thing. Just more of it. And probably a longer cook time."

"I refuse to entertain any of these questions. Tombstalker will live a long, happy life where she has many, many clutches. And open plains and running rivers and clear skies."

"I'm pretty sure yours is a boy," I say, "Mine is the only girl, I think."

"He will father many clutches and have all the things I said before. With your ratitian."

"You make that sound like I would be against it. I'm thinking this will be a good retirement. Start breeding these things, hook them up to carts and start replacing horses."

I scratch my wonderful Reverberance in her favorite spot and she kwehs softly. She does not appreciate Gawain's hypotheticals about how they would taste. Although I do entertain the idea that they would be good grilled and covered in jerk spice, like Mutti knew how to do. With some white rice and sweet potatoes. I doubt we're going to get any of that too. Much too cold for any of those to be there. We'll get fish and potatoes and corn. Still good, though. Might even have some lobsters if the traps have been doing good.

The mammoth birds have been taking the trip well even as we move away from the sands and dust. They like the soft dirt and the grass, if only for the novelty. They are much softer than the horses. Softer than a handful of beds, too. They don't rock or bounce as much, although they do tire quicker. I consider it a wonderful trade off. Anyone getting somewhere in a hurry probably doesn't deserve to reach their destination on time. They should have left earlier so they didn't have to hurry. That just speaks to poor time management.

We have plenty of time to manage. Gawain has scenarios and hypotheticals. Eliza has more practical admirations and plans for the day, such as rationing and route taking. I just wander. I happen to wander in the right direction, all the way to Shoar, but it is still wandering. It's all down to luck and spirit at the end of the day. We are going to Shoar, and I will get there when I touch down on the dirt and rocks that people have decided to call as such. Never knew why Mutti retired there. She would always go on and on about Solglow. But she is an enigma at the best of times. At her worst, she is the antithesis to logic.

Oddly enough, I don't feel the urge to carry a tune. The bird is carrying most of my stuff and I don't want to add anything more to her shoulders. The wind does a fine enough job of getting us where we need to be. I take a sip of my waterskin. Wrong, it was my wineskin. Sweet and full and starting to buzz. I've made that mistake before and I think I'll make it again. No one will know.

"Okay, so no more food," says Gawain, "How about we pluck them and put their feathers in a bed?"

"No," Eliza says, "I don't want to wake up smelling like bird."

"I think they smell alright. They smell like animal, but it's not a bad version of that. Kind of like mud and grass."

"They smell like a bog. Bogs don't smell good. Do you even have a sense of smell?"

"Probably not, since I've slept on you and had no complaints."

She grumbles and breaks into her silence while she keeps riding. Gawain sits smugly on his high bird, and I repress a snicker. No need to throw any more fuel on the fire. I have my ride to keep enjoying. Reverberance gets another scratch and I get another noise.

I dissect it as it passes as a soft sunshiney yellow. It is slippery and moving and circling like a buzzard in the open sky. It dips and drops and turns away, back into the trees. Noisy things, these birds, not in volume, but in frequency. I can't keep track of the things I can't hear between them. Every so often it slips down into something I can pick up, but they are constantly chattering away above what my delicate ears can conceive.

The birds tilt their heads as one to the side. Eliza notices it and Gawain notices Eliza. It takes me a moment to parse it as well, but I break into a wide grin.

There's salt in the air, just a hint. I can hear the gentle roar of the ocean. That is a noise I know so well. It breaks and falls, only to rise again. It blankets the world, quietly. The trees seem hardier now, with thick leaves to keep out the storms. Gawain gives me an odd look, but then breaks into my smile as well. Eliza keeps her expression blank. The birds are still moving and that's good, but it is new to them. No wonder they don't trust it. New things are dangerous and should always be met with a healthy level of skepticism. They're wrong in this instance, but it's a good policy.

The path goes up and I'm the only one who knows what's coming. I keep it to myself. Secrets are bad, but only if they're not fun. This is a fun one. I know it. They don't. And so, we ride on as the trees start growing sparser and hardier. The grass takes over and brings in more sun. I can feel it. I can feel every drop of water in the sea, crashing against one another while the world shimmers around it.

We stop when we come to it. We stop when the world reveals itself. All of us stand on top of a great white cliff, shimmering like a diamond in the sun. Mirrors and gems over a sapphire burning sea. It flares the same white before crashing down. The sea is excited today, high waves almost halfway to us. And it goes on forever and ever. Around the world like a stretched belt, lands forgotten and never known on the other side. It Is enticing. A few scant snow-white clouds hang on the horizon, threatening nothing at all. Gawain breaks into an ecstatic smile. I feel the energy build in him, and it has nowhere to go. Even Eliza breaks into a small smile. Of course, it's all old hat for me. Boring really. I don't know what they seem to like about all this.

"Come on," I say, "We still have a day or so before we reach Shoar."

"In a minute," Eliza says, "I've never seen the ocean before."

And that is a good reason to stay for a while. Gawain is silent for once and that's even better. Very rare thing. I pull my ride up flush with them and we just stare in awe at the lonesome sea. The wind picks up a bit for a second and I feel it enter my bones. Wayward sails and never-ending storms in me. We are staying still and that's fine. We should be moving and that's even better. Maybe. Not sure. Right here, right now, is pretty good, all things considered.

---

I hold my catch in my hands and put in a jump to my step. I am proud and I have no reason why I should not be. A quick swim brought forth a bounty to share with everyone I care about. I have no clue what I caught, but it is fish and fish is good. Gawain was in charge of fire, and Eliza has her work given to a shelter. It is much easier than when I had to do all of this by myself. The wind's picked up as the sun's gotten lower and I don't want to do anything like this is the cold. The fish flops against my back, taking up so much space. That is definitely a good point of pride.

The cliffs dived down into a rocky shore. We set up a spot a good way back from all of that, just in case the water goes high. And to make me walk. How dare they. I have a perfectly good kweh bird to ride, but she's tired too. We all deserve our rest and I certainly have had more than my fair share.

Gawain and Eliza are bickering again and that's a good sign. It's playful and light. Gawain mentions something about her mannish figure that simply falls flat. One, her figure is simply amazing, beyond any classification. Two, she is immensely proud of said figure and some scrawny soft boy simply can't break through that veil. Three, Gawain likes it and is just as enraptured as I am. Still, I hurry. I have food and food has a way to quell petty snipes like this.

"Look at this huge fish," I say and hoist my huge fish. Gawain's smiling and I don't trust that. Eliza tightens one more knot and we have a simple tent to keep us out of the elements. It's good work. Gawain's fire is beckoning to me and my catch.

"Nice. I've never had sturgeon," Gawain says, "Does it have the caviar too."

"It's not sturgeon," Eliza grunts with one last bit of effort, "It has the plates, but the fins are all wrong."

"It's a sturgeon," I insist, "I caught the damn thing, so I get to say what it is. It has the little moustache. It has the spiny things. It's a sturgeon. And I'm pretty sure you can eat any fish eggs and call it caviar."

Gawain shrugs and Eliza scoots in front of the fire. Together, we string it up and start giving it heat. The salt of the sea mixes in with roasting fish and I am slow to realize how hungry I am. I still feel the kiss of the sea as the fire slowly dries em. I close my eyes and let it all fall away.

My mediation is broken as something moves to engulf me. Eliza, without a word, has laid down at my side, watching the flames. She is a wonderful windbreak. Gawain pokes at the fire one last time, to get everything settled and the scoots in as well, on the inside of both of us. He is a good heat source. The ground's a bit hard, but I don't want to drag out one of the sleeping rolls from the tent. They are already where they need to be. The fire snaps at the fish as the fins curl and blacken. I really, really wish we had some of Mutti's spices on us. Plain fish is good, but it really needs something with heat. I'll be fine.

If I'm pining this much about a simple dish, I really do need to think about settling down. I miss luxury and decadence. I miss the work of others in order to help with the work I can do. All knitted together and supporting. Eliza shifts and presses her chest into my back and that's lovely. I hold Gawain tighter and rock my hip s into his ass. He rocks back. I have an odd conundrum to deal with. Which one to pursue, whether or not to have the fish before or after or during, how to go about all of these issues, they all collide in my mind. I just come to the conclusion that I will let it be. Whatever happens will happen and I will be there for it. I feel Eliza's stomach rumble and I think that's the problem solving itself. She takes her fingers and pulls a piece free. She takes another and gives it to me. I linger on her digits and roll them in my mouth. She goes back and gives Gawain a turn. Then it's my turn to feed us all, and then Gawain.

The fish is gone too soon, but we're all more or less full. I could go for another fish or two. Maybe some greens or yams or rice with it. I really do wish for actual not trail food. Odd. I'm getting old, I think.

Eliza is playing with my chest. In small circles and long lines, it is very easy on her part. Gawain's grinding into me, and my own response hits them both. A very tight tangle of limbs and bodies and full bellies. Very dreamy, very sleepy, very comfy. The tent is calling us, and I don't know if I have the energy to move all that much. I want to melt into their bodies and never emerge. WE need a bath together and that could be fun. Warm water and wine and candles and rose petals. Eliza pinches my nipple and that gets a sharp jump from me in every way. Gawain jumps too as my erection slaps the small of his back. He giggles and Eliza chuckles and then I laugh softly. Both of them kiss my cheeks and I turn to Eliza first. She gets a return and so does he. The scales are all even and balance. I turn a blind eye to the hand creeping down my stomach.

"Are we going a full gambit of fun today?" Gawain yawns, "Cause I'm kind of tired."

"Thinking we just take a night cap," I say, "Not really feeling it either. Eliza, any objections?"

"I just want someone's tongue at some point," she says.

"Fair. With that, I believe we have come to terms."

I move a bit quicker than my languid pose would suggest as I cup Gawain's balls and start playing with him. He jumps like a scared little rabbit before falling into hat beautiful nervous giggle. I take that feather light touch of the sound and weave into my hands. It has a hum that he responds to well. He's already shaking, just a bit. Little twitches in his muscles, little spasms through his core. Little by little I am rumbling him down to dust.

Eliza is a lot heavier with her touch. In her defense, I need it. Lot more ground to cover than Gawain and her hands still only take up half of it on a good day. Today is certainly good, but a tighter grip and more power in the strokes is needed. I move my leg back and give her something to grind on if she wants to. She takes the offer and I feel her heat start its infection of my body. It teases the noises I weave and widens the gap of threads. Light and airy and warm, a fire's dancing light under a starry sky full of meteors and comets. I close my eyes and give myself over to the sensation.

I hum. I think I'm humming. Fairly sure. Almost entirely sure. It would be a good time to do so. And I am. I am humming a song and thinking about thinking at all. I am moving my hands over Gawain and taking his thrum to set my tempo. Eliza gives me a beat against my own flesh, and she is good with her own bit of motion she's in charge of. Strong and decisive, each stroke a hammer fall on an anvil. Her hands are pleasantly cool to the touch. Gawain's burning up and if I didn't know any better, I would think he was running a fever. I hope not. He does not deserve a fever.

My other hand plays on his chest and I finger a series of chords on him, ticking and playing along with my hum. He laughs again and wiggles like a newborn trying to escape a swaddling cloth. I don't let him. Eliza halts for a moment and I stop singing. She starts again and so do I.

"Don't do that," Gawain moans, "Whatever happens don't stop singing."

"Blame her," I say, "Not my fault."

"Blame him," she sighs, "I'm doing my best and I know the beautiful moment of death."

"Shut up and stroke me," I sigh, "Or you're not getting me going down."

"Don't threaten me like that. You're going there, no matter what."

She's right, but I don't tell her that. But she goes back to me and gives me what I want. I'm big enough to slide through Gawain's thighs and bolster his own rising action as well. Eliza and I encircle both and work through it together. We have the moment shared together and every sensation collects and collides. Gawain's all squirmy and wriggly desperately trying to get some sensation in him that isn't going to leave him wanting. He'll get that when it's time. He'll get everything he's ever wanted. I blow in his ear.

That was it. That was the last little bit of agony he needed to be sent over the edge. I know the signs by know. The shakes and the squeaks and all the little motions he can go through in the terrible moments as it builds. And I take them from him. His hands scramble behind him and find just the right spot to pull me in.

I taste his lips and he tastes like smoke and ember. He tastes like charcoal and sparks. I hum into him, and his entire body reverberates with the notes like a struck crystal glass. I feel his release ring through my length in the twitches and pulses and it tickles. He pulls away and pants, trying to get his senses back in his head.

"Did that feel good," I murmur in his ear. He mewls a bit and nods. Streaks and puddles in the grass, all of him wasted on the earth. He snuggles in close. He wants everything warm and coddling and soft, and he has me to give them to him. I do. I press my cheek into his. He nuzzles back like a lost kitten. I'm honestly surprised that he doesn't start purring.

Unfortunately, I am yet to feel completely good. I feel nice and pleasant, but in order to be fully good, I have to abandon poor Gawain to the elements. He whines and breaks my heart. I'm just glad he's not looking at me. I couldn't take those wide eyes and quivering lips. Luckily, I have an Eliza to distract me.

She's strong. I keep forgetting how strong she can be, but she lifts me up like I'm nothing at all, twirling me like a leaf on the wind. Dizzy and spinning and reeling, I find myself laid atop her stomach, head gazing down at her legs. It's the best rock slab I've ever known. My finger traces the lines of darkened skin against her pale gray. There's a slight difference in texture. It almost feels like soft sand. She is a mountain range, dipping into valleys and mountains of muscle and flesh. Her stomach flexes and tenses.

"Don't show off," I hum, "You've already impressed me."

"I'm not doing anything," she sighs, "And neither are you. One of those is a problem."

Using my incredible powers of deduction, I figure out which one she means. Judging by the way her breath licks my thighs as I trace my fingers down, I am correct. Just like always. I tease the soft pockets and little nub and all the wonderful contraptions of her anatomy. They are a mystery, but one I like figuring out. Sequence and buttons, levers and pulleys, a vast machine of wonders that pulls my legs open and makes me lift my hips.

"How are you that flexible," Gawain sighs. Just for him, I go a bit more, a bit higher, until I can't take the burn in my sockets anymore. He tuts and shakes his head.

"You just got on her case for showing off," he says, "And then you just have to look like you're made of rubber."

I kiss Eliza's stomach. I can't say anything. I don't have to say anything. Eliza is the one bending me and turning me and trying to figure out how I work. Not sure it's all that complicated, but she can figure it out. Just kiss the tip and work the rest down your throat hole until everything is inside and her chin touches my belly button. I don't make it easy. I sway and bob with impatience. She cranes her neck to follow me. Her hands keep me still with a bit more force. I think I'll have a few handprints in the morning. I'm fine with that. I should have kicks and scratches and marks all over me. It feels right. She has her lines, and I will have mine.

I work my lips lower, and she works hers higher. We meet at the same time and the full circuit is complete. An ouroboros, devouring each other in an eternal cycle. Slowly, I savor her slowly. She weeps nectar for me in thick beading tears. I kiss softly. She kisses hard. There is no other way she knows how. A hammer to the world and everything is a nail. When it is all laid flat and smooth, she'll put in more dents just to soothe them out again. I flex and move with the motion she gives. The only way to live through a storm is to bend like a reed. I like her in soft circles as a pale imitation of what she is doing to me.

And it is still enough to buy me a wonderful weep of her arousal. It is turning the clouds away from me and back into herself. All of her starts to waver. I find the song I was singing and dive back into it. No words, save the snap of the fire and moans she gives me. I give her the same. Its harmony and melody and percussion wrapped into one continuous line.

Gawain's off on his own, cleaning up or getting dirtier or doing whatever he wants. Might just have turned in for an early night. Might have wondered out in the dark to relieve himself. Might be watching us with utter jealousy. I don't know. I work my tongue into Eliza and begin in earnest once the music flows from all of us.

It turns out that Gawain has found something to do. He's playing with us, touching every sensitive part he can find. And he can find a lot. He is the audience storming the stage. He slaps my ass and forces Eliza to take me deeper. Might regret that in the morning, if Eliza doesn't kick his ass right now. She doesn't though. She seems to get the message.

She forces me down too and I start more intricate patterns in her as well. Swirls and shapes, mirroring the markings she wears. She likes that. I honestly think that gargans have those markings just as a roadmap for this purpose. I don't know if that's true, but I believe it.