Heart of the Forest

In time, though, the moment passed, and he rose to his feet. Motioning to the people around them, Rosalyn remembered that they were not alone.

"A nice enough dessert," he said, motioning to those who had watched the pair while eating their own meal.

"But I think I'm about ready for something to eat."

Rosalyn bowed.

"Right away, my master," she said in his own language as she rose to obey the order.

Hopefully, her accent hadn't been too wretched. And even more hopefully, for one coupling was hardly enough to quench the fire that burned within her, perhaps he would be ready for a second performance after his meal.

As it happened, Rosalyn did not, in fact, get a chance for another repeat performance. Though to her satisfaction, she at least got another taste of him as he ate his meal. The chief, however, had another task for her, so away she went. Rosalyn could tell her master was disappointed. This saddened her, but she must obey the chief's commands.

Soon, Rosalyn found herself kneeling at the feet of a blue painted warrior, a woman this time. She looked down at Rosalyn, face filled with scorn as she grabbed a fistful of Rosalyn's hair.

"Is no warrior," she said, "is barely thrall."

Despite her words, she continued to give Rosalyn a long, appraising look as the warrior's eyes swept up and down her kneeling form. With a sharp tug that left Rosalyn's hair aching at the roots, the warrior pulled her head back until their eyes were locked. Rosalyn trembled as she was forced to look, unable to match the intensity she saw in those eyes. Flush with shame at being found wanting by someone so far above her.

Her other hand grasped Rosalyn by the chin, turning her head side to side while she appraised it as Rosalyn might have examined an untested recruit. There was an impassive frankness to that gaze, one that the most jaded sergeant might have envied. Satisfied by whatever she saw, her hand slid downwards, trailing a sole finger along Rosalyn's collarbone.

Head still forced back by the grip on her hair, Rosalyn couldn't see her finger as it continued down the flat of her breastbone. She could only feel as the warrior cupped her right breast, eliciting a moan as she circled Rosalyn's nipple where the paint had just recently dried. She cried out as the warrior gave the nipple a sharp twist before letting Rosalyn's breast hang free once more.

"Is barely a thrall," the warrior repeated, releasing her grip on Rosalyn's hair.

"But," she said with a growing smile, "can make it work."

"Good," the chief said, before addressing Rosalyn once more.

"Is eighteen warriors who took you in the forest," he said, "eighteen to thank personally for safe passage. You already thank first. Now number two."

The warrior wasted no time taking hold of Rosalyn once more as she found herself pulled in between the warrior's legs. This was going to be, Rosalyn began to realize, a very long night. But as her tongue tasted the sweet nectar hidden in the warrior's folds, she realized that she wouldn't want it any other way.

It was nearly two weeks later that Rosalyn once again found herself at the forest's edge, this time looking out. As she felt the unfiltered sunlight warm her skin for the first time in weeks, she was hit with a profound sense of loss. She turned back, watching the path slowly fade away as she continued onwards. Within a few minutes, there was nothing left but mile after mile of indistinct, unbroken treeline.

As she reluctantly turned her focus to the path ahead of her, Rosalyn saw that she wasn't the only one in her party that had looked back wistfully. Most of the group wore glazed, regretful expressions, even as they followed their leader back home.

Rosalyn's command instincts warned her that this could not last. This was no pleasure hike, and the wildlands no place to lose focus. Still, it could wait a while. Until camp tonight, at least. After all, she knew exactly what they were feeling.

The paint was gone, washed away in preparation for their departure, but Rosalyn still imagined that she could feel it on her skin. A distant echo of that blissful sense of belonging that she yearned to recapture.

It hurt a little to let the raiders get away with their stolen goods. Even though the His Lordship would hardly miss a few trifles stolen from one country lodge, it pained Rosalyn to allow anyone to steal from him at all. Nonetheless, it was the chief's will that they keep the goods, and she bowed to his wisdom.

Besides, Rosalyn though, blushing as she remembered the weight of the raider pressing down on her, the memory of him inside of her, these weren't just any raiders. These were friends of the Tribe. That made it all right. Almost.

And anyway, contact with the Shadeweald tribes was nothing to scoff at. Not only contact, but a trade agreement, and maybe even an alliance. Surely that was prize enough to make up for a few lost baubles.

The best part was, no treaty could be made in a single encounter. Rosalyn had a feeling that she would be returning a great many times before this was through. Already, she was planning who she would bring next time. In her head, Rosalyn began forming a list, trying to decide which border guards were the comeliest. Which would please her tribe the most. And of course, any significant negotiation would require the presence of nobility. Rosalyn could think of more than a few large chested court puffs who would benefit from a an introduction to the tribe, and a close personal lesson in the fact that they were not the center of the world.

Rosalyn wouldn't mind such a lesson herself, but for now she had only her blissful remembrances, and the knowledge that she would see them all again soon.