Roses

Once again, he climbed the small hill where the harpist played. Today, however, he made sure to approach her from the front. He was certain that if she could see him coming from some distance, she wouldn't be startled and flee.

He neared the summit with a friendly smile. His eyes met with those of the harpist's at a distance of about forty yards. This time, instead being afraid, she glared at him in displeasure. That didn't deter Epimonos. He would eagerly make amends for yesterday's intrusion if need be.

By the time he was within ten feet of the spiky creature, she was scowling in annoyance. She stopped playing and once again descended into her bramble seat.

"No!" Epimonos called, breaking in to a jog "Wait! Please don't go!"

The harpist's retreat wasn't so urgent this time. Epimonos was actually able to see her legs and torso 'fraying' into dozens of bramble stems as she sank into the couch and became one with it. But she was still completely gone by the time Epimonos reached her side.

He sighed in frustration.

"I mean you no harm! You have my word!" he reiterated to the motionless bush. "I came to tell you that your music is wonderful. I like it very much.

"Please come out and play some more," he requested. "I don't want you to be afraid of me. I'd like to be your friend."

No response.

He waited patiently for her to realize he spoke the truth. He was certain that she was somehowinside the bush, and that she'd heard every word he'd said.

While he waited, he took a moment to admire her magnificent harp. The workmanship was superb. A floral bas relief had been forged into much of the solid gold frame. Against the tall side of the frame, a figure of busty dryad leaned forward with a seductive smile.

Epimonos reached out to feel the careful detail of the decoration. But just as he made contact with the harp, a rapidly-growing bramble vine snaked out of the bush and coiled tightly around the harp. Its branches encircled the frame and weaved between the strings, ensuring an unshakable hold upon the harp.

Epimonos' hand quickly recoiled as the vine all but consumed the harp. He looked over to the bush and saw two hazel eyes imbedded in the stems of the bush, glaring furiously at him. All the leaves of the bush rustled wildly, though Epimonos had felt no breeze blowing. The sound was distinctly threatening.

"You're right. It's doesn't belong to me. I shouldn't have touched it," Epimonos conceded as he looked directly into the bitter eyes of the bush. "I meant no harm, but it was wrong anyway. I'm sorry."

His apology did nothing to soften the harsh gaze of the bush. It was clear the bramble spirit didn't trust him in the least. Epimonos realized that continuing to violate the creature's personal space would only make her angrier at this point, so he calmly stepped away from and returned to the main garden.

Epimonos' guilt lifted a little when he heard the harp music once more. It had taken her longer to resume playing today that it had yesterday. Epimonos imagined that she must've been hunkered down in that bush for over half an hour. He felt terrible for unsettling the timid creature so.

He wondered why she was so defensive. Was she like that towards everyone? Or was there something about him she didn't like?

"Here you are, my lord," a breathy feminine voice declared, as a bunch of red grapes appeared before his face. "You must be hungry."

It was a dryad making the offering. She was pale green, with nice B-cup breasts and a long mane of grass-like hair.

"Oh... Thank you," Epimonos said as he accepted the gift.

"It is my pleasure, my lord," the dryad replied with a nod and a keen gaze. "We all wish you to be content while you share the garden with us."

Epimonos felt something brushing across his right temple. It was a leaf on a thin vine that had somehow curled over his shoulder and around his back without him noticing. A moment later he realized that the vine was actually part of the dryad, growing like a tail from just above her ass. She caressed his face teasingly with her tail, before slowly withdrawing it, stroking his back and waist along the way. Then, with a lingering glance, she turned her back and walked away, with and seductive sway in both her hips and tail. She turned her head and gave Epimonos another inviting look a few seconds later.

Epimonos followed, already feeling the blood beginning to collect in his manhood. The dryad quickened her pace and Epimonos did likewise. She was soon racing away from him at a lively dash, giggling mischievously. Epimonos tried for a little while, but he could not possibly match her speed.

The brief chase happened to pass by one of the human men, Mathima of Thebes, whom Epimonos had met the night before. He was resting on a small mound of earth.

"It seems her flowers are not yet ready to bloom, friend," Mathima laughed. His mirth faded a little when he saw the confusion and frustration on Epimonos' face. "Don't feel bad. Many dryads have no interest in certain men. It's a common occurrence. Be assured that there are many more comely dryads out there whowill gladly lay with you," he told Epimonos.

"A delightful thought indeed," Epimonos agreed. "But I felt certain that that dryadwas offering herself to me. She caressed me with her tail, she brought me these grapes," he said, holding up the dryad's gift. "...And she looked at me in a way that seemed... hungry."

"Perhaps she expects proof of your virility before she will accept you," Mathima suggested, "Many dryads will refuse to mate until their suitors show that they can be hard enough to bring the dryad to climax. Though normally, such dryads will provide an erotic exhibition to help their suitor achieve the stiffness they desire."

"You saw for yourself -- she fled before I had a chance to prove my 'virility,'" Epimonos countered.

"That's true," Mathima agreed. "Tell me, did she accept your offering?" he asked.

"Offering? What offering?" Epimonos replied in confusion.

"The courtship offering," Mathima said. "Youdo know about the courtship offering, don't you?"

Epimonos shook his head.

"Nobody has told you of it?" Mathima asked with surprise.

Again, Epimonos simply shook his head.

"By the gods! What a horrid lapse!" Mathima exclaimed as he sat up, now taking Epimonos' predicament more seriously.

"My friend, before a dryad will consort with a man, he must present her with a gift," he explained. "It's a courtship ritual that no dryad neglects, no matter how wanton she is.

"They may have admitted you into their garden, but that merely means they were impressed with your virility, or virtue, or perhaps some other characteristic. If you wish to be invited into a dryad's sex, you must impress her with yourmanners. Come to her with offering that will please her, to show that you respect and admire her. If she finds you attractive, too, she will present herself to you and you may take her as a lover," the man instructed.

"I see. And what forms of offering do the dryads find pleasing?" Epimonos inquired.

"Water," Mathima answered.

"Water?" Epimonos repeated, surprised by the simplicity of the answer.

"Are you surprised? They're tree spirits!" Mathima jovially replied with a shrug. "Their only needs are water and sunlight!"

Epimonos nodded as he considered the logic of Mathima's words.

"And, as I said before it's not so much the water itself the dryads desire, but the respect you show by offering it to them," Mathima added. "Some men would seek to simply 'take' a dryad, as if she were a belonging to be used. But this act is abhorrent to them and they resist any man who does not appreciate them.

"There are many bowls along the banks of the brook that runs through the garden," he continued. "They are communal; all the men are welcome to take them so they may make their courtship offering to a dryad they desire. Just remember to return it to the brook after you have sown your oats."

"Fine advice, indeed. Thank you, my friend," Epimonos replied with a gracious smile.

A slight sneer grew upon the harpist's face as she noticed Epimonos approaching her once again. Cupped within his hands was a large stone bowl of clear, fresh water. It was heavy to carry and Epimonos had to walk with greater care than usual to avoid spilling too much.

Following his informative conversation with Mathima, Epimonos had hoped that a kind peace offering of water would cool the spiky harpist's temper. Alas, she seemed just as unwelcoming as ever. When he came within six or seven yards of her, she again retired silently into the bramble couch.

Epimonos made no effort to deter her this time. He simply continued over to the bush and gently laid the water bowl right in front of it. He acknowledged the bush with a polite smile and then stepped away. He walked over to the large ash nearby, sat down in front of it and relaxed against it.

He stayed there, keeping his eyes trained as best he could upon the brambles. He amused himself with various daydreams, some of which were highly erotic encounters with a pretty dryad that he'd made up himself. He also pondered the fact that the birdsong sounded so ordinary without the harpist's accompaniment.

It took over an hour, but Epimonos' patience was rewarded. With a gentle rustling of the bush's leaves, the prickly harpist slowly emerged, looking just as miffed as when she'd disappeared.

"Hello," Epimonos greeted with a friendly smile.

The creature maintained her frosty glare.

"I missed you," Epimonos said, almost as a tease of the creature's constant rebuffs.

His remark yielded no response from the creature, irate or otherwise. Epimonos was sure she was pretending to ignore him.

The harpist gazed down intently at the stone bowl full of water at her feet. For a second, Epimonos thought he saw her expression soften. But then she turned and stared him straight in the eye, with a defiant smirk. She gently pushed the bowl well aside with her foot, pointedly rejecting his peace offering. Epimonos' felt a little hurt, but made an effort to continue smiling as the harpist took her seat and prepared to resume her playing.

The harpist began her melody with a proud smile on her face, as if she had somehow beaten Epimonos. What she didn't know is that her lovely music swiftly quashed his disappointment.

He leaned forward and gazed upon her, watching as her dainty, yet sharp fingers plucked perfect ripples of sound from the harp's strings. All ten of her spindly digits, along with her arms, moved with such grace, as if they were dancing upon a spring zephyr. He noticed she defaulted to an expression of blissful serenity, closing her eyes while she played. She surrendered herself completely to her music, letting it pulse through her body like a human's heartbeat.

Epimonos was captivated by the spectacle. The harpist was such a pleasure to watch, engrossed in her art. So much so that it virtually obscured her unsettling features.

The harpist noticed Epimonos' gaze and seemed amused. No doubt she assumed it was just another futile attempt to make friends with her. But gradually, she became irritated by his unfaltering admiration.

The minutes flew by for Epimonos as he listened to her play. He didn't even realize that a couple of hours had come and gone since she had returned to her harp. Eventually, he began to feel tired and leaned back against the trunk of the tree. He closed his eyes, but not his ears.

Several minutes later, the sonata the harpist had been playing came to a natural end. As Epimonos waited leisurely for her next tune to begin, he could've sworn he heard a soft swallowing sound... and then another.

He opened his eyelids ever so slightly and peeked through the sliver of vision. Just as he suspected - the harpist was holding the stone bowl and drinking deeply. She drank until the bowl was empty, and then licked the last cool drops slowly from her lips.

Epimonos tried to remain nonchalant, but he couldn't stop himself from grinning broadly. The creature had finally accepted his gift. He'd suspected earlier that she found the water enticing, as she'd taken such care not to spill any when she pushed it away. If she'd sincerely been offended, she would have simply kicked it over.

The harpist noticed Epimonos smiling.

"Must you sit there and gawk at me all day?" she snapped in a strong, profoundly feminine voice.

"No," Epimonos replied in a playful tone, delighted that she was finallyspeaking to him, "I canstand here and gawk at you, if you prefer."

The harpist let out a loud huff and looked up at the sky, as if to implore the gods to eject this fool from her hill. She stomped back to her couch, sat down and launched right in to an exciting, fast-tempo symphony. But it was more like she was playing to ease her frustration, rather than for Epimonos' entertainment.

Her melodies became more tranquil as the day went on. After a while, she seemed to have almost forgotten Epimonos was around.

Later in the afternoon, Epimonos felt hungry, but he couldn't bring himself to leave the graceful harpist. There was plenty of delicious fruit down in the garden, but the music wasn't as clear down there.

As the sun was setting, the harpist creature played a final ambrosial lullaby, before retiring into the bramble patch for the night. She shot Epimonos a parting glare as she disappeared.

Already missing her and her wonderful music, Epimonos stood up awkwardly and staggered forward. His ass was asleep from sitting on it all day long. He limped down to the garden for some much needed dinner. He was famished!

He joined the other men again for the nightly banquet. During a lull in the conversation, he asked them what they knew about the harpist.

"That creature?" replied haughty Mataios. He spoke as if he was surprised anyone would care to ask about the thorny woman. "No doubt she's just some minstrel who plays for our amusement."

"Yes, but what manner of creature is she?" Epimonos asked.

"I don't know," Mataios answered, "Some accursed beast, no doubt. But what does it matter? The attractive women are all down here in the garden. Why concern yourself with such a disturbing creature? It's clear from her barbed skin that she's meant to be avoided. Spend your time with the comely women who will fulfil your sexual desires, not the pronged one who will tear through your flesh."

Epimonos didn't pursue the topic any further. He felt sorry for the poor harpist, being talked of so coldly. It occurred to him that this was probably the typical attitude visitors to the garden had towards her. It saddened him that someone who beautified the garden with such lovely music could be so under-appreciated.

By the time the nightly erotic chase began, Epimonos felt very well fed and tired. Having had nothing but a handful of grapes to eat all day, he had eaten heartily at the banquet. He tried pursuing some of the nimble, giggling dryads through the garden, more so because it was expected of him rather than genuine arousal. But it was very tiresome trying to run on such a full stomach. Before long, he had curled up beneath a stout oak and soon drifted off into a deep, peaceful slumber.

The harpist shook her head in exasperation as her bothersome fan climbed her hill again the next morning. He was carrying another stone bowl full of water.

Epimonos gently laid the bowl on the ground, just a couple of feet away from her. Without the slightest interruption to her tune, she peered over to inspect the bowl's contents. She huffed and flashed him a stern glance before turning her attention back to her harp.

Epimonos stepped back with a sly smirk. The harpist thought she was discouraging him with her expressions of displeasure. But she had slipped up... She had not retreated into her couch today when he had come within arm's reach of her

It was her friendliest welcome, yet.

Epimonos returned to the comfy patch of ground where he had been sitting yesterday and gave the sublime musician his complete attention.

Later in the morning a small party of three dryads leisurely sashayed their way to the top of the hill. They gathered around behind the harpist, but stood so that Epimonos had an unobscured view of each of them.

The dryads danced to the flowing rhythm of the music, swaying their hips and caressing their naked bodies. They showed off their luscious busts by mashing their breasts together to create deep cleavage and they teased Epimonos by slowly petting their gyrating snatches. As they danced, they would look at him with 'come hither' eyes and a feisty pout.

Epimonos enjoyed their exhibition very much. It was an erotic accompaniment for the harpist's performance. He loved the way their motions perfectly followed the melody. It was as if the dryads had been just as captivated by the music as Epimonos himself.

Epimonos soon bore a mighty erection beneath his toga, yet oddly, he didn't feel compelled to get up and seek release with one of the lovely dryads. The harpist's music was such bliss to listen to; even the seductive tree nymphs couldn't tempt him away.

With lust in his blood and an achingly hard cock, Epimonos began to see the brilliant musician in a different light. He noticed the way she rocked to and fro to the sensual tempo of her sonata; the way her slender, feminine arms rolled gracefully over the strings; the way her closed eyes and absent smile betrayed how she was lost in the rapture of her own music.

For the first time Epimonos found himself having physical feelings for the creature. But they lasted only briefly, before being quenched by the sight of the dangerous spikes that lined her entire body.

After dancing through several sonatas, the dryads seemed to realize, with disappointment, that they could not steal Epimonos' attention. One of them noticed the bowl of water at the harpist's feet. She spoke to the harpist in a strange, inhuman language that consisted of high-pitched chirps and soft clicking. The harpist replied in the same tongue and another dryad entered the conversation.

From the body language, Epimonos gathered that the dryads had asked the harpist why she had a full bowl of water at her feet. The harpist had given some unflattering answer regarding Epimonos and the dryads asked her if they could have the water, assuming she didn't want it. The harpist indicated that they were welcome to it.

One of the dryads lifted the bowl and drank from it with a delighted giggle. As she continued with her tune, the harpist shot Epimonos a defiant glare and a wicked smile. What clearer message of rejection could she give him than giving his gift away? Epimonos felt hurt by the gesture.

The dryad with the bowl passed it to her sister, who also drank from it. Pleased with their prize, the three dryads returned to the garden, laughing and sharing the bowl between them along the way.

Not long after, Epimonos stood up with a heavy-hearted sigh and wandered away in the same direction. A beaming grin washed over the harpist's face as he passed her.

"Finally, I'm rid of him!" she thought.

But only a few minutes later, she watched in disbelief as her doting fan ascended the hill once more, with yet another bowl full of cool water. The expression on her face was priceless: like she felt she was caught in a bad joke.

Once again, Epimonos laid the bowl by her feet with a gracious smile and a bow, before returning to his usual spot on the grass.

A few minutes later, the sonata ended. With a whimper of surrender, the harpist bent over and grabbed the bowl. Soft moans of delight escaped her as she drank. To plant spirits, water was evidently a very satisfying treat. The harpist was probably extremely tempted by his first offering. It must've taken all her willpower to refuse it. A second temptation was simply too much for her.