Songs to Move Stone Ch. 03-04

Foreword:

I've been enjoying playing with a fantasy setting as a change of pace as I get back into writing. All characters are fictional and over 18. Let me know what you think, comments and rating appreciated.

Chapter Three: Harper Vale

The satyr disappeared as quickly as she'd sprung up, returning to her numerous duties within the student domicile. Harper's hand lingered at the handle of the door. There was no locking mechanism to be seen, which didn't bode well for her privacy moving forward. It was to be expected, after all. Magic was an unwieldy and dangerous force even in the most skilled hands. Though women who could access the arcane were not susceptible to the threat of madness or unraveling as men were, they were not immune from simple magical mishaps which could spell disaster. It was a weapon or tool like any other and demanded constant vigilance and supervision.

Harper suspected the bathhouse would offer little more in the way of solitude. Her tail wrapped defensively around her body as she pulled the iron handle inwards. Despite being built to accommodate larger races than her own, the oak door budged open easily. The room was modest. Two single serve cots flanked each side of the room, with a single writing desk situated near the door. At the bottom each of each bunk was a sizable coffer for their belongings, again, no locks. Laying on one of the beds was the Titan girl who had so brazenly blown past her in the foyer.

Her stature was similar to that of Bramwell, but less broadly set, with deep gray and brown speckled skin that resembled granite. The Titan's short and unkempt scarlet mane sharply contrasted the dull steel of Bram's beard. Her head was shaved on either side, with Titan hieroglyphics along her temple and neck. The tattoos winded down across her chest and down to her hip.

She was a handsome woman, with a strong jawline. Her sharp, concave nose was adorned with several rings, including a chain that ran to the piercings at her ear. Including her septum, navel, and lip, Harper guessed she had over a dozen metallic and gemstone embellishments.

Leth'ila appeared to be asleep, with one arm draped across forehead to shield her from the light. Harper heard a sluggish groan, confirming her suspicions. She wore only a tight linen wrap across the cresting hills of her ample bust, with loose fitting breeches below that cut off at the calf. There appeared to be similar wraps placed around her feet as a form of footwear. Her other hand was rather brutishly stuffed down the waist of her slacks.

"Leth'ila?" Harper probed cautiously, her voice coming out as little more than a murmur as she clutched her pack to her chest like a protective talisman.

There was another feeble moan, and Harper decided to take advantage of the fair weather while it lasted. She crept over to the other bed, and furtively stashed her belongings in the chest at the base. The majority of her possessions were books, ranging from collections of nursery tales to complex articulations on arcane emblems. The collection of tomes and scrolls accounted for almost half the space in the chest, the rest she filled by haphazardly stuffing her clothes inside. Her last and most precious belonging, a leather bound case around the size of her forearm, she stashed in the corner beneath the bed.

Quiet as a cat burglar, she cut her path back to the exit. On her way out, however, Harper stole a glance at the Titan. Her breath caught in her lungs like wind dropping from a sail.

Leth'ila's vocalizations slipped deeper, developing into lewd moans. Harper stood stunned, mere steps from making her escape. The Titans hand moved more fervently now below the fabric of her pants.

Mouth agape, Harper had found herself unwillingly thrust into the role of voyeur. Unbidden, her eyes were drawn to the Titan woman's body. Sharp, jagged musculature matched the unbowed mountains of her homeland, with abs that cut along her midsection like deep ravines. Harper found herself watching the woman's bulging muscles move with fascination, marveling at the contrast to her own softer image. She tried to center her mind elsewhere, but she was utterly transfixed. An involuntary hum escaped Harper's lips as she began to drift away into her own fantasies.

Harper had never seen a woman so... grand. Many of the elven folk that she'd encountered in her past were statuesque and quite imposing in their own regard, but she'd never imagined Titan women to be so colossal. She doubted she could wrap both hands around a single bicep, and shuddered at the thought of how large those hands would be on her body.

"Shatter me," the Titan groaned. The rasp of her voice was sweet and gritty. Somewhere between chimes in the wind and skipping pebbles. Her hand was now propped behind her head, running through her hair. "Make yourself scarce, or make yourself useful."

She peeked down at Harper, apparently awaiting a response. Her eyes swam as capriciously as the sea, with color as deep to match. If Bramwell looked like an animal in a cage, Leth'ila looked like a beast on the hunt. There was a sharp challenge in her deep enchanting cobalt irises. She could hear herself whimpering but it felt so far away.

Harper's flight instincts took over and she bolted.

Though she tried to act casual, her panicked pace earned a number of curious looks. She skittered down the stairs and out the back door. The rear exit led into the small private garden that separated the dormitories and the baths. It was a pleasant pocket of serenity, but she didn't have time to linger. The plan was to get in and out as quickly as she could while everyone else was preoccupied, including her new roommate.

There was a quaint changing room at the front of the baths with several small stalls, each containing a hook with a drying cloth hanging from it and a nook to store old launderings. A cursory glance suggested all the towels were still there, giving Harper a spark of optimism.

She shed her old clothing like she was held at swordpoint. Harper undressed in a flurry as she nervously stuffed her discarded garments in a box and grabbed a washcloth, hurriedly wrapping it around her chest. She loosened the ribbon in her hair, letting out her ponytail and shaking the knots loose from the autumnal tresses gathering at her shoulders.

The immediate gust of tepid air came as a relief. Warm baths were not a privilege she had often. Freezing seawater was a poor substitution for a proper bath, and she'd had little opportunity to bathe at all during her trip here. It was serene, for a lingering moment, and Harper found herself giggling in spite of herself. There were four separate baths, each with aqueduct deposited water into the basins. Dimly lit citrine gems inlaid at the bottom of the basin provided heat, with a pull drain at the bottom. Only the back two were filled.

"Well aren't you a curious stray," a familiar, but unseen voice rang. Harper nearly leapt from her skin, tiptoeing forward trepidatiously.

There was the sound of sloshing water as Niamh emerged from the corner of the bath. The elf was naked as the day she was born, and just as shameless as when she'd besieged Harper on the street. Harper nervously studied the ground as the sea elf stepped from the bath with no towel in sight.

She stole only a single cursory glance upward and immediately regretted it. The older woman had a generous hourglass frame, with slight delicate shoulders and bountiful, heavy breasts that seemingly defied both gravity and time. Coral colored areola flaunted pert rigid nipples, matching the hue of her devilishly curled lips. Nimah's waist met at a tight cinch, above which her hands boldly rested akimbo against wide child-bearing hips. Harper didn't have the courage to let her eyes wander any further than that. She mantled crimson, churning with a mixture of envy and desire.

Niamh flashed a triumphant grin. "Did you follow me here?"

Did she honestly think Harper so spineless? Indignation overcame her apprehension. Harper defiantly met her gaze, steeling herself.

"I came for the baths," Harper bristled, doing her best to maintain a scowl in face of Niamh's tickled smirk, "or have you already forgotten tackling me to the street?"

"Not an experience I'd forget soon," Niamh mused, "though I would venture you needed that bath before our little introduction."

Harper was frustrated, exhausted, caked in mud, and in no mood for this woman's provocations. She was moments away from a biting retort when the sea elf cut in. As always, a sly undercurrent surged behind her apologetic facade.

"'Syrlia', please excuse my ribbing. I don't mean to damper your soak, I just-"

"Harper! My name is Harper, I am not your pet, nor your daughter or lover!"

"You speak Tyrmerean?"

Waves bury her, that hadn't taken long to slip. A cowed whine slipped from her lips as tears collected at the corner of her golden hazel eyes. Her gaze broke, and she returned to staring at her feet which had begun to quake beneath her. How did she ever think she could pull this off? She couldn't even make it through the first night without betraying her own secrets. Frustration at her own shortcomings, fear of this unknown world she'd stepped into, and countless other burdens pulled at her shoulders. It was all too much and it threatened to consume her.

A dreadfully familiar feeling burrowed into her. Not here, not now. She wasn't going to break down like this. It felt like a crushing vice on her chest, some unseen ghostly grip wrenched at her heart. Harper's face burned red as she started to hyperventilate.

That had been one thing the sea elf hadn't expected. Her expression and voice both lightened. "I apologize, Ylar-... Miss Harper. My mother always told me my tongue took to the sea before my mind left harbor. You remind me of someone dear I once knew, and I forgot myself."

Harper didn't trust her voice to hold, only nodding in return.

"Let's get you cleaned up dear."

Harper nodded again, numbly following the sea elf's lead to the edge of one the basins. Her mind only returned to her as she felt a gentle tug at her towel. She clutched the garment around her like it was the last line of defense between her and a rampaging orc. Harper frantically eyed Niamh. Her dubious origins were a minor hiccup, but if this woman learned about what was between her legs it would spell disaster.

"I won't bite, 'Myristar', and it's nothing I haven't seen before," Niamh assured her, using a term of respect between differing Tyrmerean tribes.

Harper remained unmoving, and a second tug caused her to recoil as if Niamh was venomous. The elf didn't know how wrong she was. Her voice faltered, coming out as a pathetic stuttered squeak, "I-I c-can't do this..."

How could she expect to last two or more years if she couldn't get through a single bath? It was an innocuous and communal act amongst many, but even so she'd never had to bathe in front of a stranger.

At a cursory glance Harper's form was decidedly feminine. She was taller than most of her kind, but Nivarien weren't plentiful, and the dimorphism between sexes was almost negligible. Overall she still stood a touch above most human women but well beneath the stature of elves, and her elevated height only contributed to her litheness. Her breasts were vexingly nonexistent, but her youthful appearance made for a quickly drawn excuse. The trait that she noticed most often catching the eyes of men, and a few women, was her voluminous hips and plump rear. She had slightly pudgy thighs with long legs which accounted for most of her height.

Still, there was one stubborn and glaring trait that was becoming more troublesome with each of the sea elf's provocations.

Frustratingly, the more distance Harper placed between them, the more the sea elf pushed back. The naked woman was all but cradling Harper now. The feeling of her slick skin sent bumps across Harper's arms as she struggled to keep herself covered. She shifted restlessly in Niamh's grip. Her breath became hot and labored. Those knowing fingertips returned to her ears, and her strength waned.

"What secrets do you have beneath your smallclothes that cause you such tumult?"

"'Vystalis, matara vassyr'," Harper mewled in their shared tongue.

"My, she's agreeable now. Downright affable. 'Please mother' what?"

Her last sliver of sanity railed inside her. Stuff it you blustering fool! She didn't know the first thing about this woman, she could be handing herself a death sentence. While it was unlikely a Tyrmerean would hold her identity against her, if this woman knew why Harper was here she doubted that leniency would extend so far. What her father had done for her was considered abhorrent and grounds for excommunication. Maybe even execution. If this stranger knew that she was-

"'Dymrir a-alynda fyrrysa'," the admission tumbled out despite her, and the bawling followed soon after.

Chapter Four: Niamhara Lysandyr

"Oh!" Niamh gasped, shocked by both the revelation as well as Harper's visceral reaction to sharing it. She'd met precious few Dymrir, and certainly none that ventured so close to Thalassar. The pieces of the puzzle quickly began to fall into place. Her songbird lilt fell to a dusky refrain as a shadow crossed her features. "Oh..."

Niamhara did her best to maintain her composure. She was divided in sentiment, her heart wrenched in either direction. She felt obligated to comfort this poor wailing child, but on the other hand, the Nivarien girl's disclosure left her itching to flee and put as much space between the two of them as she could. She found herself drawn to Harper, but the girl was a ticking time bomb. How had she washed up here? She was either brave or dim to go rushing into the dragon's den like this. If anyone other than herself had gleaned this information it would have certainly spelled disaster. Niamh gently hushed her sobbing.

Unfortunately, she wasn't left much time to mull things over. Distant voices in the adjacent room lent some urgency to the matter. It appeared that Harper noticed as well, as her lamentation withered and were replaced with abject fear. Niamh should have known better than to try and shelter the girl after everything she'd been through. Still, Harper stared up at her with that same helpless look that Asilinn had always given her.

Asilinn... She'd pushed away that memory for so long that when her name bubbled up it dredged with it all the wounds and relics of what had transpired. It left a bitter taste lingering at her tongue but helped to strengthen her resolve.

"Let's get you in the water Ylarel."

The girl looked at her as if she'd politely asked an eel to climb into a boiling pot for supper.

"It will make much less of a scene if I don't have to throw you in, dear." Niamh insisted, mimicking the kind of stern tone her mother was apt to wield.

Harper blanched. She scuttled over to the bath and shed her towel as though it were aflame. Niamhara did her best to not ogle, but she was admittedly more than a little curious. The strange girl was a walking enigma, in more ways than one. Though somewhat abrasive and flighty, Harper had an emanate femininity that Niamh was drawn to. Niamh suspected the girl was young for her age, perhaps in her third or fourth decade. She had met a few Nivarien before her and it was always difficult to discern given their fae nature.

Her facial features were charming and youthful, with capacious hazel eyes and long auburn eyelashes. The bridge of her nose dipped slightly, curving into a cute button, which rested just above pursed heart-shaped lips. High cheekbones arched above her soft yet distinct jawline, framed by curly pepper-tinged ringlets of hair. Her feline ears and tail both seemed to constantly betray the roiling undercurrent of emotions that she tried to mask, flicking to and fro as her mood shifted.

Harper had the physique of a well seasoned sailor, calloused, with lean musculature, though she was slightly pudgy around the stomach and legs. Her chest was almost flat, though there was a slight protrusion to her breasts. She had full, bright pink areolas, each with an inviting rigid bud that dipped slightly at the center. Further down, Niamh caught a glimpse of a meager tuft of kempt ginger hair, beneath which Harper's shame barely protruded past her pelvic bone. Niamhara's teasing had an evident effect, as her diminutive appendage had grown turgid.

The small protrusion was hardly larger than the longest digit on a single finger, with a slightly thicker width. The pink tip barely swelled from beneath the sheath of skin around it. Niamh doubted she could fit more than a forefinger and thumb across the length. Upon noticing her admittedly lecherous gaze Harper promptly submerged her body, her olive skin flushing deep red.

Niamhara joined her in the bath, positioning herself right next to Harper. The girl fidgeted restlessly, but offered no objections. She shook like a loose forestay in the wind, vibrating with a nervous energy. The silence was short-lived, however, as Niamh elicited a yelp in the course of manhandling Harper into her lap. She grabbed a bar of soap, lathering it into her hands before going to work cleaning Harper's ears. She kept her grip firm but delicate, as it was obviously a sensitive extremity. "I won't tolerate your blustering, so behave."

"Niamh, are you okay?" A voice from behind them inquired.

"Olivia," the sea elf greeted warmly, glancing over her shoulder, "Elara. Our novice just slipped stepping in, this is Harper."

Olivia Stoneheart was a fellow second-year student and close confidant of Niamh's. The other familiar visage was Elara Figwhisper, a third-year, and Niamh's former chaperon.

Elara was a Daleling, though most just called them Smallfolk. The consensus was that they were a stout, boisterous, idealistic race of itinerant troublemakers and troubadours. Elara, however, proved to be an exception. Elara was shy and uncertain in many ways that mirrored how she saw Harper. She was fairly young as well, and had joined the convent at her first cusp of adulthood. She unwound her bathing cloth, using it to cover her body in a courtly manner as she settled into the shallow end of the bath. Niamhara respected the younger woman immensely, and politely diverted her gaze. Her finely braided raven hair floated up to her shoulders as she settled in with a contented sigh. She flashed Harper an apprehensive but warm smile.

"Hiya, Harper," she chirped with rosy cadence, "I'm Elara. I'm a third year student. Welcome to the convent."

"T-thank you, Elara," Harper responded meekly, her voice wavering considerably as she strained to maintain composure.

Olivia, like Niamhara, had few reservations about nudity. She briskly walked to the edge of the large communal tube, washcloth nonchalantly tossed over her shoulder. The two had made fast friends, as they were both older than the other novices and shared adjacent rooms. They'd even had a brief tryst together, though it was short-lived. Olivia was a human woman, quite tall with a wider frame and well kept physique. She had a silky ochre complexion, with hints of wrinkles across the corners of her umber colored eyes.

Niamh openly leered at Olivia, even going so far as to give a cat calling whistle. Olivia, undeterred and spurred even further, made a sultry show of climbing in with them. She settled down next to the pair at the deeper end, causing Harper to squirm nervously in Niamh's grip. Niamh placed her other arm around her midsection, holding the girl in place. The firm grip placated Harper, and also served to conceal the secret between her legs.

Unfortunately, the intimate attention had Harper's little deckhand at full mast. Niamh could feel the girl's glans rubbing against her forearm at the slightest shift in posture. At each instance Harper fervently leaned into the attention, practically gyrating against her. Gods, the girl was managing to get her bothered too, but this was not the time for a spectacle.