Surfacing Ch. 03

Finally, the druid licked a finger, barely touched the tiny bit of powder in her palm, and gently transferred some of it to the tip of her tongue. She stared at nothing for a time as she determined its usefulness; I figured she had to be pretty sure of its identity to actually put some in her mouth. More than that, it meant she had believed what I'd said about it being for me, and therefore being of quality, and therefore must believe that I wanted her alive more than I wanted to poison her right now. That was what counted.

By itself, this myotcee neither harmed nor helped, though it could relax; it was a fairly bland but for a recognizable tang. Only when it was mixed properly with something else did it become toxic to either the tiny, necrotic flesh infectors, or a large, living animal...all depending on its combination.

I watched in silence as she considered the pouch and the proposal for a long, long time. Several complex emotions seemed to pass her face or behind her eyes, but I was not sure I could read them beyond...something between fear and hope.

I heard her heartbeat pick up just before she spoke; just saying her next words scared her.

"Give me this entire amount, let me live when we've completed our bargain...and I will do as you ask. My guidance to the Tower, my silence, and my knowledge of the Necromancer."

I smiled in satisfaction. "Give me those three, and you will live to make use of that powder. What of the glass in your flesh?"

She grimaced and turned away, her face turning a darker shade as more blood rushed to her face. I loved such a telltale sign of emotion; she wouldn't have that advantage with me, as my skin obscured obvious blood flow and she likely was not used to listening for heart and breath as keenly as me.

"Yes. I need your help. But you will not touch me except to remove what you stabbed into me."

"Careful with such words," I teased with a chuckle.

She ground her teeth, her composure cracking a bit. "Remove the glass. That is all!"

I nodded at the amendment. "Agreed. Let us extract it now."

There were many more tense moments of circling around each other, figurative and literal, as Pilla squawked her protests and I retrieved the druids own medicines and two bowls of water, a few cloths, and placed all of them on the small work table within reach. I set out only the items she indicated she wanted to use. She had a small, stout candle as well, and I lit that so that I would be able to purify my own tools before digging into her. I also pulled out a leather strap she had that already had teeth marks in it.

"Best you lay across my thighs," I said.

"No!" she blurted. "I will stand."

"Ridiculous. You will jerk and collapse and make it worse."

"Then I will remain on my bed."

I shook my head. "Not comfortable for me."

"So what? I am the one injured!"

"I count twelve punctures from your thorns. I am sore, or have you forgotten?"

It was obvious that she had. How nice that she believed I healed so quickly.

"But then I will be lying on your wounds," she said almost triumphantly.

"Not directly. It is still better than crouching over your backside." I arranged myself in the chair by the table, all tools to hand, and patted my lap. "Here. The longer you delay, the sooner you may sleep from the powder. Then I will arrange you how I want you."

Tamuril did a double take. "What?!"

"Side effect of Jynitha, or did you not know?" I said. "You put some on your tongue. You will become relaxed." I couldn't help but smile at her expression of betrayal. "What? It is good. This will hurt less, and we may both rest."

Her breathing became ragged as she struggled with her reaction. "You will not touch me if I sleep!"

I nodded and sighed. "I told you, I will rest as well. I know my Sister hurt you, I do not look to do the same for no reason."

Wide, exotic eyes stared as if to pierce me, trying to judge my words. She was missing the obvious in that I was wary of what she might try as well, should she be awake as I slept. And it was not like I had forced the powder into her mouth.

"Sister?" she asked.

I nodded. "Not in blood. Warrior-bond."

Tamuril looked surprised that such a bond could exist amongst us.

"And it was...a she?"

I nodded.

"Th-the...appendage...?"

"Not born with it."

The Surface elf tried to absorb that; she was trembling. Her voice was reedy when she spoken next. "You will not touch me for no reason...? Wh-what was *her* reason?"

"Punishment for trespass," I replied simply. "She is a guardian and fighter."

Another pause as I listened to her throbbing heart.

"She did not kill you," I repeated.

"Why not...?" she asked as tears formed in her eyes again.

I shrugged. "To spread tales of warning back, so more would not come."

For once, my explanation did not cause any confusion, even if she clearly did not agree with the method or perhaps the need.

"What...reasons...do you have to do the same to another?" she asked.

"Many," I said, "depending on situation and target."

Again she looked disgusted but she hid it more quickly this time. "And...me? In this situation? What would tempt you?"

I tilted my head. It was an odd question to me, and it almost sounded like she was flirting, but I knew she wasn't. Why would she want to imagine such in graphic detail if she was so horrified by us?

"Set any trap, by design or omission, and let me find out about it. Fail, let me survive it, and you will be sorry."

"In other words..." she said, "it depends on me?"

I smiled. "Correct. I have goals best served with you alive, but I can do without if you attack first. Peace depends on you, Silven."

"On accepting a bargain with a Drow. On not challenging your presence here." She made a face I did not think suited the discussion; again, it would have looked better on a child.

I snorted and shook my head. "You have already accepted by negotiating fine points with me. You need to accept all points. You are no match and you are vulnerable. You know it."

I dare say that both she and her bird gave me the same murderous look. But then, being called out on having multiple faces, and what exactly they were, was always annoying. I could agree with that much from experience.

Some of the fire in her eyes retreated as she blinked and seemed to feel the first touch of drowsiness from the Jynitha.

"Come," I pressed. "Time grows short. Across my lap. Yes, or no?"

"Yes," she hissed softly, with clear regret.

"Then come here."

Especially for being elven, it was almost amusing how clumsy we were getting the taller elf into position, belly down and across my lap. Though I thought she might wish to undo her own leathers and pull them down, as it turned out, she could not seem to bear to do it herself. She hid her face in her hair and placed the impetus in my hands. I would not have done the same in her place.

Still, I enjoyed reaching around to her belly to tug on the loose knot at her waist, spreading my sore thighs just a bit for better access and balance. I had removed my gloves for this delicate surgery, and I could feel the softness of her skin, even as I felt the tension of the muscles beneath.

Tamuril winced and swallowed a pained sound as I tugged her clothing down, doing my best to avoid the puncture wound in her right buttock, but just the movement heightened her awareness of the foreign object inside. I took my time bunching the unflattering material down, slowly exposing her rear end and the top part of her thighs.

"It need not be that low!" she protested.

"I do not know how much you may bleed," I said. "Unless you want stains."

The admittedly attractive shape of her body had been obscured before, but now I had the opportunity to admire her backside...and how stark the contrast was between the darkness of my hand and the whiteness of her skin. Another bit of color drew my eye and I tilted my head somewhat for a better view.

The Silven elf was keeping her thighs closed, and exerting conscious effort to do so, but at this angle, I could still see a peek of...soft pink flesh. Kind of like the new spring blossoms on some of the trees, her sex was shaped like mine from what I could see but it was truly pink, unlike the rest of her. The darker blush compared to the pale frame was almost welcoming, the same way a flower's bright petals invited a bee closer to land...and to drink.

The lips of my sex, and my nipples, were a more purple color in candlelight; in utter darkness, it was simply warmer and more strongly scented when aroused. The purple color of feminine parts was part of the reason the Valsharess dressed in purple.

How fascinating to see a purely primal way the Surface elves had become one with their environment as well... Jaunda would not have been able to see this in the dark, even if she had fucked this pussy. Perhaps my Lead would not have been able to appreciate it in context, either. Not without having seen flowers and bees before.

I wondered if Tamuril's nipples matched in color? It was likely, however I'd not be invited to confirm that. What about any mound fur? Mine matched my head hair; did hers? Was it a patch of gold? While that normally implied advanced age to my culture and could be a mood-killer...against the pale flesh and blushing pink, it might not strike me as elderly.

"Well?" Tamuril said suddenly, her voice loaded with anxiety even as she sounded mildly drugged, and I blinked out of my staring at that hint of her pussy.

"Shh," I hushed, putting the tips of my fingers gently around her wound. "I use my ears more when concentrating. You are too loud."

The shard had caused a hard, swelling knot and her flesh had completely closed around my glass needle. It was going to hurt even if I numbed the skin with her own potion; a topical herb simply couldn't penetrate deeply enough. I thought it would be better if Tamuril was unconscious for this; certainly her bird would be less anxious as Pilla was now, clacking her beak and clenching and unclenching her taloned feet around her perch, never taking her predator's eyes off of me.

I asked, "Which of your bottles numbs your skin?"

"The one with the blue cork."

"Topical, or does it go muscle-deep?"

She paused. "Midway. Not very deep, but below skin."

"And any healing potion for after?"

She had to think about that, turning her head best she could toward the table. "Something to reduce swelling, with the blue cork. I do not have all components for a magical potion."

"Harsh winter?"

She answered grudgingly. "Recent injury, used what I had."

"Ah."

Unlucky timing like that certainly could come back to bite later on. Or she could be concealing what she had—rightly so, as I would take them for my mission. I could say that I needed them more than she did. I'd watch her later for any stealth healing.

Meanwhile, I used what she had to cleanse and numb the wound, used the candle to heat my smaller tools and burn off any impurities, and finally began probing for the shard. Tamuril quickly put the leather strap in her mouth; I listened to her breathing and soft groans while I kept my eyes and all attention to my fingers on her injection site. She was doing pretty well, better than I might have guessed, though she still made more noise than the typical Drow really dared to when there was the scent of blood in the air.

When I finally found and got a firm hold on the shard, it was resistant to coming out, but I kept steady pressure on it. The needle was not barbed as some of our weapons and tools could be—if it had been, I would not be able to get it out without taking most of the flesh around it. My skill at field dressing as competent enough, but there was a reason I was not a healer by trade.

Tamuril squirmed then forced herself to hold still, trembling in constant pain, and she whined as I slowly drew the shard out. She went slack immediately upon my tongs leaving her body, gasping around the leather strap between her teeth. I held what I'd extracted up to my eyes and studied it carefully. Was it whole or had it splintered? Would I need to go in for another piece?

Best that I could tell, all that was missing was the tiniest tip—which likely wasn't even whole inside her anymore. That miniscule amount of glass would simply have to be rejected by her own body over time as she healed—my tools were small, but not that small.

"Got it," I said.

"Thank the goddess..." she breathed, sounding quite worn down, disoriented by pain, exhaustion, and mushroom powder.

"How do I fill the hole?"

"The pouch with three knots... one stained yellow... has a powder. Mix with water into a paste, and press in...as much as you can."

I did as directed and did not need further direction to place a pad over the treated wound and wrap a bandage, even if it was a bit awkward to get it into place. I noticed the elf's head was drooping low by then. Assisted by the taste of Jynitha, Tamuril was at last overcome by exhaustion caused by surviving the harsh venom, the stress of my presence and my interrogation, and a painful shard extraction. Pilla made more sounds and motions of threat toward me as her mistress finally fell unable to defend herself.

Damn bird. I'd have satisfied my curiosity about the color of the elf's nipples in a moment, had we been alone. As it was, I fidgeted some with the leathers, preparing to cover her up, but not before parting her legs a bit more and getting a better look.

I did see golden fur... blonde curls crowning a flushed pink sex, even darker now, reddened after all the physical strain the Silven had just suffered. She looked like an exotic flower.

I grinned to myself in spite of Pilla's admonishing squawks of protest off to the side, and still I pulled Tamuril's pants back up over her haunches before bracing to lift her up and return her to her bed. My own wounds and the difference in our height made themselves well known as I struggled to place the blonde elf back down on her belly, head turned so she could breathe. If the falcon had been able to spit at me, she likely would have.

I returned to my chair and breathed out, very tired myself by this point, loosening a particular pouch.

*Come, my beauties. Keep watch for me. Wake me if the bird leaves her perch or the elf threatens.*

The three magical spiders crawled out carefully—I noticed that they kept to the side of my arm and body away from Pilla as they rose toward my neck. I would let them nestle in their usual place as I went into reverie: beneath my braid at the nape of my neck, the tiny little hooks on six of their legs holding to the bandage the same way normally they held to my skin.

I didn't think falcons like the druid's companion actually ate spiders on a regular basis, but certainly she would kill them with a quick snap of her hooked beak if given the chance. If they didn't jump and bite her first.

They'd have to get through that overlay of feathers that almost acted like a shield, or through the tough-looking, ridged legs that sported her talons. I thought instead that the most vulnerable point might be the upper legs, beneath the wings, where the feathers appeared softer and there was more meat to bite into. I focused on it, and "heard" an acknowledgement from my pets as they were essentially ordered to go for that location first if necessary to survive or to protect me.

The spiders would stay on watch. They could see fairly well, though they did not hear anything in the way I did; they could sense vibrations and air movement even better than most serpents. I'd grown attached to them in a way I hadn't expected as I took care of them, and they me—as they had been the deciding factor that won the fight between me and the elf.

The natural, clueless spider that I had once crushed out of spite of Lolth...I actually felt a bit of regret for the spider. Not for cursing my goddess, but for killing the useful creature; no need, no plan, no reason. Just spite and frustration.

Isn't that what so many of us did even with sentient beings? Hadn't I always thought it wasteful and petty? A display of lacking self-control and a practical mind, as my blood sister had often beat at me when she would have to admit that her false rituals had failed—I'd been so much smaller than her at first, so she could.

Never again for me. Not the pincer worms who'd killed her for me. Not spiders or frogs or snakes.

And not a pale cousin who I was supposed to hate.

It seemed a waste. Like forbidding Red Sisters to help each other, in spite of our creed.

All of it, a waste.

*****

My spiders did wake me once, sometime after Sunset, when Pilla flew over to the sill and I watched as she quickly nudged open the window enough to fly out, leaving her mistress behind unguarded. Food and water was most likely the reason, and from the feel of the night and the soreness in my wounds, I'd been in reverie for a long time and made no move.

Part of me wondered if the bird was following a previous order the elf had given her, going to call back-up. It would be in direct conflict with our agreement; it would remove any conflict I might feel about killing the forest elf. I supposed that I would have to just wait and see, after everything that happened in the day, if Tamuril was still that stupid.

If nothing else, she was still sleeping, and still on her stomach. I could wait.

I did not have time to fall back into reverie when my stomach rumbled, the pains—surprisingly sharp and almost exaggerated—biting insistently at my middle. My hunger, and my unborn's, was hard to ignore. I used Tamuril's stores again to sate myself, still not wanting to dig into my own carrying rations. I had the thought that Tamuril would be very hungry upon waking as well, and collected a small bag of her own food for her at the edge of the grass pallet. To my surprise, I found myself drifting toward reverie again after I sat down.

Whether it was the fight, the wounds, or the demands of my changing womb...I accepted the call and fell asleep in the elf's wooden chair with a shaft of Moonlight touching the earthen floor.

*****

I dreamed of the elf. Or...I dreamed of a pale-skinned, golden-haired Surface elf who was fairly tall. It may or may not have been Tamuril; I could not tell from this distance. I could tell only that the clothing she wore was paler and flowing. Not green or brown.

I saw no ever-present falcon, but I did see my first horse.

The elf was clinging to the back of the riding beast, fists balled tight in the tangled, white-blond mane that decorated the ridge of the long neck; there was no bridle, no saddle, no apparent direction.

The horse's coat was a shining sorrel red, and he charging hard across the red sand, somehow now down and out below me as if I stood atop a dune. Even at the distance I could see how hard it was for the beast to fight the sand, how wide the nostrils were spread so he could breathe enough air, and how his single-toed hooves sank into the loose particles, kicking up clouds of red dust behind him as he held his pale blond tale high in the air. Even then, the speed was incredible.

"She will never reach the other side without me."

I started at the voice and looked to my left.

I stared.

"...Auslan?"

He smiled, but only just a bit. His copper-red eyes looked sorrowful, and somehow much older than the rest of his face, even with the gold streak growing from his right temple.

"For now," he said.

I did not want to look away from his beautiful, familiar face, even as I wondered whether this may be an illusion.

"I have a question for you." He waited until I acknowledged him.

"Yes?"

"Can a lizard outrun a horse?"

I nearly laughed; my mouth tugged into a smile instead. I looked back out at the tireless mount now carrying his rider into that clear, eternal horizon. "They are too different to race together, it is no match. You tease me."