Chapter 7: In Bloom

They made their way back to the village, entering through the main gate, then headed for the hut so that George could retrieve his pack. When that was done, they headed for the communal building where they had eaten the day before. The smells of cooking food filled the air as they stepped inside, and they were greeted by several of the villagers who were already in the process of preparing lunch over the large fire pit in the center of the room. It looked like they were cleaning and roasting hottah meat from a recent hunt, the animal’s spotted pelt drying on a nearby rack, cuts of still-dripping meat laid out on one of the flat stones they used for cooking. They were ever hospitable, offering to share their catch willingly, but George had much to do before he dug in.

A group of curious villagers assembled to watch as he produced the small cutting board from his pack, setting down the mushroom atop it. It was quite the find, larger than any that he had seen before, as he had come to expect from the plants that grew in these woods. The recipe would usually call for two pounds of mushrooms, but this one seemed about that large on its own.

He drew his knife and began to chop it into slices, the blade glinting in the firelight. The villagers watched, transfixed by the sight of it. He had to keep in mind that these people had only stone tools, albeit stone tools of impressive quality. They didn’t smelt ore, they didn’t have iron or steel, so this was a novelty to them.

When the mushroom was suitably diced, he scraped the pieces off the wooden cutting board and into a large ceramic pot that Tia had brought for him. He fished in one of the pockets of his pack, withdrawing a glass vial of salt, uncorking it. He upended a decently-sized pile into his hand, lamenting that he was starting to run low, but deciding that this was worth such a large amount. After pouring it into the pot, he began to stir it in with a spoon, mashing the diced mushrooms into a paste.

Next, he produced a piece of cloth from his pack, tying it around the lip of the pot with a length of cordage.

“We’ll let that sit overnight,” he explained, setting the pot down on the dirt floor. “The mushrooms are going to reduce and start giving up their fluid.”

“You should cook something for them,” Tia suggested, gesturing to the villagers who were hovering around nearby. “I am sure they would enjoy the dish that you prepared for me during our travels.”

“I suppose it’s the least I can do in return for their hospitality,” he replied, rolling up his sleeves as he prepared to get to work. He selected a few choice cuts of meat from the flat stone and began to roast them, hanging them from one of the spits that were already set up over the roaring fire. Using cordage to tie them up, he could make sure that they were the perfect height from the flames, the dripping meat sizzling as he rotated it.

The villagers had a selection of vegetables available, some of which he recognized. It seemed that they cultivated sweet potatoes, and they had corn flour that they used to make their flatbread, which would do nicely as a thickener for the stew. After adding some dried onions from his pack to the mix, George suspended a large pot over the fire, waiting for it to boil. It was nice to cook for such a large group again. It reminded him of his friends back at the camp, of sharing meals with the men under the stars.

George stirred the stew intermittently, seasoning for flavor, adding dashes of salt and spices from his pack as needed. The villagers entertained him with their stories all the while, relaying news to one another, one of them playing some kind of flute-like wind instrument carved from ivory. Its mournful song carried through the building, almost as though it had been constructed like an auditorium, the curved walls and conical ceiling built to focus the sound.

When the stew was ready, and the juices from the meat ran clear, George had the villagers line up with their bowls. They glanced over one another’s shoulders curiously as they waited for their turn, George giving each of them a generous ladleful, along with a hunk of meat. As Tia had suspected, it went down a treat, everyone digging in enthusiastically. To these people, something as simple as a meat and vegetable soup cooked over an open fire was a foreign delicacy, and they would never have had an opportunity to taste the spices that he used.

Tia shuffled a little closer to him, joining him beside the fire as she ate her share.

“They seem to be enjoying themselves,” he said, glancing around. Most of them were hunched over their bowls, their faces lit by the wavering firelight as they ate and chatted.

“I told you,” she replied, nudging him with her elbow. “It is said that if one wishes to woo a person, the stomach must be satisfied before the heart.”

“We have a similar saying,” he chuckled. “I suppose that means it must be true.” He fished a sweet potato out of his bowl, enjoying the flavor. “I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he added, setting down his fork for a moment. “Not long after we met, I asked how we were able to understand one another. We must speak different languages, surely, and there has been no contact between your people and mine. You told me that it was I who was speaking your language, which didn’t make much sense to me at the time. Tell me, is it magic?”

“It is,” she replied with a nod, pausing to swallow a mouthful of meat before continuing. “Many of our tribes do not share a common tongue, yet the wind speaks a language shared by all. We understand its whispers, its songs, even if we do not always realize it. We ask the wind to help our words be known.”

“I suppose that’s as reasonable as asking the concept of fire to make your cloak waterproof,” he replied, resuming his meal. “Is there a list somewhere of which spirits can provide what blessings?”

“It is difficult to quantify the whims of the spirits in such a clinical way,” she replied. “They are not tools to be used, nor allies to be petitioned, but beings that one must come to know in their own right. They grant favors to their friends, they help those who have earned their trust.”

“So, if I was to ask the fire to make my boots snow-proof right now, it ... he ... wouldn’t do it?”

“Are you friends with the fire?” she asked, giving him a smirk. “Do you know him well enough to ask a favor?”

“Probably not,” he replied with a shrug. “And, how exactly does one get to know fire?”

“Just speak to him,” she said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. She began to dab at the remaining soup in her ceramic bowl with a piece of flatbread, soaking it up. “You know how.”

George gazed into the flames, wondering if the flames were gazing back.

“Come on,” Tia giggled, pulling him up the rocky slope. “The view from up here will be spectacular.”

George followed behind her, his boots slipping on some of the loose stones. Tia was like a mountain goat, so agile on her cloven hooves, hopping from rock to rock. The sun was already setting, painting the sky above in its warm colors, the peak of the mountain rising over the treetops. She was leading him up into the foothills, where the terrain was a little harsher, the ancient trees giving way to hardier plants that could survive in the less nutritious soil. Below them, the canopy stretched from horizon to horizon, an ocean of green.

Tia sat down on one of the lichen-covered stones, patting it in invitation. George joined her, pausing to take a drink from his canteen, then passing it off to her. She took a swig, then returned it, settling in as the blood-red sun dipped out of view.

“The moon is full tonight, and the sky is near cloudless,” she said excitedly. “I wanted you to see it from a good vantage point.”

“I’m sure it will be beautiful,” he replied. “But, I’ve seen the full moon before. Was it really necessary to come all the way up here?”

“Trust me,” she chuckled, shuffling a little closer to him.

George draped an arm around her narrow shoulders, keeping her warm as the stars began to twinkle, the day’s light fading. The moon soon became visible in its place, growing brighter and brighter as it rose, so radiant that it lit up the whole forest in its silver glow. It was indeed impressive, the two enjoying it for maybe a half-hour before deciding to set off back to the village.

As George hopped off the rock, a strange glint caught his eye. It was coming from a rocky outcrop perhaps fifty paces away. He made his way over to it, Tia following behind him curiously. As he neared, he saw something that made his breath catch in his throat. It was a vein of gold, snaking its way through the exposed rock like a molten river, the light of the moon making it shimmer. It was just sitting there on the surface, out in the open, a veritable wealth lying unclaimed.

George hurried over to inspect it more closely, kneeling beside it.

“What did you find?” Tia asked, peering over his shoulder.

“I can’t believe it,” he gasped. “I thought it might be pyrite, but ... this is gold! There must be a fortune in this vein alone!”

“That stuff is all over the mountain,” she replied, furrowing her brow. “It has no special properties, it is just a shiny rock. We sometimes use it to make jewelry when we find it in the rivers. It is soft and can be hammered into different shapes.”

Of course. Tia’s people didn’t have metallurgy, and they likely had no means of mining gold on any significant scale, using only what washed downstream to make trinkets.

“Tia, this is money,” he replied breathlessly. “Remember when I told you about money?”

“Barter items?” she asked, cocking her head.

“That’s right! This is what we use for barter.”

“How does it have any value if it can be found lying around on the ground?” she asked skeptically.

“Because it usually can’t be,” he explained. “This is incredibly rare. Finding something like this on a survey mission would set up the entire company for life.”

“You can have it if you wish,” she said with a shrug. “Though, I do not know how you would carry it home with you.”

“Something has been weighing on my mind ever since we had our audience with the elders,” he began. “My people came here – I came here – in search of resources. I am a surveyor as well as a cartographer. My job is to find things that are valuable. We seek timber for building, game for meat and furs, and ores just like this vein. If my company didn’t turn back when they encountered the blight, it’s only because they cannot go home empty-handed. To return without finding anything of value would mean no pay. Some of them might lose their property, even starve as a result. They have wagered their very livelihoods on this venture. What’s more, asking them to fight in what is essentially a war between two tribes is a tall order, but the promise of more gold than they could carry would certainly motivate them.”

“You are saying that we should barter their loyalty for this yellow rock?” Tia asked.

“Pay them in gold, and I am sure that they will see the fight against the Blighters through to its end.”

They arrived back at Tia’s hut in the dead of night, the lights from most of the surrounding buildings snuffed out by now. Everyone else seemed to have turned in, and the village was at rest.

George’s heart began to quicken as Tia pushed the door open, the familiar, somewhat damp smell of its interior reaching him. It had been the better part of a day since their encounter in the forest, and it was still fresh in his mind, the feeling of excitement lingering like a smoldering ember. Would she invite him to share her bed this time? Should he press the issue – be as wild as a hottah in rut, as she had suggested?

As he followed her inside, setting down his rifle against the wall by his makeshift sleeping area, he turned to see her leaning over her bed. Her back was to him, her shapely rear raised into the air as she straightened the pelts that served as her sheets. His gaze lingering on her pert cheeks, just visible beneath the narrow strand of fabric that was her loincloth, the white fluff of her stumpy tail rising above the leather band that secured it about her hips. It twitched every now and then, seeming to wiggle back and forth. Her fur shone in what pale moonlight made it through the uneven windows, making the thin coat look wet. He remembered its texture, how her delicate flesh had yielded beneath his fingertips, how her springy muscle had resisted him.

His eyes wandered down her shapely thighs and her long legs, her digitigrade limbs giving her the gait of someone who was walking on the tips of their toes.

She arched her back as she reached for pillows stuffed with what might be down, the moonlight picking out the contours of her lightly-muscled back. George had never before beheld a woman whose body was at once so toned by the rigors of her primitive lifestyle, and so inviting in all of the places that might draw a man’s attention.

As he watched her lift one hoof, inadvertently wiggling her rump as she made the bed, that same fire that had raged inside him back in the forest was rekindled. His member strained against his clothes, hot blood coursing through his veins. Was this not the impulse that she had wanted him to obey?

He strode over to the bed, watching her floppy ears flick idly as she heard the sound of his determined footsteps on the uneven wood. She lurched as he wrapped one arm around her slender waist, straightening up, George tugging her back to press her butt up against the bulge in his trousers. Even through two layers of clothing, he could feel her soft fat yield, his erection nudging against one of her springy cheeks. His other hand snuck its way beneath her chin, a receptive sigh escaping her as he buried his nose in the velvet fur of her nape, filling his lungs with her scent. That blend of exertion and floral perfume made his head spin, his member flexing against her firm cheek as she rolled her hips in an effort to tease him.

“I am glad to see that my prior words did not go unheeded,” she whispered, grinding on his bulge again to punctuate her statement. “I can feel your heat, even through all of those thick garments.”

Part of him wanted to push her down onto the bed and take her right there, but he also wanted to explore her strange body now that they weren’t in a frenzy. There was so much about her that he didn’t know, so much that he had only glimpsed or felt during their first coupling. He wanted to map out every inch of her svelte figure with his tongue.

He spun her around, subjecting her to another probing kiss before lowering her to the bed, the wooden frame creaking as she sat down on the edge of the mattress. He wasn’t sure what it was made of – perhaps cloth stuffed with straw or feathers.

She cocked her head as he knelt on the floor in front of her, her green eyes watching him curiously. An appreciative shiver ran down her spine as he reached out to place a hand on her flat stomach, feeling the rows of smooth muscle flex beneath his palm in response. Her milky skin was dry to the touch now, its texture rivaling that of any fine silk worn by the socialites back in Albion. Tia had no need to adorn herself so extravagantly, as her body was as much a work of art as any expensive gown.

Slowly, he slid his fingers higher, brushing the dangling beads on the tasseled hem of her collar. She arched her spine as he raised it, pushing her chest out in silent invitation, the fabric lifting away to reveal her bosom. He had admired her breasts back in the forest, but they were level with his eyes now, the mere sight of her freckled mounds making his mouth water. Like her belly, they were clear of her velvety coat, the feeling of her soft skin beneath his fingertips intoxicating as he cupped one of them in his hand. As befitted her athletic figure, they were so modest in their size, but no classical sculptor could have conjured a more perfect shape.

“Are you making love to me or taking notes for your journal?” she chuckled as he gave her a gentle squeeze. Her flesh wobbled like gelatin when he released it, her breast springing back to its prior shape, her pink nipples standing erect.

“This is a discovery that I want to keep all to myself,” he replied, Tia’s chuckling making her boobs quiver. He gave one of her nipples a gentle lick, feeling its firmness on his tongue, his partner rubbing her thighs together as a spark of pleasure tickled her.

Unable to resist, he crawled his lips lower, sliding down her torso, leaving lingering kisses as he went. He could taste the salt on her skin, feel her warmth on his tongue, Tia leaning back as he slipped it into her navel.

When he reached her wide hips, her porcelain skin gave way to her coat of chestnut fur. He wasn’t sure how it would feel on his lips, but he was pleasantly surprised to find that it was very thin, clinging to the contours of her body. It was hard to pick out the individual hairs, more akin to the feeling of a velvet glove than an animal’s pelt.

The loincloth was impeding his progress now, and he paused to slide it off her. He gripped her ankles, which were slender enough that he could enclose them in a single hand, using the other to drag the garment down. After discarding it on the floor beside the bed, he picked up where he had left off. Tia shuddered in anticipation as he planted a kiss on her mound, George sliding his hands between her legs, which were still tightly closed. She allowed him to part them, George’s fingers sinking into the surface of her sensitive inner thighs, finding the steely muscle that he remembered beneath the cushion of fat. Her freckled cheeks flushed red as he exposed her loins, lowering himself down level with them.

From so close, the folds of her rosy vulva looked like the petals of a blooming flower, her puffy lips swollen with arousal. She glistened in the moonlight, her excitement soaking into her fur, a thick rope of it drooling down towards the pelts that lined the bed beneath her.

Something primal overcame George, an impulse that was unwilling to fight, and he drew closer.

Tia lurched as she felt his cheeks slide against her thighs, George marveling at how soft they felt on his face. As his nose brushed her engorged clitoris, she delved her hands into his hair, gripping it tightly enough to sting his scalp. In return, he slid his arms beneath her legs, toppling her over onto her back. She yelped in surprise, releasing her hold on him, propping herself up on her elbows as she peered down at him. George lay the backs of her knees on his shoulders, slipping his hands between her ass and the sheets, filling them with her pert cheeks.

“Spirits,” she moaned through gritted teeth as his lips met hers, George covering her vulva with the flat of his tongue. She tasted just like a kiss, the realization making him even more eager, Tia throwing back her head as he began to trace her delicate folds. He licked and kissed, teasing her as she had him, his firm grip on her rump preventing her from squirming free. Her thighs tensed around his head with each doting lick, the developed muscles of her slender midriff catching the light as they flexed, her body dancing like a marionette on the end of its strings. She was fever-hot, her flesh as smooth as satin, made slippery by a sordid blend of her womanly juices and his own saliva.

At the apex of her vulva, protected by a hood of skin, her needy bud pulsed against his tongue. It was so incredibly sensitive, the smallest touch making Tia writhe, George refocusing his attention there. He pursed his lips around it, drawing it out from beneath its hood, lashing it with quick licks and flurries. Over her mound, he had an admirable view of her muscular stomach, along with the underside of her bosom as it bounced with her impassioned squirming. She was moving so much that he felt he might have to tie her down, but he feared that such a thing would only excite her more.

He slid his hands up the curve of her waist, taking hold of her hips for leverage, circling her throbbing clitoris with his questing organ. Suddenly, she placed a hand on his forehead, easing him away from her. The string of fluid that still linked his mouth to her loins broke as he rose up to peer at her, seeing her gazing back with a red face, the flowers in her hair leaking their own nectar just as she leaked hers.

“Too fast,” she mumbled, taking a moment to compose herself. “I wish to do some exploration of my own before you send me into another stupor with that agile tongue of yours.”

She lifted one of her legs from his shoulder, planting a cloven hoof on his chest, then giving him a more forceful push that encouraged him to draw back. Despite the confident air that she was putting on, he could see how unsteady she was on her feet now, her legs trembling as she slid towards the edge of the bed. Once she was standing again, she reached up to grip the collar of his shirt, guiding him around so that his back was to the bed. With another push, she made him sit down on the mattress, effectively switching places with him.

She reached up to tear off her collar, tossing it aside to join her loincloth on the floorboards. George shrugged off his jacket, then began to unbutton his shirt, but she slapped his hand away.

“I want to undress you,” she insisted, starting to open up the garment. She exposed his chest little by little, drinking in his figure, running her fingers across his torso. He shivered as she leaned in to plant kisses on her way down, her soft lips lingering on his abdominal muscles, crawling slowly down towards his belt. “It is no wonder that you wear so many layers of clothing if you are so ... naked,” she muttered.

Knowing how to unbuckle the clasp now, she succeeded in loosening it, unbuttoning his trousers to expose the conspicuous bulge beneath his long johns. When she tugged them down, his member bounced up, Tia having to pull back to avoid being hit in the nose. Her eyes wandered up and down its length as it throbbed in the cool air, Tia reaching out to brush her fingers up his shaft, tracing a pulsing vein. She was examining him in the same way that she had examined his compass when they had first met, as though his erection was a foreign object to her, the pink flush in her freckled cheeks deepening to a desirous crimson. When she gripped his girth in her hand, she couldn’t get her fingers all the way around it, such was their difference in size.

A droplet of nectar dripped from the petals of one of the pink flowers on her head, landing on her shoulder, and he had to assume that something similar was happening between her thighs.

George winced as she pulled back his foreskin, which seemed a novelty to her, exposing his glans. He felt her warm breath as she drew closer, pausing with her pursed lips a hair’s breadth from it.

“Is its length sensitive, or just the tip?” she asked as she glanced up at him. “Those of my people are not like yours.”

“All of it,” he gasped, feeling her press those soft lips against the tender underside of his head. “Though, the tip is the most sensitive part.”

She extended her tongue, what felt like velvet soaked in warm water caressing him. She drew his glans into her mouth, swirling the slippery organ around it, sneaking it beneath his foreskin to send dancing sparks of pleasure coursing up his spine. She was being so impossibly gentle to the point that it was frustrating, teasing him with the lightest of licks and the most tender of kisses. He couldn’t tell whether she was doing it purposefully to excite him or if she was merely gauging how sensitive his foreign organ was.

Her emerald eyes met his as she nursed at the end of his cock, the suction making his head spin, punctuated by more quick flurries of her tongue. He could feel the ridges on the roof of her mouth sliding against him, the smooth texture of her inner cheeks closing around his glans, her tongue darting beneath it.

Unable to get her lips more than another inch or so down his shaft, she gripped it in her hands, starting to stroke it from its base to its tip. Her touch was just as gentle, as though she didn’t realize that the skin could move, brushing it with her feather-light fingertips.