Abyss

Chapter 15: Longing



The sun shimmered through the red and golden leaves of the trees as the company of nineteen arrived in the woods that its four guides introduced as the home of their tribe and that were surrounded by seemingly endless wetlands. Deep into the heart of the tree-covered island in the bogs they had to wander before they spotted the first astounded on-lookers. Wind-like whispers mixed with chirps that sounded like bird-voices carried through the air. Some sounded familiar to the fifteen newcomers, others were strange to their ears.



Eventually, they stepped into a rather small clearing with a fireplace in its centre in front of which stood a lady, quite small and delicate in built. She greeted them with a smile and motioned for Ayve to step closer.



When Ayve stood merely three feet away from her, she held her hand out to him, her palm facing toward the sky.



Ayve placed his own hand on top of hers, yet without touching it. It shook slightly since he was exhausted from the day’s long march in a piercingly cold wind.



She bent and sketched a kiss an inch from the top of Ayve’s hand, and her eyes fell onto the ring that adorned his index finger. The lady lifted her gaze and locked eyes with Ayve, not missing the scarred face and the fragile body that belonged to those eyes. She smiled again and invited them to take seats around the fire with a grand gesture. Food was prepared – chestnuts were roasted and frogs and birds were stuck onto sharpened sticks and heated over the fire – and the lady who had greeted Ayve made tea.



Ayve looked about. He wondered where the huts of these people were. More and more came to peer at the visitors, but apart from the fire there were hardly any indicators of nymphs living in the area. The food had been fetched from big leather pouches that were bound to the top of the trees.



They had a modest feast during which the remaining members of Ayve’s tribe reported on their strenuous journey and their hosts in turn told them about their life. It turned out that they lived in the marshes to elude the nomads that roamed the country but avoided this area. After the meal, when the sun had sunken below the horizon, the newcomers were led on until their hosts pointed up to indicate that they slept in the treetops. This revelation elicited some surprise and admiration in the young nymphs. All Ayve could think about, however, was the massacre that could have been avoided had his people been as careful.



There were not enough housings to accommodate the large number of refugees, therefore Ayve picked out the sturdier half of them who were best suited to either making a quick escape or defend themselves in the unlikely case of an attack – apart from him and Pheus, two females and four males - to camp on the ground, another short walk away from the sleeping-trees since he recognised the importance of keeping any ground activities that would leave traces away from them.



The following morning, the group of fugitives set to prepare additional sleeping places, and in the following days of the waning autumn, they helped fill up the stock of supplies that would be needed to get through the winter. It was a tedious task to find sufficient food and even harder to come across wildlife stock that was providing them with the required amounts of meat.



They were more fortunate when it came to the source for raw materials they needed to fabricate clothing. A large herd of sheep had scattered all over the marshes in spring. They must have escaped their human herdsmen and wandered through the wilderness for quite some time. There had not been much meat on them, yet the nymphs had ‘freed’ them of their thick winter wool that they had had no need for anyway, so now, they had an enormous stock of wool – some had already been worked into threads – that could be used. Their hosts had sewn their needed clothing in summer already, of course, but the group of sixteen had not had the opportunity to spin and weave and sew in years due to their constant travelling, so that by now their garments were worn out and partly replaced with mere makeshift clothes out of dried skins. The skins had automatically been available due to Pheus’ regular hunting, but they absorbed rain and started to smell easily. There had not been the time to tan them either. All of that was now caught up on, and it led to a noticeable increase in their comfort that lightened their hearts a little.



Nevertheless, the winter was not an easy one. The food supplies were carefully rationed, and it would occur that they found a sack of provision plundered by some animal that was not kept away by the height of the trees. The platforms on the treetops, in addition, did not render the same shelter as tents or huts did, so that many people grew sick from the mixture of hunger and cold and the two leaders were kept busy with caring for them. After watching the scenario for a while, Ayve eventually told his people to erect tents again and go back to their custom ways. Their hosts were displeased with the carelessness they showed by camping on the ground, but when the merits of this lifestyle grew apparent, many timidly asked for shelter in their camp, too.



During all this time, Pheus remained at Ayve’s side as silent spectator. He knew he did not belong, yet his presence was tolerated. He watched Ayve fill out his role as tribe leader selflessly, as if Ayve did not hurt all over, as if not every breath sent a sharp stab of pain into the frail man’s body, and waited. It was all he could do. Bide his time, go half mad in the process, and hope to be the winner in the end.



Ayve did not hesitate these days to lie in Pheus’ arms and be warmed by the radiant heat in his body night after night. There was not the teensiest sparkle of arousal in the nymph, however. As a matter of fact, Pheus doubted that Ayve was even aware of any sexual feelings and burning desire of the man that pressed his body tightly against him. He was so unsettlingly exhausted after each hard work day that he already almost fell asleep in front of the camp fire when they took the meagre meal that was sometimes slightly improved by some fresh meat that Pheus procured.



On one of those evenings, Pheus once again carried their burning hot stones on a piece of (properly tanned) leather to their tent where he put them in the middle so they would give off some warmth during the night and ease their sleep. He wrapped them in the rag so they would neither cool down too soon nor accidentally burn them should Ayve or he brush against them in their sleep. As he came back to the campfire where still a number of nymphs cowered to avoid the coldness, he found Ayve had fallen to the side and drifted off to sleep. Gently, Pheus lifted him up and carried him over to the tent, ignoring the curious stare of the female leader.



Ayve looked so peaceful, so innocent, with his pale lips slightly parted and his head wobbling against Pheus’ chest. The grim man smiled, gazing at the small heap of warm body in his arms. Liquid warmth pooled in his stomach as he tenderly placed Ayve on his habitual sleeping place.



Despite his care, Ayve stirred beneath him and drowsily opened his eyes. Something in Pheus’ face must have given him away, because Ayve’s face was graced with a warm smile. A slender hand rose and tucked a stray strand of hair behind Pheus’ ear. Thank you. It was a mere whisper in Pheus’ mind.



“For what?” he whispered back.



For being there for me. There was unveiled affection in Ayve’s eyes.



Time seemed to stand still while Pheus stared down at Ayve. A strange kind of need rose in him. Not the simple throbbing in his crotch that told him often enough to just get what he wanted – and Pheus had done that several times throughout their journey: by hooking up with every rogue kinsman that he encountered and shagging him mindlessly – but a bittersweet agony that cut off his breath. He bent down, his eyes fluttering shut, and brushed his lips softly against Ayve’s.



Those tender lips replied!



Something burst open in Pheus. His breath hitched and he had to exert the maximum of self control not to back off in bewildered astonishment. Instead, ignoring the wild beat of his heart and a strange, anxious nausea in his abdomen, he caressed the soft flesh with his mouth, gently kneading Ayve’s upper lip and wallowing in the short moment of bliss he was allowed. There was no coherent thought in his mind as his tongue hesitantly licked Ayve’s mouth.



Another wild spasm struck his body as his tongue met its equal. He felt Ayve’s hand rest against his chest with only the slightest pressure. It was not Pheus who was in charge, now. Ayve was suddenly the more active part, seeking the warmth of his lips and the tip of his tongue over and over again. There was something needy, something desperate in Ayve’s kiss. Ayve never entered Pheus’ mouth, nor did he invite Pheus into his. How could a chaste kiss like this hold so much pleading longing? Pheus’ body burned all over. He wanted Ayve to touch him, felt that his life depended on it, but somewhere in the back of his mind, in the last corner that still had some rationality, some cool estimation, he knew that was impossible. Ayve’s body language screamed that it was, the way he was frozen and holding off Pheus’ body even though his mouth seemed to devour him.



Pheus dwelled in the priceless mercy that was bestowed upon him as long as he was able to hold back. When he felt his body trying to overpower his mind, to press itself against Ayve and rub his hardness against the frail body beneath him, Pheus abruptly tore away and fled the tent.







Ayve moved his lips like a fish on land, his eyes bulking, as Pheus disappeared beyond the piece of leather that covered the entrance of their tent. He started to crawl after him, but halted in his tracks immediately. Shivering fingers touched his hungering lips. He would have whimpered in desperation had he been able to. His eyes moved nervously, his eyelids fluttering. He wanted to shed tears, but could not. He curled into a tiny ball and dragged the thick blanket over his head to disappear, hide from his confusion in the dark warmth. He knew that he should not, that it was a dangerous game, yet there was but one distinct voice screaming inside of him: MORE! His whole body trembled.







Pheus evaded the nymphs and hurried off into the woods. When he was out of listening rage, he stopped behind a tree and tore his pants down. He gnarled involuntarily as he seized his dripping cock and worked it roughly. No time for tender consideration, he needed release now. He dreaded to go mad, to burst any moment. With a hoarse moan he spilled himself and slumped down onto the frozen floor that was covered by rotting leaves. Slowly, his breathing turned back to normal and he was able to reflect on what had just happened. An uncontrolled happiness filled him, and Pheus leaned back with a broad grin on his face.