A Jungle Full of White Roses

Sacred Lands

The next week and half was rather uneventful. Trees fell in the forest at regular intervals and there was a flurry of hammering down by the ship.

The village was back to almost normalcy, with the humans busy building. Those who were not out fishing, spent most of the time watching the humans work on the ship. I did walk down the landing site a few times, just to collect shells and herbs and watched the repair on the ship progress.

I did not see much of Amber. I felt she was avoiding me. But then I realized she was avoiding everyone. She had a personal distance to her now, and looked even lonelier than before. I felt distant as well, and most of me wanted to approach her, but parts of me, the parts that controlled my feet, would not allow that to happen. She was outside more than ever now, but she sat on a bench, by herself, sewing. The children paid the most of attention to her, next to me. If they were not stealing her sewing, they were playing with her umbrella or the ruffles of her skirt. She did not mind. She laughed and smiled, which was the only time she did so.

Stark, Kip, and I were busy as shamans in training are at the back of Shuka’s hut, working herbs and preparing various charms. Stark and Kip, as usual, made jokes at my expense. I have yet to tell them what I saw in the bathhouse (leaving much to speculation, and their speculations are actually what happened a few nights later). I did not tell them anything, leaving them more infuriated in their attempts to infuriate me.

Shuka sauntered into the back.

“That girl’s here. She wants a chaperone to take her into the forest. She wants to see the giant flowers. Apparently the sailor humans have been telling her about the giant flowers,” Shuka spat.

“You’re joking?” Kip said. “Won’t the females take her out?”

“They’re busy, unlike you,” Shuka stated.

“I’ve been grinding cinnamon bark all day,” Stark exclaimed.

“Do you wish to escort her then?” Shuka said.

Stark became quiet. The bead and shell curtain jingled as Amber pushed it aside and silently entered the room. The room fell deathly quiet. Amber, who blushed when she first entered, turned white with nervousness. Kip and Stark did not joke anymore.

“Argue amongst yourself,” Shuka said, pushing Amber aside as she left us. Amber managed an embarrassed, red cheeked smile at Kip and Stark. She did not look at me. I knew if we made eye contact the images of nights before would become too overpowering for the two of us, and all would be revealed.

“I’ll take her,” I said quickly, trying to escape the overwhelming pressure within the room. Any more time spent wondering who would escort Amber (which obviously you know who would end up escorting her, why spend so much time wondering?) would make the room explode. “Since you two like to take your time.”

“Yeah, like that’s the reason,” Stark stated.

“Keep grinding bark, Stark,” I said as both Amber and I left. Amber’s face flushed the brightest shade of red yet, once her back was turned to Stark and Kip. She tried to hide her face in her curls and ruffles as we walked passed Shuka (a distance between us). Shuka watched us curiously, wondering (and most likely knowing) something. I nodded to her. Amber kept her face hidden in shoulders and walked passed stoically. I supposed if Shuka looked a bit closer she would notice how forced the stoicism was.

We walked up a well used path that led up into the hills. My people used this path to hunt for game or to collect fruit and jungle plants, and fish for fresh water fish. There was another path on the other side of the village where our mines and gardens decorated the land. The land here, where the jungle remained, was blessed according to Shuka, we were allowed to take what the land gave us, but not change it in any way. This was the Goddess’s sacred land.

It was quiet between the two of us as we walked up the path, I mean, there was not much for the two of us to say to each other than our names, but I expected to be more noise than this, more movement than just walking and looking ahead.

Amber made a noise. I looked at her, she looked at me. For a moment, a lengthy moment, perhaps it was only a mere second, we caught each other’s eye. It grew even quieter. Amber smiled, slowly looked away, I did the same.

Farther up the pathway and farther away from the village, the birds began to cry more consistently, to the point it was almost deafening. Dry season was the time of fruit and nuts, few flowers bloomed with the exception of the giant flowers that smelt like rotting fish and the small flowers, very beautiful, but very fragile. The trees were heavy with fruit and berries, a few fully ripened, but most would remain green for a few more weeks.

There was a massive avocado tree I knew quite well off the trail. No one knew how old it was, but it was thick and tall, it would take two of me to get my arms around it, with only a few inches to spare. Shuka referred to it as Green Mountain, which was what it looked like, a giant mountain of leaves rising above the other trees on the pathway. I led Amber to the tree. It was dark as night under the canopy of Green Mountain’s leaves. She sucked in her breath as she looked upwards. There was not a spec of sky visible. She was so enthralled with the massive trees (I heard trees in the human world, those that are not cut down for lumber, are very drab and small, lacking thick branches and gnarly bark), she did notice me kicking off my shoes and ascending up into the tree, the thick claws on my toes and the blunt claws on my hands providing perfect climbing tools.

“Debaun? Debaun?” I heard her question the forest around her. “Debaun?”

I paused and chuckled, allowing her to know my location.

“Debaun!” she exclaimed. I hurried up through the thick branches, my claws gripping into the gnarly bark, my tail providing the perfect amount of balance for the task at hand. Avocadoes, ones who were denied the sun thus were dried up and moldy, rained down in my ascension.

“Debaun!” Amber exclaimed under the volley of falling fruit. Thank the goddess she had her umbrella. I could hear the fruit bounce off of her umbrella.

Amber attempted to look for me through canopy, I watched her walk back and forth, but unable to see me through the shadows. I appeared beside her, hanging upside down, my feet between two branches. Amber jumped with a squawk. I held two fruits, from the top of the tree, plump, ripe and juicy from the sunshine. Amber looked at me angrily. I chuckled and offered her the fruits. The branch began to crack.

“Whoa!” I exclaimed and fell onto my back, a rain of dried hard fruit falling on to me. Amber kept my head protected with the umbrella, though this could have been unintentional. She was laughing at me while she leaned over me. I felt her lips on mine, just a light kiss. One of the fruits was a green mush in my hand. I grunted and wiped it off. I offered Amber the other one, with an embarrassed grin and blush.

We ate the fruit together walking farther up the trail. I brought Amber to the clearing dotted with the massive flowers Amber wanted to see so badly, or claimed to want to see. I stood at a distance and pointed to them, hiding the grin, but not the blush, thank goddess Amber could not read blushes. The flowers were just orange and red bulges between bare, smooth tree trunks. Amber approached the flowers and barely a second later I heard her scream and ungracefully run towards the path, tears welling up in her eyes. I did not whether her face was red because anger or because of the overpowering smell of the corpse flowers. Only the flies and worms like the smell of the corpse flowers. The smell is so overpowering that the trunks of trees are left bare and small plants refuse to grow in their vicinity.

Amber gagged and coughed for the next twenty minutes to the point where I thought the avocado she had eaten earlier would return to the earth. I led her away from the flowers.

I took her off the well traveled path of my people down a trail only used by Shuka and other shaman. It was much narrower and rockier, and Amber need to hold onto my hand to navigate the trail. I brought her to a fresh water stream, the one that would be eventually become the waterfall. Vines like spider webs hung from the trees and decorating the vines like beads on a string were white flowers. Silver ferns and orchids speckled the ground. It was a beautiful sight, along with the running stream and rainbow colored freshwater fish, but the sight would only be brief, lasting only a week or so when all the flowers were in full bloom. During the wet season the little white flowers would become clusters of tart red berries, only palatable when dried. Amber eased into the scene, leaving me behind. Shuka said this part of the forest could not get anymore beautiful, but she was wrong. A strong wind blew through the forest shook the trees and vines. Scented, white flower petals drifted downwards. Amber exclaimed, looking upwards at the petals as they were blown into clouds of similar color.

I walked down into the clearing Amber.

“You like?” I asked, putting both my hands on her shoulders. Amber turned and smiled, understanding or interpreting what I said. She answered in a monosyllabic word (the only human words I can remember).

“Yes.”

We spent much time in the clearing. Amber collected flowers, I watched her and meditated. Shuka liked to go up here to meditate this time of the year, but she was getting old, and was greatly needed in the village currently, so I took her place. I thought of flowers and the different kinds of flowers and the ugly, plain, fat, nuts and fruits they would become. I thought of how those nuts and fruits would become plants, plain, thin, plants with a few leaves, and keep this form for years before finally blooming themselves, only a few flowers at first, and then a myriad as they grow older and gain more knowledge. Amber woke me with a necklace of flowers around my head. She giggled as I opened one eye took look up at her, the other remaining tightly closed, my body still in the meditation position. I smiled broadly.

I stood up taking her hands. I had one more thing to show her. I led her to a cave, covered in a layer of green moss and surrounded by trees, perfectly camouflaged. I brought Amber to the mouth of the cave.

Shuka used the cave as her own personal retreat. She could be gone for months, meditating, making charms holy, praying to the goddess, and making medicine. The interior of the cave was quite snug and homelike, having been used for centuries by shamans of my village, perhaps since it had been founded. Shuka claimed that the first shaman made the cave from stone, pulling it up from the earth with their powerful magic and carving it to the form they found pleasing. There were shelves carved in wall for various articles and little notches made for burning resin. Precious stones and charms decorated the cave. A few symbols were carved into the wall, prayers to the goddess and thanks to the goddess and sutras against evil spirits.

Amber traced some of the symbols in the wall with her finger. They were glass smooth. With her attention diverted I came up behind her, gently feeling the soft hair on the back of her neck, letting my claws part through the hairs, just gently scraping her neck. It was the first time I felt her hair dry. Amber startled as a chill ran up her back. I pulled the hair back from her head, feeling it in my hands, the soft, thick curls. Amber remained tense, her breathing was slow and deep. I let her hair fall to her shoulders, one coil after another. Amber’s shoulder slacked. I pushed her hair away, exposing the back of her neck. I placed my lips against her neck. Amber tensed up again. I pulled away, allowing the hair to fall back into place. I pushed a few curls back behind her ear. I took the tip of her ear between my lips, gently and briefly. Amber’s skin blushed again, and she giggled anxiously and childishly.

Amber turned to face, pursing her lips up for a kiss, but I was already down on my knees. She gasped as I lifted her skirt up over me. My tail flicked back and forth, registered laughs from Amber. The skirt was roomier than I thought, but it was still bit of a tight fit. I never knew undergarments could be so complicated. There were so many straps and layers, it was like untangling string. It is a wonder how Amber manages to get dressed everyday!

Amber nearly tipped over as I worked underneath her skirt on more than one occasion. I had to use one hand to support her and the other to undo the straps. Most shamans are ambidextrous or learn to be ambidextrous, unfortunately I was not. Finally I was able to undo all the straps, removed her undergarments, the girdle, and the tights, and her shoes. I tossed them out from underneath the skirt canopy like they were garbage with a grunt.

Amber was silent. I pressed my nose against her center taking in her smell. Amber squealed like a kettle with the bump. Tentatively, I tasted her, and Amber screeched. My stroke became a little bolder, and I pressed a little more of my tongue into her. The shock was over now, Amber just gasped for breath. I pushed my hand between legs, spreading her thighs. Carefully, I placed a finger inside of her. I did not want to hurt her unlike last time. I wanted her to be ready and prepared for me. I at least wanted to make up for the avocado tree and corpse flower incidents. I rubbed the interior of her thigh with my thumb while my pointer finger began to pump in and out of her. I used my tongue to stroke her engorged bud. I could fee her getting hotter and hotter, wetter and wetter. I pumped harder. I lifted Amber up onto my shoulders, allowing her full weight to rest on my shoulders, her back against the smooth cave wall. Amber was crying out in joy as I gave up using my finger to mimic the male’s trust and used my tongue, tasting the honey of her inner flower.

I felt Amber sudden tighten on my tongue. Simultaneously, she cried out, almost laughing, and her legs violently stiffened. Her ankles hit my back hard. Amber had no more tension to keep her pressed against the wall, and slowly she slid down. I eased her down.

Amber sat against the wall, panting, with her arm pressed against her forehead as if she was ready to faint. I kneeled beside her, reveling the taste of her in my mouth. Amber came to quicker than I expected her too. She gave me no time to boast and pulled me to her mouth. Her legs wrapped around my waist, arms around my neck as she tried to (and quite successfully) pull me to the earth.

Amber purred as we rubbed against each other, it was finally after rolling on the ground, did we realize what burden her dress was…right after the hoop, after being bent downwards flew up and hit me right in the jaw. Finally, after gathering our stones, we stood up. I watched Amber undo the back of her dress and pull down the shoulders. She did not blush, but she looked up at me, smiling as inch by inch by inch of white skin was exposed. My tail was swishing behind me, scattering dust and dried flower petals. The dress fell to the cave floor. She wore nothing more than her corset. I was in awe, like she when she saw the white flowers on the vine. When I saw her in the waterfall, it was dark, but now I see her in the full light.

She looked at my pants and smiled, I think more at the still-on-pants than the more than obvious bulge. I smiled embarrassedly and pulled my pants off in one swoop.

I swept Amber off her feet in one move, pulling her to my lips. Her arms rested on my shoulders. I held her legs up and apart. Carefully, I pressed her into the wall, keeping our mouths dueling with each other. I repositioned Amber, with the wall for support and entered her. Entrance was much easier and quicker, since she had been pleasured earlier, and I was more experienced with it (not by much, but much better than last time), and now in more comfortable position than the dog position.

Amber towed me closer, demanding more of me, attempting to keep our mouths conjoined, but her lips kept sliding up my mouth at each attempt. I thrust forward, sending her upwards. She cried out. Another bump, another exclamation. She gripped my neck tightly now. It was impossible to kiss or even maintain eye contact with the constant movement of my hips.

I kept my grip on Amber’s hips, keeping each knee pressed against a side of my hips. Amber finally lost her grip around my neck, perhaps from pleasure or the intensity of my thrusts….despite Shuka’s claim that a shaman must remain humble…I believe it was both. Amber fell back against the wall, her fingers just gently resting on my shoulders. In such heated (and loud) passion, I was amazed, almost thrown off rhythm by the softness and coolness of her fingertips.

Amber’s cries now, this time, were louder, more vocal, not the soft “eh ehs” of nights before. They were guttural, almost to verge of screaming, and echoing in the cave. My own responses to her were equally loud and nasal, a “wahoomph” starting in my chest and gaining power and force as it worked its way out my nose and throat in lengthy, deep calls, synchronizing with each push.

With her back supported and protected from the wall with her corset, Amber gripped her covered breast (parts of me wished to have removed that corset….but many parts of me found it too alluring to take it off). Her face was burning red in the cheeks.

I felt the muscles in my legs stiffen up, almost as if suffering from a cramp (how come I was not aware of this previously?) and suddenly the muscles snapped like cords. I felt Amber’s body react similarly, her toes loudly cracking, spreading outwards, as the rest of her body convulsed outward, I felt her center tighten on me. For the brief moment we were still, I watched Amber’s pupils expand out into her irises, nearly turning her eyes completely black.

My seed shot into Amber, mixing with her own fluids and spilling out onto the floor. My body fell limp, leaning towards the wall, supporting Amber. Her arms found their way around my neck, gripping tightly, though her legs were losing power. Finally, she slid down me.

My member slid back inside myself. I sat down on the ground, enjoying the cooling power of clay. My legs had lost all energy, and I desperately needed to gather my sanity, now shattered pieces spread throughout my mind. Amber plopped down beside, leaning on me as we both panted. Amber seemed saner than I, but her moves were very mechanical as she moved about the cave. Amber gathered her clothes, littering the cave floor like fallen leaves, I handed her one of her many petticoats, my skin was still red and beaded with sweat. Amber came out of the entire situation as beautiful as she started…though little could be said about that godforsaken dress.

Amber dressed and dusted off towards the back of the cave. My color finally faded and I pulled on my own clothes and boots.

We cleaned the cave up the best we could and I said a prayer to the goddess before we left the cave. We left arm in arm. Amber was oddly quiet again, thinking, bearing the same expression as the night at the waterfall as we strode through the forest.

“Is something bothering you?” I asked.

“Hmm?” she murmured looking up at me.

“Nothing,” I answered and looked away.

It was quiet again as we continued onward. We found another patch of white flowers and orchids exploring a smaller path used by the children. Amber sat down on a mossy stone and began to weave the long stems of the purple and yellow orchids into another wreath. Her dress was getting dirty and smudged, but this was to cover the dust smears from what conspired up in the cave. I sat beside her watching her weave and bringing her fresh flowers when she ran out.

After a bit, I laid back into the ground, into the bedding of the orchids. I put my hands behind my head and dozed off lightly…lazy meditation.

That is the thing about light sleeping…it’s so wonderful because it’s so short and quickly disturbed at its climax.

I am not sure how much time had passed since I dozed off, enough time for Amber to be almost done with her wreath. It was sitting on her stone seat half finished. I assumed she went to gather more flowers to finish it. The jungle was thrown off a beat; that was what had woken me. It was like a predator had stalked into our little bit of forest, and scared all the life away.

I heard a startled cry, just brief, like the call of a rodent when a raptor swoops down it.

Quickly, I strode through the forest, pushing the vines of flowers out of my way.

“Debaun.”

My strides quickened.

There was a soft cry, a whimper heavy with liquid.

I hurried, the forest now just a blur with each step.

I found Amber far into the forest, far away from the paths where the songs of amphibians and birds were almost deafening.

Actually I saw the man in white first before I saw Amber.

He had his hand pressed against her throat, his finger tips forming red marks on the paleness of her throat. His other hand gripped a nasty looking knife, a very curved bladed one that was often used to slice the bellies of fish open with no effort. The blade was scrimshaw, carved with spirals and fern leaves…a blade of my people, mostly likely lifted from one of the fishermen’s boats. He was hissing into her ear, nothing sweet, just hissing, his smile a wicked pervasion of the smiles of lovers who whisper into each other’s ears filled with acidic honey. From Amber’s eyes trickled tears, they slid out slowly as if terrified themselves.

His lips trailed down her neck. The stream of tears became a river. He pushed a side the shoulder of her dress.

“AMBER!” I shouted from the hillside.

The man in white stopped almost instantly, letting go of Amber, but she did not fall away or pull away like a female of my race would. She was terrified, and the man’s hand still gripped her. He tried to hide the knife, suddenly aware that it was in sight. I watched it disappear, just a glint of into his broad belt, right behind the string of beads he carried. As I approached, he stepped back from Amber, taking his hand off of her. He was acting as if nothing had happened, or was going to happen. His eyes were heavy with twice the amount of belligerence. As I strode to the scene, my mind wheeled, should I act as I merely like a stumbled upon the scene and did not know or realize what was going on, or should I valiantly carry Amber off and show the man in white his place.

I strolled down, my body language nonchalant, my face speaking other wise.

“Amber, I lost you,” I stated to her, overlooking and ignoring the man in white, that always seems to piss him off the most and easiest. “Let’s go back to the village.”

I took her by the arm, my grip gentle but the pull forceful. It was enough to pull her out of her stupor and with a soft mew Amber hurried up, her speed quickly catching up with mine.

“We have to get back to the village as soon as possible,” I hissed to her, “as soon as possible.”

Amber squeaked in response. She now gripped my arm as well, just holding on; even through the gloves I could feel the sharp pains from each individual finger.

The man in the white was a distance away. Would he chase after us, following us, lurking in the shadows like some fetid black predator? I would not put it beyond him to do such, and I wish not to be with in the same vicinity as him. Frankly, I preferred to be in the vicinity of others, though this most likely will not thwart him, at least there will be witnesses.

After what seemed like an eternity when a fast pace felt like trudging, we reached the main path. Amber’s breath came out in gasps, her body language spoke of exhaustion and fear tinged with relief and all on the verge of collapse.

Amber slid off my arm onto the ground with a loud thump. Her legs were sprawled out underneath her, knees locked together. Her hands gripped her knees. I heard her sob, like air finally being released. Her head shook as a violent series of sobs overtook her. She was crying through her teeth, her face drenched in tears.

I squatted down beside her. I brushed away the coils of hair from her face, fat and flat with water. Between claw tips I pulled a few renegade hairs that remained plastered to her face.

“It will be all right,” I said, massaging the tears from her eyes, keeping her head up and cupped in my hands. “It will be all right. Nushka.”

I pressed my snout tip against her face, feeling her now rubber skin, swirls of cold skin and hot tears, the smell reminiscent of the salty ocean. My own heart was racing, what if I had not reached her in time? My own stomach was now ill with the what could have been, sick with the thoughts of what was seconds of away from happening. My stomach was ill with the very thin line of possibility and savior, that very thin, deluded line.

“It is okay, we are here, we are,” I repeated, keeping her head in my tear slicked hands. Amber held on to my own wrists, gripping them tightly. She still cried, she was silent now, but tears still streamed down her face and her lip trembled.

“It is okay,” I said softly. “We’re okay. I’ll keep you safe.”

My people’s senses are not superb as some of the predators of the jungles or even that of our ancestors who could smell and sense a kill from miles or even mountain ranges away. However, compared to humans, our senses were quite potent, even though they were just the remnants, the bare essentials, of our ancestors’ millennia of instincts.

My hand flew up instinctually (maybe out of valor?), catching the knife blade in my palm. Had I not done that, it would have struck Amber in the back of the head, killing, scalping, or paralyzing her. It struck with such force I could feel it hit the bone of palm. Amber screeched and collapsed into me, into my chest.

I gritted my teeth and closed my hand around the blade. The man in white snarled. I was forced to throw Amber aside out of the way into the leaf litter. The man in white pressed on, the one knife still in my hand when he removed a second knife from his robe. This one was not a fish gutting knife of my people’s make, but instead a straight blade dagger, not effective in slicing, but in stabbing. He held the dagger up prepared to bring it down into my neck. I grabbed hold of his wrist, keeping his arm still held in the stabbing position. Despite the pressure I applied to his wrist, he refused to drop the knife. My grip was shaking, the pain in my other hand, with the knife still pressed in it, sent waves of pain up my arm.

The man in white snarled, spittle flecking from his lips into my face. I still held him at an arms distance away, the pain from one arm flowing over to the other. He angrily shouted something, ordered, screamed, condemned, hell if I know…but in the brief second he shouted at me, I swore his foam flecked mouth sprouted snake fangs.

He began to bring the heel of his boot down onto my knee and kept bring it down to get me to let go of his wrists. I snarled and recoiled, but refused to let go. Pain and blood loss was now clouding my mind and eyes. I bit my bottom lip to provide self inflicted pain to clear my mind.

I heard Amber scream, loudly, angrily, like nothing I ever heard, or thought possible coming from her. I could see her come up behind the man in white, something earthy brown in her hand. She struck him in the back of the head, the rotted log in her hand disintegrating almost immediately over the whiteness of his robe. He shouted and turned giving me just enough leeway to kicking him right in stomach while still holding onto his wrists. I kept my foot in his stomach and rolled over, flipping him over me. He landed on his head and back, with enough force to knock him out, not kill him. I grabbed hold of Amber.

We fled the forest, running as if hell was on our heels.

I bound my cut hand with cloth and poultice. Cuts were fairly common in the village, so there would no questions of where this one rose from. Amber was in Lanala’s hut. She changed into another dress and sat at the window sewing, her movements shaky. She pricked her finger at least a dozen times as I watched her.

The man in white came into the village only an hour later. He stalked around in his normal fashion. I was very thankful Lanala was in her home molding beads and dying threads, a process that takes hours. I was not alone either; Shuka was in her room as another finish to her staff. He walked with a very noticeable stumble and continuously stalked passed Lanala’s window.

The man in white caused Amber no problems. I was up much of the night, looking out the window at every footfall, crunch of gravel, voice, or loud breath looking for a white beacon near the yellow glow of Lanala’s hut. I did not fall asleep until near day break when the fishers went out to see and other villagers were awake doing their daily chores.

I woke around noon when Shuka gave me a good crack. Next to mere glimpses, I saw little of Amber. She stayed in the hut, not sewing, but helping Lanala make beads and necklaces. I could here Lanala commenting her, or chuckling over her work, and Amber responding with laughter of her own.

Shuka woke me to gather the kelp along the beach which she would use to make rope and binding, then go into the forest to gather the large mushrooms that would grow in tree branches. They would be the last of the season, in this heat, most fungus mostly dry up. I picked up a stack of flat trays that perfectly fit together into a basket. If the mushrooms were piled together, they would start to decay and turn to mush, so it was best to keep them separated. The individual trays would be set out into the sun and the mushrooms dried. Later, they would be used in medicine or added to soup stock to plump up, like the ones I would be gathering, fresh, they were mildewy in taste. Dried and lightly smoked, they were delicious, plain or added to soup.

The mushrooms grew farther up in the mountains, a few miles away from the village and farther up the trail, away from the salty winds of the ocean. Salty winds had a tendency of making the flesh of mushrooms rubbery or taste of old leather. They grew in a swampy area on black barked trees and spread up into the branches. I gathered many mushrooms, upwards of twenty pounds. I hefted the basket of trays over my shoulder and headed down the mountain. It was near sunset, it was still bright out but that was fading away, and it would probably be around night when I finally arrive in the village.

It was around several large outcroppings of grey stone, massive stones engraved with faded symbols and pictographs (among ourselves we wondered whether the stones were in fact just stones engraved by villagers of the past or in fact the well worn ruins), that something struck me on top of my head. My mind was already hazy and heavy with thoughts of getting back to my room before night truly set in. I did not even feel the blow, the pain, or the world around me. I just felt falling.

Falling.

Falling.

&&&
The sun was a scratch in the sky when I awoke, or as it has been the past few days, was woken up. Ice cold water, thick with grit was thrown in my face. If it was not the chill of water that woke me, it was sting of grit in the face. My mind was pulled together with the explosion of grit in the face. I groaned and flexed my hands, only to find it very difficult. My arms were spread out and held up between two trees. Thick leather cuffs, thick and tight as iron, were clasped around my wrists. I was on my knees and the length of chain that join each wrist to a tree allowed me to move forward on my knees, only a few inches, but not stand up. I was not sure how long I was like this, but my arms felt like they were about to pop out of their sockets.

I heard someone speak.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Crack.

Something held in a hand struck me across the jaw, sending my head into my shoulder with such force. My mind was nearly knocked out of my head. The blood sprayed out of my mouth.

More words, smoothly spoken, though not understandable. I saw the beacon of white finally in the night. Immediately I snarled, my growl flecked with blood and spit.

“YOU!” I managed to gargle out. I lurched forward towards the man in white. I only made it a few inches before the recoil on the chains pulled me back. The other side of my face was struck with the butt of whatever he carried in his hand. I held my head still enough so that it was not sent flying, but blood still sprayed out of my mouth and I was sure that a molar was knocked loose in the process. I could taste nothing but blood.

The man in white shook his hand he struck me with. I could smell his blood, sour and metallic smelling compared to my blood that flowed from my jaw and coated the white buds of the vine flowers. It was a small pleasure in seeing him in pain after him taking pleasure in giving me pain. I chuckled. Almost immediately I was struck again.
The side of my face began to swell. I struggled in my bonds.

The man in white pulled a few of fingers of what ever he held in his hand. Lengths of braided leather fell from his fingers. He sneered, the moonlight glinting off his teeth. I struggled, my voice muffled in my own blood and swollen jaw.

He cracked the whip, the kind used to discipline sailors on a ship, into the ground. Just once, just a short weak crack, testing it.

I tried to pull away, I could feel the tears hot and burning. Was I crying? I didn’t realize I was crying. They just came out of nowhere, I did not feel myself crying, I just felt them run down my cheek. I pulled myself towards one of the tree trunks, away from him.

Crack!

The whip struck diagonally from my right shoulder down to my left hip. The braided tips folded over into my chests. I lurched forwards, nearly pulling my arms off and pulling the trees down with such force.

“Goddess!” I exclaimed. “Mother of the earth!”

I felt the tears again, hot and boiling, but I felt no sobs, no childish cries.

“Mother!”

The man in white struck again, this time in the opposite direction. This time I felt the blood. The pain stung, but the blood seeped slowly and lazily from the open skin.

“Goddess!” I screamed and lurched again in the shackles. I was struck a third time as I lurched, bringing me back to the ground.

The man in white said something as I struck the earth, panting as I hung there. He played with the braids of the whip between his fingers. He struck a forth time, down the center of my back. I reared up, biting my lip and holding back the cry.

I am not sure how many times he struck me. I counted to near twenty when there was no longer any flesh that was not bruised or bleeding already. I was still very conscious, though all the energy was no drained from my limbs, when every time he struck was nothing more than a spray of blood, and the thump of the whip on a back was now dull and flat.

I lost consciousness when the moon came out from behind black clouds. The last thing I saw the glistening pools and puddles of blood on leaf litter and the leaves of saplings. They were all I saw, all I could focus on. I watched them enlarge and growing, only aware of them. They were still there as my vision slowly faded away.

Finally the embrace of night took me and I drifted off into nothingness.