by Hondo Jinx
Philia went back and forth between the upper herd and those foraging downslope, luring one more beast at a time.
It was a slow process, and the rain was coming harder. Braddock hoped they could get the herd uphill before the bank got muddy and spooked them.
The rain-lashed valley was vast and gloomy beneath the heavy storm clouds. Muddy and full of debris, the river had vastly overflowed its banks. Even at the edge of woods, an inch of water flowed.
“My love,” a sing-song voice called, and looking at the swampy valley floor, Braddock saw a smiling blue face pop from the shallow water thirty feet away. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Where have you been?”
“Working,” Braddock said, “which is what I’m doing now.”
“Men and their work. Why labor when there is love to be had?” Cascadia bit her lip and shimmied back and forth, almost but not quite revealing her breasts.
“Well, for starters, winter is coming, and I don’t plan on letting my people starve.”
“Ugh, such boring talk. Work and winter and all of that. Let’s drop the drudgery and cut to the chase, shall we? You have been a very bad boy.”
He just looked at her.
Cascadia pouted prettily. “You’ve been avoiding me, my love.”
“Like I said, work to do.”
“What about my kisses? You still owe me six.”
“You’ll get them,” he growled. He did indeed have work to do, but his body ached to hop down and give her all six kisses and a lot more. It was aggravating.
So far, Braddock had paid only one kiss. Philia and Tilly accompanied him to the river, and both sprites threatened the nymph, who mocked them irreverently, then made Braddock’s head spin with the touch of her sweet lips.
But his sprites pulled him back from the river, and he had been carefully avoiding streams since then.
Now, here Cascadia was again, bobbing in an inch of water as if it were a deep pool.
“I want a kiss now, my love. Please?”
Braddock shook his head and looked back to the hillside, where the bulk of the herd had neared the upper group. Now, Philia was leading the bull and older cows higher.
“Just one little kiss? Please? Don’t be cruel, my love. I’m pining away. Look at me, I’m wasting away with wanting you. Look!”
She held out her slender arms and lifted a little, nearly exposing her breasts once again.
She didn’t look like she was pining away. She looked exactly as she always looked. In other words, perfect.
Raindrops trickled over her perfection and dappled the water pooled in the deep hollows of her collar bones.
“All I can think of, night and day, is your handsome face and how much I love you.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“Oh, but I do! I am no fern-brained meadow sprite. I tasted you when we met, when the prudes dragged you from our second meeting, and again just now I savored a faint hint of my love trickling downhill to me. I know you are a good, strong man, who works too much and is cruel to poor, innocent water nymphs.”
“The answer is no,” he said, keeping his eyes on the drive.
Philia made her play and led the bull uphill with a purpose, pulling him up and up at a steady trot.
“Why? Are you afraid of your sprites? That’s it, isn’t it? You’re afraid that they’ll be cross with you! Oh, what a disappointment. I waited all this time for a man, and instead I’ve paired fates with a boy, a frightened little boy who can’t make his own decisions.”
“I know what you’re trying to do, darlin. Save your breath. It won’t work.”
“Why do they care anyway? You’re such a big, strong man. Surely, there is enough of you for all of us.”
Uphill, the older cows saw their king was heading for higher ground and followed. Sensing that something was happening, the rest of the herd tightened up, lowing as they trudged uphill through the rain.
Braddock touched the brim of his hat. “Gotta go, darlin. You take care.”
“You owe me six kisses!”
“You’ll get them.”
He signaled to Tilly and road uphill, hanging back from the shuffling herd and focusing on the familiarity of the work, which was soothing and exciting, all at the same time, and which helped him to block out thoughts of the beautiful nymph still calling after him.
Braddock’s approach was slow and steady. He kept the reins in one hand and a lariat in the other, ready in case any of the cattle got spooked and made a break for it.
The cattle lowed, moving steadily upward in the rain. Mesmerized as they were, they barely noticed him. Those that did simply mooed, rolled an eye, and climbed a little faster.
Having driven his fair share of cagey longhorns, Braddock could feel the herd’s mood and kept back, pushing only gently and wishing he had half a dozen cattle dogs with him.
The rain fell harder, trickling inside his collar. It was wet, cold business, but the sprites wore only their tiny dresses. And every time Tilly zipped past, half her little fanny was showing.
It was midday before they lured the herd onto the meadow. Or at least Braddock guessed it was midday. The sun was hidden behind dark clouds.
The herd fanned out, devouring the tall, green grass.
“Oh no you don’t, young lady!” Tilly called to his right.
Hearing a rapid pop-pop-pop, Braddock glanced in that direction and saw a small cow come trotting back to the herd, spooked by the flashing green fireworks display of Tilly’s snapdragons.
Braddock raised a hand. “Good work, Tilly.”
“Thank you, Master!” Tilly batted her lashes at him before zipping off again.
Over the last week, Tilly had proven good to her word, serving enthusiastically, no matter the command. Mostly, she had focused on winemaking.
They would trade wine in the spring, when Gnomish barter trains passed on the valley road. Gnomes, Philia assured him repeatedly, loved to barter.
So Tilly built casks, gathered grapes, and stomped fruit. She had also amazed Braddock with her ability to create cordage using vines and vine maiden magic.
Even now, after all this rain, her bare feet and ankles were so stained from stomping, Tilly looked like she was wearing wine-colored booties.
The first few nights after she joined the meadow had been awkward. Tilly perched on the beams overhead and watched with glowing eyes as Braddock and Philia made love beside the fireplace.
He had since grown accustomed to, if not entirely comfortable with, the tiny woman’s presence, and as he made love to Philia, he tried to ignore Tilly’s moaning and the rapid movement of her hand between her legs.
Philia didn’t mind having an audience. If anything, Tilly’s presence enflamed her passions. She was more passionate and louder than ever.
Of course, the pregnancy had also drawn Braddock and his wife closer.
They had created life.
Which is why Braddock wasn’t in a hurry to bond with Tilly or anyone else and another reason he was avoiding Cascadia.
He was tempted when Tilly’s skirt crept up or he heard the handmaiden moan with muffled ecstasy as she not-so-secretly joined them in orgasm from above; and Cascadia filled him with desire, swimming into his dreams every night to pull him back to that happy, underwater scene, where they made love and had beautiful daughters.
But Braddock stayed strong and did his best not to dwell on these other women.
The rain let up, slackening to a light, misting shower that speckled the puddled surface of the meadow.
At last, the cattle grazed.
Despite the rain, Braddock had to smile.
They were building a good life here.
They had ambition. They had vision. And they had all the bountiful resources of this magnificent land.
And now, suddenly, watching eighteen head of cattle graze in their meadow, he brimmed over with confidence.
Nothing could stop them from building a beautiful home here. And more than a hom
e, he reckoned. Because this wasn’t just about them. It was about the meadow, the surrounding wilderness, and those who would follow.
Not just his children and Philia’s future handmaidens but also the other monster girls that were, according to Philia and Tilly, certain to follow, women who make his life here better, women who would help him build a town in the wilderness.
“Hi-eee!” Cascadia said, her pretty blue face popping up from a rain-dappled puddle. “Wow! What a nice meadow you have here, my love!”
Nearby cows jerked, badly startled, and ran off. A second later, the whole herd pounded off through the rain, chased by two hollering sprites.
22
“You scared away our cattle,” Braddock growled.
“Sorry, my love,” Cascadia said with a little shrug that might’ve been cute if she hadn’t just ruined a whole morning’s work, “but I have important news for you.”
“What?” he asked, assuming this was yet another ploy to get a kiss.
But Cascadia surprised him, saying, “North of here, the dam of some giant beavers is about to burst. The streams are already overflowing. When the dam bursts, a tremendous amount of water will rush into the river. The surge will create a powerful flash flood that will decimate the canyon.”
Braddock scanned the meadow, looking for but not seeing his sprites. “We have to warn Hortensia.”
Cascadia shook her head. “That is very gallant, my love, but do not worry about the Meadow Mother. Hortensia’s magic is strong. The flood will not penetrate her protections. But you do have another friend if I am not mistaken.”
“Chundra!” The fur folk’s burrow was a fair distance up the bank, but that didn’t matter with a flash flood. “I have to warn them.”
“Yes, the dam is weakening every second. It’s only a matter of minutes now, my—”
A green flash pulsed across the swampy ground as if the meadow had been struck by a bolt of emerald-colored lightning.
Cascadia gave a frightened “Eep!” and disappeared into the puddle.
“That bubble-brained nymph scared off our herd!” Philia said, zooming up to his side. “Where are you going, husband?”
“Chundra’s in danger,” Braddock called over his shoulder as he rode across the meadow. “There’s going to be a flash flood.”
Halfway down the steep game trail, he picketed the buckskin on a bench. He wouldn’t risk taking the mustang any closer to the canyon.
Throwing the rope over his shoulder, Braddock ran downhill. By the time he reached the fur folks’ burrow, he was covered in mud, having fallen on the slippery slope several times.
Thanks to their wings, Philia and Tilly had gotten there before him. They squeaked, hovering in the heavy rain as Chundra and his people streamed from beneath the mossy outcropping of stone overtop their burrow entrance.
There were dozens of fur folk, including tiny little cubs and a few silver-furred elders stooped with age. They boiled from the burrow, lugging tiny chests and furniture and what looked like little wine casks.
A few of them wore handkerchiefs, head scarves, and little capes almost certainly cut from the clothes stolen from Elizabeth’s wagon. Under different circumstances, it would have been funny.
“Tell them to forget about the possessions and get uphill,” Braddock told Philia, and she started squeaking with a purpose.
The fur folk set to arguing. Many scampered uphill, squeaking with terror. Others remained, stubbornly attempting to wrestle a long, intricately carved wooden table from the mouth of the burrow.
Far to the north, something boomed loudly.
“Come on!” Braddock roared and started plucking fur folk from the ground. Clutching an armful of squeaking evacuees, he ran uphill, his nostrils full of wet fur smell. Reaching the upper bench, he deposited them near the buckskin and ran back downhill.
A loud roar was building upstream, filling the canyon as it raced this way.
Braddock had seen high country flash floods in the past and knew what was coming just as surely as if he was seeing it: a high wall of roiling, muddy water, carrying uprooted trees and loose boulders.
He ran back downhill through heavy sheets of rain, slipped and fell, got up and kept running. Fur folk squeaked, streaming off the trail and out of his way as they hurried uphill, shooed along by the sprites.
Chundra and a cluster of fur folk remained by the burrow, struggling fruitlessly to dislodge the long table.
The flood roared closer, booming and banging.
“Forget the table! The flood is almost here!”
Most of the fur folk ignored Braddock, grunting and straining for all they were worth.
Chundra hopped up and down pointing past the table, deeper in the burrow.
Crouching down, Braddock peered underneath the rock ledge and saw a few pairs of frightened eyes staring out at him, luminous in the darkness beyond the table.
That’s why they were so determined to get the table out. It was blocking the escape of other fur folk.
“Look out!” Braddock commanded, pushing the fur folk aside. “Get uphill. Now!”
He lay on his side, stretching his arm under the big outcropping, very much aware of the loud booming roaring ever closer.
He latched onto the table and tugged. Chundra remained beside him, patting his shoulder and squeaking encouragement. Down in the burrow, frightened chittering filled the blocked tunnel.
The flood roared like a charging monster, filling the canyon upstream. Reaching the bend in the river, it smashed into the sheer cliff with a tremendous boom then rushed on with such force that it shook the ground beneath Braddock.
They had only seconds now.
“Get up there!” Braddock yelled at Chundra, pointing uphill, but the little bear-man refused to abandon him.
Bellowing with effort, Braddock pulled the table free, and a swarm of squeaking fur folk rushed out in full panic. Sweeping them from the ground and hugging them to his chest, Braddock leapt to his feet and started sprinting uphill.
With an explosion of noise, the flash flood rushed into view. The churning brown wall of water full of earth and stone and bristling with thick timbers, towered impossibly, filling the lower half of the canyon as it sped toward them.
Braddock shouted as he sprinted uphill, but he couldn’t even hear his own voice over the bellow of the monstrous flood.
Roaring like a tornado, the flood snapped trees and ripped away the hillside, eating the world, coming closer and closer, and Braddock knew he wasn’t going to make it.
Fifty feet, forty, thirty…
Philia appeared before him, holding out her arms and screaming a silent scream.
Knowing he could never outrun the wave, Braddock thrust the fur folk into her arms, and ordered her to go.
With tears streaming from her horrified green eyes, Philia whipped away.
Braddock had just enough time to realize that Chundra was still holding tight to his collar, refusing to abandon him even in the face of certain death.
The brown wall loomed over them, churning with stone and timber.
Braddock hauled Chundra to his chest and twisted hard, turning his back to the onrushing tidal wave not to save himself—that was impossible now—but to shield his little friend from the initial impact.
But at the last second, the water sheared impossibly away, cutting sharply downhill, and the angry flood passed several feet down the shuddering hillside, destroying everything in its path.
As the flood bent miraculously away from Braddock, he heard the voice of a woman down in the raging torrent, crying out with painful effort.
Cascadia?
Then the earth disappeared beneath Braddock’s feet, and he was falling.
Chundra squealed, clutching to Braddock’s neck.
With a desperate grab, Braddock latched onto the base of a tree. The embankment had collapsed from under him, eaten by the flood.
Below his kicking legs, there was nothing but a short drop through open air, t
he pounding flood, and a struggling water sprite.
“Get uphill, my love!” Cascadia hollered in a strained voice. “I can’t hold it much longer!”
Chundra hopped off and scampered several feet up the bank, squealing encouragement and waving Braddock up.
Braddock swung his hips from side to side, then snapped hard to the right, throwing that leg up onto the crumbling embankment that held the tree to which he clung.
A passing treetop slammed into Braddock, knocking his leg back down and jarring him so hard, he almost lost his grip.
Chundra had one of Braddock’s wrists and was straining backward with all his might.
Then the tree Braddock was clutching started to lean as more of the hillside crumbled away.
Something brushed across his face, wrapped around his chest, and tightened like a lasso under his arms.
It was a vine.
The tree gave, sagging out over the void, and Braddock let go and grabbed the vine. His stomach dropped, but the vine held.
Tilly stood uphill, glowing green, gritting her teeth and apparently controlling the vine with her magic.
Then Philia appeared beside Braddock, latched onto his coat, and started tugging as hard as she could. Braddock swung his leg up again, and this time he managed to haul himself upward.
Scooping Chundra into his arms, Braddock ran as fast as he could uphill.
Behind him, Cascadia cried out like a woman in labor, and could hold the flood no longer.
It rushed uphill, returning to its normal course, and devoured the tree Braddock had clung to and a good ten feet of hillside above that point.
“Remember me, my love,” Cascadia called, her voice infused within the raging waters, and Braddock saw a vague and troubling flash of blue as the powerful flood whipped her away downstream among its deadly debris.
“Cascadia!” he shouted through the rain and roaring river, but it was no good. The exhausted water nymph had been washed away.
“Husband!” Philia cried, showering him with kisses.
“Meadow Master!” Tilly wept, whirling around him.