Mentally, Mrs. Rana was less and less cogent with each day that passed. Kathryn’s title of apprentice became less and less apt each day. Maybe it would help attract a nice guy, she thought. She might be short and might not have the coveted blonde hair or a rich father, but all the more reason for someone set to inherit his father’s large herd of cattle to pick her up and save her, right?
The grass whispered again. She forced herself not to look back, to instead bow her head under the weight of the yoke and trudge on. For another few steps, at least. Then the first quiet, swift footstep exploded in the silence of summer dusk. The birds had been very quiet, she vaguely realized. The yoke still weighed her down and she was unwilling to throw away the work of getting the water up just like that.
A heavy body collided with hers and the decision was taken out of her hands. She felt strong arms wrap around her before they had hit the ground, before she even knew who had attacked her. It was a who, at least. Not a wolf or an angry ghost. It was someone very large. Much larger than her, both in terms of strength and height.
Surprisingly, she did not land face first into the grassy plain but rather on her side. The large being that had charged her had also rolled in the air as it had enveloped its prey, so instead, Kathryn was clutched to someone’s body as she hit the ground, almost as if the two were spooning lovers. The yoke and two buckets had gone flying when she was tackled and crashed down a few feet ahead of where she did. The water splashed uselessly onto the grass.
Kathryn’s arms were tangled behind her and unusable for the moment. She was rolled onto her stomach very easily despite her desperate struggles and thrashing. A knee was planted against the small of her back and a large hand held over her mouth as she began to make a sound. It would have developed into a scream but it was not allowed to. Instead, the muffled cry just resonated in her mouth.
A moment later, she heard a sound that everyone, child or elder, was familiar with. The sound of a weapon being drawn from its sheath. Kathryn froze for just a second, her eyes widening, but she was held down by the much larger being on top of her.
“Mhlease,” she managed to stammer out from under the warm digits keeping her mouth shut.
There was no verbal response but the rather submissive tone with which she had spoken seemed to calm the creature on top of her in some small way. At least, it did not move as fast anymore. Kathryn moved her arms, one aching from the fall, under her. Slowly, she began to lift her upper body off the ground. The creature allowed it, though the hand stayed over her mouth.
The cry for help had been all the sound she had tried to make. Though Kathryn was neither warrior nor negotiator, she instinctively realized that the physical battle was over and done with. Lost. It was about navigating her defeat to a safe place now. She tried to turn her head but the hand prevented her. She only got a glimpse of healthily tanned arms with strange, jagged red patterns painted onto them. Tribal. Where had she seen those before?
As it turned out, the reason her attacker had agreed to her raising her upper body was what came next. The weapon that had been drawn was not intended for killing or mutilation, but intimidation. Coercion. The edge of a serrated, ceremonial-looking dagger came to rest very gently against her throat. Kathryn could not remember ever having tried so hard to remain completely frozen in place. She held her breath and her eyes rolled in a feeble attempt to look in the impossible direction, as if seeing the knife against her skin would somehow help.
Slowly, the pressure of the knee against her back was relaxed. It was unnecessary now, of course. The prey took care of keeping still all on its own. The hand over her mouth was moved and instead took a hold of her long, brown locks. She was tugged upwards. The pressure was determined but it was not a yank. It was uncomfortable but she had endured far worse. Was she being taken captive? Would her attacker have cared to treat her like this if not?
The knife was still against her throat, which made the business of standing a slow one. It took her almost half a minute of careful balancing and breathing. The creature behind her had a very firm and calm hand. The blade never wavered and never so much as nicked her skin. It was held exactly where it was intended to be held.
At last, Kathryn was upright. Her yoke was forgotten and all she could do was stare hopefully in the direction of the village. Perhaps someone else would come along and save her? She knew it was unlikely but she held on to hope for a small while. Her attacker’s hand released her hair and she felt it slowly realize its freedom to fall back down to her shoulders.
Oddly, the knife at her throat had a rapidly dwindling presence in her mind. The steady strength of its wielder and the lack of violence save the first tackle gave an impression not of a raging madman, but of someone in control, someone with a purpose. Small, needling tingles erupted in the pit of her stomach as it finally dawned on her what this could mean instead.
The large, strong creature moved the hand that had held her hair down to her stomach. With fingers spread, the large hand pressed Kathryn backwards, closer to her hunter, her stomach taut in her attacker’s grip. The icicles in her stomach were now matched by a reluctant blush, warmth spreading in her cheeks, shoulders and throat. Not only was whoever had tackled her large, it was muscled, firm and powerful.
She was reminded of the depictions of the god of war at the village’s shrine. The god of war did not, however, paint red patterns onto his naked skin. This creature did. The somehow both intensely powerful and graceful fingers, hands and arms finally made something click in her. The trading caravan, all those years ago. Its guards had had these sorts of signs as well.
“Y-you’re.. You’re an elf?”
With the knife still at her throat, Kathryn was afraid to much more the whisper, but the raw surprise still shone through. Why would an elf capture her like this? Was it some sort of prelude to aggressive negotiations? She had heard tales of elven warbands raiding and destroying villages that moved too far onto the plains. But her village was close to the foothills. Only a day’s march or so. It could not be that, could it?
“Fae,” said the elf. “It is Fae, to you.” Her voice, the presence of breasts as Kathryn was aggressively tugged backwards confirming her sex, was measured. It lacked the contractions that would have come with growing up and using the human language every day. It was obviously something she had learned and taken great care to perfect, far more care than the average human speaker. At the same time, her formal words perfectly accompanied the rather demeaning tone she had spoken in. It was clear that “elf” was not a word she liked.
“Fae. I’m sorry,” said Kathryn, swallowing. The pressure against her throat had increased very slightly after the elf had corrected her. “Why... Have you taken me captive?”
“You are not my captive,” she said cryptically.
Kathryn very much felt like a captive. She still had not been allowed to move, there was a knife at her throat, and until she had discovered that the elf was female, she had been pretty certain that she was going to get raped. The elf’s voice had been very firm when she replied, though. Then again, even with the few words she had spoken so far, it seemed relatively clear that she was the confident type. The type who wanted others to ask for clarification just so they could showcase their ignorance. Kathryn sighed inwardly, then spoke up again.
“What am I then?”
“Tonight you are Solon’s maiden,” said the elf.
“Solon?” asked Kathryn hesitantly, aware that her questioning might be seen as another insult of some kind.
“Solon is the god of battle, strength and passion,” said the elf, the hand on Kathryn’s stomach increasing its pressure.
“I’m your god’s maiden?” she questioned again, still not understanding.
“You are not His maiden, you are mine,” said the elf.
Kathryn was confused and, despite the knife against her throat, rather annoyed. The elf either did not care to adequately explain, enjoyed toying with her, or existed on some other plane of lo
gic. “I’m yours, but I’m not your captive. I’m not here willingly, either, so what am I?”
“Solon’s maiden,” said the elf.
She allowed herself a small sigh. “Alright, what does that mean?”
“You’ll learn soon enough,” said the elf.
The knife was removed from Kathryn’s throat. Before it was sheathed, though, she felt the hand on her stomach move, the elf’s arm now enveloping her midsection entirely. She was not about to be given an opportunity to run, not that she felt very certain she could outrun this beast of an elf. The guards of the trading caravan had been impressive, almost awe-inspiring to her when she was little.
Each one was over seven feet tall and contained both physical might and the magical grace bestowed on all elves by some benevolent creator. Perhaps this Solon. Whoever or whatever had made these tribal huntresses did not really matter anyway. With only a few inches over five feet, Kathryn was the clear physical inferior. She did not even have speed or agility on these creatures it seemed. The blade slid back into its sheath with a scrape and she relaxed.
“Am I allowed to ask your name?” she said, both sarcastic and genuinely curious. The customs of the tribal elves had always been a mystery. Not just to her, but to all the humans on the plains. Contact was sparse. Not that either race hated the other, they simply did not understand each other. They had reached an agreement on territory but that was it.
“Tamara, to you,” said the elf. The same tone was present in her voice. Arrogance, superiority, or perhaps it was justified confidence. Whatever it was, it was clear that Tamara considered herself above Kathryn in every respect. “Huntress and champion,” she added.
“Champion?” said Kathryn.
“Soldier, to you. But far more of a soldier than what your race can produce,” said Tamara.
Kathryn glanced towards her village again, her cheeks still burning. She had never been so close to someone as physically powerful as this for so long. She found herself enjoying the feeling of a muscled, strong form to lean against, even if it was a somewhat hostile one. The knife was gone, at least. The arm around her stomach was more than enough to prevent her from running anyway.
“I’m Kathryn,” she said, leaning her head back to try and catch a glimpse of the fae’s expression. The elf nodded in response.
“Pure and chaste Kathryn. It is a good name,” Tamara said.
The elf seemed to roll the name on her tongue and in her thoughts, allowing Kathryn a moment to see her huntress’ face. It was what she had expected of an elf in some sense but it was different too. Certainly, the ethereal grace and sharp, perfectly sculpted features were there.
The green, angled eyes were large, emotive and captivating. But at the same time, the crescent-shaped red painted on gave her a far more fierce look than the classic elves of the stories. It was as if the lack of high culture enhanced her in a different but equally bewitching way. What she lacked in refinement, she made up for in savage honor and strength.
Kathryn’s breath was elevated. She realized she had been staring, interpreting far more in the ferocious elf’s face than she thought possible from such a brief look. She swallowed and turned her head away, looking straight ahead instead. The cold lump of worry was still there in her stomach, she had been captured and threatened after all, but every other extremity stung gently with warmth.
For its naked barbarism and seeming capacity for brutality, the elf had treated her better than most others in life. There was no game of social station with her. While she could have kept being angry at the derision that was implied in Tamara’s self-confidence and arrogance, she could hesitantly see how it was justified. And the elf had not tried to take advantage of her, either. She had simply and unequivocally made it clear that she was the superior of the two. It was true really.
While it was a hard realization to make. But after things had settled down, while the elf appeared to be looking around and scouting for something, Kathryn found herself arriving at it. One on one, her against Tamara, it was true. It would have been disingenuous to act any other way, but that was what she was so used to.
In a small village, everyone is disingenuous. Everyone knows each other, so you have to keep up a friendly facade, because you are going to keep meeting the same people. Kathryn was poor. Her parents were poor. The more well-off people from the village were loathe to associate with them but it was always under pretense. They made excuses and kept their children away. But it had always been clear to Kathryn what was going on.
The elf seemed to have decided on where they needed to go. Kathryn had expected to be tugged along harshly, or perhaps knocked out to be handled more easily, but Tamara simply slung her human prize over a shoulder and started walking. The elders said that elves could see in the dark and the pace and surety with which the champion elf walked certainly seemed to support that theory.
It would still be a while before anyone in the village became aware of her being delayed and even longer before they were going to worry enough to send someone for her. It was rare these days, but people did sometimes disappear, only to be found as stripped skeletons half a year later. They may simply just assume that she was, or that...
“Last year, did you take another girl?” The question was blurted out without thinking, in between the light gyrations that accompanied each of the amazonian elf’s springy steps.
“I did not,” said Tamara. Kathryn almost felt disappointed, for a moment, then the elf continued. “But champion Eloryn did. She found her Solon’s maiden.”
Though she still did not know what being Solon’s maiden really implied, the knowledge that she was going to be taken away from her village seemingly on a permanent basis hit hard. The warmth Kathryn had felt drained quickly, and all that was left behind was the lazy, cold lump in her stomach and the receding cold of the first shock. After that, she really felt very little other than the movements of the elf as she carried her prey away from its home.
She was a fifth child of eight. Near the middle and frequently ignored. Her parents had been too busy surviving to offer much warmth to their children, and she had grown up without much love for them as a result. Respect for the beatings, sure, but not much else. It was the same with the village. She had lived mechanically there, becoming a seamstress because she had to become something. It was not out of love for the village, it was because living there was all she could imagine.
Now, a stranger was carrying her off into uncertainty. That was what worried her, not that she was away from the village and might never see it again. If she was carried far enough, she might never see the mountains in the horizon, either. She might see more rain, if the mountains did not stop as much of it further away.
***~~~***
Tamara carried Kathryn across the plain for four days and nights. It was not until the night of the fourth day that anything resembling a real camp was set. For the previous three nights, the tribal elf had trussed up her prey like any other animal but rather than hanging her up to dry, had bound her securely and held her close. Even though it was summer, warmth still left the plain during the night.
It had become clear to Kathryn on the second night that this was not for Tamara’s sake. Somehow, the elf always seemed warm. Her skin was never clammy or cold, rather it was as if she always produced energy to not just warm herself but warm anyone who touched her. No, it was done for Kathryn’s sake. Even though her ankles and wrists were tied and she was carried like a sack of potatoes, she was still cared for. She was fed, kept warm, and relatively comfortable given the circumstances.
The elf never made any secret of the fact that she held herself superior but that did not stop her from caring for her inferior, her prey, or whatever Kathryn was. It was comforting and it made her feel more and more safe despite the elf carrying her further and further away from her ancestral village. Of course, it helped that she had always been a little “weird.”
Kathryn had never restricted her passions to men. She had found herself
equally capable of lusting after women, though no one in the village really fit perfectly. She imagined someone else. Someone she might feel good about being a seamstress for. A warrior woman. And now she had found exactly that.
Long days of either being tugged along by the elf or carried over a shoulder had given her rich opportunity to appreciate the creature’s seemingly tireless, statuesque physique. Kathryn was again reminded of the god of war back on the shrine but the more time she spent admiring Tamara’s shape and sculpted form, the more she felt like it was a kind of insult to the creature.
So, when Kathryn woke on the morning that previously would have had her hoping to find someone at the summer solstice celebration, she felt like, at least for now, she could pretend she had gotten lucky much earlier than the other hopefuls. She woke up early, the summer sun barely having cleared the horizon. Most importantly, she woke up in her capturer’s warm embrace. Those strong arms shielded her, held the cold at bay, and protected her from whatever wildlife might roam this far out.
It took her a little while of lying there comfortably to realize that Tamara was awake as well. Kathryn tensed, but the elf shifted and wrapped them both up in the rough blanket that had fallen off their legs during the night. It did not take long for the seamstresses apprentice to appreciate her new position. For once, Tamara was not in a hurry to pack and get moving. She was showing a difference side of herself, still possessive, but calm and affectionate all the same.
“Tonight,” said the elf. Her voice was quiet. “You will truly be Solon’s maiden. This one night a year, you will be as close to Him as I.”
Kathryn kept still for a while. She had been worried about being a sacrifice for a while, but that did not seem to be the case. She had never heard of the tribal elves, no matter how feral, indulging in such evil practices anyway. It had to mean something else and it did not sound like it was something too dangerous. At least not life-threatening.
Futanarium 1: An Erotic Short Story Bundle Page 9