by J. Hepburn
Helgaer found herself staring but didn't look away. Camille's body looked like that of a young man, but she was undeniably a woman. Helgaer felt jealous, enormous, and conflicted about the sexual attraction she was feeling.
Camille knelt on one knee so she could begin scrubbing the blood out of her shirt.
Helgaer furiously returned to washing herself, hissing in pain as she pulled too sharply on the flesh around her entry wound. Camille's head snapped around. Helgaer squashed her left breast with her right hand so she could see the wound clearly. There was no blood.
Cursing silently at herself and knowing that she was being clumsy because she wasn't concentrating, Helgaer reached for her binding cloth.
"Leave it to dry. Let me."
Helgaer gave in.
She sat on a fallen tree as Camille, still shirtless while hers dried over another branch, bent to peer intently at both wounds, prodding them gently with her fingers before saying, "You heal quickly."
"I'm Vreelander." It was all Helgaer could think of to say.
"You're young and in good health."
Helgaer almost blushed again.
Camille anointed the wounds, but did not replace the pads, simply wrapping the bandage more loosely around Helgaer's waist. "They are healing well, and this will let us know more quickly if you open them again."
Helgaer tried to help, but Camille pushed her arms up so she sat there feeling foolish with her elbows level with her shoulders as her waist was bound.
As Camille tied the bandage off, her head bumped Helgaer's left breast.
She shot Helgaer an impish smile before standing up, casually reaching for her still wet shirt.
Helgaer sat frozen in shock for a second before turning, a little too quickly, to snatch the farmer's shirt. She still felt half-naked when the tight shirt stretched over her breasts, but she did not take it off to bind herself with wet cloth.
Camille was already plucking the last pheasant as Helgaer trudged into the clearing. The wolf hung by its hind legs from the branches of a tree, the last of its blood dripping into a bowl.
Helgaer, still flustered, found it an easy distraction. "What does wolf taste like?"
"You've never tried it? You wear so many skins, surely—"
"My family has never been desperate enough. We feed them to the dogs. It gives the dogs a taste and ensures our goats and cattle are never troubled."
Camille looked impressed. "I met Vreeland hounds once. They terrified me. They were friendly after their master introduced me to them, but they still terrified me." A thought seemed to strike her. "I've seen Vreeland cattle as well. What can threaten a Vreeland cow?"
"A Vreeland wolf." Helgaer, finally, felt she could claim that as a victory over Camille.
Camille laughed, saluting Helgaer with a handful of feathers. She dropped the feathers carefully into a bowl, occasionally discarding one that was small, broken or misshapen.
Helgaer's eyes flicked to where Camille's quiver leaned against the wall of the cabin. She could recognise the distinctive patterning on at least half of the arrows.
"What else do you use for fletching?"
"Crow or turkey are good." Camille held up the naked bird. "What do you think—roast, stew or boil it whole?"
"Stew it whole." Helgaer felt off-balance from Camille's sudden cheerfulness. She didn't know if Camille had decided to accept her, was feeling a euphoria from killing a wolf, or—she clamped down on that speculation before her cheeks started burning again.
Preparing a meal helped take Helgaer's mind off questions she did not want to consider.
When the rubbish had been cleared away, the knives washed and the pheasant heating, Camille brought out her coffee pot again. She was still in a rare, slightly fey, humour that was keeping Helgaer feeling unsettled.
"When will you skin the wolf?"
"Tomorrow, after it's had a chance to settle. I was hoping you would help me."
"Of course." Helgaer wasn't sure if Camille had flicked a keen glance at the way her flattened breasts were outlined by her shirt or if it had been her imagination. She shot a quick look down and was horrified to see her nipples visible even through the sturdy linen.
She cast a quick look at where she had hung her shirt and binding over the tanning rack, willing them to dry faster. She almost fetched her wolf-fur vest, but it was too warm to claim she needed it.
The coffee seemed to be taking a long time to boil.
"I'm impressed by how you endure cold water."
"We use snow to wash with in winter," Helgaer said, feeling her face heating. "I'm impressed by how you carried a wolf."
"You didn't think I looked strong enough?"
"No. I mean, I hadn't thought how strong you looked. I mean, I know how heavy wolves are."
"You have bigger wolves in Vreeland. You've said so yourself. Have a look at that one."
Helgaer turned to look at the animal again. She did have to admit it was a smaller breed than the ones she was used to. It looked like a lowland wolf that had wandered uphill instead of the true mountain wolves that came down to her village.
As she turned back, she caught a trace of that quick, satisfied smile on Camille's face again and realised she had briefly turned sideways.
Helgaer jumped to her feet, hurrying to the tanning rack to check on her clothes.
"Don't."
Surprised, Helgaer turned around.
Camille was walking towards her. "You should be proud to have been born a Vreeland woman. You can choose to make what you will of your life, but you are a woman to make your people proud."
Helgaer stared at her, speechless.
"You are gifted with a sword, you are stronger than your older brother, and you have more honour than most men or women I meet, whether your quest for vengeance is a holy mission or not. I say that all of that means you are more than just the body you were born with, no matter how much you dislike it."
Helgaer could still just stare.
"Your mother was correct, you know. You are stronger than any man. You should be proud to be a woman."
Helgaer's gaze raked up and down Camille. "You tell me that?"
Camille's mouth twisted. "I hardly have a choice."
Helgaer stared her down, until it was Camille's turn to shift uncomfortably. "I would wager no man has a face as pretty as yours, but you wear a man's clothes. You cannot tell me they were ever intended to be worn by a woman."
Camille's lip quirked. "Me, pretty? I am," her voice dropped into a mocking tone as she quoted, "'Too tall, too skinny, too bony and looking more like a horse than a woman.'"
"You would still listen to those you walked away from?"
Camille stared at her for a second before breaking eye contact first.
"You know what it is to realise you are more man than woman," Helgaer said. "How your body was made is not part of that."
Camille took a deep breath. "You are right. But … you strap your breasts to fight, and I can see the point to that, but all the time? Every day? I can only imagine the discomfort you force yourself into."
"It is a reminder that I will be fighting until Tola is avenged."
"Not here, you will not. This is my house. Here, you heal."
"No. Here, I prepare for my next battle."
Camille's eyes narrowed. "Your next battle should be with yourself."
It occurred to Helgaer then, with perfect clarity, that they would be finding ways to argue until they fell asleep or one of them kissed the other.
The thought froze her with her mouth open. She closed it.
"Camille," Helgaer said, quietly, "Do you want me to kiss you?"
Camille looked, for the first time, completely off-balance.
Helgaer kissed her.
Camille took a deep breath. "You are not staying true to Tola?"
"The living only owe the dead two things: To make sure their death is honourable and to live a good life without them."
Camille nodded. Then kiss
ed her back.
Helgaer did not feel a pang of loss until she felt Camille's hands on her body. She dealt with it the way she had promised Tola she would—face to face. She stepped back far enough to pull the shirt over her head, dropping it to stand proudly with her shoulders back. Camille removed hers.
They moved to the bed.
As they knelt on the straw mattress, the dim light of dusk turned their lean and muscular bodies into fields of shadow. Camille's nipples cast long black streaks across her chest, but her breasts were nearly invisible. Helgaer found herself fascinated, her fingertips seeking out the slight swelling of softer flesh on Camille's otherwise hard chest.
Camille's hands had long fingers, but they were not long enough to cover each of Helgaer's breasts, which sat heavily in her palms.
Helgaer shivered as Camille's thumbs teased her nipples. She returned the attention.
Camille moved her hands downwards, never losing touch with Helgaer's skin, to find the cord securing Helgaer's hose.
Helgaer stood up, with a little awkwardness still, to push them off her hips. Camille stayed kneeling, helping peel the linen down Helgaer's legs. When Helgaer stepped out of the hose, kicking them to one side, Camille reached out to grab her buttocks, pulling her forwards and keeping her standing.
Camille's nose parted the thick curls above Helgaer's kunta, making her breath catch with anticipation before she shivered at the first touch of Camille's tongue.
She shivered again as Camille's tongue and lips lightly but thoroughly explored her flesh.
It did not take long for Camille to get impatient and pull Helgaer down to the mattress so her tongue could get easier access.
For Helgaer, lying back and spreading her legs obediently, letting someone else be in command, was foreign to her. But Camille was so different to Tola, not only in her body, but in every touch and movement as well, that it was like discovering herself all over again. Helgaer passively let Camille take over because she no longer knew what to do herself.
She lay in the flickering lamplight and stared at the ceiling as her body responded, making its own noises and moving as muscles reacted to building pleasure, until the growing pressure in her hips shook her out of what had been a feeling of unreality.
She took hold of Camille's shoulders, pulling her easily up the bed, on top of her. She tasted herself on Camille's lips and tongue as they kissed.
Helgaer rolled them sideways, to her right, away from her wound, and reached down to untie the cord at the top of Camille's hose.
Underneath them, Camille wore a second pair, loose-fitting and extending halfway down her thighs.
"Danovan braies. Men and women both wear them for modesty. I never could get used to leaving them off."
Underneath them, her thatch of black hair was small and neat.
Camille spread her legs for Helgaer's fingers. "Gently."
Helgaer gained confidence from Camille's soft moans and hooded eyes, but Camille grabbed her wrist when one finger quested into the entrance to her sheath.
"Stop. Not for me."
Helgaer obediently withdrew. "Tola taught me we could get all the pleasure a man could give us by ourselves."
She felt Camille's smile through her lips. "Katrin enjoyed that as well. She didn't try to teach me. I was there for her benefit. I've never learned."
Helgaer gasped as Camille's fingers slid between her legs again and slipped inside her. Her own fingers increased their attention on Camille, but she hissed with pain as a movement of her arm pulled at her still tender wound.
Camille clicked her tongue and pushed Helgaer onto her back. "Let me." She threw her top leg over Helgaer's, holding it tightly and pushing her groin against Helgaer's hip as her fingers became even busier.
With one hand already occupied and one arm holding her up, Camille had to use her mouth to explore Helgaer's hard neck, then harder shoulder, then the softness of one breast which still rose proudly above Helgaer's chest despite falling down and sideways.
Helgaer breathed heavily through parted lips as Camille's mouth neared her already erect nipple. "You have thin fingers," she said, then gasped in pleasure as Camille added a third.
Sex with Tola had always felt competitive. Neither had been able to abandon themselves and accept pleasure without fighting back against that loss of control. They had made love as they had wrestled—both desperate to get the other to submit first—but, at the same time, both had been greedy to take as much pleasure as they could as well.
With Camille—not a Vreelander—Helgaer felt able to concede the high ground and accept what was being done to her.
She closed her eyes and groaned loudly as Camille's lips closed around her nipple. She groaned again when, with a rhythm established for her fingers, Camille's thumb pushed between the lips of Helgaer's kunta and slid up to where it was most sensitive.
Camille experimented with the nipple in her mouth, licking and sucking on it before scraping it gently with her teeth. When Helgaer's body rewarded her for that, she bit it a little harder, finally holding it firmly and pulling it away from the breast.
Helgaer clenched around Camille's fingers and arched briefly off the bed as she reached her climax, less aggressive than any time with Tola, but just as satisfying.
They lay together, Camille's head on Helgaer's shoulder as Helgaer hugged her, until someone's stomach rumbled.
Camille stirred, pushing herself out of Helgaer's arms and looking around for her braies. "We have food cooking."
The coffee had boiled over, putting out the oil burner, but the pheasant was perfect.
*~*~*
They slept together on the bed.
Camille was awake first, but Helgaer was awake as soon as Camille swung her legs onto the floor.
"I think I need that coffee now," Camille said.
She collected the equipment as Helgaer, feeling the chill in the air, changed into her fur pants and wool shirt. They had slept clothed, more comfortable with each other's company than with more sex.
Helgaer stepped out the door of the cabin and stretched cautiously while Camille settled back on the bench to monitor the coffee pot, which, with icy water in it, would take a while to boil.
"The wolf today?" Helgaer asked.
"The wolf. I didn't leave any traps out yesterday, I won't need to do my rounds today."
"Show me some of the forest."
Camille cocked her eyelid at Helgaer. "You are still not moving well enough. The walk to the creek and back is enough for you, still."
Helgaer stilled her tongue as frustration threatened to flash into anger. "I feel trapped. I need to see more than this clearing and that little stream."
Camille nodded, her attention apparently returning to the coffee. "I can understand that," she said quietly, "but there is no easy terrain around here. The scramble down to the creek is as easy as it gets. It's why I stay here. I will show you the forest but will not be going far."
"That will be enough."
They made quick work of skinning the wolf, Helgaer using one of Camille's extraordinarily sharp knives. Camille ordered Helgaer not to help as she carried the skin to the tanning rack. Helgaer, who had begun to favour her side, kept her mouth shut.
Camille honoured her promise to show Helgaer the forest. Helgaer wore her wool shirt and wolf vest, her bracers and all of her weapons. Camille took a different bow and a quiver of arrows she had sorted beforehand.
Camille walked so lightly through the woods, she almost made no sound at all, unconsciously placing every foot as though she were stalking prey, yet moving easily and with surprising speed. Helgaer, a talented hunter who could normally creep up on deer even in her sturdy mountain boots, found herself having to walk briskly and noisily to keep up.
Camille quickly adjusted, strolling slowly along an animal trail.
Helgaer began studying Camille's footfalls with as much discipline as she had studied Tola's sword-work. Adjusting her walk to the same careful placement and ro
lling of the foot brought into play muscles not used to constant motion.
Camille stopped regularly, studying tufts of fur, broken twigs or marks in the ground and scat and marks on trees, constantly updating her knowledge of her forest. Helgaer was soon forced to admit to herself that, although she would have no trouble earning a modest income through selling meat and skins, Camille outclassed her.
The animal trail eventually lead to a stream wider and stronger than the one close to the cabin. They drank and rested briefly, both of them constantly scanning the surrounding forest. Helgaer's hand itched when a wood pigeon rested within range, but they made poor eating, and she was reluctant to kill merely to practice now that she was sure she could hit it.
They both heard a deer approaching. Helgaer glanced at Camille, who shook her head. They rose smoothly to their feet, crossing the stream and slipping into the other side of the wood before the deer could be startled.
After another half an hour, Helgaer's side was sore and her hips felt the effort of favouring those muscles, but her legs were still tireless. They were still walking further from the cabin, further than Camille had promised. Helgaer was almost certain that Camille was monitoring her and pushing onwards until Helgaer started having trouble.
Helgaer's soreness was distracting her, so she did not smell the roasting pheasant until they were almost on the hut.
When she realised how strong the smell was and heard faint voices, she was bought up short, her sword half out of its sheath.
Camille chuckled without turning around. "Friends, Helgaer."
Surprised and wary, Helgaer followed Camille into a clearing.
This hut was slightly larger than Camille's and clearly of better build, although not in better condition. The clearing was small, just large enough to contain a fire pit and some logs split, sawn, or carved into benches and seats.
Two men sat on stumps, one stood over the fire pit. All three acknowledged Camille. The one at the fire pit went back to his cooking. The other two stared intently but not without friendliness at Helgaer, who kept her hand from her sword with an effort.
"Is the hunting good?" Camille asked.