sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
I was just thinking about how some things no matter when they are taken or lost somehow make there way back to the family 
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Little Fox
- Thread starter Kritter
- Start date
Kritter
The one and only...
Hanah sipped at a cup of tea which Oren had made in a panic, after spending a few minutes trying to comfort her. “I left you alone too long,” he fretted, not really sure why she’d become so emotional, although he imagined her telling her story to Marie had probably been upsetting. “You’re safe here, you know that, right?” he told her repeatedly, hoping she at least understood his tone. “But I’ll take you home if you want to go. You...to Mazer,” he tried again, gesturing out her options. “Or, you can stay here with me.”
“You.” She nodded.
“I’d feel better if that wasn’t the only word you knew...” Oren sighed, forgetting his concerns as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and put out her arms like she wanted help standing. He took her hands and pulled her upwards, letting her lean her weight on him, helping her hop over to the table.
It had meaning to him, that she’d asked him to help, knowing she was capable of hopping around by herself. It was brief but intentional contact, like the hug she had given him earlier, and over the course of the week, it continued. She would hold on to his arm, shoulder or hands, acting like she couldn’t do a single thing without him there, and Oren enjoyed her constant attention, although he had his reserve. Every time she’d smile or bat her eyes, he had to combat his heart, not fully believing she would stay.
She started to help him with little chores, like washing dishes and peeling potatoes, and when he’d leave the cabin to check his traps, he’d always come back to surprises. Blankets washed and hung to dry, clothes folded and organized, dry supplies neatly doled out into tins. His bow had been removed from the wall and hung in a different location, closer to the bed. She felt vulnerable, he understood that, but he didn’t return her knife.
He had put it on the highest shelf where he knew she couldn’t reach it, and he took it down when she fell asleep to study it again. It was unusual for a woman to carry such a weapon - a finely crafted dagger. “Stage prop?” he questioned, twisting it in his hand, watching firelight shimmer off the steel, eyeing the well-honed blade with discomfort.
------
Two weeks after he had found her laying on death’s door, Hanah’s face shone with health. The wounds on her leg were healing well and her ankle no longer looked swollen. Bundled in her coat and one of his scarves, under a few blankets, he took her for a ride in his wagon. She’d been unconscious when he first brought her to John’s cabin, and now she looked upon his home with wonder, her eyes taking in his chickens and goats, and the fencing around his pasture.
“Our place will look like this soon,” Oren said, helping her out of the wagon. He told her they were joining their friends for lunch, but he had an ulterior motive, knowing Marie could put his questions to words.
Oren listened with nervous interest while the two women conversed. Their language was fast and melodic, and it sounded like a song - the end of one sentence flowing right into another. They shared common stories of life in Mazer, and discovered they went to the same neighborhood bakery and ate the same chocolate muffins. Oren paced behind Marie, rolling his eyes at the topics. Then the women grew serious, their voices dropping to murmurs.
“She wants to stay,” Marie finally said. “She says she was unhappy in Mazer and there is nothing for her there.”
Oren smiled. While it wasn’t exactly his fantasy, it was getting awfully close. He’d have to teach her Dornish and work twice as hard, but he looked on those challenges with excitement.
-------
The next day Oren made his daily rounds. He’d traveled the same three mile circuit so many times, even Peabody knew it by heart. They walked together, side by side, Oren turning his face from the onslaught of sleet that was determined to make him miserable. It gathered on the edges of his scarf and dripped down the side of his neck, slowly soaking the shirt he wore under his coat, but it was worth the discomfort. His traps had been productive lately, as the hungry plains creatures ran out of food and were tempted by his offerings. He’d even snared a bobcat in his final trap, and now it laid across his horses back along with a half dozen raccoons and rabbits as he traveled the trail home. Everything seemed to be going well, except for his gnawing concerns about Hanah.
The night before had been cold, and after he’d settled on the floor by the fire, she’d lifted back the covers on the bed and invited him to lay beside her. It had been heavenly to have a mattress again, and the feeling of her arm and head nestled across his chest was warming beyond belief, but he hadn’t felt the urge to kiss her, let alone start removing her clothes. She was still more beautiful stranger than friend because he’d been afraid to love her, and even knowing she’d wished to remain didn’t seem to alleviate his fears. The way she’d practically fallen in his path...
Oren snapped to attention as Peabody suddenly reared, his nostrils flaring, his large black eyes widened with terror. The animal sidestepped in Oren’s direction, nearly knocking him over, the fierce growl of a coyote just behind him. Oren knew at once that it was the demon, its snout and fangs flashing over Pea’s back. It was trying to grab one of his rabbits...but as the frightened horse took off in a sudden gallop, the predator turned to him instead.
“You.” She nodded.
“I’d feel better if that wasn’t the only word you knew...” Oren sighed, forgetting his concerns as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and put out her arms like she wanted help standing. He took her hands and pulled her upwards, letting her lean her weight on him, helping her hop over to the table.
It had meaning to him, that she’d asked him to help, knowing she was capable of hopping around by herself. It was brief but intentional contact, like the hug she had given him earlier, and over the course of the week, it continued. She would hold on to his arm, shoulder or hands, acting like she couldn’t do a single thing without him there, and Oren enjoyed her constant attention, although he had his reserve. Every time she’d smile or bat her eyes, he had to combat his heart, not fully believing she would stay.
She started to help him with little chores, like washing dishes and peeling potatoes, and when he’d leave the cabin to check his traps, he’d always come back to surprises. Blankets washed and hung to dry, clothes folded and organized, dry supplies neatly doled out into tins. His bow had been removed from the wall and hung in a different location, closer to the bed. She felt vulnerable, he understood that, but he didn’t return her knife.
He had put it on the highest shelf where he knew she couldn’t reach it, and he took it down when she fell asleep to study it again. It was unusual for a woman to carry such a weapon - a finely crafted dagger. “Stage prop?” he questioned, twisting it in his hand, watching firelight shimmer off the steel, eyeing the well-honed blade with discomfort.
------
Two weeks after he had found her laying on death’s door, Hanah’s face shone with health. The wounds on her leg were healing well and her ankle no longer looked swollen. Bundled in her coat and one of his scarves, under a few blankets, he took her for a ride in his wagon. She’d been unconscious when he first brought her to John’s cabin, and now she looked upon his home with wonder, her eyes taking in his chickens and goats, and the fencing around his pasture.
“Our place will look like this soon,” Oren said, helping her out of the wagon. He told her they were joining their friends for lunch, but he had an ulterior motive, knowing Marie could put his questions to words.
Oren listened with nervous interest while the two women conversed. Their language was fast and melodic, and it sounded like a song - the end of one sentence flowing right into another. They shared common stories of life in Mazer, and discovered they went to the same neighborhood bakery and ate the same chocolate muffins. Oren paced behind Marie, rolling his eyes at the topics. Then the women grew serious, their voices dropping to murmurs.
“She wants to stay,” Marie finally said. “She says she was unhappy in Mazer and there is nothing for her there.”
Oren smiled. While it wasn’t exactly his fantasy, it was getting awfully close. He’d have to teach her Dornish and work twice as hard, but he looked on those challenges with excitement.
-------
The next day Oren made his daily rounds. He’d traveled the same three mile circuit so many times, even Peabody knew it by heart. They walked together, side by side, Oren turning his face from the onslaught of sleet that was determined to make him miserable. It gathered on the edges of his scarf and dripped down the side of his neck, slowly soaking the shirt he wore under his coat, but it was worth the discomfort. His traps had been productive lately, as the hungry plains creatures ran out of food and were tempted by his offerings. He’d even snared a bobcat in his final trap, and now it laid across his horses back along with a half dozen raccoons and rabbits as he traveled the trail home. Everything seemed to be going well, except for his gnawing concerns about Hanah.
The night before had been cold, and after he’d settled on the floor by the fire, she’d lifted back the covers on the bed and invited him to lay beside her. It had been heavenly to have a mattress again, and the feeling of her arm and head nestled across his chest was warming beyond belief, but he hadn’t felt the urge to kiss her, let alone start removing her clothes. She was still more beautiful stranger than friend because he’d been afraid to love her, and even knowing she’d wished to remain didn’t seem to alleviate his fears. The way she’d practically fallen in his path...
Oren snapped to attention as Peabody suddenly reared, his nostrils flaring, his large black eyes widened with terror. The animal sidestepped in Oren’s direction, nearly knocking him over, the fierce growl of a coyote just behind him. Oren knew at once that it was the demon, its snout and fangs flashing over Pea’s back. It was trying to grab one of his rabbits...but as the frightened horse took off in a sudden gallop, the predator turned to him instead.
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sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Thank you.
stjwelding
Veteran Member
Kritter thanks for the story and the new chapters. I am really enjoying this story and am checking for more every time I set down at the computer.
Wayne
Wayne
Kritter
The one and only...
Oren swung his rifle into his hands. In the same moment, the immense coyote sprung from its powerful hind-quarters, launching towards his shoulders in a streak of gray fur and bared fangs. Before Oren could take a shot, the demon plowed against his chest. Oren spun and ducked, deflecting the attack. His coat sleeve tugged him off-balance as the animal tried to hold on. Hitting the ground, the coyote rolled and slunk back, its ears still firmly peaked. Oren lifted his gun. The coyote snarled, running toward Oren’s side and lunging for his ankle. A single shot ripped past its tail, booming across the silent plains like thunder.
The animals jaws clamped onto his calf and Oren hobbled backwards. He swung the butt of his rifle at the demon’s head, smashing it against his snout. The animal let go and backed again, shaking its head and lapping wildly at its teeth, feeling the sting of the blow.
Oren stumbled to his side and crawled an inch, purely on the human instinct to put some space between him and his attacker. He could feel the wetness and warmth of blood on his leg, but he didn’t feel any pain. At no time did he think he could lose to the coyote, even prone on his back, although he knew that was a dangerous position to be in. Leaning up on his arm, he aimed his rifle and took another fast shot, missing the agitated coyote by an inch. Oren rose to his hands and knees, aware the predator circled him. He lifted his rifle and took to one leg, immediately faced with a fresh assault as the coyote surged for his throat. He could see the murderous intent in the animal’s yellow eyes, feel its hot breath against his face and the menacing growl behind its violently snapping fangs as he abandoned his gun and wrapped his hands around the coyote’s neck.
The animal was frenzied with blood lust. It took all of Oren’s strength to keep it from tearing at his throat, but he felt he had the upper hand. His fingers tightened hard around its neck, struggling to contain its bite, but the coyote continued to fight with no intention of giving up. The world around Oren slowed, his concentration fully focused on killing the beast. The demon was intelligent though, and Oren would mourn him for that. The animal had patiently waited, biding its time, letting him have his false sense of security, but all the while it stalked him, just waiting for him to make that one mistake. And it was ready to strike the second he let his guard down...
“Damn.” Oren gasped, feeling a rush of pain as the coyote’s claws ripped through his coat and tore at his skin, its teeth growing red with the shredded remains of his scarf. Adrenaline rushed hotly through Oren’s veins as he gathered his strength and flipped the animal over. It squirmed out of his grip and backed just for a second, before diving for him again, its teeth clamping onto the back of his neck. Oren tried to stand and stumbled, careening to one side, and then the coyote let out a high-pitched cry and fell limp by Oren’s feet.
Oren reeled about in confusion. There behind him, Hanah stood, a full fifty feet away. She was frozen in a stance, his bow in her hands, her hair flowing freely behind her in the icy wind, looking like a valkyrie - short a pair of wings. And just behind her, Peabody stood, still laden with the bodies of his morning catches.
“How...” Oren whispered, rolling over on his back to stare up at the sky, his eye-lids heavy and breathing labored.
“Oren,” Hanah screamed.
He turned his head, watching her throw a leg over his horse. Then his eyes focused back on the dead coyote, who had an arrow straight through his heart.
“Oren,” Hanah shouted, galloping up to where he lay, dismounting and limping towards him, throwing herself by his side. “Bia nom debase,” she started rambling, looking over his body, checking every inch of him. “Noo, no no.” She shook her head, examining his bleeding leg.
“Get John,” he said between weak breaths.
Hanah nodded, jumping back on Peabody and galloping off.
Oren lay there a moment, staring at the arrow, and then he looked all the way back to where she had taken her shot. A long cloud of vaporized breath blew out of his mouth.
----------
“You’re lucky.” Marie unwrapped the remains of the scarf from Oren’s neck. “You had a lot of protection from your clothes.”
“It was an excellent kill.” John’s voice came from the table behind them.
“It wasn’t my kill,” Oren said, his gaze landing hard on Hanah, who blushed at his attention and lowered her eyes.
Marie helped Oren off with his shirt and prompted him to lay back.
“Most of this is not too bad. A few stitches. But your leg,” Marie said, starting to scrub his wounds with a rag, “has a very bad bite. We’ll need to watch you for the madness.”
“Rabies.” Oren shook his head. “I don’t think he was rabid. Just hungry.” His eyes lifted to the tin on his upper shelf which held Marie’s black roots, wincing as she started to sew closed the lacerations.
“Boras tia bala,” Marie instructed to Hanah, flicking her head towards the kettle.
Hanah responded dutifully, filling it with water from the jug and setting it up to boil. The cabin grew busy with chatter between the women. Big John helped himself to a piece of bread and walked outside, presumably to retrieve the critters still slung over Peabody’s saddle. Oren just laid there and closed his eyes, gritting his teeth to manage the pain.
Hanah prepared the tea for him, and carried the mug to Marie. “Sora vi,” she said, apologetically, as a drop splashed onto the floor.
Oren narrowed his eyes. “'Sora vi'...what’s that mean?” he asked Marie.
“It means ‘I’m sorry,” she answered.
The animals jaws clamped onto his calf and Oren hobbled backwards. He swung the butt of his rifle at the demon’s head, smashing it against his snout. The animal let go and backed again, shaking its head and lapping wildly at its teeth, feeling the sting of the blow.
Oren stumbled to his side and crawled an inch, purely on the human instinct to put some space between him and his attacker. He could feel the wetness and warmth of blood on his leg, but he didn’t feel any pain. At no time did he think he could lose to the coyote, even prone on his back, although he knew that was a dangerous position to be in. Leaning up on his arm, he aimed his rifle and took another fast shot, missing the agitated coyote by an inch. Oren rose to his hands and knees, aware the predator circled him. He lifted his rifle and took to one leg, immediately faced with a fresh assault as the coyote surged for his throat. He could see the murderous intent in the animal’s yellow eyes, feel its hot breath against his face and the menacing growl behind its violently snapping fangs as he abandoned his gun and wrapped his hands around the coyote’s neck.
The animal was frenzied with blood lust. It took all of Oren’s strength to keep it from tearing at his throat, but he felt he had the upper hand. His fingers tightened hard around its neck, struggling to contain its bite, but the coyote continued to fight with no intention of giving up. The world around Oren slowed, his concentration fully focused on killing the beast. The demon was intelligent though, and Oren would mourn him for that. The animal had patiently waited, biding its time, letting him have his false sense of security, but all the while it stalked him, just waiting for him to make that one mistake. And it was ready to strike the second he let his guard down...
“Damn.” Oren gasped, feeling a rush of pain as the coyote’s claws ripped through his coat and tore at his skin, its teeth growing red with the shredded remains of his scarf. Adrenaline rushed hotly through Oren’s veins as he gathered his strength and flipped the animal over. It squirmed out of his grip and backed just for a second, before diving for him again, its teeth clamping onto the back of his neck. Oren tried to stand and stumbled, careening to one side, and then the coyote let out a high-pitched cry and fell limp by Oren’s feet.
Oren reeled about in confusion. There behind him, Hanah stood, a full fifty feet away. She was frozen in a stance, his bow in her hands, her hair flowing freely behind her in the icy wind, looking like a valkyrie - short a pair of wings. And just behind her, Peabody stood, still laden with the bodies of his morning catches.
“How...” Oren whispered, rolling over on his back to stare up at the sky, his eye-lids heavy and breathing labored.
“Oren,” Hanah screamed.
He turned his head, watching her throw a leg over his horse. Then his eyes focused back on the dead coyote, who had an arrow straight through his heart.
“Oren,” Hanah shouted, galloping up to where he lay, dismounting and limping towards him, throwing herself by his side. “Bia nom debase,” she started rambling, looking over his body, checking every inch of him. “Noo, no no.” She shook her head, examining his bleeding leg.
“Get John,” he said between weak breaths.
Hanah nodded, jumping back on Peabody and galloping off.
Oren lay there a moment, staring at the arrow, and then he looked all the way back to where she had taken her shot. A long cloud of vaporized breath blew out of his mouth.
----------
“You’re lucky.” Marie unwrapped the remains of the scarf from Oren’s neck. “You had a lot of protection from your clothes.”
“It was an excellent kill.” John’s voice came from the table behind them.
“It wasn’t my kill,” Oren said, his gaze landing hard on Hanah, who blushed at his attention and lowered her eyes.
Marie helped Oren off with his shirt and prompted him to lay back.
“Most of this is not too bad. A few stitches. But your leg,” Marie said, starting to scrub his wounds with a rag, “has a very bad bite. We’ll need to watch you for the madness.”
“Rabies.” Oren shook his head. “I don’t think he was rabid. Just hungry.” His eyes lifted to the tin on his upper shelf which held Marie’s black roots, wincing as she started to sew closed the lacerations.
“Boras tia bala,” Marie instructed to Hanah, flicking her head towards the kettle.
Hanah responded dutifully, filling it with water from the jug and setting it up to boil. The cabin grew busy with chatter between the women. Big John helped himself to a piece of bread and walked outside, presumably to retrieve the critters still slung over Peabody’s saddle. Oren just laid there and closed his eyes, gritting his teeth to manage the pain.
Hanah prepared the tea for him, and carried the mug to Marie. “Sora vi,” she said, apologetically, as a drop splashed onto the floor.
Oren narrowed his eyes. “'Sora vi'...what’s that mean?” he asked Marie.
“It means ‘I’m sorry,” she answered.
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stjwelding
Veteran Member
Kritter fantastic new chapter for a fantastic story thank you for sharing your gift with us.
Wayne
Wayne
Kritter
The one and only...
The puny glow of a single candle lit the cabin when Oren woke. His brain felt fuzzy from tea and sleep, and he struggled to make out the objects in his home, wanting to confirm that’s where he was. His eyes then turned towards Hanah, who was sitting on the chair beside him.
“Hi,” she said softly.
“Hi.” He smiled, feeling the tug on his heart. She was wearing a pink flannel nightgown he could only guess had come from Marie, and her long hair was loosely braided over one shoulder.
“Ko si nuna?” she questioned, pointing to his wounds.
“They don’t hurt too bad.”
“Tea?” She glanced over at the kettle.
“Nah.” Oren sat up and groaned, feeling the stitches burn. He blinked his eyes and tried to locate his shirt, realizing why it was so dark. “The fire’s gone out. I’ll get us more wood.”
“No,” she said sternly, pushing against on his shoulders. “You.” She pointed to the bed.
“I’m fine. You’re the invalid.” He laughed, gathering her hands in his. “And you’re freezing. Come here.” He lifted the covers and pulled her to him, recovering them both with a pile of blankets, and then he rubbed his hands vigorously across her back, trying to warm her up.
“Mmm,” she murmured, snuggling against him.
Oren smiled again, unable to mask the immense affection he felt for her in that moment. And then he slowed his hands and sighed. “Where’d you learn to shoot a bow like that, Hanah?” he asked with solemn reflection.
She glanced at him with no response.
A disbelieving chuckle escaped Oren’s chest. “Because you were about...fifty feet from me, and you bullseyed that coyote. I don’t think I could make that shot on a clear day, let alone a windy one.” He paused a second, observing the way her movement stilled. Her breath slowed, her full attention on his words, whether she understood them or not. “Considering where that coyote was, you bet my life on that draw. So let me guess...” he said sarcastically. “They teach professional archery to kids in Mazer.”
Hanah leaned up on her elbow and narrowed her eyes at him. “Oren?” she questioned, as if his wry tone was causing her concern.
Oren laughed at either her amazing tenacity or his unfounded suspicions, both of which were holding firm. Weighing one against the other was impossible, as they were equally preposterous. “I’m sorry,” he said, returning to rubbing her back. “Sora vi, right?”
She relaxed and started to stroke her fingers lightly across his chest and Oren closed his eyes, feeling as lost in his mind as he was in the darkness. “It was just a coincidence, you know, that night. A bad coincidence but...” He sighed, sliding his hand up to run his fingers through her hair. “When I turned sixteen, they tossed me out of the orphanage and the forge and sent me to work in a factory. A plant...where they made shoes. Shoes,” he said with disdain. “And the foreman there was the owner’s son... one of those square-jawed, snobby rich kids.” He thrust his chin forward and lifted his head, mocking the man’s face with his own.
Hanah giggled at his actions, looking highly confused.
“Yeah, he was that guy.” He nodded, not caring if she understood. “First day I started working there, I decided I didn’t like him...and I made that same face behind his back.” He frowned, wishing a million times he could have taken that moment back. “I was sixteen, you know? Immature. A punk...but I grew up in an orphanage. We didn’t have a lot of supervision.”
Hanah laid her head back against his shoulder, tracing a single finger around his chest.
“So, anyway...” Oren grinned, becoming aroused by her touch. “The guy found out...and from that point forward...he went out of his way to make my life hell. He’d call me names, belittle my work, lose my time card, piss on my check and he made sure I became the butt of every joke in that place. But I stuck it out. For eight years I stuck it out, because a couple of the guys there were my friends.” He stopped and shifted under the covers as she started to run her hand across his stomach and thighs.
“So for Spring Feast, the factory always had a big company party with an all-you-can-eat buffet and prizes. I didn’t have a lot of money, so I really looked forward to going. When you don’t have any family, the party is all there is, you know?”
Hanah stopped what she was doing and leaned up on her elbow again, staring deeply into his eyes.
“But last year, my invitation brought me to an empty hall. At first I thought maybe I’d gotten the date wrong, or the time...but I double checked it twice. So there I was in a suit, wandering around the empty streets for an hour on that...dismal, dark, dreary night...walking past all these lit up homes with their celebrating families. I could see their gifts piled by their fireplaces, smell their turkeys and pies baking, see them greet each other at the door with warmth and hugs and laughter...” Oren swallowed.
“Finally I stopped inside a local tavern because I didn’t want to be alone. And that’s when I saw some of the people from my work. They were leaving a back room, waving goodnight. Their buffet had been cleared away, all the company gifts given out. And one of my friends saw me and laughed. And that’s when I decided I didn’t want to be in Dorning anymore. I know people say...on the night the King died, they saw a distraught young man with a backpack run out the city gate, but...I swear to you, Hanah...the king was the last thing on my mind. I just wanted to die. I just wanted to come out here and...”
Hanah suddenly put a finger over his lips. “Shhhh,” she whispered, cutting off his words while she rose up and straddled his body.
“Hanah, what are you...”
“Shhh,” she said again, leaning in to kiss him. It was a slow, sensual kiss, and coupled with her warm, squirming body, it was very effective for melting away his despair.
“I didn’t do it,” he said when her lips left his. “I’m telling you the truth.”
Hanah nodded, kissing his cheeks, trailing her lips down the curve of his neck.
“Oh hell,” he said, overwhelmed with desire, not caring if she believed him or not.
“Hi,” she said softly.
“Hi.” He smiled, feeling the tug on his heart. She was wearing a pink flannel nightgown he could only guess had come from Marie, and her long hair was loosely braided over one shoulder.
“Ko si nuna?” she questioned, pointing to his wounds.
“They don’t hurt too bad.”
“Tea?” She glanced over at the kettle.
“Nah.” Oren sat up and groaned, feeling the stitches burn. He blinked his eyes and tried to locate his shirt, realizing why it was so dark. “The fire’s gone out. I’ll get us more wood.”
“No,” she said sternly, pushing against on his shoulders. “You.” She pointed to the bed.
“I’m fine. You’re the invalid.” He laughed, gathering her hands in his. “And you’re freezing. Come here.” He lifted the covers and pulled her to him, recovering them both with a pile of blankets, and then he rubbed his hands vigorously across her back, trying to warm her up.
“Mmm,” she murmured, snuggling against him.
Oren smiled again, unable to mask the immense affection he felt for her in that moment. And then he slowed his hands and sighed. “Where’d you learn to shoot a bow like that, Hanah?” he asked with solemn reflection.
She glanced at him with no response.
A disbelieving chuckle escaped Oren’s chest. “Because you were about...fifty feet from me, and you bullseyed that coyote. I don’t think I could make that shot on a clear day, let alone a windy one.” He paused a second, observing the way her movement stilled. Her breath slowed, her full attention on his words, whether she understood them or not. “Considering where that coyote was, you bet my life on that draw. So let me guess...” he said sarcastically. “They teach professional archery to kids in Mazer.”
Hanah leaned up on her elbow and narrowed her eyes at him. “Oren?” she questioned, as if his wry tone was causing her concern.
Oren laughed at either her amazing tenacity or his unfounded suspicions, both of which were holding firm. Weighing one against the other was impossible, as they were equally preposterous. “I’m sorry,” he said, returning to rubbing her back. “Sora vi, right?”
She relaxed and started to stroke her fingers lightly across his chest and Oren closed his eyes, feeling as lost in his mind as he was in the darkness. “It was just a coincidence, you know, that night. A bad coincidence but...” He sighed, sliding his hand up to run his fingers through her hair. “When I turned sixteen, they tossed me out of the orphanage and the forge and sent me to work in a factory. A plant...where they made shoes. Shoes,” he said with disdain. “And the foreman there was the owner’s son... one of those square-jawed, snobby rich kids.” He thrust his chin forward and lifted his head, mocking the man’s face with his own.
Hanah giggled at his actions, looking highly confused.
“Yeah, he was that guy.” He nodded, not caring if she understood. “First day I started working there, I decided I didn’t like him...and I made that same face behind his back.” He frowned, wishing a million times he could have taken that moment back. “I was sixteen, you know? Immature. A punk...but I grew up in an orphanage. We didn’t have a lot of supervision.”
Hanah laid her head back against his shoulder, tracing a single finger around his chest.
“So, anyway...” Oren grinned, becoming aroused by her touch. “The guy found out...and from that point forward...he went out of his way to make my life hell. He’d call me names, belittle my work, lose my time card, piss on my check and he made sure I became the butt of every joke in that place. But I stuck it out. For eight years I stuck it out, because a couple of the guys there were my friends.” He stopped and shifted under the covers as she started to run her hand across his stomach and thighs.
“So for Spring Feast, the factory always had a big company party with an all-you-can-eat buffet and prizes. I didn’t have a lot of money, so I really looked forward to going. When you don’t have any family, the party is all there is, you know?”
Hanah stopped what she was doing and leaned up on her elbow again, staring deeply into his eyes.
“But last year, my invitation brought me to an empty hall. At first I thought maybe I’d gotten the date wrong, or the time...but I double checked it twice. So there I was in a suit, wandering around the empty streets for an hour on that...dismal, dark, dreary night...walking past all these lit up homes with their celebrating families. I could see their gifts piled by their fireplaces, smell their turkeys and pies baking, see them greet each other at the door with warmth and hugs and laughter...” Oren swallowed.
“Finally I stopped inside a local tavern because I didn’t want to be alone. And that’s when I saw some of the people from my work. They were leaving a back room, waving goodnight. Their buffet had been cleared away, all the company gifts given out. And one of my friends saw me and laughed. And that’s when I decided I didn’t want to be in Dorning anymore. I know people say...on the night the King died, they saw a distraught young man with a backpack run out the city gate, but...I swear to you, Hanah...the king was the last thing on my mind. I just wanted to die. I just wanted to come out here and...”
Hanah suddenly put a finger over his lips. “Shhhh,” she whispered, cutting off his words while she rose up and straddled his body.
“Hanah, what are you...”
“Shhh,” she said again, leaning in to kiss him. It was a slow, sensual kiss, and coupled with her warm, squirming body, it was very effective for melting away his despair.
“I didn’t do it,” he said when her lips left his. “I’m telling you the truth.”
Hanah nodded, kissing his cheeks, trailing her lips down the curve of his neck.
“Oh hell,” he said, overwhelmed with desire, not caring if she believed him or not.
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goinpostal
Contributing Member
You keep that up,and we'll be posting funny pics during intermission.
Thank you greatly for sharing your writing talent.
Matt
Thank you greatly for sharing your writing talent.
Matt
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Thank you.
stjwelding
Veteran Member
Thanks Kritter great chapter as always looking forward to more. Soon I really, Really hope.
Wayne
Wayne
Kritter
The one and only...
Coffee and oatmeal were already on the table when Hanah woke in the morning. Oren had carried in wood and lit a fire while she slept, and even prepared a tub of hot water for washing. Despite the bite and scratches he’d received from the coyote, his energy level was high and his sunny disposition unshakable, and for once, everything seemed to be going his way. Hanah was completely his and she was really staying. He had no doubts on it anymore, and it was an amazingly blissful feeling.
They spent the morning at John and Marie’s cabin, with Oren and John skinning his catches while Marie instructed Hanah on how to cook the rabbits. It warmed his heart to see the women smile and laugh together, as he knew Marie normally did little of either. Hanah’s friendship was a godsend to her, the same as her love was to Oren.
“I don’t remember buying hens,” Big John growled towards his home, in response to the cackling from his kitchen.
Oren grinned, amazed at how much his life had improved since he’d first fled to the plains. He’d forgotten just how depressed he’d been the night he’d left Dorning. He hadn’t packed but a single bag of food and clothes, along with four crude iron traps. Relating the story to Hanah made him admit a painful truth. He’d gone there in an act of suicide, not expecting to survive a week on the frozen plains.
“Thank you, again, John,” he felt to need to say, glancing at his friend’s confused face. “For everything you and Marie have done for me. For giving me a warm place to stay and selling me Pea...and helping me build my wagon and my home...” he stopped, feeling a lump rise in his throat. “You two have been like family to me. I wish there was some way I could repay you.”
Big John nodded in understanding and appreciation. “You know what it was, Ori, that told me to take you in? You reminded me a lot of me.” He stared out towards the endless plains, as if he was addressing a ghost. “I was a bit of a loner when I was young...didn’t really fit in. And when you said to me you’d moved out here to 'live with nature,' I could tell that you were lying. Besides the fact that you were half-frozen and starving, I could see it in your eyes...that...pain, and I knew what that was like.” He gave Oren a brief glance before bending down to pick up a stick. “Because I had to grow up with people calling me ‘Bigfoot’ and ‘Moose,’” he said angrily, thrusting the stick out with each word. “And the second I was able to run away...” His eyes dropped to his feet, seemingly recalling a private memory, and then he looked out towards the miles of grass again. “There’s solace in these plains. This is God’s land.” A faint smile crossed his lips. “Sometime I feel like we’re his private sheep...the meek who will inherit the earth.”
“You’re far from meek,” Oren laughed, knowing John’s propensity for speaking threats against the Dornish guard.
“Oh, I know.” John tossed a dismissive hand at him, turning to get back to his work. “I just don’t like anyone trying to take what’s rightfully ours. Give ‘em an inch and they take a mile.”
“Well, thankfully, there’s a hell of a lot of miles between here and Dorning.”
“Now there is.” John frowned, suggesting all they needed was time.
Oren finished skinning his coyote and tossed the carcass in the wagon next to the remains of the bobcat. Although he would have liked to give the demon a proper burial, he knew the animal’s kin would make fast work of the bodies, consuming even the bones when they were hungry. He smiled, remembering how he’d once given Duke a bison’s leg bone, and how it had taken the little beagle half a year to wear it down. He drove the wagon out a mile and flung the bodies into the deep grass, bowing his head with the knowledge that he would never hear the demon howl again. His thoughts were broken by a stir in the grass, and the sight of a puffy red tail.
“Hey, little fox.” He grinned, watching it bound through the weeds. He fingered the strap to his rifle and then shook his head, deciding it reminded him too much of Hanah to kill. He could still remember the morning he’d found her, decked out in suede and black leather. It was strange attire for a Mazeran woman, now that he thought on it. The women he’d seen in traveling shows never wore pants. They all wore long dresses over wool leggings, like the change of clothes Hanah had in her bag. The only clothes the poor girl would be wearing if not for Marie sharing hers. Oren reached in his pocket and pulled out the list Marie had given him for his next outpost trip, recalling that she’d asked for fabric and thread. He promised he would make his next trip sooner, because Spring Feast was just a month away, and he wanted to buy them all presents.
The delicious smell of cooked rabbit greeted him when he returned to Big John’s cabin. His eyes widened when he walked in, seeing Hanah, seated at the table, engaged with John in a chess game. Taking a seat next to them, he watched in fascination, beset with an interesting realization. Because Hanah knew so few Dornish words, she always sounded simple and childish, but for all he knew, she was just as smart as he was.
They spent the morning at John and Marie’s cabin, with Oren and John skinning his catches while Marie instructed Hanah on how to cook the rabbits. It warmed his heart to see the women smile and laugh together, as he knew Marie normally did little of either. Hanah’s friendship was a godsend to her, the same as her love was to Oren.
“I don’t remember buying hens,” Big John growled towards his home, in response to the cackling from his kitchen.
Oren grinned, amazed at how much his life had improved since he’d first fled to the plains. He’d forgotten just how depressed he’d been the night he’d left Dorning. He hadn’t packed but a single bag of food and clothes, along with four crude iron traps. Relating the story to Hanah made him admit a painful truth. He’d gone there in an act of suicide, not expecting to survive a week on the frozen plains.
“Thank you, again, John,” he felt to need to say, glancing at his friend’s confused face. “For everything you and Marie have done for me. For giving me a warm place to stay and selling me Pea...and helping me build my wagon and my home...” he stopped, feeling a lump rise in his throat. “You two have been like family to me. I wish there was some way I could repay you.”
Big John nodded in understanding and appreciation. “You know what it was, Ori, that told me to take you in? You reminded me a lot of me.” He stared out towards the endless plains, as if he was addressing a ghost. “I was a bit of a loner when I was young...didn’t really fit in. And when you said to me you’d moved out here to 'live with nature,' I could tell that you were lying. Besides the fact that you were half-frozen and starving, I could see it in your eyes...that...pain, and I knew what that was like.” He gave Oren a brief glance before bending down to pick up a stick. “Because I had to grow up with people calling me ‘Bigfoot’ and ‘Moose,’” he said angrily, thrusting the stick out with each word. “And the second I was able to run away...” His eyes dropped to his feet, seemingly recalling a private memory, and then he looked out towards the miles of grass again. “There’s solace in these plains. This is God’s land.” A faint smile crossed his lips. “Sometime I feel like we’re his private sheep...the meek who will inherit the earth.”
“You’re far from meek,” Oren laughed, knowing John’s propensity for speaking threats against the Dornish guard.
“Oh, I know.” John tossed a dismissive hand at him, turning to get back to his work. “I just don’t like anyone trying to take what’s rightfully ours. Give ‘em an inch and they take a mile.”
“Well, thankfully, there’s a hell of a lot of miles between here and Dorning.”
“Now there is.” John frowned, suggesting all they needed was time.
Oren finished skinning his coyote and tossed the carcass in the wagon next to the remains of the bobcat. Although he would have liked to give the demon a proper burial, he knew the animal’s kin would make fast work of the bodies, consuming even the bones when they were hungry. He smiled, remembering how he’d once given Duke a bison’s leg bone, and how it had taken the little beagle half a year to wear it down. He drove the wagon out a mile and flung the bodies into the deep grass, bowing his head with the knowledge that he would never hear the demon howl again. His thoughts were broken by a stir in the grass, and the sight of a puffy red tail.
“Hey, little fox.” He grinned, watching it bound through the weeds. He fingered the strap to his rifle and then shook his head, deciding it reminded him too much of Hanah to kill. He could still remember the morning he’d found her, decked out in suede and black leather. It was strange attire for a Mazeran woman, now that he thought on it. The women he’d seen in traveling shows never wore pants. They all wore long dresses over wool leggings, like the change of clothes Hanah had in her bag. The only clothes the poor girl would be wearing if not for Marie sharing hers. Oren reached in his pocket and pulled out the list Marie had given him for his next outpost trip, recalling that she’d asked for fabric and thread. He promised he would make his next trip sooner, because Spring Feast was just a month away, and he wanted to buy them all presents.
The delicious smell of cooked rabbit greeted him when he returned to Big John’s cabin. His eyes widened when he walked in, seeing Hanah, seated at the table, engaged with John in a chess game. Taking a seat next to them, he watched in fascination, beset with an interesting realization. Because Hanah knew so few Dornish words, she always sounded simple and childish, but for all he knew, she was just as smart as he was.
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stjwelding
Veteran Member
Thanks for the new chapters Kritter, I have to agree with seraphima the story just keeps getting better. Thanks for all of your story's and for sharing your gift with us.
Wayne
Wayne
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
thank you
Kritter
The one and only...
Speckled white by a late winter snow, the gold and umber plains looked like they were carved out of granite - their living nature betrayed only by an single stand of trees. Peabody’s hooves sloshed through the mud, his head bobbing in time with his spirited gait; the wagon behind him bouncing on its springs as it rolled down the narrow trail. The last two weeks had gone by so fast that Oren could hardly believe it, but he remembered spending every minute with Hanah, taking her on his daily rounds and teaching her simple Dornish.
When he’d left that morning for the outpost, Hanah was sitting in John’s cabin. Marie had braided her hair into two straight lines and was tying white ribbons at the bottom. The bread they had baked the day before was frying on the stove with butter, and the table was covered with holly branches they were going to use to make holiday decorations. It was a page right out of a picture book, complete with the loving family he’d always wished he’d had.
Oren gazed out over the barren land and tried to imagine Hanah dancing - twirling around in the green, grassy fields amid buttercups and asters. Dreaming of what their future could be amused him on the boring trip. He reached in his pocket and pulled out her necklace with its Anarian crest, which he’d stolen away during the night. In the depths of his mind, he had to admit he still didn’t believe her story about the amulet...as he doubted any Dornish guard spoke her language, but he’d grown tired to trying to guess what it all could mean.
---
Cyrus sat under a little tent behind his stand, his hands wrapped around a coffee. His boots rested on the edge of his table, a blanket covering his lap. He quickly stood and put his drink aside when Oren pulled into the outpost, opening his trunk to retrieve more books.
“Don’t bother,” Oren laughed at him. “I didn’t get to read the last ones yet.”
“No? Why not?” Cyrus glared at the sky and lifted his hood as a new round of flakes started falling.
“I’ve been busy.” Oren flashed him a secrative smile, reaching back into his pocket. “What can you give me for this?”
Cyrus took the necklace and looked it over, giving Oren a lopsided shrug. “Ten dollars maybe...it doesn’t have much value outside of collectors.”
“Collectors?”
“You know, of military junk. Is this why you asked about Anaria last month?”
Oren nodded. “The soldier’s there were rude to a friend of mine.”
“Really?” Cyrus raised an eyebrow. “I can’t imagine that.”
“It was because she was Mazeran.” Oren lifted his chin towards the item, indicating he would sell it.
“Well, that doesn’t make much sense.” Cyrus pulled out a wad of bills and counted out ten singles. “I trade over there at least once a month and a few of the King’s guard are Mazerans. They’re some of the best archers in the world.”
Oren froze at the mention of archery, his finger just short of the bills in Cyrus’ hand. “Are there any female Mazerans there?”
“A couple.” The man nodded, tossing the bills on the table and examining the necklace again.
“Long brown hair? Brown eyes?”
Cyrus eyes rose up to meet his. “They all look like that,” he said dryly.
“Was there one named ‘Hanah?”
“I don’t know..maybe.” Cyrus waved away his questions. “I don’t particularly care to socialize with those people...if you know what I mean.”
Oren bit his lip, knowing his friend meant the Dornish guards in general and not the Mazerans. No one in the outskirts had a big love of authority.
“They finally coronated Phillip’s son the other day.” Cyrus rolled his eyes. “You should have seen the spectacle for that.”
“I can imagine,” Oren said, only half paying attention, still staring at the amulet in the man’s hands. “Cyrus...” he started, trying to put his inquisition in words. “How exactly did Phillip die. I mean...what exactly happened?”
Cyrus gave another shrug, picking up his blanket and wrapping it around his shoulders. “He was stabbed, I guess. Who knows. They never gave much information about it. You gonna sell those skins?” he asked, peering over Oren’s shoulder at the bobcat and coyote furs in his wagon.
Oren gave him a light-hearted laugh, having nearly forgotten them. “Hell yes.”
--
Securing a frozen turkey was the easiest part of his trip, as every trader on earth stocked up for the feast. Bolts of soft fabric sat stacked behind it, finishing up Marie’s list, and next to those was burlap bag holding Oren’s gifts. He’s purchased a little heart locket for Hanah, dotted with tiny pink stones, a silver hair comb for Marie and a box of chocolates for John, although he wished he could buy them more.
He pondered Hanah once again, wondering if she was actually one of the King’s guard. If so, he wanted to pretend she’d come after him and upon discerning his innocence, had chosen to stay because she’d fallen in love. It was as much a stretch as any other story, but now that she had slept intimately in his arms, it wasn’t likely she thought him a suspect. “If she’s even a guard at all,” he said to Pea, rolling his eyes at the dilemma. But regardless of who or what she was, certainly her past was behind her.
When he’d left that morning for the outpost, Hanah was sitting in John’s cabin. Marie had braided her hair into two straight lines and was tying white ribbons at the bottom. The bread they had baked the day before was frying on the stove with butter, and the table was covered with holly branches they were going to use to make holiday decorations. It was a page right out of a picture book, complete with the loving family he’d always wished he’d had.
Oren gazed out over the barren land and tried to imagine Hanah dancing - twirling around in the green, grassy fields amid buttercups and asters. Dreaming of what their future could be amused him on the boring trip. He reached in his pocket and pulled out her necklace with its Anarian crest, which he’d stolen away during the night. In the depths of his mind, he had to admit he still didn’t believe her story about the amulet...as he doubted any Dornish guard spoke her language, but he’d grown tired to trying to guess what it all could mean.
---
Cyrus sat under a little tent behind his stand, his hands wrapped around a coffee. His boots rested on the edge of his table, a blanket covering his lap. He quickly stood and put his drink aside when Oren pulled into the outpost, opening his trunk to retrieve more books.
“Don’t bother,” Oren laughed at him. “I didn’t get to read the last ones yet.”
“No? Why not?” Cyrus glared at the sky and lifted his hood as a new round of flakes started falling.
“I’ve been busy.” Oren flashed him a secrative smile, reaching back into his pocket. “What can you give me for this?”
Cyrus took the necklace and looked it over, giving Oren a lopsided shrug. “Ten dollars maybe...it doesn’t have much value outside of collectors.”
“Collectors?”
“You know, of military junk. Is this why you asked about Anaria last month?”
Oren nodded. “The soldier’s there were rude to a friend of mine.”
“Really?” Cyrus raised an eyebrow. “I can’t imagine that.”
“It was because she was Mazeran.” Oren lifted his chin towards the item, indicating he would sell it.
“Well, that doesn’t make much sense.” Cyrus pulled out a wad of bills and counted out ten singles. “I trade over there at least once a month and a few of the King’s guard are Mazerans. They’re some of the best archers in the world.”
Oren froze at the mention of archery, his finger just short of the bills in Cyrus’ hand. “Are there any female Mazerans there?”
“A couple.” The man nodded, tossing the bills on the table and examining the necklace again.
“Long brown hair? Brown eyes?”
Cyrus eyes rose up to meet his. “They all look like that,” he said dryly.
“Was there one named ‘Hanah?”
“I don’t know..maybe.” Cyrus waved away his questions. “I don’t particularly care to socialize with those people...if you know what I mean.”
Oren bit his lip, knowing his friend meant the Dornish guards in general and not the Mazerans. No one in the outskirts had a big love of authority.
“They finally coronated Phillip’s son the other day.” Cyrus rolled his eyes. “You should have seen the spectacle for that.”
“I can imagine,” Oren said, only half paying attention, still staring at the amulet in the man’s hands. “Cyrus...” he started, trying to put his inquisition in words. “How exactly did Phillip die. I mean...what exactly happened?”
Cyrus gave another shrug, picking up his blanket and wrapping it around his shoulders. “He was stabbed, I guess. Who knows. They never gave much information about it. You gonna sell those skins?” he asked, peering over Oren’s shoulder at the bobcat and coyote furs in his wagon.
Oren gave him a light-hearted laugh, having nearly forgotten them. “Hell yes.”
--
Securing a frozen turkey was the easiest part of his trip, as every trader on earth stocked up for the feast. Bolts of soft fabric sat stacked behind it, finishing up Marie’s list, and next to those was burlap bag holding Oren’s gifts. He’s purchased a little heart locket for Hanah, dotted with tiny pink stones, a silver hair comb for Marie and a box of chocolates for John, although he wished he could buy them more.
He pondered Hanah once again, wondering if she was actually one of the King’s guard. If so, he wanted to pretend she’d come after him and upon discerning his innocence, had chosen to stay because she’d fallen in love. It was as much a stretch as any other story, but now that she had slept intimately in his arms, it wasn’t likely she thought him a suspect. “If she’s even a guard at all,” he said to Pea, rolling his eyes at the dilemma. But regardless of who or what she was, certainly her past was behind her.
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sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
thank you .
.
Vtshooter
Veteran Member
No more share-the-same-blanket-funtime for him!
Kritter
The one and only...
Compared to the misery of last year’s Spring Feast, this year’s was starting out perfect. Sunlight poured down on the prairie through the clouds and the air smelled of fresh loam. Hanah was on her tip-toes, her white linen dress barely covering her knees as she brushed Peabody’s long mane. Oren sat on the fence beside her polishing his rifle, his coat unbuttoned down to his waist, exposing a red flannel shirt.
“Pridy,” Hanah enthused, braiding a couple of wildflowers into the horse’s hair.
Oren glanced at her and smiled. “Very pretty, but not as pretty as you.”
Hanah blushed and lowered her eyes, flirtatiously swinging the sides of her dress as she took a few steps towards him.
“Ever shoot a rifle?” he asked, jumping off the fence to meet her.
Hanah’s sweet expression turned to stone for a moment, her eyes burning into him like daggers. She glanced at the rifle and then down at her feet, pursing her lips tightly, giving her head a brief shake.
“Like hell you haven’t.” He smirked. “See that old squirrels' nest.” He pointed to a tree about thirty yards away, watching her follow his finger. “Let’s see if you can hit it.” He put the rifle in her hands and wrapped his arms around her, helping her lift it to her shoulder. His face grazed up against her cheek. Her hair smelled sweet with the delicate scent of flowers and fresh air. She leaned back against him and tilted her head, offering her neck and he buried his lips against her skin, feeling a dizzying surge of desire. She lowered the rifle and turned to him. The barrel slipped from her fingers.
“I’m so in love with you, Hanah,” he said, kissing her with passion, his hands sliding down her hips as she melted against his chest. Their kisses grew more intense, their lips lingering together, and then Oren reluctantly backed away, knowing Marie waited on them for the feast. “I’ll be ready to go in a minute,” he promised, ducking into the cabin.
Reaching up to the highest shelf, he retrieved his bag of presents. “I swear you must have been heaven sent,” he shouted. “Maybe you’re an angel.”
Suddenly the sound of a rifle shot boomed through the air. Oren raced to the door in alarm. Hanah lowered the rifle from her shoulder, her eyes locking on to his like a vise. Instinctively, he looked towards the squirrel’s nest. It had been struck and knocked to the ground. Oren’s eyes turned back to her. A second of icy silence hung between them.
“Give me that,” he said, walking up to reclaim his rifle.
-----
Oren’s hands were tight on the reigns as he drove the mile to John’s cabin. Hanah sat with her head down, her hands tucked stiffly in the pockets of her apron, her lips tight and her breathing heavy.
As far as Oren was concerned, her brooding was telling. He’d chafed her by challenging her abilities and she was sick of hiding them...but it was more than that. Something in her eyes told him it was a warning...just in case he was the assassin. A way of saying ‘I love you but be careful just the same.’ The message was received loud and clear, along with the realization that her suspicions were no more resolved than his. It was a love precariously built on the desire to trust, rather than trust itself. But why still play the game?
Hanah started fidgeting with her apron belt, twisting its bow into knots, and then she turned her body towards him. “Oren?” she questioned with troubled eyes.
He glanced at her sideways, sensing her concern and he put his arm around her, still desperately needing her love. She sighed and moved closer, wrapping her hands around his waist, resting her head on his shoulder. And then she nodded towards John’s cabin in the distance and broke into a glowing smile. “Springa Feest!”
Wagons lined the fence of Big John’s corral, and music and laughter could be heard from inside his home. Three neighboring plainsmen were in attendance, and one had brought his wife. The married fellow was playing a fiddle when Oren and Hanah entered, and they were welcomed with a whirlwind of clapping hands and stomping feet.
Food of every imaginable kind was piled across the table, and the turkey smelled amazing, having spent the whole night in a smoker. Bottles of beer, wine and spirits sat open next to glasses half full or emptied. An immense fire raged in their hearth, surrounded by piles of presents.
Oren’s eyes watered at the sight. Having spent his whole life outside of these homes, wishing to be included, his happiness was overwhelming in that moment. He gathered Hanah into his arms, wanting to join in the dancing, lifting her up so she wouldn’t have to put weight on her still tender ankle.
Outside, the sun ducked behind a thin veil of clouds. Soft rain started falling, trailing down the windows, glittering like tears against the glass.
“Let’s eat!” Big John shouted when the music ended, spreading out his massive arms and herding them all towards the table.
Somewhere in the distance, Oren heard the faint squeal of an animal crying out in pain. It was a sad sound, and it bothered him, but soon the music started again and the sound of its cries died out.
“Pridy,” Hanah enthused, braiding a couple of wildflowers into the horse’s hair.
Oren glanced at her and smiled. “Very pretty, but not as pretty as you.”
Hanah blushed and lowered her eyes, flirtatiously swinging the sides of her dress as she took a few steps towards him.
“Ever shoot a rifle?” he asked, jumping off the fence to meet her.
Hanah’s sweet expression turned to stone for a moment, her eyes burning into him like daggers. She glanced at the rifle and then down at her feet, pursing her lips tightly, giving her head a brief shake.
“Like hell you haven’t.” He smirked. “See that old squirrels' nest.” He pointed to a tree about thirty yards away, watching her follow his finger. “Let’s see if you can hit it.” He put the rifle in her hands and wrapped his arms around her, helping her lift it to her shoulder. His face grazed up against her cheek. Her hair smelled sweet with the delicate scent of flowers and fresh air. She leaned back against him and tilted her head, offering her neck and he buried his lips against her skin, feeling a dizzying surge of desire. She lowered the rifle and turned to him. The barrel slipped from her fingers.
“I’m so in love with you, Hanah,” he said, kissing her with passion, his hands sliding down her hips as she melted against his chest. Their kisses grew more intense, their lips lingering together, and then Oren reluctantly backed away, knowing Marie waited on them for the feast. “I’ll be ready to go in a minute,” he promised, ducking into the cabin.
Reaching up to the highest shelf, he retrieved his bag of presents. “I swear you must have been heaven sent,” he shouted. “Maybe you’re an angel.”
Suddenly the sound of a rifle shot boomed through the air. Oren raced to the door in alarm. Hanah lowered the rifle from her shoulder, her eyes locking on to his like a vise. Instinctively, he looked towards the squirrel’s nest. It had been struck and knocked to the ground. Oren’s eyes turned back to her. A second of icy silence hung between them.
“Give me that,” he said, walking up to reclaim his rifle.
-----
Oren’s hands were tight on the reigns as he drove the mile to John’s cabin. Hanah sat with her head down, her hands tucked stiffly in the pockets of her apron, her lips tight and her breathing heavy.
As far as Oren was concerned, her brooding was telling. He’d chafed her by challenging her abilities and she was sick of hiding them...but it was more than that. Something in her eyes told him it was a warning...just in case he was the assassin. A way of saying ‘I love you but be careful just the same.’ The message was received loud and clear, along with the realization that her suspicions were no more resolved than his. It was a love precariously built on the desire to trust, rather than trust itself. But why still play the game?
Hanah started fidgeting with her apron belt, twisting its bow into knots, and then she turned her body towards him. “Oren?” she questioned with troubled eyes.
He glanced at her sideways, sensing her concern and he put his arm around her, still desperately needing her love. She sighed and moved closer, wrapping her hands around his waist, resting her head on his shoulder. And then she nodded towards John’s cabin in the distance and broke into a glowing smile. “Springa Feest!”
Wagons lined the fence of Big John’s corral, and music and laughter could be heard from inside his home. Three neighboring plainsmen were in attendance, and one had brought his wife. The married fellow was playing a fiddle when Oren and Hanah entered, and they were welcomed with a whirlwind of clapping hands and stomping feet.
Food of every imaginable kind was piled across the table, and the turkey smelled amazing, having spent the whole night in a smoker. Bottles of beer, wine and spirits sat open next to glasses half full or emptied. An immense fire raged in their hearth, surrounded by piles of presents.
Oren’s eyes watered at the sight. Having spent his whole life outside of these homes, wishing to be included, his happiness was overwhelming in that moment. He gathered Hanah into his arms, wanting to join in the dancing, lifting her up so she wouldn’t have to put weight on her still tender ankle.
Outside, the sun ducked behind a thin veil of clouds. Soft rain started falling, trailing down the windows, glittering like tears against the glass.
“Let’s eat!” Big John shouted when the music ended, spreading out his massive arms and herding them all towards the table.
Somewhere in the distance, Oren heard the faint squeal of an animal crying out in pain. It was a sad sound, and it bothered him, but soon the music started again and the sound of its cries died out.
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sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
thank you very much
freshPotatoes
Contributing Member
Thank you Kritter...this story is so mysterious....
Kritter
The one and only...
Afternoon wore into evening with the addition of cake and pie. More wine was consumed while presents were opened and the fiddler started up again. Oren donned his brand new vest, not sure of who was prouder: Hanah, who had made it, or Marie, who had taught her how. The gift had been unexpected, and he teased Hanah that he would never, ever take it off, mimicking what she’d said about her new locket.
“A toast!” Big John bellowed, standing up from the table and lifting his glass. He took a few steps to rebalance himself and then pointed towards Marie. “To my wife, for all her fine cooking...and to Hanah...” He redirected his glass. “...for her pie.”
“Here here!” Oren said in agreement. “And to you for being our host.”
Big John waved off his comment with a bashful smile, and then topped off his glass with more wine. “To Louis,” he said, “For bringing his fiddle.”
“A bona noa reges,” Hanah stood, lifting her cup towards John.
Marie narrowed her eyes at Hannah, her lips tightening into a look of distaste, and then she glanced at the room full of curious faces who waited on a translation. “She says...a toast...to your new King.”
“My new King?” Big John spat out, his laughter echoing through the cabin. “My new King?” His voice rose in ire. “He’s no king of mine. That corrupt piece of inborn trash holds no jurisdiction here. He’d best watch his step around us, or he’ll be found like his father - hung from the rafters with his guts hanging out, carved up like a hot cross bun.”
The other plainsmen laughed out loud, raising their glasses in agreement. Hanah’s eyes flashed to Oren across the table, and they lingered for several seconds, as if she meant to share a secret. Oren pondered that look as she downed her drink with short, fast sips, keeping the cup close to her mouth, her actions rushed and tense. And then he glanced back at John.
“Oh God,” Oren gasped out, practically knocking over his chair as he rose to his feet, feeling sick to his stomach. “I have to go.” He covered his mouth, his eyes starting to water as he stumbled for the door.
Hanah sprung up behind him. “Sora vi,” she said with embarrassment, giving a quick curtsey to John and his wife, adding “too much wine” as an explanation before following him out the door.
The blast of night air that hit his face did little to help with the nausea. He started walking home, squinting to make out the dirt trail in the withering light. Hanah limped up beside him and put an arm around his back, examining at his face with concern. “Pea,” she said, tugging on his arm, pointing back at the stable.
“No,” he responded coldly. It was the only word he could muster in that moment, his brain a jumble of thoughts. He slowed his steps, his fingers curling into fists, and then he took a deep breath, knowing he needed to be careful about how he proceeded. “I had too much wine, you’re right.” He turned and smiled at her, putting his arm around her waist. “I just need to walk it off.”
“But Pea...” she said again, glancing nervously behind them.
“He’ll be fine. John can bring him by tomorrow.”
Hanah crossed her arms, glancing sideways at his face. Even with the shadows that painted her skin, she still looked pretty in the twilight. It was cute, the way she tried to read his eyes, unsettled by his actions. Oren stopped outside his cabin door and hugged her for a moment, wanting to remember one last time what it was like. And then he opened the door and shoved her inside.
Hanah’s eyes flared with indignation as she stumbled towards the bed.
“It wasn’t well known, was it?” Oren started, keeping himself between her and the door while he lit a few candles, “What John said...about how the king was found dead. Because the palace never released any information other than he’d been stabbed.”
Hanah shrugged lightly, her eyes locked on Oren.
“You know...all this time...I thought you were after me...” he said, slowly walking towards her. “But you weren’t after me. You were never after me. It was John who was your target.”
“Oren?” she questioned, looking frightened and confused as he took another step closer, cornering her against the wall.
“Don’t pretend you don’t understand me, Hanah...you know exactly what I’m saying,” he shouted, grabbing her shoulders, pressing her up hard against the wall.
“Oren...stop,” she begged, struggling against his hands.
“No, you stop,” he screamed. “Stop with your lies. You wouldn’t have gotten within five feet of John. You used me to get through his door.”
“He killed your king,” she seethed.
Oren swallowed and took a step backwards, freeing her of his grasp. He turned towards the door and put his hand on his forehead. “So it’s true,” he said, turning back to her. “You are an Anarian guard.”
“Yes,” she answered softly.
“A toast!” Big John bellowed, standing up from the table and lifting his glass. He took a few steps to rebalance himself and then pointed towards Marie. “To my wife, for all her fine cooking...and to Hanah...” He redirected his glass. “...for her pie.”
“Here here!” Oren said in agreement. “And to you for being our host.”
Big John waved off his comment with a bashful smile, and then topped off his glass with more wine. “To Louis,” he said, “For bringing his fiddle.”
“A bona noa reges,” Hanah stood, lifting her cup towards John.
Marie narrowed her eyes at Hannah, her lips tightening into a look of distaste, and then she glanced at the room full of curious faces who waited on a translation. “She says...a toast...to your new King.”
“My new King?” Big John spat out, his laughter echoing through the cabin. “My new King?” His voice rose in ire. “He’s no king of mine. That corrupt piece of inborn trash holds no jurisdiction here. He’d best watch his step around us, or he’ll be found like his father - hung from the rafters with his guts hanging out, carved up like a hot cross bun.”
The other plainsmen laughed out loud, raising their glasses in agreement. Hanah’s eyes flashed to Oren across the table, and they lingered for several seconds, as if she meant to share a secret. Oren pondered that look as she downed her drink with short, fast sips, keeping the cup close to her mouth, her actions rushed and tense. And then he glanced back at John.
“Oh God,” Oren gasped out, practically knocking over his chair as he rose to his feet, feeling sick to his stomach. “I have to go.” He covered his mouth, his eyes starting to water as he stumbled for the door.
Hanah sprung up behind him. “Sora vi,” she said with embarrassment, giving a quick curtsey to John and his wife, adding “too much wine” as an explanation before following him out the door.
The blast of night air that hit his face did little to help with the nausea. He started walking home, squinting to make out the dirt trail in the withering light. Hanah limped up beside him and put an arm around his back, examining at his face with concern. “Pea,” she said, tugging on his arm, pointing back at the stable.
“No,” he responded coldly. It was the only word he could muster in that moment, his brain a jumble of thoughts. He slowed his steps, his fingers curling into fists, and then he took a deep breath, knowing he needed to be careful about how he proceeded. “I had too much wine, you’re right.” He turned and smiled at her, putting his arm around her waist. “I just need to walk it off.”
“But Pea...” she said again, glancing nervously behind them.
“He’ll be fine. John can bring him by tomorrow.”
Hanah crossed her arms, glancing sideways at his face. Even with the shadows that painted her skin, she still looked pretty in the twilight. It was cute, the way she tried to read his eyes, unsettled by his actions. Oren stopped outside his cabin door and hugged her for a moment, wanting to remember one last time what it was like. And then he opened the door and shoved her inside.
Hanah’s eyes flared with indignation as she stumbled towards the bed.
“It wasn’t well known, was it?” Oren started, keeping himself between her and the door while he lit a few candles, “What John said...about how the king was found dead. Because the palace never released any information other than he’d been stabbed.”
Hanah shrugged lightly, her eyes locked on Oren.
“You know...all this time...I thought you were after me...” he said, slowly walking towards her. “But you weren’t after me. You were never after me. It was John who was your target.”
“Oren?” she questioned, looking frightened and confused as he took another step closer, cornering her against the wall.
“Don’t pretend you don’t understand me, Hanah...you know exactly what I’m saying,” he shouted, grabbing her shoulders, pressing her up hard against the wall.
“Oren...stop,” she begged, struggling against his hands.
“No, you stop,” he screamed. “Stop with your lies. You wouldn’t have gotten within five feet of John. You used me to get through his door.”
“He killed your king,” she seethed.
Oren swallowed and took a step backwards, freeing her of his grasp. He turned towards the door and put his hand on his forehead. “So it’s true,” he said, turning back to her. “You are an Anarian guard.”
“Yes,” she answered softly.
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stjwelding
Veteran Member
Wow Kritter great chapters and a fantastic story thanks.
Wayne
Wayne
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Thank you
More, please. 
Great story!
Great story!