Under the Shadow of the Eagle

Part One

—What are you doing here? —the druid asked the warrior.

—I want to learn —he said, standing firm, right on the threshold of the strange hut.

—It doesn't look like it —she continued, rising from her seat as a curious smile formed on her face.

—My lady? —he muttered, not knowing what was going on.

—You stand as if you were going to face an enemy, straight as a spear and hard as an oak. You even have your weapons in your hands and at your waist, ready for battle.

—How should I approach you then, my lady?

—Call me that if you are an invader, call me a druid if you are like any of your tribe. Call me mistress if you want to learn.

—How should I approach you then, mistress?

—That's better. First, throw away your weapons —and so did he, leaving the shield and spears he carried on the ground—. Do I have to tell you everything? Take off your belt too —and so did he, putting the garment on the ground along with his sword, his axe and his knife—. That's better.

—Can I come in now, mistress?

—Not yet. Your will is still with your weapons and with war, not with learning.

—My will is where you want it, mistress.

—It's not enough to say it, you must do it, you must move it, you must prove it to me.

—I will do whatever you say to achieve that, mistress.

—Let's see.

On the floor of pelts and leaves of her home, under the darkness and silence of the night, illuminated within the walls by nothing more than a pair of candles, the druid walked slowly towards the warrior.

He was a large and imposing man, with strong arms and broad shoulders, covered by nothing but boots, pants, abundant blond hair and greenish war paint. His belt and many weapons were on the ground behind him outside the hut. His face showed determination and courage; his scars, along with his braided hair and bushy beard and moustache, and his jewelry made of precious metals, showed great experience on the battlefield.

The druid was only a few inches shorter than him, and stood even straighter and firmer. Her autumn colored hair was very long, her body was very strong, her arms were thick and her legs were long, her hips were wide and her bust was prominent. She was barely covered by a long tunic, reaching her ankles and open by a cut in the center, held by nothing more than a rope above her waist, and a pair of leather sandals. Her face had an animal curiosity, her eyes were black as night, watching everything and nothing at the same time, and her movements were precise as well as unexpected.

—Close your eyes —she said as she stood in front of him, and he obeyed—. Kneel down —and he obeyed—. Now you can come in.

And advancing on his knees, with his eyes closed, groping the ground in front of him with his hands, the warrior entered.

At first he felt nothing, carefully stretching his arms and fingers, moving slowly without knowing where he was going, but then he reached something. He wanted to grab on to it, hold on to whatever it was and feel that he understood what was around him, but he regretted it, and his hands moved away at once.

—I have not given you permission to touch me —he heard the druid's voice, hard and dry, speaking to him downwards after he had found her legs.

—I'm sorry, mistress—he said, putting his hands on the ground quickly.

—Prove it.

Sitting on the austere bed of pelts at the center of the hut, the druid took off her sandals.