Most of us long to "Be" but when the path gets too costly, or steep, we take solace in what we "Have." Remove the trappings of what we own and then what is the sum of us?
They were the survivors, abandoned by the allies who swore to protect, in...
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Aurianne paused as she set down her fine catch of tawny rabbits, five in all, her skin prickled and the hair on the nape of her neck stood on end warning of danger. Her shoulder still ached from today's hunt but she ignored the sensation, all senses focusing on the darkened rear of the cave, willing her eyes to adjust to the gloom.
She drew her dagger, barely drawing breath herself straining to hear every minute sound. The remnants of warm coals still smoked in the stone-encircled hearth, the kindling and firewood exactly as she had left it. However, the huntress in her told her in no uncertain terms someone had been or was still here. If not in the cave then close by.
Aurianne trusted this instinct implicitly. Everything was where she had left it, but still, her observations did not allay her reservations that her sanctuary had been breached. Cautiously blade in hand she made her way toward the dark recesses of her shelter. She felt so alive at this moment, every sense straining for a sound, sight, or scent, of the enemy. Slowly her eyes were adjusting to the lack of light and she scanned every boulder and dark recess for the unseen threat.
Aran crouched still as stone he was a hunter too, and the hunt had been long. His hard bronzed body unmoving, taking in the vision of the woman he had never hoped to find. His thick mane of golden hair framed his strong stubbled face, and his green eyes burned even in the darkness.
Before him at last the red-headed archer, a symbol of many things to him after his long hard sojourn in the wastes. This proud and feisty woman was his key to readmission to his rightful place, the end to his exile. Capturing her would be proof of his prowess to all, and even more important she had become a feast to his eyes and his sexual imagery. She was no easy, frightened little girl like Maya so willing to please, or the delicate, easily crushed flower like Frances had been, nor was she the haggard, compliant wife of a dead man captured on a village raid.
No, she was unlike any other woman he had ever set eyes on. Every line of her body infused with grace and pride, strong and true, like a lioness.
Avidly Aran's eyes consumed her form as she drew closer, she was more than pleasing to him, she was magnificent to him in a way he did not fully understand. He felt his long-deprived body responding to her proximity and he tried to will his lustful response aside. However, her beauty assailed him, her long tanned legs perfectly muscled, her stomach sculpted and flat, provocatively peeping out from in-between the waistband of the short hide skirt and the hardened leather bodice. Breasts round and firm rising and falling with each breath, the long red ponytail tied with rawhide that reached right down her back cascading like a thick rope over her lean, tanned shoulder.
Aran willed his eyes away from the promise of her breasts with some effort, determined he would not let this woman best him again. His body bunched, wound like a tightly coiled spring, he had deliberately divested himself of his weapons even his sword lest he betray his presence in a moment of carelessness. He did not need a weapon to subdue this quarry, and he had spent many weeks ruminating over the deliciousness of this moment. Even though deep down he had never thought it would truly come.
