Tree trunks
still as stone,
pillars in moonlight.
Pale mists between.
A lone warbel crosses,
nest to limb of tree,
hooting hushed
in quiet of night.
Odymn lays
in the arms of the Slain,
afraid to move,
to disturb him.
His arm heavy across her forearm.
His fingers caught in her hair.
She closes her eyes
but sleep is elusive
as a skittery trout
in the shallows
of the stream,
at the edge of the meadow
back home.
She yawns,
and her lips move
against his chest.
He opens his eyes,
closes his fingers
on her upper arm.
"Can't sleep?"
he whispers.
Odymn shakes her head.
Adjusts her body
against his.
He fits one arm
beneath her
and turns her.
One arm cradles her waist.
His hand begins at her neck,
fingers opening and closing
on her skin. Moves
one centimetre at a time.
Odymn closes her eyes, surrenders.
Hovers with the warbel
in moonlight and mist.
The Slain's fingers
knead tired muscles,
trace the length of her spine,
trail along her side,
along the curve of her hip.
And Odymn shivers.
The Slain lifts his hand.
Touches her shoulder.
YOU ARE READING
Meniscus: One Point Five - Forty Missing Days
Science FictionAfter the Slain is shot, Odymn and an Argenop elder work together to try and return him to good health. As they journey towards the Themble, survival is a challenge. Odymn must add to her foraging skills and survive an attack by the vicious kotildi...
