She is surprised but not displeased that he kisses her first.

His lips are warm, and smooth, save for a soft ridge of a scar near the left corner. She had noticed it before, but now she feels it. Now she feels everything. The smooth texture of his lips contrasted with the hard ridges of his shoulders beneath her hands. The soft wool his tunic as it bunches beneath her palms opposed to the tickling scratch of his wiry beard. The herdsman's hands on her waist with a grip like iron, yet gentle in the same moment.

Soon his lips alone are not enough, and she pushes her tongue against them, longing for more.

He lets her in and reciprocates for a teasing moment before withdrawing. During their kiss his hand has found its way to her head, and it laces in her short hair, effortlessly tugging her head back to expose her neck to him. His lips trace from her collar of her tunic up her neck to her ear, and she moans helplessly.

His mouth stops just beside the shell of her ear. "Your lips taste like goose," he whispers. "Perhaps I should have called you 'Goose' instead."

Her moans evaporate into laughter, and she playfully hits his chest.

"Ba-ba-ba," he scolds, catching both her hands with one of his. "Do not punish me for finding out your true nature." His voice is teasing, in a way she has not heard before, and it excites her as much as his kisses.

The herdsman lowers his head to her neck once more, intentionally dragging his beard along the sensitive skin with each kiss in such a way as to make her shake with more silent laughter.

Finally she has had enough, and pushes him away, breathing heavily, laughter still shaking her shoulders.

But when she finds the herdsman's face it is not laughter she sees. His serious expression makes her heart sink.

"Jalintu, there are things I still have not told you-"

Her hands rush to cover his lips to silence him. She shakes her head. She has her own secrets, as does everyone. She does not need to know his. Not for this.

She already knows everything she needs to.

He smiles faintly behind her hands. "You know I treasure you though, don't you?"

She smiles back, and nods.

His lips take in one of her fingertips, softly pressing it. She feels the faint bite of teeth before he draws back and kisses her palm.

"Hmmm," he says, his hum rumbling in his chest. His face is mock serious now, thick brows drawn low. "It seems your hands also taste of goose."

She laughs again and goes to hit him. Once more he catches her hands, grinning down at her roguishly.

"Shall I taste the rest of you, to see what you truly are?"

*~*~*~*~*~*

When she wakes she is sore all over, and glad for it.

She rolls over, surprised to find the place beside her in the bed empty. It is still warm, and the skins have been recently tucked around her, suggesting he left a short while ago.

That is fine. She does not want him near for what she is about to do.

She stands, dresses, and makes her way through the caves.

The herdsman surprised her. She had assumed him a timid lover, based on his initial hesitation. But once they started he showed no restraint, nor did he treat her roughly. A perfect blend of tender and firm.

She does not want to let him go. She cannot.

At the entrance to the cave she pauses. The arrows she has fletched are there, gathered in woven baskets, ready to draw and fire. Near two thousand. She has spent all winter making them.

Two thousand. If there truly are a thousand men coming, then there is one for a man and one for a miss.

But she needs to be certain.

She looks out into the dark of night beyond the cave. The rain from the day before has stopped, but clouds still linger, blocking the stars. It is completely black.

She is sure the two horsemen met with the herdsman today are still close, watching to make sure she does not flee.

She takes the bow the herdsman gave her slides a handful of arrows into a quiver the herdsman has made for her, and slings it across her chest. It is rough, made from leather stitched together, and certainly not as fine as some of the things she has owned. But there is a hand stitched bird near the top of the strap, just where it rests on her shoulder, that she quite likes.

She touches it now, running the pad of her thumb over the rough stitching. Then she takes the herdsman's hunting knife from where it hangs beside his sheepskin jacket and steps into the night.

If the herdman notices her absence, she will simply say that she went hunting. It would not be a lie.

*~*~*~*~*~*

It takes her most of the remaining night to find the horsemen and take them unawares. By the time she gets the information she wants, the sun is rising.

Her heart does not rise with it. The information she managed to pry from the horsemens' mouths is worse than she feared. Not only has their master sent a thousand infantry to retrieve her, but 500 of his most skilled riders will follow, as soon as the roads clear.

She knows the horsemen, and they are relentless in pursuit. Any hope she had of leaving the mountain with Fyar and fleeing ahead of the infantry is quickly disappearing.

If they will leave the mountain, they must do it now.

She tethers both the horses to nearby trees. They seem unfazed by their masters gruesome demise. Then she washes the blood from her hands and the herdsman's knife in the snow.

A speck has gotten on her quiver strap, and she frowns. She waits by the treeline a moment longer, and manages to shoot a skinny squirrel, which she skins and takes back to the cave with her.

To her surprise the herdsman is still nowhere in sight when she returns. She throws the squirrel in a pot over the fire and stokes up the embers, then goes in search of him.

Her path through the caves take her to all the places she has been before, but still she does not find him. She begins to feel unnerved. Immediately suspicion sneaks in. She doesn't want it, but cannot help it. Perhaps he changed his mind and left to find the horsemen and trade her for profit after all? Or perhaps he realized what odds they faced, and fled on his own?

No. She shakes her head to banish such thoughts.

She takes a deep breath, then focuses. She has always had a good sense when it came to finding things, since she was a child. An animal's instinct, her father had called it. It made her a good hunter. And a good killer.

But now she is not hunting to kill. She thinks of the herdsman's smile, of his deep voice. She longs for the feel of his hands on her waist, the feel of his warm skin against her own.

She opens her eyes.

She lets her feet wander freely back through the tunnels till they stop before the arched entrance to the storage room she saw before.

The armor still stands in a corner, and the spear and the sword, and all the other baskets and boxes. But something seems changed.

A second archway, one she has not noticed before, stands just behind the armor. She realizes a tapestry had hung there before, but now it has been ripped down.

She goes and stands before the arch. A narrow set of stairs there spirals down into darkness.

Raising a hand to the stone, she follows them.

The darkness is absolute. Without the light of the torches to hold it at bay she feels it, as she has not felt it ever before. Stifling, pressing against her, growing heavier as she descends deeper into the mountain. She focuses on her feet, on finding the next step, and the rock beneath her fingers to keep herself from fleeing back up the stairs, to wait for the herdsman in the kitchen.

Just when the darkness seems so oppressive she cannot breath, a faint glow reaches her eyes. Or is she imagining it? For what could be glowing golden and green, this far into the mountain?

The stairs at last stop and she steps into a cavern, taller and wider than any above. The light here is so bright it is near blinding. Jalintu covers her eyes, peeking between parted fingers until the pupils can adjust.

In the middle of the cavern stands a woman.

Tall, stately, with long golden hair that falls to her feet and seems to meld with the very earth. The light that fills the cavern comes from beneath her skin, as though her blood is made from stars and bright emeralds.

The woman was heart stoppingly beautiful. Jalintu felt as though she had forgotten how to breath, and had to remind herself to take her next breath.

She is so taken with the sight of the woman that at first she does not notice the figure kneeling in the center of the cavern. When she sees him Jalintu takes a step forward, then stops in confusion.

Shaggy head bent, arms bared to the elbow and limp beside him, it looked like Fyar has simply fallen asleep while kneeling. But the dark streaks running down his bare forearms told otherwise. Like snakes, or worms rising from the earth to twist around his skin.

Jalintu's mouth opens, soundlessly calling out the name she gave him as she runs forward and falls to her knees beside him. The cuts are deep, running from elbow to wrist. She wrenches free the knife held in one of his hands and throws it away, then tries to staunch the blood with her own bare hands, fighting to keep them from shaking.

Strange, she had had blood on her hands not long before, and it hadn't bothered her at all.

She looks up. The beautifully glowing woman stands there still, a frown of disapproval on her mouth.

Jalintu opens her mouth and forces out one feeble, croaked word. "H-help..."

In response the woman vanishes, taking the light with her.

Terror fills her heart. Now she is trapped in the dark, with Fyar bleeding beside her-

"Jalintu?"

The herdsman's deep voice is feeble, and fills her with both relief and fear. Her sticky hands fumble through the darkness and find his face.

"It is alright," he says, hands covering hers. "I am alright. Come, let us return above and I will explain everything."

ONC Word Count: 15943