This is the last! Sorry to tie up your list with this. :) ~~*~~ She had wandered the Forest for weeks now without any sign of this supposed treasure but she had found something, a clue perhaps. The letter was old, the shaky ink scrawled on a piece of skin, either some sort of animal or human in origin. It was written in an ancient language she didn't understand and this drew her back towards the village in the Forest and the comforts of the Tavern.
She arrived on a windswept, wet afternoon and soaked through. The rain outside teemed down on a sodden village, those who ventured out waded, huddled through the splattering mud of the main street. Wat didn't recognise her at first and tried to throw her out, thinking her some vagrant who had wandered the wrong way along a Forest path. "Get out now! I don't have your sort in here," he bellowed as she stepped into the Tavern and stood there, inhaling the wonderful scents of food and wines, revelling in the sudden rush of warm air that hit her in the face like the arms of a lover engulfing her lean and shapely form and holding her close. She arched her back, grubby fingers topped by ragged, broken nails roaming over the curve of her hips in a gentle caress of pleasure. For so long she hadn't felt the comforts, hadn't heard another human voice. She had reverted to something wild almost, barely human. "Wat," she stumbled over his name, had it been so long since she'd spoken? "Elenor?" Had there been news of her? She had searched and searched the Forest but hadn't come across the injured girl who had left this very place with her not two months ago. She wanted to say all those words, the thoughts tumbling through her mind but unable to tumble from her parched and unused tongue. "You won't find that one here, she took off with that Shyne more than three months ago." More than three? Had been so long? Surely not, she stalked forward and the tavern keeper made to grab her wrist, this ragged baggage with wild hair was not going to come further into his establishment. But he found himself gripped and tipped, this wild thing had considerable strength for her feminine frame. The dagger pricked his throat, a trickle of blood slid down, winding and curling to pool and stain the white of his collar. "Don't," it was a growled warning. "Touch ... Shyne." "Miss Shyne! Goodness is that you?!" At her nod his demeaner changed completely, she was given profuse apologies and at the relaxing of the blade at his throat was ushered to the fire and brought food and drink. Wat watched amazed as she ate like a starved animal. She had lost weight and obviously hadn't been eating well. He had barely recognised her and yet he could put that partly down to her filthy condition. The food gave her back some of her strength, enough to get her up the stairs to her room only to find it taken by another, a mysterious Lady who looked her over with disgust. Wat tugged her along to a lesser room and the serving girl Betsy brought water for the tub, her smile slightly malicious as she looked over the pretty customer who had been filled with attitude and who now sat huddled and shivering. Was she a broken woman? What can have happened to her? The water was a blessing, warm and clean it soothed over the filth of her aching body, the light scented soap made a lather that was both refreshing and soothing. By the time she was through running slow soapy fingers over her womanly curves and done foaming up her wild hair, the water was black but Shyne was recognisable once more. Stepping from the warm water she was further invigorated by the gentle fingers of cold air that roamed her body like a lovers caress, sending soft chills where they met her wet skin. She thrust a hand into her pack and drew out a ragged old doll with one eye and the skin covered with spidery writing. Rolling the skin carefully she hid it inside the seam of the doll and then clutched the worn thing to her naked breasts, rocking back and forth, cross legged on the floor. As if seeking comfort from this possession of the past. She was tired, so very tired. She didn't get up or move again, instead she slept there, slumped on the wooden floor cluthing a ragged doll.. ~~*~~ Jaxy :) http://aranforest.d2g.com "She Might have thorns but she is still his rose." ~Dock~ "If I be waspish, best beware my sting." ~The Taming of the Shrew ~William Shakespeare. "When forty winters shall besiege thy brow, And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field, Thy youth's proud livery so gazed on now, Will be a tattered weed of small worth held." ~William Shakespeare _________________________________________________________________ Get your FREE download of MSN Explorer at http://explorer.msn.com/intl.asp -- To unsubscribe from this group, send an email to: [EMAIL PROTECTED] Archives & Other DMI Lists: http://www.dragonmyst.f2s.com/lists.php3
