There were more stomping feet, a yelping dog, an unmistakable shirr of weapons. “No, but keep looking,” one said. “Maybe he’s up in a tree?”
Gwyn’s heart faltered, her sweaty hands sliding dangerously on Joarr’s back — and in return he gripped her closer, pressing her tighter against the tree. His eyes glancing quickly around, searching above and below, and then narrowing as they settled on something. On a cluster of… pinecones?
They were dangling several branches above, well out of reach, but Joarr’s gaze stayed fixed upon them for a long, calculating instant. And then dropped back to Gwyn again, focused and urgent, and she felt both his hands shifting against her arse, guiding her away, releasing the hold of his slick, softened length between them —
But as he drew out, leaving Gwyn’s still-spread groin quivering and hovering over the tree, there was a sudden, surging flood. A rush of hot, forceful, scented heat, pouring from inside Gwyn, and straight out onto the tree-branch below. Where it splashed and scattered in all directions, already coating the bark below, and dripping off toward the earth.
“It’s not raining, is it?” came one of the men’s voices from directly below, as one of the dogs began abruptly, frantically barking. And the panic was washing through Gwyn’s form now, streaming with terrifying desperation, and wrenching even higher as Joarr thrust her fully away from him, pushing her back flat against the tree-trunk, his eyes dark with purposeful intent.
You stay here, they said,and wait.
Gwyn silently shouted her protest at him, even as her trembly legs scrabbled for purchase on the narrow branch below.No, she wanted to say.I can’t. I’ll fall.
You won’t, he said back, his eyes glinting, as he pried both her hands from where they were still clinging at his back, and pressed them against something above. Another branch, Gwyn’s screaming thoughts noted, and she frantically clung to it, her feet skittering on the narrow branch beneath her, as Joarr steadily backed away, his eyes piercing, his finger pressed to his lips.
Do this, it said.Trust me.
And without waiting to see her answer, he crouched, his eyes focused on the pinecones above — and then leapt. Flying an astonishing distance upwards, his hair streaking out behind him — and as Gwyn’s scream again choked in her throat, his fingers barely grasped the next branch above, his black claws scrabbling to hold on —
But somehow he did, even as the branch dipped and waved, earning another shout below from the men. And in one more flash of movement, Joarr had wrenched himself up onto it, his long leg swinging over, his hands shoving himself upwards — and then another desperate, mind-spinning leap, his lean form flying through the air, while the men’s voices gathered and rose, even closer than before. And they were surely looking up, they had to see him, his body wrangling and twisting like that against the wildly waving branch, hanging upside-down as his hand snatched for a pinecone —
There was an instant’s stillness as he lightly tossed it up, as if testing its weight in his hand — and with a jerk of his head, a sharp snap of his arm, hethrewit. Hurling it hard and high toward the north, and after an instant Gwyn could hear it landing in multiple thunks, perhaps pinging off the branches of a faraway tree.
“What was that?” demanded one of the men’s voices, but Joarr had already grasped another pinecone, and hurled it in the exact same direction. Resulting in another series of impressively loud thunks, resonating through the suddenly silent forest.
“Go!” shouted one of the men, amidst a swarm of crunching and rushing below — and then their combined footfalls and dog-yelps dashed northward, the sounds slowly fading as they went.
Gwyn felt herself badly slumping against the tree-trunk, her heart still clanging, her eyes desperately blinking at where Joarr had leapt back down from above, landing on the narrow branch with atypical unsteadiness. But then he swiftly caught his balance as he strode down the branch toward her, his eyes unreadable on hers.
All right? they seemed to ask, one hand reaching to lift her chin, the other circling close and familiar around her waist — and somehow Gwyn nodded, again and again, releasing her trembling grip from the branch above, and clinging back to the safety of his warm shoulders.
She felt him nod too, his hand briefly patting at her hair — and in another heave of movement, he’d again lifted her up, this time hoisting her against his side. And then, with perfectly silent steps, he again began climbing down the tree, using his free hand to guide his steps.
He finally landed on the ground in a heavy crouch, his eyes casting all around, lingering toward the north — but then he smoothly stood again, hoisting Gwyn higher against his hip as he silently strode along the ravine. Moving with a careful, quiet urgency, frequently glancing over his shoulder.
Finally he reached a place where the ravine narrowed, and a tree had fallen across its gaping width — and without even the slightest hesitation, he leapt up onto the tree, and strode across. Walking with breathtaking ease over the harrowing chasm, with a river rushing far below, and while Gwyn couldn’t seem to stop shivering, she couldn’t stop staring, either, drinking up the majestic, terrifying sight beneath them.
It felt like an eternity before they reached the other side, and Joarr finally leapt off onto solid ground again. But it suddenly seemed as though all the tension had slipped from his body at once, and when he settled Gwyn’s trembly body back to her feet, there was an odd clutching sensation in his chest, shuddering rhythmically against her still-clinging hands.
Gwyn grasped for focus, blinking up toward him with dazed, uncertain eyes — and found him… laughing? Yes,laughing, his shoulders shaking, his eyes bright with crackling mirth. And his mouth broadly grinning down toward her, easy and contagious and brimming with irresistible life.
“Band defeated bypinecone,” he said, between guffaws. “Anddrippedon with freshorc-seed.”
Gwyn had been fighting back an oddly uncontrollable urge to smile, and found that she’d already lost the battle, her mouth quirking up, her eyes dancing on his. “What’s that?” she said, in her best impression of a deep male voice. “It isn’t raining, is it?”
Joarr’s hoot of laughter echoed through the ravine, far too loud — but he clearly didn’t care, his shaggy head thrown back, his clawed hand clutching at his shaking belly. “And thisdog,” he added, his voice unsteady, his bright eyes dancing on Gwyn’s. “Knowing this was my scent dripped clean upon his head, and these fool men no evennotice?!”
And despite everything, Gwyn was laughing too, the sound warm and rich, her shoulders shaking. Which somehow ramped Joarr’s laugh even more contagious than before, lighting up his eyes. “Raining,” he said again, and those were truly tears, streaking down his cheeks. “Raining!”
And when he slid down onto his arse on the ground, his head bowed, his shoulders still shaking, Gwyn somehow slid down, too. Finding herself inexplicably tucked between his knees, his long legs close on either side of her, while more occasional gales of laughter rolled through his body against her.
“Ach, witch,” he said finally, his voice still irresistibly warm, his head lifting to meet her eyes. “This was well met. I no eventhinkto mate in tree, before this.”
And while that perhaps should have been a dampening thought — did he often do such things inotherplaces, then? — Gwyn still felt herself smiling back, warm and rueful. “Just had to wait until you had a lord’s daughter in your clutches, right?” she asked lightly. “Take full advantage of the situation?”
His twinkling eyes on hers slightly stilled, his head tilting, considering her. Almost as if he were weighing her, deciding whether to tell her the truth.
“Mayhap I no think of lord’s daughter, oradvantage, in this,” he said finally, with a shrug. “Mayhap I think only offun. Ach?”
