And as if Joarr had heard her speak those betraying words aloud, he jerked awake beneath her, his eyes snapping open, and focusing on hers. On where she’d been blatantly watching him sleep, gods curse her — and she felt her face flush hot, her mouth twitching into a wincing, apologetic smile.
But there was no judgement in his lazy, half-lidded eyes. Only an unmistakable rising hunger, as he slowly smirked at her — and as he slid his hand downwards, and pulled his already-hard length out of his trousers.
His brow hitched up — saying, perhaps,You know what to do, don’t you?— and Gwyn huffed a short laugh, yanked up her skirts, and accordingly eased herself over on top. And then sank herself down upon him, bit by bit, until she was fully seated on his lap, his shuddering heft buried deep inside her.
Gods, he felt good. And looked so good, too, his lean body gleaming in the morning sun, his mouth curling up with slow, leisurely approval. And when he began rocking his hips against her, sharp and purposeful, Gwyn rode him with thoroughly betraying eagerness, her cries choking into the quiet air, while the hammock rolled and swayed beneath them.
By the end of it, their joined thrusts were frantic enough that the hammock was wildly jerking, nearly knocking Gwyn off onto the ground below — and Joarr laughed aloud as he gasped and poured himself out within her, his hands gripping strong and steadying to her hips.
“Ach, I no let you fall,” he murmured, once his strength inside her had begun to soften again. “Most of all when you are stuck safe upon me.”
Gwyn couldn’t help a flushed, flustered smile, a deep thrill up her back at that telltale wordsafe. That hint, maybe, that she wasn’t wrong to hope. To think about a new way. A new…future.
That hope only seemed to keep rising throughout the morning, as they again washed up in the waterfall together, and then looked over the new plants Joarr’s scouts had brought overnight from Gwyn’s garden in Varrahan. And then they headed for the trees, where Joarr once again taunted her into climbing and chasing him, and then rewarded her with a basket full of fresh, sweet-smelling fruit.
It led to them eating a companionable breakfast together on one of the wooden platforms, passing fruit back and forth between them. While also discussing their plans for their new Bautul helpers, who — Joarr grimaced as he tossed a berry into his mouth — were sure to arrive and start tromping about his precious garden at any moment.
“I told you, I’ll deal with them,” Gwyn said firmly, half-smiling at him as she popped a berry into her own mouth. “Maybe I’ll put them to work replanting what you’ve had brought from my garden. While you maybe start digging that pit of stink-lilies?”
Joarr’s grin was warm and devious, but surely relieved, too. And when they heard the telltale scrape of the stone door, he even gave Gwyn’s head a swift, appreciative-feeling scratch with his claws before turning and taking off, disappearing into the wall of surrounding leaves.
It left her to climb down from the tree herself, but it already felt easier than it had before — and perhaps rather satisfying, too. And once she’d reached the new arrivals — Kalfr, and Eyolf and Iyolf, and Stella, too — it also felt easy to smile at them, and wave them further into the garden.
“Good morning, and welcome to Joarr’s garden!” she said brightly. “Joarr has some things to finish this morning, so I’ll be showing you around. And perhaps putting you to work, if you —”
Her voice broke off there, her smile faltering — because wait, all three orcs were still visiblyinjured, surely from that vicious Bautul battle the day before. Kalfr’s face and arms bore multiple deep wounds and scratches, and Iyolf’s nose was badly bent, still drippingblood— and worst of all, Eyolf was awkwardly staggering with each step, and favouring his left side.
“Actually,” Gwyn continued, her voice hardening, “maybe we won’t be doing any work today. In future” — she cast a quick glance over her shoulder, but Joarr was nowhere to be seen, so she ploughed on anyway — “we’ll expect you to be in excellent physical condition to work here, and to have any outstanding wounds properly dealt with.”
For an instant, the three orcs looked bewildered — and then Eyolf flashed her a rakish, confident smile. “You mistake us, woman,” he said, “for we are strong and hale Bautul, and always ready to work, no matter what wounds we bear. Ach, brother?”
This was said with a glance toward Iyolf, who silently but fervently nodded, and beside him Kalfr was nodding too, his big dark eyes almost pleading on Gwyn’s. But she was not having their Bautul bravado, not in this — and she crossed her arms over her chest, and gave a sharp shake of her head.
“Open wounds are an infection risk, especially combined with earth,” she said, “and it would be irresponsible of me to allow such a thing. Also” — she glanced at Stella, whose eyes were tired but warm on hers — “this garden is blessed by the goddess, who often speaks through the earth, and wants only the best for her Bautul seekers. So you need to bring your best here for her, too.”
No one could argue with that, of course, and Gwyn felt herself smiling rather smugly toward them. “So you’ll all go see that excellent healer of yours tonight, before you return tomorrow,” she continued. “But for now, come along, and I’ll show you around.”
The three orcs and Stella meekly followed Gwyn deeper into the garden, their eyes already wide and wondering, drinking up the sights. As well they should, Gwyn rather thought — though she couldn’t help grimacing at the realization that they’d surely never stepped foot in here before. Or, perhaps, had never even beforeseena garden.
So she tried to make her tour as entertaining and informative as possible, often offering them food to eat, while incorporating what she hoped was a simple, straightforward gardening lesson. Focusing on the most crucial points — basic plant structure and maintenance, sun versus shade, and of course, the importance of not tramping on any plants.
Thankfully, it didn’t take long until the three orcs were easily returning Gwyn’s smiles, and answering her commentary with cheerful questions and comments of their own. And by the end of it, she was laughing along with them, and — as bizarre as it was — perhaps feeling almostfondtoward them. Kalfr was kind, thoughtful, and surprisingly eager to learn, while Eyolf was a bundle of energy — the total opposite of his bashful brother Iyolf. But it was clear that the two brothers cared for each other very much, and Eyolf would often speak on Iyolf’s behalf, even as he followed his quiet, subtle guidance.
However, Stella had remained very subdued throughout the tour, and perhaps rather distracted, as well. And once the three orcs had gone slightly ahead, Iyolf still visibly limping, Gwyn found herself thinking, abruptly, of Silfast. Of how Joarr had slammed him in the head with that axe, and surely humiliated him before his entire clan. And how surely, as much as Silfast had deserved it, a friend would care. Would ask.
“So how… are things, today?” she asked Stella, under her breath. “How is Silfast feeling? I hope he wasn’t seriously injured yesterday?”
Stella twitched, her tired eyes suddenly snapped wide — and then she shook her head, very quickly. “No, of course not,” she said, in a bright voice that didn’t at all match her eyes. “He’s already up and training again, and feeling quite all right. He’s such a strong and vigorous Bautul. Nothing bothers him, really.”
Oh. Gwyn bit back the first answer that came to mind, and instead smiled and nodded, and continued finishing up the tour. But she couldn’t help the occasional worried glance toward Stella, or the uneasy twinge in her belly as they finally waved goodbye, all promising to reconvene the next morning.
Gwyn was still standing there when Joarr eventually reappeared from wherever he’d gone off to, a small blue huckleberry in hand. “This was good work, witch,” he said lightly, as he popped it into her mouth. “I ken they all soon worship at your feet, ach?”
Gwyn gave a rueful chuckle as she ate the berry, savouring its glorious burst of flavour across her tongue. “I made them all promise to go see your healer before they returned, which they werenothappy about,” she replied. “And I provoked Stella into defending Silfast’s honour, and hisexcellenthealth and vigour, too.”
Joarr barked a low laugh, but his eyes were dark, and he shook his head. “I tell you, Silfast is a fool,” he said flatly. “Either she believe this as truth — and some day learn this for the falsehood it is — or she no believe this, but yet feel bound to speak false of him. Ach?”
Gwyn winced, even as she nodded — both options seemed to again exhibit that same Bautul bravado, which surely couldn’t be helpful for intimate relationships — and she attempted a teasing half-smile toward Joarr’s watching eyes. “So you wouldn’t want me to go around proudly proclaiming all your false virtues?” she asked. “Your honesty, perhaps, or your modesty, or your deep devotion to your goddess?”
