| Fantasy Fiction posted March 11, 2012 | Chapters: |
...19 20 -21- 22... 
|
  |
Blood on the Brambles
A chapter in the book Gima The Beginning
Gima: Swallowtails
by barkingdog
Dear Reader: The GLOSSARY is included by request. It's not a required part of the reading. It's merely to assist a new audience. Have fun reading. :) barking dog
Previously in Chapter 20:
Gima, Trell, Blathen and Zee are enjoying the day on the far side of the valley meadow. Blathen has just 'killed' a corncob.
Hunter and Asmel halt their hunt for Gima and Zee in order to tend to Hunter's, now infected, foot injury, sustained years ago at Ticum's Arena.
Hunter nods. "Have a go, then." He holds his knee, steadying for more pain, as Azzy opens a water pouch.
Asmel stoops and looks, skeptically, at the pink mix of pus and blood seeping from where there had once been a toe, and he surmises, "Best leave off tracking 'til tomorrow ... or the next day. First things first.”
Hunter grits his teeth and peers over Asmel's shoulder. The silhouettes toward the horizon have disappeared.
Chapter 21
Blathen sits on the ground amidst corn husks and silk. He snarls and spits torn bits of corncob and reaches to Trell for another. Clicking his claws together, he smiles a smile of pleasurable conquest as he opens and closes his three-fingered hands and chorts, “More, Father. More.”
“So, you are learning to speak?"
“More.” Blathen kicks his heels on the ground.
“Calm down.” Trell paces a circle around his son's frustration.
“Father!” Blathen grunts. His cheeks turn red and swell, smoothing out their wrinkles.
“Blathen,” Trell touches the small one's back and says in a raspy, near whisper, “control your needs and be great. Allow them to control you and be nothing.”
“I want …”
“Is what you want necessary?”
“Yes.”
“How so?”
“It’s fun. It feels good. The corn does not complain.”
“In this fun, do you think; or do you just do?”
“Do,” he chorts and, rapidly, opens and closes his hands, “More corn. More.”
Trell rests his hand on the top of Blathen's head. “When you pierced Zee’s arm ... what was that?”
“It just happened.”
“Where does the ‘do’ come from?” Trell traces the circle again, and Blathen sits very still.
“Do’s come from inside.” Blathen thumps his chest. “They just ... happen.”
“The ‘do’ that hurt your brother … was that fun?”
Blathen hangs his head, stops puffing and protrudes his lower lip. His collector slumps and retracts. “No, Father. I couldn't help it. I just attached. I ... I tasted your fear and it ... it happened.”
“Your instincts can prompt actions that you may regret. Learn control and be better for it.”
The small one sits loathing himself. I displease my honored father. I am unworthy. No wonder he prefers the one who does nothing. Somehow, I cannot seem to do ... this nothing. He slouches, presses his forehead into his hands to cover his eye, and emits a low droning pitch as he rocks, sealed in a self-imposed shell.
Trell, refusing to let Blathen remain in this place of 'no awareness' and with a deep understanding of a son’s need for a father’s acceptance, chucks Blathen under the chin and pushes the pouty face upward to look eye to eye.
Blathen's droning becomes louder, and a single vermel eye opens—black and empty—then clears to its normal dark brown.
"Silence." Trell signs.
Blathen stiffens to quiet at his father's command. His small face turns a frightening bluish-gray, and his breathing becomes increasingly short and labored. Arms to his side, forced to face his feelings, Blathen raises his chin, and with his mouth wide, he pushes out a pitiful, tearless wail that jerks on his inhale and then gurgles outward with bile from the depth of his quaking torso. He coughs and sputters; in distress, he gasps for air.
Trell takes him from the ground, and holding him up by his feet, allows the vile pouring to spill downward. Hanging, quivering like a red bat, Blathen looks quite pitiful and helpless.
“Come, come son.” Trell takes the shaking, confused Prime One to his chest and cuddles him--curved spine, rounded hump, fuzzy little rear and, all.
Blathen's seizing diminishes as he begins to control his near mortal reaction.
“You have much to learn to become the best of us.” Trell strokes and rocks his unique, precocious progeny and whispers something he learned from Gima—“I love you.”
Blathen's eye blinks and brightens. He stores this new word away and snuggles into Trell’s muscular warmth and honest sweat. His clenched fist opens to release a small bit of crushed corncob into the tall waving grass as he enters a mellow sleep where he hears mulberry bush melodies and laughter. The smells of purple coneflowers and horsemint prevail over memories of scurrying creatures and metallic ‘red,’ and Blathen hears an honored voice whispering his most favorite new word. Love.
A smile, wet with drool, crosses the young vermel's snoring face when his collector tastes Trell's perspiration. My honored father accepts me with this word, love. Now, how does this fit in with the killing of wolves? Blathen sends this, too, to his 'wondering' place.
Trell kisses Blathen’s fuzzy top knot, and content that he has ministered well to his son, places the sleeping, small wiser-one on the ground beside Zee. Blathen reaches to suck on his large, long first toe while Zee slurps a small pale thumb. They wiggle together and soon entwine, as this most unlikely set of brothers are want to do.
******
Just like any other hungry day, a dark-brown lumbering form moves along the forest's eastern trail with her two twenty-five pound cubs. Snacking on blackberries, she eyes the hollow tree’s hive with a friendly sniff, and with a greedy pink lick, she judges the distance to the prize.
The cubs romp, batting like little warriors. One hits harder than expected to land the other in the brambles; a tender nose is scratched, and he comes out howling, teeth bared.
*****
His family asleep, Trell takes this pause in the day to run to the stream, refill the water skins, relieve himself, and bathe. As he reclines in the flowing water, he is content, and when his eyes close, his attention turns to Gima, the dark-haired joy of his life. Springing from the water, he runs gloriously naked across the field.
Trell stands, sleek and tall above her. His hair drips fresh water down his naked back to pool at the small of it and then glide over his taut muscles downward. A similar stream trails from the indent of his clavicles, down through tan, rippled hills and valleys ... and beyond.
Distracted from grazing, a mighty stag looks up with apologies for its own inadequacy.
The sun warms Gima's skin, and a light mist of perspiration forms on her upper lip and forehead. Several butterflies perch on the flow of long dark hair and dart from the purple coneflowers to the yellow buttercups that she has woven there. In her deerskin leather, she looks as much a part of the meadow floor as the earth itself.
Trell stoops to breathe her in and caresses her cheek with the palm of his cool hand. The feel of her softness rushes through him, and in anticipation, his lips open. Beautiful.
Gima stirs and exhales a throaty sound as warmed brook water drips into her slightly open mouth, waking her tongue with his flavor.
Trell brushes the dampness from Gima’s lip with his thumb and bends to kiss her eyes, ever so lightly. Wake.
Stretching, as might a fairy tale princess, she slowly opens her eyes to see him above her, and gleams a welcome.
Cautious not to wake Zee and Blathen, Gima rolls away to sit, and on her knees, look up at Trell. The sunlight behind him plays on his statuesque form, giving it a golden glow, while the breeze toys with his light hair, brushing it like an unfurled flag against his bronze shoulders.
He is near imaginary, yet real.
Trell’s eyes read her dreams and speak to her heart. “Come.” Trell reaches out his hand.
Gima’s hand takes his. Such a contrast the two of them: hers small, tapered, adorned with berry-stain designs; his large, broad and muscular with arms scared from abuse in Ticum's Arena.
Trell’s presence fills her. Gima's heart celebrates.
“It is right?” she asks.
“It is right,” he answers and takes her in his arms to press all of him to her.
She sighs and is pleased; he is complete, ready.
Gima shivers when his magic takes her completely. Their emotions combine to form an imaginary bubble around them, and they feel that … they know that they have disappeared.
Trell relinquishes. He realizes that he's totally vulnerable, but is willingly so with Gima. He fades, as himself, and becomes both of them; he senses her, sensing him.
Trell is full; he was never so glorious at Sadie's. His gift is only for Gima, only for this wonder, whom he loves. His movements are powerful and purposeful. He is inside of her, but she feels that she is inside him, as well. Gima is lost in total sensation. There are no sounds— only his heat in and around her and her's encompassing him. His blue eyes reflect the greens of the meadow. And, the valley is pleased.
Butterflies and hummingbirds, the fairies of this Upper Earth, play on small violins with cobweb strings and maidenhair fern bows while Pan hides behind a tree and pipes lovers’ tunes.
Yet, all is silent; the valley guards their union. Gima touches Trell's face, grips his arms with her small hands, and moves above, around and under him. The valley’s meadow-audience nods its flowery heads. This is as it should be. It is right.
All arms and legs, wrapped together like two giant blue swallowtails cocooned as one, Gima and Trell rest, pleased with themselves.
******
Near the clearing, Asmel stokes the fire and removes a pan of water that’s been boiling fresh echinacea root. He pours some of the hot liquid into a cup to steep with birch bark and hands it to Hunter.
“Here ya go buddy, drink up. It’ll help the pain and start working on that infection.”
“Thanks.” Hunter grimaces at the smell and blows on the brew before taking a sip. “So, can you fix me up?” He nods towards his much cleaner foot which soaks in a pan of warm water and medicinal coneflowers.
“Right as rain, buddy.”
“So, what’s that scowl then?”
“I need marigolds to crush with the echinacea for a poultice."
“So, go. I’ve got my Bowie. I’ll be fine.” Hunter reaches for the pan and pours some of the water mix into his nearly ruined boot in hopes of salvaging it.
“Easy there.” Asmel grabs the pan. “That’s your medicine for a week … not boot cleaner.”
“Well, it sure tastes like boot cleaner.” Hunter frowns and takes another sip.
“Okay, wise-ass,” Asmel laughs, slapping Hunter on the back. “I need to get moving, before it gets dark. I saw what I need about a mile back. I’ll take ole Betsy,” he jokes patting his Winchester, “and a lantern, just in case.” He throws the full water bladder over to Hunter."Here ya go ... for your boot," and slings the ligher, partially full one over his shoulder.
Hunter catches it and scowls, "Okay ... okay. Go on. Go on."
With that, Asmel salutes Hunter with a teasing grin and hikes off at a fast pace, back tracking along the east trail, toward the bees and brambles who had already said good riddance.
Hunter dries his foot and prepares a temporary wrap to bind his open wound. He’s done this many times before, unbeknownst to Asmel, and it was usually enough, but this time the infection has managed to weaken his entire body. Soothed by the medicinal tea, he lies on his back and closes his eyes.
******
After separating the playful duo, the mother Black Bear pokes through the brambles for blackberries. Suddenly, scenting something else, she burrows her tapered chocolate-brown nose in deeper and deeper and sniffs once, then twice.
In a fury, she tears out, raises her head and with ears alert, pushes her six foot height upright with protective arms outstretched. Slobber pours from her mouth, and she squalls to warn and oppose the unknown creature whose blood is on the brambles. She bellows and growls, ripping bark from the honey tree to mark her territory, for the safety of the terrified twins that stand—immobile, wide-eyed statues—behind her.
Dear Reader: The GLOSSARY is included by request. It's not a required part of the reading. It's merely to assist a new audience. Have fun reading. :) barking dog
Previously in Chapter 20:
Gima, Trell, Blathen and Zee are enjoying the day on the far side of the valley meadow. Blathen has just 'killed' a corncob.
Hunter and Asmel halt their hunt for Gima and Zee in order to tend to Hunter's, now infected, foot injury, sustained years ago at Ticum's Arena.
Hunter and Asmel halt their hunt for Gima and Zee in order to tend to Hunter's, now infected, foot injury, sustained years ago at Ticum's Arena.
Hunter nods. "Have a go, then." He holds his knee, steadying for more pain, as Azzy opens a water pouch.
Asmel stoops and looks, skeptically, at the pink mix of pus and blood seeping from where there had once been a toe, and he surmises, "Best leave off tracking 'til tomorrow ... or the next day. First things first.”
Hunter grits his teeth and peers over Asmel's shoulder. The silhouettes toward the horizon have disappeared.
Chapter 21
Blathen sits on the ground amidst corn husks and silk. He snarls and spits torn bits of corncob and reaches to Trell for another. Clicking his claws together, he smiles a smile of pleasurable conquest as he opens and closes his three-fingered hands and chorts, “More, Father. More.”
“So, you are learning to speak?"
“More.” Blathen kicks his heels on the ground.
“Calm down.” Trell paces a circle around his son's frustration.
“Father!” Blathen grunts. His cheeks turn red and swell, smoothing out their wrinkles.
“Blathen,” Trell touches the small one's back and says in a raspy, near whisper, “control your needs and be great. Allow them to control you and be nothing.”
“I want …”
“Is what you want necessary?”
“Yes.”
“How so?”
“It’s fun. It feels good. The corn does not complain.”
“In this fun, do you think; or do you just do?”
“Do,” he chorts and, rapidly, opens and closes his hands, “More corn. More.”
Trell rests his hand on the top of Blathen's head. “When you pierced Zee’s arm ... what was that?”
“It just happened.”
“Where does the ‘do’ come from?” Trell traces the circle again, and Blathen sits very still.
“Do’s come from inside.” Blathen thumps his chest. “They just ... happen.”
“The ‘do’ that hurt your brother … was that fun?”
Blathen hangs his head, stops puffing and protrudes his lower lip. His collector slumps and retracts. “No, Father. I couldn't help it. I just attached. I ... I tasted your fear and it ... it happened.”
“Your instincts can prompt actions that you may regret. Learn control and be better for it.”
The small one sits loathing himself. I displease my honored father. I am unworthy. No wonder he prefers the one who does nothing. Somehow, I cannot seem to do ... this nothing. He slouches, presses his forehead into his hands to cover his eye, and emits a low droning pitch as he rocks, sealed in a self-imposed shell.
Trell, refusing to let Blathen remain in this place of 'no awareness' and with a deep understanding of a son’s need for a father’s acceptance, chucks Blathen under the chin and pushes the pouty face upward to look eye to eye.
Blathen's droning becomes louder, and a single vermel eye opens—black and empty—then clears to its normal dark brown.
"Silence." Trell signs.
Blathen stiffens to quiet at his father's command. His small face turns a frightening bluish-gray, and his breathing becomes increasingly short and labored. Arms to his side, forced to face his feelings, Blathen raises his chin, and with his mouth wide, he pushes out a pitiful, tearless wail that jerks on his inhale and then gurgles outward with bile from the depth of his quaking torso. He coughs and sputters; in distress, he gasps for air.
Trell takes him from the ground, and holding him up by his feet, allows the vile pouring to spill downward. Hanging, quivering like a red bat, Blathen looks quite pitiful and helpless.
“Come, come son.” Trell takes the shaking, confused Prime One to his chest and cuddles him--curved spine, rounded hump, fuzzy little rear and, all.
Blathen's seizing diminishes as he begins to control his near mortal reaction.
“You have much to learn to become the best of us.” Trell strokes and rocks his unique, precocious progeny and whispers something he learned from Gima—“I love you.”
Blathen's eye blinks and brightens. He stores this new word away and snuggles into Trell’s muscular warmth and honest sweat. His clenched fist opens to release a small bit of crushed corncob into the tall waving grass as he enters a mellow sleep where he hears mulberry bush melodies and laughter. The smells of purple coneflowers and horsemint prevail over memories of scurrying creatures and metallic ‘red,’ and Blathen hears an honored voice whispering his most favorite new word. Love.
A smile, wet with drool, crosses the young vermel's snoring face when his collector tastes Trell's perspiration. My honored father accepts me with this word, love. Now, how does this fit in with the killing of wolves? Blathen sends this, too, to his 'wondering' place.
Trell kisses Blathen’s fuzzy top knot, and content that he has ministered well to his son, places the sleeping, small wiser-one on the ground beside Zee. Blathen reaches to suck on his large, long first toe while Zee slurps a small pale thumb. They wiggle together and soon entwine, as this most unlikely set of brothers are want to do.
******
Just like any other hungry day, a dark-brown lumbering form moves along the forest's eastern trail with her two twenty-five pound cubs. Snacking on blackberries, she eyes the hollow tree’s hive with a friendly sniff, and with a greedy pink lick, she judges the distance to the prize.
The cubs romp, batting like little warriors. One hits harder than expected to land the other in the brambles; a tender nose is scratched, and he comes out howling, teeth bared.
*****
His family asleep, Trell takes this pause in the day to run to the stream, refill the water skins, relieve himself, and bathe. As he reclines in the flowing water, he is content, and when his eyes close, his attention turns to Gima, the dark-haired joy of his life. Springing from the water, he runs gloriously naked across the field.
Trell stands, sleek and tall above her. His hair drips fresh water down his naked back to pool at the small of it and then glide over his taut muscles downward. A similar stream trails from the indent of his clavicles, down through tan, rippled hills and valleys ... and beyond.
Distracted from grazing, a mighty stag looks up with apologies for its own inadequacy.
The sun warms Gima's skin, and a light mist of perspiration forms on her upper lip and forehead. Several butterflies perch on the flow of long dark hair and dart from the purple coneflowers to the yellow buttercups that she has woven there. In her deerskin leather, she looks as much a part of the meadow floor as the earth itself.
Trell stoops to breathe her in and caresses her cheek with the palm of his cool hand. The feel of her softness rushes through him, and in anticipation, his lips open. Beautiful.
Gima stirs and exhales a throaty sound as warmed brook water drips into her slightly open mouth, waking her tongue with his flavor.
Trell brushes the dampness from Gima’s lip with his thumb and bends to kiss her eyes, ever so lightly. Wake.
Stretching, as might a fairy tale princess, she slowly opens her eyes to see him above her, and gleams a welcome.
Cautious not to wake Zee and Blathen, Gima rolls away to sit, and on her knees, look up at Trell. The sunlight behind him plays on his statuesque form, giving it a golden glow, while the breeze toys with his light hair, brushing it like an unfurled flag against his bronze shoulders.
He is near imaginary, yet real.
Trell’s eyes read her dreams and speak to her heart. “Come.” Trell reaches out his hand.
Gima’s hand takes his. Such a contrast the two of them: hers small, tapered, adorned with berry-stain designs; his large, broad and muscular with arms scared from abuse in Ticum's Arena.
Trell’s presence fills her. Gima's heart celebrates.
“It is right?” she asks.
“It is right,” he answers and takes her in his arms to press all of him to her.
She sighs and is pleased; he is complete, ready.
Gima shivers when his magic takes her completely. Their emotions combine to form an imaginary bubble around them, and they feel that … they know that they have disappeared.
Trell relinquishes. He realizes that he's totally vulnerable, but is willingly so with Gima. He fades, as himself, and becomes both of them; he senses her, sensing him.
Trell is full; he was never so glorious at Sadie's. His gift is only for Gima, only for this wonder, whom he loves. His movements are powerful and purposeful. He is inside of her, but she feels that she is inside him, as well. Gima is lost in total sensation. There are no sounds— only his heat in and around her and her's encompassing him. His blue eyes reflect the greens of the meadow. And, the valley is pleased.
Butterflies and hummingbirds, the fairies of this Upper Earth, play on small violins with cobweb strings and maidenhair fern bows while Pan hides behind a tree and pipes lovers’ tunes.
Yet, all is silent; the valley guards their union. Gima touches Trell's face, grips his arms with her small hands, and moves above, around and under him. The valley’s meadow-audience nods its flowery heads. This is as it should be. It is right.
All arms and legs, wrapped together like two giant blue swallowtails cocooned as one, Gima and Trell rest, pleased with themselves.
******
Near the clearing, Asmel stokes the fire and removes a pan of water that’s been boiling fresh echinacea root. He pours some of the hot liquid into a cup to steep with birch bark and hands it to Hunter.
“Here ya go buddy, drink up. It’ll help the pain and start working on that infection.”
“Thanks.” Hunter grimaces at the smell and blows on the brew before taking a sip. “So, can you fix me up?” He nods towards his much cleaner foot which soaks in a pan of warm water and medicinal coneflowers.
“Right as rain, buddy.”
“So, what’s that scowl then?”
“I need marigolds to crush with the echinacea for a poultice."
“So, go. I’ve got my Bowie. I’ll be fine.” Hunter reaches for the pan and pours some of the water mix into his nearly ruined boot in hopes of salvaging it.
“Easy there.” Asmel grabs the pan. “That’s your medicine for a week … not boot cleaner.”
“Well, it sure tastes like boot cleaner.” Hunter frowns and takes another sip.
“Okay, wise-ass,” Asmel laughs, slapping Hunter on the back. “I need to get moving, before it gets dark. I saw what I need about a mile back. I’ll take ole Betsy,” he jokes patting his Winchester, “and a lantern, just in case.” He throws the full water bladder over to Hunter."Here ya go ... for your boot," and slings the ligher, partially full one over his shoulder.
Hunter catches it and scowls, "Okay ... okay. Go on. Go on."
With that, Asmel salutes Hunter with a teasing grin and hikes off at a fast pace, back tracking along the east trail, toward the bees and brambles who had already said good riddance.
Hunter dries his foot and prepares a temporary wrap to bind his open wound. He’s done this many times before, unbeknownst to Asmel, and it was usually enough, but this time the infection has managed to weaken his entire body. Soothed by the medicinal tea, he lies on his back and closes his eyes.
******
After separating the playful duo, the mother Black Bear pokes through the brambles for blackberries. Suddenly, scenting something else, she burrows her tapered chocolate-brown nose in deeper and deeper and sniffs once, then twice.
In a fury, she tears out, raises her head and with ears alert, pushes her six foot height upright with protective arms outstretched. Slobber pours from her mouth, and she squalls to warn and oppose the unknown creature whose blood is on the brambles. She bellows and growls, ripping bark from the honey tree to mark her territory, for the safety of the terrified twins that stand—immobile, wide-eyed statues—behind her.
Blathen sits on the ground amidst corn husks and silk. He snarls and spits torn bits of corncob and reaches to Trell for another. Clicking his claws together, he smiles a smile of pleasurable conquest as he opens and closes his three-fingered hands and chorts, “More, Father. More.”
“So, you are learning to speak?"
“More.” Blathen kicks his heels on the ground.
“Calm down.” Trell paces a circle around his son's frustration.
“Father!” Blathen grunts. His cheeks turn red and swell, smoothing out their wrinkles.
“Blathen,” Trell touches the small one's back and says in a raspy, near whisper, “control your needs and be great. Allow them to control you and be nothing.”
“I want …”
“Is what you want necessary?”
“Yes.”
“How so?”
“It’s fun. It feels good. The corn does not complain.”
“In this fun, do you think; or do you just do?”
“Do,” he chorts and, rapidly, opens and closes his hands, “More corn. More.”
Trell rests his hand on the top of Blathen's head. “When you pierced Zee’s arm ... what was that?”
“It just happened.”
“Where does the ‘do’ come from?” Trell traces the circle again, and Blathen sits very still.
“Do’s come from inside.” Blathen thumps his chest. “They just ... happen.”
“The ‘do’ that hurt your brother … was that fun?”
Blathen hangs his head, stops puffing and protrudes his lower lip. His collector slumps and retracts. “No, Father. I couldn't help it. I just attached. I ... I tasted your fear and it ... it happened.”
“Your instincts can prompt actions that you may regret. Learn control and be better for it.”
The small one sits loathing himself. I displease my honored father. I am unworthy. No wonder he prefers the one who does nothing. Somehow, I cannot seem to do ... this nothing. He slouches, presses his forehead into his hands to cover his eye, and emits a low droning pitch as he rocks, sealed in a self-imposed shell.
Trell, refusing to let Blathen remain in this place of 'no awareness' and with a deep understanding of a son’s need for a father’s acceptance, chucks Blathen under the chin and pushes the pouty face upward to look eye to eye.
Blathen's droning becomes louder, and a single vermel eye opens—black and empty—then clears to its normal dark brown.
"Silence." Trell signs.
Blathen stiffens to quiet at his father's command. His small face turns a frightening bluish-gray, and his breathing becomes increasingly short and labored. Arms to his side, forced to face his feelings, Blathen raises his chin, and with his mouth wide, he pushes out a pitiful, tearless wail that jerks on his inhale and then gurgles outward with bile from the depth of his quaking torso. He coughs and sputters; in distress, he gasps for air.
Trell takes him from the ground, and holding him up by his feet, allows the vile pouring to spill downward. Hanging, quivering like a red bat, Blathen looks quite pitiful and helpless.
“Come, come son.” Trell takes the shaking, confused Prime One to his chest and cuddles him--curved spine, rounded hump, fuzzy little rear and, all.
Blathen's seizing diminishes as he begins to control his near mortal reaction.
“You have much to learn to become the best of us.” Trell strokes and rocks his unique, precocious progeny and whispers something he learned from Gima—“I love you.”
Blathen's eye blinks and brightens. He stores this new word away and snuggles into Trell’s muscular warmth and honest sweat. His clenched fist opens to release a small bit of crushed corncob into the tall waving grass as he enters a mellow sleep where he hears mulberry bush melodies and laughter. The smells of purple coneflowers and horsemint prevail over memories of scurrying creatures and metallic ‘red,’ and Blathen hears an honored voice whispering his most favorite new word. Love.
A smile, wet with drool, crosses the young vermel's snoring face when his collector tastes Trell's perspiration. My honored father accepts me with this word, love. Now, how does this fit in with the killing of wolves? Blathen sends this, too, to his 'wondering' place.
Trell kisses Blathen’s fuzzy top knot, and content that he has ministered well to his son, places the sleeping, small wiser-one on the ground beside Zee. Blathen reaches to suck on his large, long first toe while Zee slurps a small pale thumb. They wiggle together and soon entwine, as this most unlikely set of brothers are want to do.
******
Just like any other hungry day, a dark-brown lumbering form moves along the forest's eastern trail with her two twenty-five pound cubs. Snacking on blackberries, she eyes the hollow tree’s hive with a friendly sniff, and with a greedy pink lick, she judges the distance to the prize.
The cubs romp, batting like little warriors. One hits harder than expected to land the other in the brambles; a tender nose is scratched, and he comes out howling, teeth bared.
*****
His family asleep, Trell takes this pause in the day to run to the stream, refill the water skins, relieve himself, and bathe. As he reclines in the flowing water, he is content, and when his eyes close, his attention turns to Gima, the dark-haired joy of his life. Springing from the water, he runs gloriously naked across the field.
Trell stands, sleek and tall above her. His hair drips fresh water down his naked back to pool at the small of it and then glide over his taut muscles downward. A similar stream trails from the indent of his clavicles, down through tan, rippled hills and valleys ... and beyond.
Distracted from grazing, a mighty stag looks up with apologies for its own inadequacy.
The sun warms Gima's skin, and a light mist of perspiration forms on her upper lip and forehead. Several butterflies perch on the flow of long dark hair and dart from the purple coneflowers to the yellow buttercups that she has woven there. In her deerskin leather, she looks as much a part of the meadow floor as the earth itself.
Trell stoops to breathe her in and caresses her cheek with the palm of his cool hand. The feel of her softness rushes through him, and in anticipation, his lips open. Beautiful.
Gima stirs and exhales a throaty sound as warmed brook water drips into her slightly open mouth, waking her tongue with his flavor.
Trell brushes the dampness from Gima’s lip with his thumb and bends to kiss her eyes, ever so lightly. Wake.
Stretching, as might a fairy tale princess, she slowly opens her eyes to see him above her, and gleams a welcome.
Cautious not to wake Zee and Blathen, Gima rolls away to sit, and on her knees, look up at Trell. The sunlight behind him plays on his statuesque form, giving it a golden glow, while the breeze toys with his light hair, brushing it like an unfurled flag against his bronze shoulders.
He is near imaginary, yet real.
Trell’s eyes read her dreams and speak to her heart. “Come.” Trell reaches out his hand.
Gima’s hand takes his. Such a contrast the two of them: hers small, tapered, adorned with berry-stain designs; his large, broad and muscular with arms scared from abuse in Ticum's Arena.
Trell’s presence fills her. Gima's heart celebrates.
“It is right?” she asks.
“It is right,” he answers and takes her in his arms to press all of him to her.
She sighs and is pleased; he is complete, ready.
Gima shivers when his magic takes her completely. Their emotions combine to form an imaginary bubble around them, and they feel that … they know that they have disappeared.
Trell relinquishes. He realizes that he's totally vulnerable, but is willingly so with Gima. He fades, as himself, and becomes both of them; he senses her, sensing him.
Trell is full; he was never so glorious at Sadie's. His gift is only for Gima, only for this wonder, whom he loves. His movements are powerful and purposeful. He is inside of her, but she feels that she is inside him, as well. Gima is lost in total sensation. There are no sounds— only his heat in and around her and her's encompassing him. His blue eyes reflect the greens of the meadow. And, the valley is pleased.
Butterflies and hummingbirds, the fairies of this Upper Earth, play on small violins with cobweb strings and maidenhair fern bows while Pan hides behind a tree and pipes lovers’ tunes.
Yet, all is silent; the valley guards their union. Gima touches Trell's face, grips his arms with her small hands, and moves above, around and under him. The valley’s meadow-audience nods its flowery heads. This is as it should be. It is right.
All arms and legs, wrapped together like two giant blue swallowtails cocooned as one, Gima and Trell rest, pleased with themselves.
******
Near the clearing, Asmel stokes the fire and removes a pan of water that’s been boiling fresh echinacea root. He pours some of the hot liquid into a cup to steep with birch bark and hands it to Hunter.
“Here ya go buddy, drink up. It’ll help the pain and start working on that infection.”
“Thanks.” Hunter grimaces at the smell and blows on the brew before taking a sip. “So, can you fix me up?” He nods towards his much cleaner foot which soaks in a pan of warm water and medicinal coneflowers.
“Right as rain, buddy.”
“So, what’s that scowl then?”
“I need marigolds to crush with the echinacea for a poultice."
“So, go. I’ve got my Bowie. I’ll be fine.” Hunter reaches for the pan and pours some of the water mix into his nearly ruined boot in hopes of salvaging it.
“Easy there.” Asmel grabs the pan. “That’s your medicine for a week … not boot cleaner.”
“Well, it sure tastes like boot cleaner.” Hunter frowns and takes another sip.
“Okay, wise-ass,” Asmel laughs, slapping Hunter on the back. “I need to get moving, before it gets dark. I saw what I need about a mile back. I’ll take ole Betsy,” he jokes patting his Winchester, “and a lantern, just in case.” He throws the full water bladder over to Hunter."Here ya go ... for your boot," and slings the ligher, partially full one over his shoulder.
Hunter catches it and scowls, "Okay ... okay. Go on. Go on."
With that, Asmel salutes Hunter with a teasing grin and hikes off at a fast pace, back tracking along the east trail, toward the bees and brambles who had already said good riddance.
Hunter dries his foot and prepares a temporary wrap to bind his open wound. He’s done this many times before, unbeknownst to Asmel, and it was usually enough, but this time the infection has managed to weaken his entire body. Soothed by the medicinal tea, he lies on his back and closes his eyes.
******
After separating the playful duo, the mother Black Bear pokes through the brambles for blackberries. Suddenly, scenting something else, she burrows her tapered chocolate-brown nose in deeper and deeper and sniffs once, then twice.
In a fury, she tears out, raises her head and with ears alert, pushes her six foot height upright with protective arms outstretched. Slobber pours from her mouth, and she squalls to warn and oppose the unknown creature whose blood is on the brambles. She bellows and growls, ripping bark from the honey tree to mark her territory, for the safety of the terrified twins that stand—immobile, wide-eyed statues—behind her.
 Recognized |
I would like to thank Martyleo for his 'Flutter Butterfly.'
echinacea - an herbal remedy prepared from the pulverized leaves and stems of purple coneflowers, thought to bolster the immune system.
UNDER EARTH SPECIES:
Vertant-the off-spring of two Vermel; looks human.
Vermel-mutated humans who live in Under Earth; communicate via sign language and various sounds; noted by their single, particulate-collector naris; one eye; dark or red, coarse body hair; flat or twisted feet with three to six long toes; three fingered hands with long curving claw-like nails; pointed teeth in irregular, double rows; intelligent, but with strong base instincts.
Particulate collector - a Vermel adaptation to living in a polluted underground; mutation ; porous tubular filaments; can extend from the naris in a searching fashion; they both taste and smell; alert to emotions of other species; Vertants may or may not have remnant nodes in nasal pharynx tissue(back of throat).
dissident-rebel, nonconformist, protester;
somebody who publicly disagrees with an established political or religious system or organization.
DRINKS & SMOKING
Elixirs:
Euphoric-Blue - arouses passion without arousing anger or fear
Green - calms aggression and base tendencies to mutilate, kill, cannibalize
Caramel-clarity(female enhancement)
Ruby-rigidity (male enhancement)
Fitzel- a carbonated alcoholic beverage; a light intoxication; makes one funny, silly, uninhibited, kind
Smoking- usually a mix of madine and sedderthal Hallucinogenic fungi grown in Bellow City
Fazil- a smoking or chewing compound that stains the teeth
Arnag-a fungus grown as food; a favorite rubber-chew flavor
LOCATIONS:
Under Earth- a civilization that exists totally under ground; Vermel territory.
Bellow City- located in Under Earth.
Jacknel's Arena- where Hunter and Trell were trained and exploited as 'Man' and 'Man #2'.
Club ErrOw- a dance club downstairs; Chambers for coupling are upstairs.
Sadie's Palace - a night spot where Vertant males are displayed for Vermel viewing and pleasure; masterbation columns are very popular in the Mural Room as is the free elixir bar.
Alitian - Sir Alitus was the atrium's designer
CHARACTERS:
Gima-a Vertant; rescued and raised by Hunter and Asmel
Trell- a Vertant; raised by Vermel, escaped to Upper Earth; has not yet learned to speak but has learned to understand it from Gima, his mate.
Blathen- Gima and Trell's Vermel son; single, particulate-collector naris, one eye; on the hierarchy of Vermel his appearance labels him a Prime-One.
Zee-Gima's second son who looks human
Hunter- Nigel once a business man in the city; was captured and tortured by Ticum to become 'Man' in Jacknel's Arena in Bellow City; 'Papa' to Gima; suffers from PTSD.
Asmal- a survivalist; built a cabin in the mountains; rescued Hunter; raised Gima with Hunter; 'Papa-Azzy' to Gima
Ticum-Vermel;Jacknel's Circus trainer; beat and tortured Hunter; deceased
Trum- Vermel; Ticum's brother; Trell's trainer at Jacknel's Arena
Sadie- runs a display and pleasure house featuring male Vertants.
Milim - Sadie's assistant a Vermel
Picar-Vertant at Sadie's
Jami-Picar's Vertant lover; Sadie's favorite.
Mr. Arnst- Trell's abusive uncle; now a caznu(neutered)and no longer abusive
Rom- Arnst's younger companion, lover
Disposal Officer- Designated by numbers e.g. DO-45, DO-50; executioners; but they sell their prisoners, usually Vertants, on the black-market to various shady characters like Jacknel and Sadie for use in sport, entertainment, pleasure and artificial insemination collection and sales.
Trolious- Head of Ministerial Affairs; Trell's father; Sadie's first cousin
Lida - Trolious' wife; Trell's mother
Betta - Lida's sister in Cindel City; raised Trell
Larue- Assistant of Ministerial Affairs; canzu(involuntarilly castrated by Dyrel) Vermel
Brackus- Larue's Vertant charge and lover
Lem- the youngest Vertant to escape with Larue's help
Rolak- Chief Enforcement Officer
Vermel speech/sounds:
twortle-a sound pattern distinctive to the Vermel; a combination of glottal stops, tongue click-clucks and snorts; an assertive pattern.
chort- throaty sounds varying in tonal inflection and duration; normal speech; he chorts=he says.
toning- saying; using a series of sounds other than speech
thrumping songs-songs Trell learned growing up in Bellow City, Under Earth; melodic, throaty, glottal.
Vocabulary:
particulate collector - a Vermel adaptation, mutation; porous tubular filaments; can extend from the naris in a searching fashion; they both taste and smell; alert to emotions of other species; Vertants may or may not have remnants; nodes in nasal pharynx tissue may be all that remain in Vertant.
Arnag-a fungus grown as food; a favorite rubber-chew flavor
Caznu-neutered male Vermel; usually gay and neutered by choice for the good of the gene pool by decree of Trolious ; castration is a common punishment regardless of sexual orientation.
And-End - Amen
Pernard- a Vermel curse
Dangle- a Vermel penis; they have two dangles.
Mintrinet - minute
alum- short for aluminium; usually recycled cans; a valued metal.
mold-blossom - a fungi; small, dark brown and caramel colored flowerettes cluster to form a large crysantehmum-type flower; its heavy, sweet decaying scent is used in perfumed oil.
Events:
Warrior Games - Under Earth competitions to the death; all are eligible, male, female, Vertant or Vermel; The odds are stacked in favor of the Vermel.
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. echinacea - an herbal remedy prepared from the pulverized leaves and stems of purple coneflowers, thought to bolster the immune system.
UNDER EARTH SPECIES:
Vertant-the off-spring of two Vermel; looks human.
Vermel-mutated humans who live in Under Earth; communicate via sign language and various sounds; noted by their single, particulate-collector naris; one eye; dark or red, coarse body hair; flat or twisted feet with three to six long toes; three fingered hands with long curving claw-like nails; pointed teeth in irregular, double rows; intelligent, but with strong base instincts.
Particulate collector - a Vermel adaptation to living in a polluted underground; mutation ; porous tubular filaments; can extend from the naris in a searching fashion; they both taste and smell; alert to emotions of other species; Vertants may or may not have remnant nodes in nasal pharynx tissue(back of throat).
dissident-rebel, nonconformist, protester;
somebody who publicly disagrees with an established political or religious system or organization.
DRINKS & SMOKING
Elixirs:
Euphoric-Blue - arouses passion without arousing anger or fear
Green - calms aggression and base tendencies to mutilate, kill, cannibalize
Caramel-clarity(female enhancement)
Ruby-rigidity (male enhancement)
Fitzel- a carbonated alcoholic beverage; a light intoxication; makes one funny, silly, uninhibited, kind
Smoking- usually a mix of madine and sedderthal Hallucinogenic fungi grown in Bellow City
Fazil- a smoking or chewing compound that stains the teeth
Arnag-a fungus grown as food; a favorite rubber-chew flavor
LOCATIONS:
Under Earth- a civilization that exists totally under ground; Vermel territory.
Bellow City- located in Under Earth.
Jacknel's Arena- where Hunter and Trell were trained and exploited as 'Man' and 'Man #2'.
Club ErrOw- a dance club downstairs; Chambers for coupling are upstairs.
Sadie's Palace - a night spot where Vertant males are displayed for Vermel viewing and pleasure; masterbation columns are very popular in the Mural Room as is the free elixir bar.
Alitian - Sir Alitus was the atrium's designer
CHARACTERS:
Gima-a Vertant; rescued and raised by Hunter and Asmel
Trell- a Vertant; raised by Vermel, escaped to Upper Earth; has not yet learned to speak but has learned to understand it from Gima, his mate.
Blathen- Gima and Trell's Vermel son; single, particulate-collector naris, one eye; on the hierarchy of Vermel his appearance labels him a Prime-One.
Zee-Gima's second son who looks human
Hunter- Nigel once a business man in the city; was captured and tortured by Ticum to become 'Man' in Jacknel's Arena in Bellow City; 'Papa' to Gima; suffers from PTSD.
Asmal- a survivalist; built a cabin in the mountains; rescued Hunter; raised Gima with Hunter; 'Papa-Azzy' to Gima
Ticum-Vermel;Jacknel's Circus trainer; beat and tortured Hunter; deceased
Trum- Vermel; Ticum's brother; Trell's trainer at Jacknel's Arena
Sadie- runs a display and pleasure house featuring male Vertants.
Milim - Sadie's assistant a Vermel
Picar-Vertant at Sadie's
Jami-Picar's Vertant lover; Sadie's favorite.
Mr. Arnst- Trell's abusive uncle; now a caznu(neutered)and no longer abusive
Rom- Arnst's younger companion, lover
Disposal Officer- Designated by numbers e.g. DO-45, DO-50; executioners; but they sell their prisoners, usually Vertants, on the black-market to various shady characters like Jacknel and Sadie for use in sport, entertainment, pleasure and artificial insemination collection and sales.
Trolious- Head of Ministerial Affairs; Trell's father; Sadie's first cousin
Lida - Trolious' wife; Trell's mother
Betta - Lida's sister in Cindel City; raised Trell
Larue- Assistant of Ministerial Affairs; canzu(involuntarilly castrated by Dyrel) Vermel
Brackus- Larue's Vertant charge and lover
Lem- the youngest Vertant to escape with Larue's help
Rolak- Chief Enforcement Officer
Vermel speech/sounds:
twortle-a sound pattern distinctive to the Vermel; a combination of glottal stops, tongue click-clucks and snorts; an assertive pattern.
chort- throaty sounds varying in tonal inflection and duration; normal speech; he chorts=he says.
toning- saying; using a series of sounds other than speech
thrumping songs-songs Trell learned growing up in Bellow City, Under Earth; melodic, throaty, glottal.
Vocabulary:
particulate collector - a Vermel adaptation, mutation; porous tubular filaments; can extend from the naris in a searching fashion; they both taste and smell; alert to emotions of other species; Vertants may or may not have remnants; nodes in nasal pharynx tissue may be all that remain in Vertant.
Arnag-a fungus grown as food; a favorite rubber-chew flavor
Caznu-neutered male Vermel; usually gay and neutered by choice for the good of the gene pool by decree of Trolious ; castration is a common punishment regardless of sexual orientation.
And-End - Amen
Pernard- a Vermel curse
Dangle- a Vermel penis; they have two dangles.
Mintrinet - minute
alum- short for aluminium; usually recycled cans; a valued metal.
mold-blossom - a fungi; small, dark brown and caramel colored flowerettes cluster to form a large crysantehmum-type flower; its heavy, sweet decaying scent is used in perfumed oil.
Events:
Warrior Games - Under Earth competitions to the death; all are eligible, male, female, Vertant or Vermel; The odds are stacked in favor of the Vermel.
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