With renewed focus and clarity, Sol adjusted the heavy sack on his shoulder. He felt filled with immense confidence... a stark contrast to the terrified boy who had sprinted away from a neon snake just a few days ago, as he had finally found the method to use this strange power.
He walked out of the massive jungle, stepping from the oppressive twilight gloom of the canopy back into the blinding light of the plains.
He breathed a sigh of relief. "Damn, this jungle really is a nightmare."
The transition was jarring. Behind him lay the suffocating, bioluminescent dark of the Titan Trees. Ahead, the sun shone brightly over the golden "Whisper-Grass," baking the earth.
On the way back to the perimeter, he had seen more weird stuff... massive beetles that clicked like stones, vines that seemed to track his heat signature... but he didn’t slow down to investigate. He hurried out, his heightened senses acting like a radar, allowing him to sidestep potential threats before they even knew he was there.
Back in the massive grassland, he looked up at the sun blazing overhead, squinting against the glare, and silently thanked whatever stars were out there that he could finally see the sky again, because in jungle sun was a distant memory.
He continued his way back, sticking to the edge of the Hunter’s Trail but keeping low in the tall Whisper-Grass, his heightened senses alerting him to the rustle of a small predator in the grass or the shadow of a Sky-Ray overhead. He avoided them all with a preternatural grace, moving like a ghost through the savannah.
At one point, he saw a few tribesmen in the distance... a foraging party returning with heavy loads. Sol hurriedly avoided them, ducking down into a gully and waiting for them to pass. He couldn’t explain why he was coming from the deep wild, or why his basket smelled of chili and raw snake meat.
He circled around to the edge of the settlement, locating the hidden rot-hole in the palisade wall. He checked left, checked right, and slipped in unnoticed.
And made his way back to the hut, keeping to the shadows of the drying racks and the narrow alleys. Thankfully, at this hour, most people were either still foraging, hunting, or gathering at the square for the midday trade. Their hut, being on the edge of the poverty line, provided a quiet cover.
Sol pushed the door open and stepped into the cool, dim interior.
"Home sweet home," he muttered and let out a long breath. After returning from that eerie jungle, even the thatched hut, felt better than a five star hotel.
He lowered the heavy basket to the floor. He worked quickly, his movements precise.
First, the snake. He pulled the coiled, headless carcass from the bottom of the basket. It was heavy, cool, and dense with muscle.
"How to explain you?" Sol mused.
He couldn’t say he hunted it....
"I’ll just say I found it dead by the river," Sol rehearsed, wiping his hands. "A hawk dropped it, or it washed up. Scavenger’s luck."
It was a flimsy lie, but with the abundance of meat, no one would question a free meal too closely.
He wrapped the meat in fresh leaves and buried it deep in the coolest corner of the hut, under a pile of tubers.
Next, the venom. He took the small clay vial from his belt. This was his ace in the hole. He wrapped it tightly in a scrap of leather and wedged it into a hollow space in the thatched roof, hidden behind a support beam. He didn’t know how to explain its origin yet, and he couldn’t risk Lyra finding poison.
"Sleep tight," he whispered. "I’ll need you later"
He mixed most of the stuff into the existing pile of ’trash’ herbs Lyra and girls had gathered, and the massive materials they had previously hidden in plain sight. As for some more exotic stuff he hidden it elsewhere.
Finally, the chilies, he’ll just use the same excuse as last time and say that I found the edge of the tribe or something.
He stood up, wiping his hands on a rag. He felt lighter. Stronger. He had a weapon (albeit a hidden one), found a way to use the power, and a method to get stronger.
He splashed some water on his face, washing away the jungle grime from his face and arms, quickly changing back into his "resting" demeanor... a bit more slumped, a bit less predatory.
"Time to check the stall," he said, turning toward the door. "Veyra is probably threatening customers by now."
Just as he opened the door and got out, his eyes caught something or more accurately someone.
Standing there, framed by the afternoon light, was Evara, the hot lazy neighbor widow. Looking at her now, she was probably in her thirties, with wide, birthing hips, heavy breasts that strained against her rough leather wrap, and eyes that always looked sleepy and inviting.
In a land of hard bark, lean muscle, and scar tissue, Evara was a ripe, bursting fruit.
She looked disheveled in the way only a woman who had spent hours in the sun could be... her hair frizzy with humidity, a sheen of perspiration coating her chest, her basket hanging loosely from one arm, carrying a few roots. She looked tired, but when she saw Sol, her face lit up with a languid, heavy smile.
She groaned, stretching her back, the movement thrusting her chest forward.
"Aagh! My back is killing me," Evara complained, looking at Sol with a sultry, half-lidded gaze. "Walking all day for these few roots... it’s torture. . My back... it feels like I’ve been carrying a boulder since sunrise."
She stepped closer, invading his personal space. Her scent hit him... a thick, heady wave of mature female musk, sweat, and crushed herbs. It was earthy and potent, triggering a biological alarm in Sol’s hindbrain.
"Remember that massage you gave me last time? My shoulder didn’t hurt for the whole night afterwards. Seems like ancestors have really blessed you."
Say, Sol..." she purred, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Do you... have some time for a poor neighbor? I’m stiff all over."
Sol’s pulse quickened. He remembered his hypothesis from the walk back—The Path of the Body. Intimacy strengthened him. He needed to test it.
"For you?" Sol smiled, stepping closer. "Of course, Evara," Sol agreed smoothly, a slow, knowing smile playing on his lips. "I’d be happy to help."
Evara beamed, taking his arm. "You’re such a sweet boy, Sol. Come."
"Always. Come in? Or your place? "He asked.
"Mine," she said, turning. "But let me wash first. I smell like the swamp."
"No," Sol said, reaching out to catch her wrist.
She stopped, looking back at him, confused.
"Don’t wash," Sol murmured, his voice dropping to a low, appreciative hum. He stepped into her personal space, inhaling the scent rising from her skin... ripe, earthy, and undeniably female musk. "The natural oils... they help the hands glide. It’s better for the massage. And besides..."
He leaned in, his nose grazing her neck.
"I like the way you smell. And for what I need to do... it’s perfect."
Evara bit her lip, looking at him with a mix of confusion and sudden, sharp arousal. The "invalid" boy suddenly felt very large. "You really know how to please a woman, don’t you, little Sol?"
"I try," he smirked.
They walked the short distance to her hut. It was messy inside, furs scattered, smelling of musk and dried herbs.
She didn’t waste time with false modesty. She dropped her basket and untied the knot of her upper wrap. The fabric fell away, pooling at her waist.
Sol stared hard. He couldn’t help it.
Her back was a landscape of soft, pale skin, untouched by the scars of the hunt. Her skin glistens where the leather wrap once covered her, the swell of her ass barely contained by the remaining fabric. But it was the side view that caught his throat. Her breasts were heavy, teardrop-shaped, and swung freely as she moved. The large, dark nipples were already hardening in the cool air, puckering like red rip berries.
She noticed his gaze in the dim light and smiled over her shoulder, a hint of vanity in her eyes. "Why are you staring so much? Never seen a woman’s back?"
Sol gulped, his eyes tracing the line of her throat down to her chest, mumbling whatever came to his mouth "Isn’t it said... that we shouldn’t show our sacred parts to others? The Elders say—"
"Pah," Evara scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. "Useless traditions. Why should I care? It’s not like I’m not already shunned by the whole tribe for being ’widow.’ If I want to be comfortable in my own home, I will be. Let them talk. I’m tired."
Sol nodded, his mouth dry. "Fair point."
"Now," she said, moving to the pile of furs. "Go on then," she sighs, rolling her shoulders with a groan that vibrates through her chest, "these old bones won’t rub themselves."
She lay down on her stomach, her bare back a smooth expanse of copper skin waiting for his touch.
Sol stepped forward. He felt the heat radiating from her. He picked up a small jar of animal fat... oil for the lamp, but it would serve. He poured a little into his palms, warming it by rubbing them together.
"I’m starting," he whispered.
He placed his hands on her shoulders. He started slow, rhythmic circles, but gradually increased the intensity, pressing his thumbs deep into the trapezius muscles.
His fingers trace the sweat-glistened valleys of Evara’s back... a landscape of taut muscle and soft fat that yields deliciously under his palms.
She groaned when his thumbs dig into the knot between her shoulder blades, her spine arching like a bowstring as smooth skin slides under his touch. "Mmm... oh, ancestors... right there." Evara moaned, her face buried in the fur. It was a sound of pain mixed with deep, relieving pleasure.