Spiriting of the Flower Court IV (Part 2)

Spiriting of the Flower Court
IV - Witch meets a band of drunkards (part 2)

Witch hadn't realized it until she was finished setting her tent up, but hers was the only tent in the entire camp. There was a multitude of people roaming around, lying around and otherwise treating the bare earth as they would their own home; but nowhere did there seem to have been made any actual living arrangements at all. “Not strange that her companions are in bad shape, if they cannot get a decent rest for the night,” she said to nobody in particular, and a hum of agreement went through the tent. As usual when she was rummaging around inside her longtime home, the spirits were more active than normal; the River King was poking around the tentpoles, and the King of Words hovered around a small inscription in the fabric. When she first had found the tent, perhaps a few months after the- after she met the Winter King, it had been caked in the long-dried blood of its previous occupants, whose largely dismantled skeletons she'd spotted nearby. She had managed to clean most of the gore out over the years, but a few reminders of its past lingered – and Words favored those things strongly.

After putting her possessions in a suitable arrangement, she undid the clasp on her cloak and exited the tent. She held the flap open to throw the cloak and her gloves in – even her normal outfit was quite a bit too heavy for this warm weather. Illaria was waiting outside – her face was hard to read, but she thought there was impatience in those slit-shaped eyes – and she seemed quite delighted at her return. “Wonderful! I think you'll want to shed a few more layers before the night is gone, though – this is quite a...warm season, indeed. Now, to the feast!” She stretched her hand towards Witch, who by now had remembered the practice called 'hand-holding' from her childhood. She took the other woman's hand in her own, rather than try and replicate her earlier strange embrace; just as well too, considering how hard it would have been to walk a decent pace in that sort of state.

She followed Illaria's footsteps – hoofsteps actually, now that she thought about it. She would certainly like getting a closer look at those; the spirits had taught her of some of the more material fey, and she had ran into a small number of them over the years, but none of her encounters had been this close, or this long. She was led toward the center of the camp, where a fairly large crowd were waiting for them. Well, 'waiting' was a strong word to use, but they did at the very least react when Illaria shouted at them as the pair approached. “Rise and shine, my little lamblets! Our dear visitor has offered to help us with our road-worn feet, our aching legs, our wounded hearts! And I don't mean all figurative-like, lady Witch here is a gifted healer. Starting with you, girl! That thing is gonna get real infected if you don't get someone to look at it. Come on, get over here!” The woman's skirts flowed around her cloven feet as she stepped into the crowd and grabbed hold of a gray-skinned fellow, whose shirt had probably been in bad shape even before he was gored by whatever beast had gone at him. The wound was ugly; not quite festering yet, but without bandages and in this temperature that was only a matter of time, and chest infections that big could get deadly with surprising speed. The man's pained grimace bared a few tusk-shaped teeth that hinted at orcish blood, but that was as far as Witch cared to let her mind wander; with a swift movement she followed Illaria into the crowd, meeting her and the wounded man halfway.

“Be still,” she commanded as she kneeled down in front of him, laying her hand right on the wound. It had taken her time to stop having to use herbs and cloth when healing people, despite the full knowledge that her powers made those mundane tools largely superficial; she still found it hard to concentrate properly when not touching her patients' wounds directly. First she barked a short incantation to conjure a stream of water to clean the wound with; the man gasped in pain, but aside from that managed not to move about too much. “Good boy,” she murmured as she took her other hand and traced the River King's symbol on the man's skin, drawing a short-lived rune in diluted blood before the water washed it away again. Then she REACHED inside of herself, grasping hold of that strange well of pulsing vitality that she had perhaps had there for her entire life, and forced its power into the man. “Death shall not claim you today,” she said twice quietly – once in the common tongue, and once in the spirits' language – before raising her head and nodding to Illaria. “It is done. Your fate was favorable that our paths crossed today, or this man would not have lasted many more days.”
It took a few seconds before the realization hit the onlookers, but then a loud cheer erupted through the crowd, and countless hands jostled Witch's sides. She tried to cover her ears, but Illaria was hanging her arms around her and not letting go. “That was amazing, dear! Oh, let me fetch you some wine right away – we must not be so rude but to ask your help without repaying you, oh no!” The woman pulled a waterskin from somewhere inside her clothes, and pushed it in Witch's face. Doubtful but fairly certain there was no other way out of it, she accepted the offering, and brought the mouthpiece to bear. The drink was sharp but sweet, and without thinking she took a few more gulps than she had intended – only stopping when she felt her throat burn and the world spin under her feet. “Attagirl!” Illaria exclaimed, running her hands over Witch's chest while she was drinking – she didn't realize what the woman was doing until her waistcoat was fully unbuttoned, her belt unbuckled and hanging from her waist like a dead snake. “I'll toss these back in the tent for you, love – you finish that up before I'm back, hear!” Before she could protest she was left wearing only her shirt and pants, and starting to feel a little exposed and alone as Illaria vanished into the crowd. She steeled herself, trying to remember her resolve to learn how to deal with masses of people larger than a farmer's family, and raised the waterskin again. This time, the wine was just sweet, and she did not stop drinking until it was emptied.

-/-/-/

Illaria felt amazing. Exhilarated. Not just mentally, but physically as well; she had seated herself in the lap of their visitor after her second trip back to the tent to dump the clothes she'd relieved her of, and at some point Witch must have used her healing powers on her. She'd thought she was all fine to keep going, that she had avoided the sores and scrapes her sheep had collected; now she felt like she hadn't marched for a day, nay, like she'd slept a full week on the softest pillows. And on that note, she'd managed to get Witch down to just her undershirt; it turned out she'd had a quite satisfactory pair of motherly mounds hiding beneath all that clothing all along. Not as big as her own, or anywhere near the bustier sheep in her flock – like the tiefling that was currently trying to lick the fur off Illaria's hooves – but still quite enough to work with. Most of all, however, the woman seemed not to mind at all however hard Illaria prodded at with the proverbial charm-stick; if she could find a time to bring the subject up, she definitely intended to ask the woman to stay with them for the journey. And if they could share her tent for the night; that one was more pressing. She had spent a good hour or two undressing Witch, and devils damn her if she wouldn't see that project to the end.

The wine was starting to hit Illaria pretty hard as well by now, but she just about managed to catch her balance when her impromptu chair decided to stand up. For this she promptly got a hand in her face; Witch clearly was not as well acquainted with intoxication, or the loss of balance it brought. She stumbled for a second or two, before her hands found Illaria's horns and hung on for dear life. Then her voice called out into the din of the dark feast, and somehow managed to hush it to a passable silence in only moments. “Eu, lo! Hear me, fynds, men, women!” Illaria wasn't sure what language she was mixing into her words, but she thought it sounded pretty funny. Funnier still though was that most of her flock seemed to actually be paying attention – a rarity, especially on a night as festive as this one.

“I walk this road eie westwise with winter aside me. My aid I lend to farmers, hunters, all living men of the far roads. Come spring! Come lou aen, word of Lain- Ain- Ray- Princess! Of Lote, who is tel asearch of herr- heroes for her court, for her folk. Heroes to inspire! Heroes to aid! Heroes to guide! Heroes to do to all living of this kingdom what I do, all! So I say myself and winter this – we answer this call! I am to the court headed, to present the princess with my and myself to offer. Thalu anshan, a gate to bar death! Give she me her blessing and word, I shall give my blessing and truth to all ao wain in laith o Lote! As I give you now, awaits all. A tou, toe, toast! To life, and heroes above death!”

Illaria wasn't sure when Witch had found more drink but found it she had – and evidently quite a bit of it given the amount that spilled onto Illaria's head and clothes as the crowd cheered and drank with her. Illaria cheered as well, but when the worst din had died down she shook her head and stood up, making sure to grab Witch by the hand to make sure she didn't fall over from losing her support. Said hand was still holding Illaria by the horns, however, and she even had to untangle it from a particularly mischievous lock of hair before she got it loose. “Okay, love, I think you'll need to get into the sheets right quick. Else you'll be losing all that wine you've been downing all evening, and that'd just be such a waste of good drink, wouldn't it? Come along, I'll get you there.” The woman made a heavy nod, and followed her lead as she started walking across the dark campsite. Many of the torches had burned out, and the witching hour was soon at hand – even at this time of year, the deepest night was quite dark indeed.

“So,” she began as they neared the tent, “You must admit it quite a waste for me to have spent so much time filching your clothes away, for this to end here tonight, no?” Illaria realized after the words were out of her mouth that it was probably not an entirely wise thing to say, but she was too drunk to hold herself back. “I would welcome myself in your tent, if you let me, so we can continue the feast all the night if we wish.” Witch didn't answer for a few seconds, but finally gave noncommittal grunt. “S' big for two, the tent. Might rain.” Illaria's blood pumped; closing a long hunt was much more satisfying than a reeling in of the casual hook, line and sinker. They reached the tent, and she let Witch enter first, before following her inside.

The tent was low height but neatly organized, except for the carelessly deposited clothes lying about – those were her own doing, so little wonder there. Witch was fumbling with a bedroll, but Illaria was impatient tonight; she deftly undid the knot on the bedding, and unrolled it beneath the two of them. “Now,” she said in her most sultry voice, “why don't we get down to the business, dear?” She snaked her arm around Witch's midriff, toying with the buttoning on her undershirt. To her surprise, though, Witch quite deftly pulled the thing over her head, revealing her perky breasts underneath; and then just as quickly started undoing her pants as well. “Only hat stays on asleep. Always get too warm otherwise,” she mumbled, as she struggled with one of the buttons keeping Illaria from her prize. The sight made Illaria remember something she'd thought of much earlier that evening, and she leaned forward to grab hold of Witch's hands – and pants – in one go. “Say, little lamblet...I can't help myself but wonder at your most marvelous, fascinating hair. Lush and rich, and the colors, both vivid and gorgeous as all. But it makes me wonder, lamblet, is it the same for the hair under these? Oh, you must tell me, love.” She clambered forward so she was lying down, looking Witch in the eye and resting her head right on her lap.

Her partner's response was something she had not at all expected; she laughed. She was fairly certain the woman hadn't so much as cracked a smile all night before that, and now she was positively giggling. “Oh, I will tell you. This hat has part of Winter's power. Needed a price to trade it for, he suggested my lower hair be colored like same as the above, as joke. I had better joke, and he laugh so hard he accept my price.”  She managed to undo the button, and down came her underwear along with the pants, leaving Illaria face to face with the bounty of tonight's hunt.

It was a somewhat trimmed bush, neatly split in color between the same dark purple and platinum blonde as Witch's head was. Except, of course, that it was mirrored. Illaria frowned. “I don't get it,” she mumbled, and Witch laughed again, curling up into a bouncing little ball beside her and robbing her of her prize. “Oh, come on, dear,” Illaria purred and wrapped herself around the woman's naked body, trying not to poke her with her horns as she nuzzled her. It took a few seconds until the laughter died down, and Witch relaxed enough for Illaria to unwrap her little present ball again and splay her out on the tent floor.

It wasn't until she realized the woman was hardly reacting at all to her movements that Illaria realized something was off, and took a moment to look at her face. Her eyes were only mostly closed and she had a goofy smile on her face, but to her despair Witch was definitely asleep. “Oh, come on!” she exclaimed, but even shouting loudly did not seem to do the least to wake her up. Illaria grumbled, curved up around her like a particularly possessive cat, and kept grumbling for a solid half hour before she managed to drift off into sleep herself. “I'm going to get you tomorrow, I swear, little lamblet...”

-/-/-/

Morning came and Witch was somewhat surprised to notice another physical presence in the tent with her, besides the spirits; they had evidently been busy prodding and poking at their guest for most of the morning. She could see why; with Illaria's clothes all shoved into a corner, every last detail of her curiously assembled body was handily available to analyze, as well as a long, sinuous tail that she'd managed to keep hidden during the previous night. Still, it'd be rude to subject her to that sort of examination while she was still asleep; joining the spirits in their prodding, she jostled Illaria awake as gently as she could. Which of course meant grabbing her by the chest and slamming a sizeable dose of vital energy into her body, purging every last remaining bit of toxin in a matter of seconds.

Illaria immediately swung awake and sat up with a shout, looking around her in wide-eyed surprise. “Oh,” she simply said as she noticed Witch, and just as promptly laid her head back down again. “I thought you were doing something quite different there for a moment. That was a...strange awakening, dear.” Witch shrugged, and eyed the tent flap – light was filtering in, bright and shining, and birds were singing outside. “Poison's no good for getting one awake in the morning. Either way, I'm not sure how early you plan on breaking camp. I thought I should ask before I do anything else.”

Illaria blinked a few times, before breaking out that smile again – though it seemed a little off kilter now compared to yesterday. “Oh, you don't need to worry about that anytime soon. Besides, I realized after your little speech yesterday! We're both headed the same way, all the way, to the Flower Court and all. I also happen to be intending to present myself to the princess as we arrive at the capital. Would you care to join us on the way there?”

Witch frowned, and looked to her sides for advice – but unusually enough, no spirit spoke up. “Well,” she began, intending to decline as politely as she could, but then she caught eye of Illaria's hooves again, twitching sleepily on the bedding. It wasn't such a bad offer, and last night had been somewhat entertaining. It would give her time to practice. There were arguments for it. “I suppose that wouldn't be a terrible idea, then.” She tugged at her hat to make sure it wouldn't fall off, before starting to gather up her traveling clothes from various spots around the tent. “I need to prepare some things, I think,” she said absentmindedly, and wandered out of the tent to get dressed. She wasn't sure why. Quite obviously, neither was Illaria, who was left naked and alone in her tent, with a look of mixed confusion, gratitude and frustration on her face. “People are weird,” Witch mused to herself, as she wandered off toward the brush to relieve herself and freshen up. Tent or not, camping in the summer never failed to get one terribly, terribly sweaty.