Most of us long to "Be" but when the path gets too costly, or steep, we take solace in what we "Have." Remove the trappings of what we own, and then what is the sum of us?
They were the survivors, abandoned by the allies who swore to protect, in...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Bennett's wild clan had been reborn, thus began a new age of blood and terror waged from horseback. Growing increasingly bolder and stronger the warriors ransacked habitation after habitation with ruthless abandon. It was not long until every man had a mount of his own, and the raiding party reached its full, rabid potential. For miles about the hidden valley the sands ran red with shed blood, and settlements burned. Each successful conquest brought more wealth to the camp, supplies were replenished, more weapons added to the growing cache, and most importantly the men now had shared purpose.
Spring as always was brief, but there were some unseasonable rains keeping the grasses alive until late into the season. This was a great boon as the increasing number of horses were having a serious affect on the very marginal grazing in the valley.
Sven watched his younger brother cross the clearing to the cave, as he sat with Raissa who was tenderly brushing his long hair, his son sleeping contentedly by his feet wrapped in rabbit furs with not a care in this world. He had watched Aran evolve from a frightened youth at the war's onset to what he was now, a confident, cruel barbarian, powerful and deadly, and he wondered if this was how it had to be, or could it have been otherwise?
Had he somehow failed? Sven sighed, he was not proud of this fact, Raissa paused, her rhythmic brushing then resumed, the sun and her ministrations felt good. That was all Sven had now were simple pleasures, at thirty-six he felt like an old man, but unlike most he had what no one had, a real family. That kept him going and filled him with pride. He took in his little son, golden haired and gray eyed just as he was, promising to teach him well, and defend him at all costs. He would work hard to make sure he was more than a mere barbarian, he would do a lot better than he had with his own little brother.
On those languid spring days that Aran was in the camp in between his murderous excursions Maya gave him much satisfaction. The tiny girl who barely came up to his great chest his constant companion, he found himself more often than not wallowing in desire. The young girl had quite taken to openly flirting with him, shamelessly so. Aran used Maya when and where ever it took his whim, multiple times daily.
He had pushed his pact with his brother to one side, and coupled with Raissa only on occasion, still with no result. Maya had now become the epicenter of his lust, and he engaged in it as a man who had no tomorrow. At night she would serve him flawlessly, then curl up against him as he drifted off to sleep by the communal fire.
This night he smiled contentedly, stretching his tanned limbs lazily like a big cat as he settled down to sleep. Putting his arm about Maya possessively shrouded in his furs. It had been a tiring past few days of hard riding and physical exertion and he found he was of late sleeping very well if not for the strange dreams, visions that made no sense, and the sword, always the sword, the fantastic weapon he coveted but could never seem to grasp. This evening would be no exception...
*****
They were beautiful in a classical perfection, but not as the beauty in humanity was gauged. There was no frailty or imperfection here, just hard indifferent coldness. These beautiful people, if indeed they were people at all, stood and sat about a large highly polished table top in lively debate...
