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“Dear Elain,

Well the birth control pills that Mom insisted I get seem to have done the trick. I’ve been on them for two cycles now and it really seems to have smoothed out my period. I don’t cramp as much either, so that’s good. The Doc says he thinks I’ll outgrow needing them when I finish puberty, but they’re a good thing to have while my body finishes developing.

He also says that I still need to gain some weight (UGH!). Apparently my body fat is so low that it’s interfering with my normal development and menstrual stuff. On top of the counseling they’re still making me go to for bulimia… OK, OK, I get the message. At least Dad isn’t making eat spoonfuls of peanut butter before going to bed anymore.

Why do I have to be so ugly? Why is being a teenager so hard? The world may never know. Ah well, enough for today. Good night sweet princess. I hate myself.

Elain

PS — I think my boobs are growing for some reason. I wonder if it’s the pills. ”

That was how it started. That was when it started.

It was the twenty-first of June almost sixteen years ago. I know this because that’s the date I wrote at the top of the diary entry in purple ink. It was my birthday. I had turned fourteen that day, and life really sucked.

Well, “sucked” is a relative term when you don’t have any bills, a job, or any real responsibilities other than to get good grades and to not kill yourself. It was the latter I was having a hard time with.

In retrospect, I think it was just the growing pains that every young girl goes through, but I was just particularly susceptible to the drama of it. Some people make mountains out of mole hills. My strategy was to bring myself so low that they just looked that way.

I was depressed, bulimic, suicidal, an underage smoker, pale, weak, insomniacal, etc., etc. — all the cheerful things you can do to yourself when you’re too antisocial to know people who can get you into real drugs. Fortunately for me I was that kind of antisocial and managed to avoid that particular battle.

Yeah, I guess life really did suck back then. Of course with only the slightest amount of perspective, it’s easy to see why. It sucked because I “made” it suck. I made the choices that kept me miserable. Why is that so hard to see when you’re in the middle of it?

Anyway, enough of the doom and gloom. You surely didn’t start reading this to depress yourself right? I apologize for any dryness or flaccidness you may be experiencing as a result of my psychotic ramblings. The story will improve shortly.

Oh, and I guess I should introduce myself. My name is Elain, and I’m much better now.

*****

Things in general are much better now. Of course life isn’t perfect, but I can truly say, “Hi, I’m Elain. I’m 29 years old, and I love myself.”

This is your cue to say, “Hi Elain” in 12-Step Program style. I can’t hear you… …c’mon say it… …ahh that’s better. Thanks for playing along.

If you have never been in a “Your-Preference-Anonymous” support group, or any other kind of support group, let me explain it. I’ve been in my fair share on the road to digging myself out of the holes I’ve dug myself into.

They exist to provide you with a certain amount of accountability, encouragement, and a certain sense of tribal belonging. It’s your job to not do what your not supposed to do, and it’s their job to look you in the eye make you confess to not doing it. Get it? Then you have cake and Kool-aid.

These groups never worked for me. They work for a lot of people, but not me.

The solution for me was not for someone to tell me why I shouldn’t or couldn’t throw-up all my meals, or take that handful of sleeping pills, or smoke two packs of Lucky Strikes a day. Hell no! That would have involved me making hard choices that I didn’t really want to make if I was honest with myself.

What “did” work for me was eventually finding methods to improve my life in ways that made slowly killing myself less attractive. I had to find specific ways to make the choice to live the obvious, logical, and natural choice — not just the default one. It worked too. I’m still here.

Meanwhile back at the point…so why is that diary entry so important? It’s the postscript. That’s the day I first noticed my breasts were coming to life. It turned out that in spite of my general ill health, I had an immediate hormonal reaction to the birth control pills. On one hand it smoothed out my menstrual cycle. On the other, it jump-started my breasts. These breasts saved my life.

Within three months I legitimately filled out an A cup. Five months later I was up to B. Six more found me at C. There seemed to be no stopping them, and you’d think I’d be ecstatic. What I was though, was the same scrawny, ill, pale girl — with nice ripe breasts.

Imagine a bony ribcage with these swollen perky tits on top. I looked like I had implants. It was disgusting and did nothing positive for my self image. However, since my breasts seemed to have an agenda of their own, I decided I’d try to fit them better and see if I could get healthier at the same time. So I made some lifestyle changes.

The first thing I did was quit smoking when I started my junior year of high school. You see, several things happen when you quit smoking. Notably, you stop poisoning your body. What this means in concrete terms is that your circulation improves because your heart doesn’t have to fight for survival every twenty minutes. Your lungs stop taking a beating, and you automatically get healthier.

You also have to figure out a way to satisfy the oral addiction, which is why a lot of people turn to food and gain a lot of weight. Did I mention I already had weight issues? Yeah, tell me you didn’t see this coming.

So anyway I started nervous compulsive eating, relapsed into my bulimia, and the shit hit the fan. After a brief stay in a clinic and a lot of support from my parents, I got that sorted out and was able to keep things under control. I put on a little weight because I “needed to”, and my ribs stopped poking out. That little bit of extra weight, increased circulation, and general better health gained me a D cup.

Since I could breath better and I still had a serious complex about gaining weight, I figured I’d try exercising. Exercising is hard — don’t let anyone try to tell you differently. I don’t care what the infomercials say.

You see, several things happen when you start exercising. Notably, your body reconfigures itself for the physical stress. What this means in concrete terms is that your metabolism and hormonal systems adapt to change your physical structure. You also feel better because of all the endorphins you release and the strengthening effect the exercise has on your immune system. Go figure.

So anyway, exercising… Even though my name comes from the Welsh word for “little deer” (see no “e” on “Elain”), I was no good at running or the aerobics that were fashionable at the time. It’s hard to run and bounce around when you’re carrying D-cup breasts. I did find out that I could swim pretty well though.

Swimming is a great muscle and aerobic workout, and it helped me undo a lot of the damage I’d done to my lungs over the years. I could never have competed because my breasts were too big to be streamlined, but I did enjoy the solitude of the indoor pool, the feeling of the water, and the excellent exercise.

Okay, follow me here. Exercise boosts your metabolism, so I ended up actually eating more but it turned to muscle and my body tightened up unbelievably. You’d have thought I won a Nobel Prize by the way my parents reacted to my new habits. Exercise also boosts your hormonal cycle, and swimming in particular really works your upper body. So in addition to getting healthier and stronger, I got an E cup. No kidding.

The summer before college I grew a little taller and also really pushed myself at the pool to lean myself down a little. I was still nowhere near a competitive level swimmer, but I was admittedly in fantastic shape. I settled back down to a DD cup, and there I have remained.

So… let’s reflect. I was no longer “scrawny” or “ill”. “Pale” I couldn’t do anything about. Along with the Welsh name, my heritage showed through in my super pale skin, green eyes, and bright red hair. I don’t tan — I just burn. It’s not pretty.

I still had the nice ripe breasts, but they were absolutely huge compared to they way they were when I first started to turn my life around. The fact that they were high-mounts made them look even bigger. If you don’t know what I mean, let me explain. Some big breasted girls have “low” mounted breasts that have a gentle slope to them and sway when they move. Some big breasted girls have “high” mounted breasts that are more round and jiggle rather than sway. It all has to do with where on your chest your breasts connect. I’m in the high mount camp. It’s just the way I’m put together. It gives me a great hourglass figure though, especially in a swimsuit.

I didn’t really think of my breasts in a positive way at the time though. I felt freakish and odd. I also felt like I had to be careful what I wore so it didn’t look like they were shoved up under my chin all the time. I’m sure that the male side of the species noticed me (or “them” rather), but I still didn’t feel particularly pretty or feminine. I was just focused on the exercise as a way to combat my depression and my eating disorder.

Still if it weren’t for the initial growth spurt of these bouncy beauties, I would probably not have had the initiative to turn my life around. Yup, these breasts saved my life.

Ironically though, it was the bright red hair that proved to be the next catalyst. It also got me into the first and only fight I’ve ever been in.

*****

I didn’t really have any friends at that point in my life. I’d spent years hating myself, and normal people don’t like to be around a person like that. Actually at the time I think I just didn’t like people in general, so I never went out of my way to be around anyone who wasn’t family.

Point being, I had never been with a boy. That’s it — period. I’d never been on a date, never been to a dance, never been kissed, certainly never had sex. I had never masturbated either. In fact I never even really thought about sex, because it was a completely foreign concept for me to think of myself in a sexual way. With my curves you would think that it would have been natural, but my head just wasn’t in that place.

Anyway, swimming is a great way to get good exercise without having to play on a team or really interact with anyone, so I managed to mostly maintain my solitude during my transformation. Mostly that is.

That summer before college when I doubled up on my pool time, it was inevitable that I’d cross paths with some people. As it was, the local community college swim teams ran a camp for kids during the day at the same indoor pool I used, and I overlapped some of their staff time. I tried to keep to myself to myself, but people kept trying to talk to me.

I wasn’t interested in talking to anyone, so I didn’t further any conversation past brief salutations or farewells. I was kind of a mean bitch back then, if you couldn’t tell. Anyway, nobody knew my name, but they quickly came up with a nickname for me: “Moses”. I only ever heard them calling me that behind my back, though. I guessed it was because I kept to myself or because I parted the water widely or something.

One day though one of the college boys made a mistake and got in my face when I refused to talk to him. In retrospect I know he was just trying to be friendly or pick me up and figured I was playing hard to get. Still, I’m not a friendly kind of girl.

“C’mon Moses! Why are you so unfriendly? Do I stink or something?” he said.

It was the first time any of them had called me that to my face, so I felt obligated to find out what the deal was. “Moses?” I asked. “Why am I Moses?”

“Nothing,” he said. I don’t think he meant to say the nickname out loud.

“‘Nothing’ doesn’t answer the question. Why am I Moses?”

I guess felt threatened, so he smirked. “Because we draw inspiration from your mountains!” he said pointing at my breasts. Then he lowered is finger to point at my crotch, “And because you have a flaming bush!”

I could feel myself turning crimson. Red mist began to creep in at the edges of my vision.

“You really should trim that bush back — ha, ha — it’s always fuzzing out around the edges of –”

But that’s all he was able to get out before my right fist caught him in the diaphragm. He had just enough time to suck wind and double over before the left fist caught him under the chin and lifted him backward into the shallow end of the pool.

I’d never hit another person before. It felt good. I was stronger than I would have thought I was.

His friends helped him out of the pool and revived him with extravagant apologies to my departing back. I guess he was okay. I never saw him again.

That night as I sat on my bed in my underwear with my left hand swollen and sitting on a ice pack, I saw what he meant. My pubes did fuzz out around the edges of my panties. Imagine my embarrassment. It never really occurred to me that was happening with my swimsuit. You’d think with as damaged as my self image was, I would have had a better sense of body consciousness. That’s what occurred to me anyway as I stepped out of my panties in front of the full length mirror on the bedroom door.

I guess I should pay more attention to myself. I shucked off the heavy spandex sports bra I had on, wincing as I had to use my left hand, and looked at myself naked in the mirror. It was as if I was looking at a stranger. There’s something seriously wrong with that.

“You’re not who I last remember seeing here,” I said to that curvy stranger in the mirror. My God, I had changed, and I felt the first inklings of what I would later learn was an acceptance of myself. I wouldn’t have admitted it at the time, but I looked damn good.

I dug a hand mirror out of a drawer, opened my legs slightly, and reflected my nether regions in it. I supposed I could trim my pubes a little to save me the embarrassment of showing them off while in my suit.

I kept turning this way and that to catch the light and aim it between my legs. You know I think that was the first time I’d ever really taken a good look at myself down there? I was nineteen years old and felt like I was looking at my pussy for the first time.

*****

I didn’t do anything that night, but the following morning found me in the bathroom with the same hand mirror and a pair of scissors. I sat naked on the edge of the tub and carefully slid the scissors into the natural crease between my right inner thigh and beginnings of my mons. What I remember most is how cold the scissors were next to my skin.

Being very careful not to pinch myself with the blades, I slowly squeezed the handles together and listened as the hair audibly sliced off. The orange curls floated down onto the grey/blue tiles of the bathroom floor. They looked so surreal, and I thought, “That used to be a part of me. Now it’s a vibrant dead thing on the floor. How strange. How strange and liberating.”

I turned around so my feet were in the tub and did the left side. This time the hair fell into the tub and didn’t look so shocking against the white enamel. I used the mirror and also snipped the hair short on my outer lips. I’m right handed, so I had a hard time getting things symmetrical. I kept having to trim a little here and a little there to get everything to match (not that anyone was going to see it, but it was the principle of the thing), and eventually my lips were just barely covered with downy hair. I now looked a bit mismatched between up top and down below, so I went ahead and just trimmed the rest of my pubic hair short.

There was now a small orange pile of casualties in the tub. I used a hand towel to brush myself off completely and also swept up my first trimmings from the tile and dropped them into the tub with the rest. I planned to wash it all down the drain when I showered so there wouldn’t be a collection of pubic hair in the garbage for anybody to find.

Examining myself in the mirror again, I was surprised at how much of a difference it made. I could really see the details of my pussy now. My lips were clearly visible through the sparse hair that remained and seemed to pout outward a little. I looked different…maybe…maybe good…sexy?

I reached down with my free hand and stroked my fingers over my new haircut. It felt a little bristly but not too much. Watching myself in the mirror, I absently caressed myself for a number of minutes, and I just kind of spaced out on how good it felt. Finally I started suddenly and jerked my hand away.

I looked into my reflection’s eyes and read shame and embarrassment there. I had just caught myself playing with myself, and was momentarily mortified. I was so repressed it was ridiculous, don’t you think?

“Lighten up girl,” I told myself. “You’re self-absorbed enough without developing another complex.”

With that I climbed into the shower and took my time getting clean. I did take a little conditioner and rub it on my new haircut though, to soften it. The conditioner was cold and very slippery. I rubbed it in really well just to make sure it did some good.

*****

Sure enough when I put clean underwear on after my shower my bikini line was free of little red wisps. I looked good, I thought. I finished getting dressed and marveled at how different the fabric felt against my pussy.

That whole day at my crap summer job it seemed like I was constantly concentrating on it…my pussy that is (I didn’t have to concentrate on my crap summer job). My attention kept returning to how it felt when I walked, how it looked in the mirror, how it felt when I touched it, etc., to the point of complete distraction.

By the time I made it to the pool that evening for a late swimming workout, I had dampened my panties so many times during the day that I really had to peel them off to put my swimsuit on. At first I thought that I was just sweating more due to not having a furry buffer between pussy and panty, but my mons and outer lips weren’t the damp part.

Tentatively I slid my finger between my moist inner lips and felt the slickness of my continuous arousal. I gave a momentary shudder as the unfamiliar feeling washed over me, and I moaned involuntarily as my fingertips brushed past my clit.

My moan reverberated a little too loudly in the cement and tile locker room, and I glanced around sharply. I was alone, but I still hurried into my suit and rushed out to the pool.

I had a very good swim. I tried to burn out my confusion and embarrassment with intense physical activity, and pushed myself really hard. I succeeded in exhausting myself and really getting my arms and legs to burn, but I failed miserably at clearing my mind.

As soon as I was back in the locker room and in the hot shower, I had my hands back between my legs. The showers were deserted thank goodness, because there was no disguising what I was doing. I still clearly remember the steam boiling up around me as I worked both hands between my legs, rubbing my pussy furiously and clumsily with my fingers — my arms tucked in squeezing my big breasts forward so that the shower drummed on my nipples — heat upon heat upon heat — until my knees buckled, and I had to hold onto the wall to keep from passing out.

“Get a hold of yourself Elain,” I said aloud, and even smiled at the irony of the statement as I made it. I turned the water on excruciatingly cold (just the far side of “ridiculously cold” but not as far as “insanely cold”) and finished up my shower under the shock of it. I dried off, got dressed, drove home, and tried not to think about my pussy again.

Certain that Gwen was ready Bane started moving more quickly. She thrust in and out of the tight tunnel, rocking up so the ridged material brushed the girl’s bud. Gwen moaned as Bane lifted and sank in a steady rhythm. The Dragon’s small breasts swayed in front of Gwen’s eyes. Gwen watched, mesmerized by the one thing on the warrior’s body that was not lean. Gwen lifted her head, trying to catch one of the nipples in her mouth. She wanted to return the favor of pleasure. She captured one breast, closing her mouth over the areola and lavishing her tongue over it. Bane never broke her motion.

Gwen could only concentrate on Bane’s breast for a long. She ripped her mouth away, tilting her head back and exposing her throat as Bane pushed in and out. Bane bowed her head, the long black hair placing Gwen in a dark cave. Gwen closed her eyes, feeling the feathery caresses of the thick strands. Bane’s mouth covered Gwen’s throat, biting the flesh as her hips quickened. The sound of flesh against flesh filled the room, punctuated by Bane’s harsh breathing and Gwen’s steady cries.

Gwen felt her body tightening. The sensation was so unfamiliar to her young, innocent body that she screamed in fear that she was dying as her whole body exploded in powerful release. The wave washed over her and through her, vibrating along her veins and muscles. The crashing of the wave was so intense that Gwen was certain that every bone in her body would be crushed. Once she discovered the pleasure was not going to kill her, she screamed again in joy.

The warrior slowed the attack, withdrawing the sword from the damp sheath. Gwen was sobbing now and Bane lay at the girl’s side, stroking her hair until she was breathing normal. The tears still flowed down her cheeks. Sweet aftershocks ran through her body in delicious ripples. Her breathing slowed and her eyelids were heavy.

Bane stood, tucking the blankets around Gwen. She unfastened the harness, laying it to the side, and walked over to the open window. A breeze flowed through the room, drying the sweat on her wiry body. She could see the bonfire burning in the distance and lamps dancing along the rows as Roane and his wife and daughter plucked ears from the stalks. Bane’s sharp green eyes could detect the change in height of the crop as Jem sliced the stalks to the ground. As Bane watched, the flames roared, indicating that Jem had thrown more on the fire. Bane placed her hand on the window sill, leaning against the glass. She thought of the fear in Roane’s face when she had asked for room and board. She spoke suddenly, knowing Gwen was awake because she could feel the girl’s eyes on her back. “Tell me about your Queen.”

“She’s not my Queen,” Gwen spat. The vehemence in Gwen’s voice echoed the hopefulness that had been in Jem’s earlier when he had asked if the Dragon was there to slay the Queen. “I have no loyalty to her. My Queen died ten seasons ago.”

“Ten seasons? That’s a long time to honor someone who is dead,” Bane mused. “And the fact remains, this Queen is in power over the land your father owns, so she is your Queen. Your family may not respect her, but you fear her. Either way is a successful way to rule. Tell me about your Queen.”

“My Queen,” Gwen began, emphasizing the word my, “was a beautiful and kind woman and wife. She was married to a handsome young man who everyone loved. This land knew peace and prosperity under them. They were revered in song and poems. When their child was born, my father says that the whole territory celebrated. To speak their names now is forbidden.

“Then the drought came. I was just six at the time, but I remember how hot and dry it was. I remember watching the pond dwindle to nothing. After the drought came the fires. They roared down the mountain, but the village had nothing to fight with.”

“The Forest doesn’t look new,” Bane mumbled, gazing into the thick trees she had marched through. The dancing field fires illuminated the trees and the warrior imagined what they must have looked like when they trembled with roaring and racing flames. She had seen how destructive fire could be. She knew how quickly a hot flame could devour a human person. She remembered the smell of burning flesh. If a fire had swept through the Forest just ten years ago, none of the trees would be as tall or thick as they were.

“I remember the sound of the army marching through the Forest. We all thought help had come. They threw up fire lines and held the flames just on the outskirts of the village. We were indebted to the army.” Gwen stopped and sighed wistfully. “Sometimes, I think it would be better if we had let the village burn.

“The King opened the gates of his palace for the army. He opened his wine for them. They paraded through the village, the people cheering for them. Matayla rode in their midst. I remember thinking how beautiful she was. She wasn’t beautiful like the Queen. She was dark skinned and had dark hair and rode a stallion bigger than anyone else’s. She was exotic. My eyes followed her. I wanted to be her.”

“Matayla,” Bane repeated. The name gave the warrior a cold chill.

Gwen could sense the warrior emerging and the woman receding. The girl knew when Bane returned to the bed, the lover would be gone and the Dragon would remain. “The King gave them a feast. Matayla and her army ate at the King’s table, and then killed everyone in sight, including the King, Queen, and their daughter.”

“She named herself Queen,” Bane said dryly, filling in the blanks of the story that Gwen did not tell. She sensed it would be too painful for Gwen to tell the entire story.

“The army disposed of anyone who objected to her rule. Executions were public and bloody. Soon, no one objected. A few fled, but my father’s family has worked this land for many generations. For the protection the army has provided and will provide we are to bring a portion of our crop to the palace each season.”

Bane did not prompt Gwen for more details. She stared at the moon glowing above the fires. She could see a tendril of smoke snaking against the surface of the pocked satellite. The wolf came to her side, rubbing against her leg. Bane dropped her hand and caressed the animal’s head, drawing comfort from the presence of the creature. When she returned to the bed, Gwen was dozing. Bane lay at the girl’s side and closed her eyes. Sleep came quick and was a calm time with few dreams. Nyte did not visit. Nyte would not visit when Bane shared her bed with another.

They woke the next morning to the sounds of Roane’s family moving about downstairs. Bane rose fluidly from the bed and crossed to the window. The field was now flat. Only wisps of smoke were escaping from the pit. The flames had been doused. A wagon piled with harvested crop sat in the yard. Roane was hitching a gray mare to the wagon. The fresh harvest would be taken to the palace to pay the price of protection. Bane allowed her eyes to examine the rest of the fields. She wondered how Roane’s family would have enough food to last through the cold, barren months ahead.

Fog was drifting onto the property from the damp Forest. The sun was obscured through the haze. Bane breathed deeply of the cool air drifting through the open window. The crisp temperature cleared her lungs as she exhaled slowly. She heard Gwen rustling behind her. Bane turned to look at the girl. Gwen was stretching her body. She groaned lightly, her muscles sore. She smiled at the warrior, blinking her eyes as the morning sun filtered into the room.

Bane turned away from the window silently. The wolf was standing at the door, ready for them to be on their way. The animal came to Bane, nuzzling the leg and hand of the warrior. Bane rubbed the sides of the animal’s muzzle, looking into the deep black eyes. The expression in the orbs told the warrior what the animal was thinking. They had needed the warm bed last night, but the time for lingering was gone. They needed to make up distance today.

Bane started pulling on her leathers as Gwen watched. “You are leaving?” the girl asked. She was propped against the pillows, the blanket pulled to her waist. Her large breasts were exposed and unfettered. Bane admired the pert nipples and full flesh. The warrior’s expression did not change. Gwen imagined she saw hunger cross Bane’s face but knew it was only wishful thinking. Bane returned to lacing the britches without any response. Gwen rose, closing the distance. She inspected Bane’s wound. It had scabbed during the night and she was certain that the warrior would feel no ill effects from the tear. Bane pulled on her tunic and began tucking her things into her haversack.

Gwen pulled on her clothes, watching as Bane’s fingers deftly weaved her thick, long, black hair into a braid. Gwen shuddered as she recalled the way that thick hair had tickled and caressed during the night. Her nipples tightened as they rubbed against the rough material of her blouse. Bane adjusted her sword in the sheath on her back. When she turned to Gwen, the farm girl no longer saw any signs of the lover who had held her so tenderly during the night.

Bane left the room, the wolf at the warrior’s side. Gwen followed the Dragon down the steps, trying to ignore the ache in her heart. Bane walked silently through the kitchen. Roane’s wife and younger daughter watched as the warrior passed through the room. Gwen was just a few paces behind, her head bowed as she stepped onto the porch. She stopped at the edge of the steps as Bane and the wolf walked into the yard, their feet making prints in the dew covered ground. Roane looked up from adjusting the fitting over the mare, stopping as Bane crossed. The warrior quietly caressed the muzzled of the animal. The mare snorted but allowed Bane to talk softly. Roane listened but could not make out the Dragon’s words.

Roane waited until the warrior had finished talking to the horse. The way the wild wolf followed the Dragon, Roane suspected that Bane had a gift with animals. The Dragon patted the animal’s side before casting dark green eyes to Roane. The old farmer removed his hat. “Where are you going now?” he asked in a gruff, tired voice.

“West,” Bane responded, turning in the direction of the rising sun. “Wherever Dracona leads,” she continued, evoking the name of the goddess that watched over all those who were trained in the ways of the Dragon. She didn’t mention that Nyte also led her. She couldn’t explain Nyte.

Roane nodded thoughtfully, wiping his rough hands on a towel. His eyes were fixed in the distance. “West is the way to the palace,” Roane mused. “Your passing will not be kept secret for long and Queen Matayla is not to be trusted.” Roane wiped the towel over his forehead and replaced his hat. “You can trust my family.”

“I know,” Bane stated. She shifted the pack on her back and turned toward the Forest. She would not walk down the path from the Roane farm. Any traveler could be on the main road. No one needed to know that Dragon’s Bane had spent the night at the Roane farm. She wanted to avoid discovery as long as possible, so continuing through the Forest until the palace was in sight would be the surest path.

“Wait!” a voice cried out as Bane headed toward the edge of the trees. Bane turned, lifting her eyes to the porch. Gwen still stood on the top step. Her eyes had left Bane and her head turned toward the barn. Bane followed the girl’s eyes. Jem was running across the open field, a pack slung over his shoulder. “Wait!” he yelled again. Bane waited for the teenager to cross the dusty farm yard. He was breathless when he reached the warrior and had to pause a moment to catch his breath enough to be able to speak. “Take me with you,” he begged.

Gwen gasped, coming down the steps to hear Bane’s answer. Roane said nothing, returning his attention to the wagon. Jem looked up into Bane’s face with pleading eyes. “Please, let me go with you. If the Guard ever discovers that I killed one of their own, they will torture my family and then kill me. If I am gone when they come, Father can say I have been exiled from the family.” He stopped, trying to judge how Bane was reacting to the request. Bane expression had not changed. “I want to learn to be a Dragon. Teach me the law of Dracona.”

Bane regarded the eager boy. The warrior knew the answer without having to think about the situation. “This is not a life you want, boy.” Bane’s green eyes shifted to Gwen. She tried to hide the eagerness on her face. If Bane would take Jem, then perhaps the warrior would welcome her presence as well. The Dragon needed a companion other than the wolf. “I don’t need any distractions. The places I go, no one should go. Stay here with your father, boy. Learn to be a man and a farmer. Dracona’s Law carries no glory.” Bane adjusted the sack at her side, spun on her boot, and stepped into the Forest, disturbing the mist that curled on the ground.

Matayla stepped forward. “Enter Dragon,” she ordered. Her tone was different from the inflection she used when giving commands to the soldiers and staff, though no less confident. Bane stepped through the door. Her expression was unreadable, as was Matayla’s. Bane had always hated the stifled formality required when meeting the local leadership. “I am Queen Matayla of Avin.”

“I am Dragon’s Bane,” the warrior responded.

“Welcome, Dragon’s Bane.” She turned to the side and began walking down the corridor in the opposite direction of her chambers. Bane kept pace with the woman. Eton and Gryph fell behind them and the girl brought up the rear of the train. Bane did not like people behind her, especially soldiers. Her senses stayed alert. The wolf padded alongside the warrior, eyes perked for abnormalities. Bane was grateful for the wolf’s presence. The animal was also a warrior. “This is Captain Eton. We have prepared a room for you and a feast in your honor. Gryph will answer any questions you might have.”

“Thank you, your Majesty,” Bane said. The Queen stopped walking and the whole entourage paused. She motioned to an open door and Bane stepped inside the room. Despite the fact that the window faced the west and the sun was dipping below the horizon, very little natural light filled the chamber. The cliffs created a shadow, but Bane was fascinated by the way the light danced on the rock façade. When the Dragon turned to her escorts, no one but Gryph remained. Bane started in surprise before allowing her eyes to sweep the boy. She judged him to be in his early twenties or late teens. Her eyes settled on the collar around his neck. She contemplated the symbol of slavery but chose not to comment on it.

When Gryph led the warrior into the great hall later, the banquet table was filled with sweet fruits and hot meats. Musicians plucked rousing tunes from stringed instruments while the soldiers and their companions ate and danced. Several barrels of ale had been brought from the cool cellar and the strong liquor flowed freely. Bane sat back in the comfortable chair provided for the warrior and watched the party. Queen Matayla sat at the head of the table, her chair raised slightly higher than all the others. Bane sat to the Queen’s left. The position did not settle well with the Dragon. Tradition always had a visiting Dragon to the right of the ruler. The Queen’s behavior indicated she was familiar with the Dragons. The breach in protocol made the hair on the back of Bane’s neck rise.

Captain Eton sat to the Dragon’s left, a smile on his handsome face. He attempted to engage the warrior in conversation, but her attention was not focused. Instead, the Dragon was observing the behavior of the soldiers. She had discovered long ago that she could learn more about her enemies by being quiet and watchful. Her fingertips plucked at the food set before her while her dark green eyes surveyed every corner of the great hall. She noted that though everyone had been silent while the Queen had made an elegant speech welcoming the Dragon and toasting peace, no one made an effort to include her in their merriment.

Something brushed Bane’s arm and the warrior turned to her left to see the pale girl who had lurked behind the Queen all night. Bane did not linger on the girl’s naked body, despite the soft breast resting on her upper arm. Instead, Bane studied the girl’s face. Her mouth was stretched around a thick gag and the warrior could see the leather biting into her white skin. Instead of admiring the nude form leaning over her, Bane found herself falling into the girl’s brown eyes. Framed by the edges of the hood, the orbs were hidden in deep shadows. Bane narrowed her eyes, making the most of the flickering light dancing about in the grand room.

The warrior was surprised when the girl did not look away. Instead, she seemed just as held by the Dragon’s gaze. Bane fell into the girl’s eyes, trying to read in the brown depths all that the girl was unable to say because of the phallus between her lips. There was no magic in the moment. The edges of the room did not become cloudy and the din of the music and voices did not fade. Eton continued rumbling in her ear, but nevertheless Bane felt captivated by the girl’s deep eyes. The warrior could count the number of heartbeats that their eyes remained locked, but the intelligence and spirit in those eyes for those few ticks burned themselves into Bane’s subconscious.

“Move along, girl,” Eton growled, backhanding the girl across the face. Bane glared at the soldier in shock and anger. The girl did not respond to the blow. She sat up and quietly finished filling Bane’s goblet from the decanter in her hand. She didn’t even spill any of the amber liquid. Bane reached out to steady the girl’s arm. The girl withdrew from the touch, rolling to her feet and walking away from the captain and the warrior.

Bane watched the girl until she had faded into the crowd. It was easy for the Dragon to catch glimpses of the naked form moving among the dancing guests. When the warrior returned her focus to the Queen’s captain, the fire in her eyes withered the man’s bravado. “She was doing no harm,” Bane hissed, her muscles tense and ready to retaliate in defense of the innocent girl.

“She knows her place,” the Queen answered in a steady voice. Bane shifted her gaze to Matayla in her regal, elevated position at the head of the table. The Queen was expressionless in her answer, dismissing Bane’s protest and Eton’s behavior. Matayla had already moved away from the subject. She was surveying the party again, her crystal blue eyes moving over the drunken revelers.

“How did the girl come into your service, your Majesty?” Bane asked.

Matayla returned her attention to the warrior, raising an eyebrow in amusement that the warrior would ask such a question. Eton tensed, expecting wrath from the Queen. Matayla regarded Bane for a moment, trying to determine if she would reward the warrior with an answer. “She is the spoils of war, my dear Dragon, something with which I am quite certain you are familiar.” The Queen held Bane’s eyes for a few seconds after she answered, allowing the words to register in the Dragon’s head. Matayla also wanted to see how the warrior would respond.

Bane did not give the Queen the satisfaction of seeing guilt flash her eyes. Bane remained as solid as the Queen, holding the blue stare. The Queen nodded her head once and rose from her chair. The room went silent, eyes turning to the Queen. Those sitting also came to their feet. Bane remained seated, watching their behavior. The Queen exited the quiet room without a word. The room remained wordless until the Queen’s footsteps had faded to nothing. Once all traces of the Queen was gone, there was some shuffling of feet on the stone floor and a few hushed whispers. The musicians left their corner and people began filtering out of the great hall. Gryph and the girl and other servants began removing trays and cleaning up the mess. Matayla’s abrupt exit meant the party was over. Eton turned to the Dragon. “Please, go for a walk with me and allow me to apologize for offending you.”

Bane started to refuse. She had no use for the arrogant captain. She knew though that he could be a potential source of information. She would allow him to believe that he was any ally until the time to draw lines began. She nodded and rose, taking a last drink from the strong homemade ale in her goblet. She did not make a face, despite the bitter burn in her chest. A half smile crossed Eton’s face as he admired her fortitude. He offered her his elbow, but she did not take it. Instead, she fell into step beside him and allowed him to lead her from the great hall.

Eton took the warrior to the high bulwark of the castle and they walked along the ramparts in the cool night air. They paused to look over the sleeping village sprawled below them. Bane stood with her arms crossed, her face unreadable as her eyes sought the line of the Forest, following the road that she had traversed that morning. Eton looked over the village for just a moment, and then turned to study the warrior’s profile. Her face was shadowed in the moonlight, giving her an almost ghostly glow. Her midnight black hair reflected the lunar radiance. In that illumination, Eton found the Dragon’s beauty mesmerizing. He felt stirring in his manhood as his eyes drifted over her powerful body. He cleared his throat and returned his attention the village, forcing his body to focus on the task at hand. “What brings you this way, Dragon?”

The Dragon sniffed, testing the wind in the brisk night as she contemplated the answer. “The setting sun,” she finally replied. “The wind at my back and the wolf at my side, I’ll walk until something tells me to stop.”

“Did you feel compelled to stop here, Dragon?” he probed, trying to appear casual in his inquisition. He did not want the warrior to feel threatened by his questions. If the Dragon was uneasy, they would not retrieve any information from the distrustful warrior.

“Aye, I did,” Bane respond, not changing expression or tone as she answered. She used her peripheral vision to judge the captain’s reaction. She suspected that he was not a worthy opponent, but Matayla was not available. He hid his reaction well, only a moment of surprise flashed across his eyes before he reigned in his control.

“For what reason?” he demanded, though his tone was not harsh.

“A place to rest before I continue West,” she replied immediately. She turned to examine the cliffs. In the night, they were black, impenetrable walls. “What’s the best way up this escarpment?” she asked, confident that thinking she would move on soon would relax Eton and the Queen.

Eton turned and allowed his eyes to survey the cliffs. “When you are ready, Gryph can escort you,” he commented thoughtfully. “The best path if you don’t know it is straight up. You could get into the caves and never emerge if you don’t have someone with you who knows the trail.”

She muttered an appreciation and they began walking again. “How long have you been in service for Matayla?” she quizzed offhandedly, listening to the night sounds floating across the landscape.

“I was conscripted when I was fifteen. She was a commander at the outpost where I was first stationed.”

Bane heard what the captain did not say. Matayla was also a warrior. If the woman was a commander, then she was a skilled warrior. She was able to lead and to plan warfare. They were nearing the end of the rampart and Bane knew it was not the time to press any harder or dig any deeper. She had plenty of information to contemplate. They stepped through the door of a tower and she followed him down the narrow spiral stairs until they reached the main floor. They walked by the door of the great hall and Bane paused to look inside the room. Most traces of the party were gone, but the girl was still in the room. She was kneeling on the stone floor, scrubbing with a bucket and sponge. She sensed their presence and lifted her eyes to the Dragon. Bane felt an electric current race through her body as their gaze connected. Bane narrowed her eyes, trying to read the girl’s expression.

Eton did not allow the connection to last long enough for Bane to draw any conclusions. “Gryph,” he said in a firm voice. Gryph emerged from the kitchen as if he had been waiting on the command. “Escort our guest back to her room and see to all of her needs.”

Bane watched the girl for as long as she could, but Eton entered the room and blocked the warrior’s view. Gryph cleared his throat softly to indicate that the Dragon should follow him. They walked silently to the small room that the Queen had designated for the guest. Bane noted that the blankets on the bed had been folded back. A basin of fresh water sat on a table near a mirror and a basket of fruit was on the bedside table. Bane crossed over and picked up an apple. She rubbed it with the hem of her shirt and crossed to the balcony to gaze into the darkness.

She bit into the apple as her eyes again surveyed the dark cliffs. They moved from the tops of the bank, down the high escarpment, to the sprawling yard behind the castle. Squat, one-story buildings were nestled against the wall and Bane studied them. Yellow lights burned inside. Her eyes drifted across the dark grounds until she saw a bobbing light moving out of the palace. She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing in order to see better in the dim light. Eton stepped onto the stone path leading toward the gray buildings, tugging something behind him. It didn’t take Bane but a moment to recognize the slim, pale figure trailing willingly on the rope behind the captain.

Bane followed the figured, her eyes lingering on the slender waist, the flare of hips, and the curve of breasts. The Dragon’s eyes rested on the round buttocks until Eton lead the woman into the gray building. “How did you come to be Matayla’s slave?” Bane asked without taking her eyes off the distant door, hoping to see Eton and the girl emerge quickly.

“My family owed the Queen tribute and could not afford it,” Gryph answered without hesitation, anger, or shame.

“So, you were the replacement for the money,” Bane mused as Eton walked out of the building without the girl. “How long will you remain in order to pay the family debt?” The girl did not follow Eton back into the cool night. Bane felt a sense of satisfaction knowing that the girl would not be molested by the captain that night.

“The debt keeps accumulating. This is not a bad life. Mistress Matayla is good to me. I am well fed, have a dry place to sleep, and my family does not have to worry about the tribute.”

Bane thought of Roane, and Gwen becoming a slave to Matayla in return for Roane’s lack of payment. The thought sent a spark of rage through her. “Who is the girl?” the warrior queried, trying to continue to sound casual in her questioning. Bane tried to see into the windows of the building on the horizon but could not. Shades were drawn against the night.

Gryph still did not hesitate in his answer. “She is a conquest of war, Dragon.”

Bane puzzled on the answer during a long silence. “What is her name?”

“She has remained nameless since I have been here, Dragon.”

“What are those buildings?” Bane demanded, changing pace rapidly in the conversation to keep the loyal servant off guard.

“Barracks for the sentries,” Gryph replied. “Would you like me to take your clothing to be cleaned and repaired??”

“I prefer to handle it myself,” Bane answered absently. The picture became clear. The girl had been taken to the guards’ barracks naked and left there by the captain. It didn’t take a great imagination to picture what was happening to the girl. Bane felt her muscles tense as she pictured the drunken soldiers taking their turns with the girl. She felt her hackles rise and her jaw tighten. She wanted to free the girl from her bondage. Matayla had tried to imply that the Dragon had also taken trophies from battle. Bane had certainly received her rewards for battles fought and won, but she had never enslaved anyone as a result of a conquest. The Dragon knew without a doubt what her purpose in Avin was.

The wolf seemed to sense it, too. The animal was tense and battle ready. Bane knelt and ran a soothing hand over the animal’s haunches. Her touch was meant to be soothing to the animal. Now was not the time to attack. They would have to take time to continue to gather information and plan their strategy. The two of them could not over power Matayla’s whole army and that’s what it might take to free the girl.

The wolf relaxed beneath Bane’s touch. Bane breathed deeply of the animal’s familiar scent. The companionship settled them both. Bane put the water basin in front of the animal before rising and looking at the slave. Gryph seemed to be embarrassed to have witnessed such an intimate moment from the steady warrior. He was shuffling his feet and staring at the floor. “Why is it you warrant such better treatment than the girl receives?” she quizzed.

Gryph did not answer immediately this time. He did not have a prepared reply to that question. Bane was pleased at the lack of response. It gave her time to study Gryph as he searched for words. He was boy and did not have the maturity to fully hide his emotions. “She is a trophy,” he finally answered. “If my family could pay their debt, I would go free. She will never be free.”

“What would happen if you were to try to make an escape?”

Gryph knew this answer. He had heard it hundreds of times. “I would be allowed to go free. My family would be tortured and murdered.” His voice was flat, but it was evident that he was convinced of the threat. He would stay in place, doing Matayla’s bidding until she decided that the family debt had been paid in full. Bane was familiar with the tactic. It was almost always effective as long as the captor was true and did not harm the loved one anyway.

“When have you seen your family?”

“I’m allowed to go home once a month.”

Bane nodded, turning back to the window. There were troops moving into the building where the girl had disappeared. Bane tried not to react. Her facial expression did not change and her muscles did not tense. The wolf finished the water and went to the end of the bed to lie down. Bane glanced at the animal and released a low breath. “I believe the animal has the right idea. I’ve been walking a long time.”

“Where are you headed?” Gryph asked.

“I’ll know when I get there,” Bane said, pulling her tunic over her head. She handed it to Gryph and he folded it across the back of a chair. “I don’t think I’ll ever have a final destination. I’ve been traveling too long.”

Gryph turned to her, his eyes flittering over her strong arms, her small breasts, and the bandage around her middle. She unlaced her britches and walked to the side of the bed with them open. Gryph continued to stand sentry inside the room. The Dragon sighed as she sat down to remove her boots. She lifted her hand and waved him away in dismissal. He paused a moment, his brows coming together thoughtfully. She waved again and he exited the room, allowing the heavy wooden door to click into place.

He stood outside the door for a moment, listening for movement inside. He heard some gentle rustling before the light spilling from beneath the door disappeared into the darkness. Confident the warrior had turned in for the night, he moved soundlessly down the hall to Matayla’s chambers. He rapped on the door and waited for her command to enter. When it came, he turned the knob and entered the dim room. A few candles burned and it took his eyes a moment to adjust and find the Queen. She was seated on the divan, a glass of wine in her hand. She motioned and he came to kneel in front of her. “Mistress,” he greeted.

In the flickering candlelight, he noted the shadows moving on her face and in her hair. She gazed down at the boy as she sipped her wine. “Is our guest settled for the night, boy?” she questioned. She was still in her full robes. He mumbled an affirmative. She shifted, putting a bare foot against his crotch. He stroked him with her toes and in a moment his rod had hardened in his pants. “Tell me about her,” she cooed.

Gryph tried to concentrate on the Queen’s request, but his mind was occupied by the blood pumping to the apex of his legs. The pressure her foot applied was firm. His trousers became tented. “She is a traveler,” he managed to say. “She wanted to know how I had become your slave.”

Matayla reached out with cool fingers and caressed his smooth cheek. “Did you tell her the truth, my boy?”

“Of course, Mistress,” he replied, pressing into her palm and breathing deeply of her heavy scent.

“What else did she want to know?” Matayla asked, rotating the ball of her foot against the head of his straining manhood.