Nova Peak pen-channas

from the gold-inlaid fane of her throat a mirthful duet answering his own cry chorussed into the air as she cavorted his pursuit, maintaining an easy distance between them that insinuated her lack of endeavouring to truly resist his conquering of her as through the trees they played betwixt, flirted, rounded on each other with libertine airs. ”valda,” he breathed molten-hot against the velvet moulding of her ear; another flint-strike against her breast. she paused, then her gilded diadem ducked him and she pranced coquettishly, encircling her lodestar, bidding her argent temple to take what he wanted ... only to reel away again with a bray, dancing from him just out of reach.

worthy was an intoxicating feeling, a aphrodisiacal libation to partake of, and she drained her chalice—glorying in the effects of her sudden methomania. the mare again moved into his orbit, a game of catch-and-release; she now the harvest moon to his paling mercury, lipped at the creased tender spot behind his ear to whisper; "aucië." malapert with elfin grin, dulcet and birdsweet besides as she quibbled with his verdict.

those evils requesting parliament with his conscious, insisting themselves upon him like minxes and queans, couldn’t be dispelled by her. bear it she could not. whether the westernesse cabal’s presence imposed on her in these faraway lands or not, could not be helped. the debt of her upbringing in suchlike philistinism would always come due. she would always fear it, fear him, fear for her sisters. 

perhaps her gravest mistake was in not telling the true king of mearas of the pretend-prince; she regretted his wrath would only cleave him from her, send him into the choke of that armoured fist from which she’d fled. she would speak no such word of it. 

neither knew these forestlands. all the same both journeyed through its dusk-traced boulevards with a self-assuredness only mearas could truly possess, and the forest would always lead the king to his desired, as sure as green follows rain. almárëa arched across the fell onodrim, pressing further until they were in a clearing flush with shades of evening; the final, glowing embers of the sun cosseted behind her as she came to a prancing meander around the glade, regarding him with squinting mirth at his suggestion. "sí samlye?" she teased, laughing, placing her steps more deliberately now as she obscured her laboring waistline behind a half-lit pine. "mana-ia ni kauva cara cé ni rembinā aqua?" she made her lament to the treetops, as might a wayward belle cornered by brigands.