Fantasy | Mythology | Threesome | Romantic
Between Tears and Wind — Second Half
An Erotic Fantasy Story Inspired by Celtic and Greek Mythology
(Links: First half, content description.)
Though Máire’s nakedness had first made her feel exposed and ashamed, Babacchos’ gentle gaze and Nektarios’ flowery compliments were a fresh breeze that swept away her doubts. She put one hand on Nektarios’ stem and began stroking it, beckoning Babacchos closer with the other, who was not slow to oblige so that she could grab onto his stem as well. While stroking both their erections, she went down on her knees and put her full lips to Babacchos’ slick stem, taking the whole head into her mouth. It had a tangy, sweet taste that was a bit odd but not entirely unpleasant. She pushed her mouth further, trying to mimic what she had seen people doing in the glade below, her lips closing around the shaft as she played with her tongue over the head. Another rumbling moan was her reward.
She felt Babacchos’ strong fingers running through her hair, then his hand laid to rest on her head, a warm comfort as she ran her lips up and down his shaft, taking in a little more of it each time until she gagged a little when it touched the back of her throat, but she quickly learned where she needed to stop so that didn’t happen. Babacchos moaned deeply as she bobbed her head up and down the length of his stem a few more times, smacking and slurping more and more as her inhibitions melted away. Then she pulled away and continued to stroke it while she turned to Nektarios, whose face brightened up at the attention. He offered his wineskin, which curiously never seemed to run out of the golden liquid, and she opened her mouth for him. With a laugh he poured generously and wantonly from the skin so that much of it streamed down her chest, splashing on the roundness of her ample breasts and trickling over the wide, pink circles around her rich nipples.
With the taste of herbs and honey in her mouth, she engulfed Nefarios’ stem with more confidence, taking as much of it as she could into her mouth on the first go, making him let out a grunt followed by a long sigh. Her head moved with increasing speed as she got comfortable with the act, her saliva slobbering onto his shaft along with his juices, now being worked into a white froth. He tasted a little different from Babacchos, not surprisingly a little more of honey, but with an earthy tang.
Nektarios’ moans were reaching a crescendo, and she suddenly realised he was about to eject his seed. She had no idea what to do. But he pulled his stem out of her mouth and stroked it a few times, and soon he groaned loudly as sticky liquid shot out of the tip. Several bursts of the thick, creamy load landed on her chest, warm against her skin, and something made her reach up to massage her breasts, working it into her skin like a healing salve. When Nektarios was done, some of it still clung to the head of his stem, and she leaned in and licked it off, curious of the taste. It was similar to that of his stem, though more bitter and a bit pungent, but she swallowed it down, looking up at him, her green eyes meeting his dark ones.
“Thank you, Máire, o goddess of the mortal realm,” he chanted, eyes half closed, lost in reverie. “The touch of your lips on the stem of my manhood is like the balm of honeyed wine from home to a wanderer lost in foreign lands.” It seemed he had the soul of a poet.
Then she remembered why she had come. “The seed. Isn’t it wasted?”
Nektarios seemed lost in a daydream, but Babacchos only chuckled a little, and Máire turned back to him, scooting a bit closer and starting to stroke his stem again.
“What?” she said.
“We are satyrs. We do not run out of seed,” he said, then moaned as she let her grip around his shaft grow a little more firm. “Aaaahh! Máire of Brambleby, I do believe you’re taking to this like a fledgling bird to the skies. But there are many more ways we can enjoy each other’s company, and some that are much more pleasurable for you. Why don’t I — aaaaaghhh!” he called out as she stroked his stem more quickly and with a firmer grip while taking the tip into her mouth again. There might be more pleasures waiting for her, but for now she wanted to enjoy how she could make this musky, beautiful man feel.
Nektarios had sat down next to them, watching as Máire happily took in more and more of Babacchos’ stem, no longer caring if she gagged a bit when it hit the back of her throat. Babacchos moaned and she could feel the deep rumble of it through his shaft. And as she sucked and slobbered, she felt her own sex growing warmer and warmer in a way she had never known, like it was swelling up and readying itself. There was an empty space in her tummy that needed to be filled. Her hand fell to the lips between her legs and she was surprised to find them warm, soft, and wet. Even touching them made her moan, and she kept rubbing at them, sending tingles of pleasure through her body.
Babacchos called out loudly as he began ejecting his seed, and she held steadily onto his stem when he tried to pull back. As he huffed and groaned in his husky tones, his warm seed burst into her mouth, and though it was sticky and a little cloying, she swallowed it down even as more came flooding out in a thick stream. When he was done, she released him and swallowed a few more times, meeting his brown eyes as he looked down at her with a dreamy smile.
Máire reached out and stole the wineskin from Nefarios’ hand, who merely smiled at her, still only half present. She washed down Babacchos’ seed with some wine, then looked back at him. “Now show me what you can do for me.”
He nodded, looking nothing but pleased at the notion. “Lie down, Máire, and give me the honour of showing me your sheath.”
All her worry and shame were long gone, so she did as he said, laying down on the ground. It was mossy and soft, like it had been made for the purpose. When Babacchos moved closer, she spread her legs for him. A bushel of rich red hair covered the mound above her sex and reached down along the sides of her lips, and when her wet lips parted in front of him he whimpered and fell to his knees. She thought he was going to lay with her, but instead he prostrated himself before her, and his head fell down between her legs. One of his large hands grabbed onto her thigh while the other found its way to her mound, brushing through her hair before gently caressing her swollen outer lip even as his tongue touched a sensitive spot at the top of her entrance, making her shudder.
Never had she felt anything like that first touch, but she soon found out it was merely the beginning, for he started circling his tongue around that spot as his finger pushed a little bit inside of her wetness, pressing against the wall. His beard tickled against her thighs and she grabbed onto his horns. Her back arched a little and she pushed her sex right up against his face and used her grip on his horns to press him closer. He chuckled merrily before his tongue dove into her. He kept a steady grip on her thigh to make sure she couldn’t slip away as he explored deeper with one finger, then two, massaging against the fleshy walls firmly, rhythmically. Each touch of his tongue, each press of his fingers sent waves of pleasure through her whole body, her sex clamping down on his fingers instinctively, her muscles tensing and relaxing, her body twitching under his grip. And as ecstasy washed over her, she felt the skein of worry and pain that she had carried in her chest for years finally starting to unravel.
It did not take long for her to find out that she too could be brought to the peak of pleasure, for Babacchos’ tongue uncovered something just above her sex that when touched by its roughness made her release all her tension in powerful spasms, her whole lower body quivering, her legs locked around his head and holding him fast while clear juices burst out of her onto his face and beard. He roared with joyous laughter as she slowly relaxed, sinking back to the ground, and feeling like all her worries had been swept away.
Babacchos dropped down beside her and she rolled up to snuggle against his warm, strong body, laying her head on his offered arm and feeling his soft fur against her skin. She reached out to run her hand through his chest hair as she lay there in blissful relaxation.
“Thank you,” she said after a while.
“It was my pleasure, Máire of Brambleby,” he replied in his rumbling voice.
After a while she sighed, recalling why she had come. “I still need the seed.” As she said it, her mind moved to the lively tunes of Katheidron’s flute, still skipping playfully through the glade, accompanying the sounds of the raging orgy.
“But not mine,” said Babacchos, his voice gentle, untainted by jealousy or disappointment.
She shook her head. “No.” She rolled to lie on her back again and craned her neck to look at Katheidron as he sat there, lost in his music. “There’s just something about him.”
“There is that,” agreed Babacchos. He withdrew his arm carefully and turned over, placing his elbow on the ground so he could rest his head in his hand and look down at Máire. He was unabashedly admiring her, his gaze on her breasts, which had flattened a bit and were spilling to the sides of her chest as she lay on her back.
“But he said he’s not like the others of your kind.”
Babacchos gave a small shrug. “So you won’t even try?” He raised his eyebrows.
Máire blinked at him, taken aback. Then she pushed herself up so she could plant a kiss on Babacchos’ cheek, which he accepted with closed eyes. She stood up.
“Good luck,” Babacchos said and laid back, apparently satisfied with watching the revellers below for now.
Máire walked past Nektarios, who had begun stroking his stem again as he watched a sídhe lady on all fours spreading herself open for what looked like a troll, whose stem was of a prodigious size.
Katheidron was lost in his music, and Máire didn’t want to disturb him, so she walked up and sat down next to him on the mossy ground. Only when she felt the soft texture of the moss against her skin did she become aware of her nakedness, but she found it didn’t bother her at all. She leaned back, putting her arms behind her head. The animated melody of Katheidron’s flute whirled through the verdant crowns of the ash and oak that stretched out above her, leaves bright green and shaking gently in the breeze. The impressions floated together and Máire felt like she was a part of that whole, flying away on the breeze accompanied by the lively tunes, caressed by the wind, and cheered on by the trees.
Máire didn’t know how long she just lay there, melting into the strange and beautiful world, but when her awareness shifted back to her surroundings, darkness had come. The patches of sky she could see through the foliage were scattered with stars in a multitude of colours that cast a dim, surreal light over the forest. And she was lying right next to Katheidron, the side of her chest pressed against the warm fur of his leg. He was no longer playing his flute, only sitting there quietly, looking up towards the sky.
From the sound of it, the revelry was still going strong in the glade below. Others had taken up instruments, playing cheerful tunes and beating a heavy, primal rhythm on drums.
Máire looked up at Katheidron, who turned towards her like he had felt her gaze on him. The otherworldly light of the stars gave his twisted horns and broad face an alien beauty. He smiled at her, though she detected sadness in that smile.
“I want it to be you,” was all she said. But she meant it with all her heart. He would father her child, or no one would. It was something she could not explain, other than that it was the most obvious thing in the world.
To her surprise he nodded, though that sad smile stayed on his lips as he reached out to put his hand on her cheek, caressing it gently with his thumb. She leaned into his touch. With a little impatience, she raised herself so their faces were close, her nose brushing against his. When she laid an arm around his back and pressed her chest against his, he returned her embrace, his chest hair tickling her nipples as her breasts pushed up against him. She could feel that tingle of lust rising from the depths of her again, even stronger than before. But she held it back. This would be something more than the lustful romp she had enjoyed with the other two, and Máire wanted to savour it.
Katheidron leaned back into the mossy grass, pulling her gently along so that she rolled over to lie on top of him. His fur was warm against her legs and the touch of his soft, thick stem against her thigh made her shiver with desire. She smiled and looked down at him, his face locked in an enigmatic expression somewhere between melancholy and devotion, while a dappled kaleidoscope of light from the strange stars played over his features. If he had doubts, he must finally have been rid of them when she leaned in to kiss him, and he rose to meet her lips fully, closing his eyes and letting out a low moan. His hand moved to the small of her back, stroking it lightly as their kiss deepened, tongues meeting in a soft, slow dance. Even though Máire felt a more immediate urge building up inside her, she took the time to relish each new sensation, each movement of their bodies against each other. It was only as Katheidron began relaxing that she understood how tense he had been.
They broke away from the kiss and she ran a hand through his hair, then found one of his curled horns, tracing its pattern with her fingers while he looked up at her, his expression finally having changed to one of reverent desire. His hand moved from the small of her back to her rear, carefully running his fingers over the smooth skin, almost like he was unsure if it was allowed. Máire smiled down at him and took his other hand in hers, kissing it fondly before guiding it to her full breast, pushing it up against the soft flesh.
“You needn’t hold back,” she said as she pulled back to straddle his groin, keeping his hand on her breast until he began squeezing it himself. Then she lowered herself against his stem, finding it somewhat stiff as it touched her swollen lips, making her gasp.
“Oh, Máire,” was all he said as he kneaded her breast and moved his other hand to her waist, pushing up against her as she slid the wetness of her sheath against the length of his stem. She was desperate for it to fill the emptiness in her. But she held back, getting more aroused with every moment of anticipation.
His eyes were hungry as they locked on her breasts. Unable to resist any longer, he raised himself to sit up so he could place his warm lips over one of her nipples, sucking it into his mouth to run his tongue over it as he kept fondling the other breast. Máire giggled as she felt his tongue tickle her nipple, but was soon moaning at the new sensation, never having suspected her nipples could be so sensitive. The shift in position had made her slip back into his lap, his hard stem sliding along her sex and up her thigh, then stopping to rest pressed against her mound and tummy, warm and wet against her skin.
While Katheidron suckled her breast with wanton, almost desperate desire, she wrapped an arm around him and pushed her body against his, trapping his stem between their bellies. He let out a long muffled groan into her breasts as his manhood slid along their bellies, leaving a wet trail of his sap. She kept grinding herself against him, his soft fur tickling her buttocks. His hand found her rear again and his strong fingers dug into the flesh. The desire burned in her now, her sheath aching from the absence of his stem.
Máire reluctantly detached from him so she could roll to the side and lay flat on the moss. Her fiery hair spread out around her in a halo and her breasts slid a little to the sides as she looked up at him. “Now,” she said.
He turned around to kneel beside her, his thick stem hard and glistening in the starlight.
Máire opened her legs for him, her lips swollen and wet, ready for him, her desire for him torturing her, every second without his touch a sweet, painful void. He put one of his knees between her legs, and just the skin brushing against the inside of her thigh made her gasp and push herself against him, the touch of her moist lips against his skin sending a shiver through her chest. With his hands on the ground on each side of her, he lowered himself over her, more and more of their skin touching as her breasts pressed against his chest, her tummy against his soft fur. She wrapped her arms around him and he used one hand to guide the tip of his stem to her opening, his golden eyes never leaving hers as he pushed into her slowly.
The way he slid his manhood into her wet entrance with such deliberate care was maddening, and she shivered and moaned, pressing her groin up towards him to take more of him inside. He smiled at her impatience and pushed a little more, his stem caressing her lips and pushing into her depths at the same time, and she groaned loudly, her whole body begging for more, fingers digging into his back, eyes meeting his with hunger. He held himself deep inside her like that for a few moments, filling an emptiness that she had carried for a lifetime, until she whined at him for more.
When he rocked back the tip of his stem nudged something inside the top of her wet cave that sent another wave of pleasure through her, and then he began thrusting into her, slowly at first, but he too must have been impatient, for soon he picked up the speed. Each thrust made her moan as he drove into her, filling her up, and she reached a hand to his furry rear, desperately grasping at its taut muscles as if to push him in faster, further. His shaft was slick with the sweet sap of their union, and his grunts became long groans as he thrust all the way in with wet squelches.
The revelry in the glade below faded into the background, the lustful noise blending with the primal rhythms of the beating drums and setting the pace for their lovemaking. They only had eyes for each other, yet they were united with the revellers below in the rhythm of the music as Katheidron drove into Máire over and over. The two of them moaned and called out louder and louder in unison, whatever inhibitions they might have had being washed away by the euphoric joy of the moment, their minds clear and reaching for each other as their bodies joined.
When Máire felt as though the pressure was about to burst inside of her, Katheidron put his hands on her waist, grasping her firmly as he shifted positions, getting up on his knees and lifting her lower body along with him so that her shoulders and head touched the ground while he drove into her at a new angle. Her breasts bounced and she cried out with each thrust as it released wave after wave of rapturous ecstasy through her body, each merging with the next until she could barely take it anymore, her mind slipping away. When the release came it was an unstoppable torrent, her whole body convulsing from the pleasure so that Katheidron had to grip her waist tightly as she thrashed under him, her arms reaching out to grasp the moss below as she screamed out in unbridled joy.
He continued to thrust into her with wet slaps, seeking his own peak even as he intensified hers, pushing her back towards the edge. And finally his lower body twitched and his fingers dug deep into her waist, his face twisting up in pleasure, groaning loudly as his potent seed flowed into her, his stem pulsing inside her when the sticky warmth surged out in one, two, three generous loads, filling her canal with the creamy sap.
They both breathed heavily as he gently lowered her back onto the ground, then he sank into her embrace with his stem still inside her. He kissed her lips again, softer this time, and she responded in kind, reaching out to caress his hair fondly. His weight pressed against her and their skin clung together with sweat and juices. When he pulled away, his wilting stem slid out of her hole, and she could feel his warm seed slowly running out of her sheath and down her soft skin to drip onto the moss below. Máire grabbed his hand as he shifted to lie down beside her. He placed his other hand on hers and drew it close, holding it to his chest like it was precious. The soft night breeze felt welcome on her skin, cooling her a little as they lay there, breathing and watching the stars. She felt younger, like the release had washed away some of the years spent in toil and cheerlessness.
They lay there in silence for a long time. Any words between them now would inevitably lead to a place neither wanted to go. And though time passed differently in Faerie, it did still pass, and soon a faint orange glow heralded the coming of the sun.
“Dawn soon,” said Katheidron, his voice husky with emotion. Máire turned towards him, the sadness in his voice stirring her deeply. But he did not turn to her.
There were so many things she wanted to say to him, but none of them came out. Back at home, she had a life she knew and people she loved, and if she did not go she would never see them again. And she would bear a child now, of that she was certain. There was hope in her heart that it would change things between her and Colm, and even if it didn’t she wouldn’t be alone anymore. She’d have a daughter to raise. Yes. It was a daughter, she decided, whom she could teach all the things her mother had taught her. And when she returned, she would remind the villagers about the fae, and how they must not be forgotten, lest the bonds between their people be broken forever. And she would go visit Áine — to the depths with what Colm thought of it.
She pressed her eyes closed and felt tears spilling out. She squeezed Katheidron’s hand one more time, and he squeezed back. Then she slipped her hand out of his grasp, though he clung to it for a moment before letting go. There was nothing to say that wouldn’t hurt them both, so she walked away, finding her dress and shift on the ground nearby. She put them on hurriedly, straightening them best she could. Then she looked back once more at Katheidron, still lying there looking up towards the fading stars, their light reflecting in the tears forming in his eyes.
With a tremendous effort, she tore her gaze from him and walked away, setting off at a brisk pace in the direction she had come. For a short while, she worried she might not find her way back, but soon she heard the merrymaking of the other feast in the distance, and she followed the noise until she stepped out of the Rathcoiran forest and onto the meadow below the standing stones. The revelry was still going, though perhaps with a little less fervour than before. Many who had passed out or fallen asleep lay strewn about in the grass.
The sky was still dark, but a sliver of orange from the sun about to rise adorned the distant horizon. Above, the strange stars still shone in the sky, so many and so bright that they came together to form a colourful wreath across the heavens. Máire gazed at it wistfully for a moment before she sighed and walked up to the stones. After taking one final look around, she stepped between the stones of Banbha and Cailleach.
The scene on the other side was similar, yet painfully different. The hint of orange on the horizon was the same, but the stars hung cold and lonely in the sky. The air was silent and cool. She shivered, putting her arms around her as she began walking towards the village. Her brooch and the other meagre offerings on the stone slab were gone. The villagers needed to be reminded of the power of this place.
She walked down the hill humming a joyful melody. It was a strange tune, she realised. Where had it come from? It felt familiar, yet it wasn’t something she could have heard back at the village. The feast in the village! Had she missed it? She stopped and looked around her, feeling like something was thoroughly and irreversibly wrong. What was she doing wandering near the Rathcoiran in the early morning hours?
“Máire? Is that you? Oh, thank the gods you are safe!” It was Colm, running up to her from the path ahead. He scooped her up in a desperate embrace.
“What — ?” Máire tried to recall the events of the evening and found she could not. “What happened?”
“That’s for you to tell! You were gone, and Rós said she’d seen you walking down the path towards the old stones.” He let go of her enough that he could face him, though he still held her like someone might steal her away. “What have you been doing?”
“I — ” but she could not remember. What had she been doing? She’d come here on Blathnaid’s advice to do something to help her bear a child. And she had done it, though she had no memory of it. Her hand fell absent-mindedly to her cleavage to thumb her mother’s brooch, only it wasn’t there. “Oh, no. My brooch. It must have fallen off.” She turned to look back towards the stones.
“To the depths with you’re brooch, Máire! As long as you are all right.”
“To the depths? You know it was my mother’s,” she said, turning back to look at him, the anger and frustration from all their years of marriage flowing back into her. For a moment she wondered where it had all been.
Colm’s eyes narrowed. “And how did you lose it? You always look after it so. Unless you misplaced it while you were undressing. What were you doing out here, Máire?”
She wrangled herself out of his grip and narrowed her eyes, stepping back from him. “What do you mean, Colm?”
“Don’t you think I notice how every man in Brambleby makes sheep’s eyes at you? Surely one of them could have snuck off tonight, too! It doesn’t take much to figure out the rest.”
His stance was defensive, but he looked frightened. He had always been possessive of her in front of the other men in the village, yet she could not help but remember the insecure young boy she had once fallen for. Suddenly she understood that it was that same boy who stood before her now. Who she had always shared a bed with. Nervous, uncertain, afraid. She felt a pang of sorrow and regret for the life they could have had. Colm wasn’t a bad man. He’d never meant to hurt her. It was just that he clung to what little knowledge he had of women and relationships like a drowning man, stuck in what he had been taught by other insecure men, having nothing else to grab onto.
Once again, he failed to see past his own worries, taking the meaning of her silence as something else. “So if your belly grows now, what am I to think?”
“No,” she said, surprising herself.
It caught him off guard. “No? What does that mean?”
“No. I will not have this anymore, Colm. You do not trust me. You do not show me love. You do not care for how I feel. I went to Blathnaid as you said. As you told me. And I came here on her word that there was yet a way for me to bear a child. For us to have a child.”
Colm’s face went bright red. “I won’t — ” he started, anger flaring in his voice, but just as quickly as it had risen, it fled with a sigh that seemed to deflate his whole countenance. “No. You are right. I do not know how to do this. I try, but I know nothing. I thought — I thought a child would make you happy.” His eyes glistened with tears. “Please. I will be better.”
His words tore at her heart, and she began to take a step towards him, wanting to embrace him and tell him everything would be fine. But the anger from all those years rose within her again and would no longer be denied. She stopped.
“The time when you should have been better is in the past,” she said, biting the words off.
“Máire. Let’s just go home. We’re both tired. We can talk in the morning.” He looked towards the growing light in the east. “It’s nearly dawn, for crow’s sake.”
Máire started, jolted to life by some urge she could not understand. Nearly dawn.
Colm reached his hand towards her, and she wanted to go to him. To try and fix things. To help him be better. But something else pulled at her, and it was stronger. She turned around and ran towards the stones.
“What are you doing?” Colm called after her.
She didn’t know what she was doing. Only that she had to hurry. She ran, picking up the pace when she heard Colm’s heavy steps behind her. When she was among the stones, she stopped, looking about in panic.
Between tears and wind.
Just as Colm reached out to grab her, she threw herself between the stones of Banhba and Cailleach.
“Máire!” Colm called out, but his voice was already fading away.
She fell and tumbled and ended up splayed in the grass at the bottom of a small hill. The first impression beyond the confusion and pain was the sound of a flute, playing a haunting melody filled with sorrow and regret. It was like nothing she had ever heard before, yet so familiar it made her chest hurt. Without words, the music spoke of the crying moon and the forgotten stars, of love lost, of people leaving and never coming back. Tears formed in her eyes. She had left people behind. Colm, Blathnaid, and everyone else in the village. And Áine, her sweet sister. She would never see any of them again.
She sat up and looked around. The hill with the standing stones was behind her, but the sun was high in the sky, and the grass and flowers in the meadow seemed impossibly vibrant. The whole place was sharper, more intense, more alive. It was strange, yet it didn’t scare her. There was a funny sense of recognition as she stood up, though she knew this was not the place she had left behind. Colm and the path back to Brambleby were in another world.
When she finally gathered the courage to walk, it was towards the tune. Her feet refused to take her anywhere else. It came from the Rathcoiran, with its old oaks and ashes looming over her as if they watched her every step.
“Mind your own business,” she said to a gnarled old oak in a stern voice, and it shuddered in the wind as if affronted by her reprimand.
She came upon a stream flowing delightedly through the mossy undergrowth and stopped abruptly to gape at the creature responsible for the sad melody. He was perched on a large boulder, and he had hairy legs, hooves, and horns. Yet strangely, she did not feel the least bit threatened by him. She stopped to listen to him play. The satyr — yes, that’s what he was — was so absorbed in his music that he didn’t appear to notice her. When he finally put his flute down, his eyes were closed, and there was a tear running down his cheek.
“What a haunting tune,” she said, and he was so startled by the sound of her voice that he nearly fell off the boulder. His eyes opened and then went wide, like he was surprised not only by her presence but by her mere existence.
“Máire?” he said, his voice shuddering. He looked incredulous.
“How do you — ?” she said. But there was something about this strange man that tugged at her. A memory, a dream just out of reach.
Tears were streaming down his face, but now his expression was one of pure joy. He jumped off the boulder and crossed the distance between them in leaps and strides and caught her in a strong, warm embrace.
At first she was startled, but as soon as she felt his arms around her and smelled the musk of his body, she melted into his arms, as if this were the one thing she had been looking for.
“I — I know you, don’t I?” she whispered. Fractured memories were flashing through her mind, not quite there, not quite gone.
“You do. They call me Katheidron.” He pulled back so he could lock his golden eyes with hers. “But my true name is Katakos,” he said, and the words of her mother came back to her, and she knew it was a precious thing he had just given her. Yet he had done so freely and without hesitation. As she looked into those golden, tear-filled eyes, other memories came flowing back in fragments, memories of passionate lovemaking and an inexplicable bond she had with this man. Memories of her childhood, her mother leaning over her crib when she was nought but a child, whispering her name.
“They call me Máire of Brambleby,” she said. “But my true name is Niamh.” When she spoke that name, more of her memories came flooding back, putting tears in her eyes, both from the joy of finding her way back and from the sorrow for what she had left behind.
He pulled her into a fierce, loving embrace, and she rested her head on his chest. Máire would stay like that forever if she could, with the world around them forgotten. They were bonded by their true names, and whatever the future might bring, they would face it together.
They eventually managed to let go of each other for long enough that Katheidron could fetch his satchel and sling it over his shoulder. Then he immediately reached out to her. She took his hand, kissed it, and stood there looking up at him, her green eyes radiant with new life. Unconsciously, her other hand fell to her belly, and he smiled broadly when he noticed.
“Come,” he said. “There are others who will be pleased to see you.”
And so they walked into the forest together, hand in hand, about to set out on a long and adventurous journey back towards Katheidron’s home in the mountains of Nysa. But that is a different tale.
The End
