Site icon Satyr's Garden

Untitled by Taceo

Untitled by Taceo

A grunt spills from her lips, as the woman hoisted a large body up over the ledge. Looking across the gap, she sees the flicker of faint torch light along the tunnel walls. Kneeling down, her whispers into his ear instructions to hold on, soft but firm.. Stirring, he groans slightly, then slumps. Shaking her head, she stands as the advancing party’s light illuminates the gaping cavern’s entrance. Her silhouette hugging the rock wall, she pulls her partner back, further into the shadows. There was nowhere else to hide. This was where they would make their stand, or find their peace. Either way, the rebel had a decision to make. Humming to herself, an old tune from memory, one that spoke of times more lively, more carefree.. she reaches over shoulder, slender fingers grasp a firm shaft. Easing the arrow from her quiver, she fluidly nocks. The woman glances down, her brow furrowing at the wet sheen beneath him growing. She did not know much longer he could stay alive, without something, anything. This was it. She could not stand idle, anxious with uncertainty. It must end here.

The first guard rounded the corner, as the point struck. His cry a gargled, watery murmur, before crumpling into a heap at the entranceway. His torch clattered off the chasm. Astonished shouts turn to angry calls of retribution, only to change once more, as a flurry rains down upon them. In such tight quarters, the wails of the trapped ring out, as the men, clad in their riding gear, were unsuitable to resist the sting of her bow. Her limber frame slips down, crouching at the base of the ledge. Her quiver spent, she had to resort to other methods, to hold back these invaders of her home. Like an animal of the night, her lithe form moves in the shadows, remaining hidden, while the men attempt to regain order, and resume their task.

She lifts her hands up into the dark tresses, manipulating them into a tight weave, so that she might hear and see with less obstruction, while her imagination races.. There.. near where the underground stream gurgled up, would do.. Rising to her feet, the woman runs at full speed, her gait leaving him far behind, and attracting the gaze of the newly regained hunt. With little needed motivation, the armed party takes off in pursuit, their prize now in sight.

The rebel grins, looking over her shoulder,to see that they took the chase. Without a word, she sheds her cloak. The naked form leaping off the precipice, and diving deeply into the bubbling waters of the stream.. Arms moving quickly, she strokes to surge above the turbulent churn. The heat that remained of the long past volcano kept these waters at a turgidity that rivaled boiling. Using this knowledge of her hideout, she strove to keep the hunters focused on her, not the gravely wounded charge she had sworn to protect. With a firm kick, she glides through the surf and then scrambles up the embankment.. The threats of the guards growing lewd, as they focus on the nude fleeing form. Her hand quickly lifts, to brush the perspiration from her brow, before turning and looking upon them from above. Eyes ablaze, the hand shifts from her face, to settle on the hard surface of the lever. With a focused push downward, huge, ample boulders, freed from their restraints, roll into the valley, directly onto her pursuers. With a serene smile upon her lips and hefting a rock in her hand, she moves to finish the task.

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