Avarice Desperation Valley

Dark Equus

Young Eirik grew and thrived throughout that winter. Raissa learned to love the little boy who was not of her expectations, and Sven made a magnificent recovery integrating once more into the circle of men, and re assuming his second in command status.

Bennett never chose to raise the matter of the damming amulet with Sven, though his curiosity burned to know the entire story. However some things were better left to lie. His henchman had suffered more than enough for any transgression he may have committed. In spite of this Sven seemed to hold no malice at all toward his younger brother, though the price he had paid to cover Aran’s actions was high. In light of this Bennett now watched Aran carefully, in recent months he had noticed the young man’s confidence, and prowess blossom. He seemed less content to stay on the sidelines, and had he not taken up the mantle of leadership swiftly in Bennett’s absence? He liked it not. All these things being reason to now feel uneasy over Aran's presence.

Two of the three young maidens Sarah and Kate were now also with child. The rains came, they were bountiful, assuring the soil would be in fine shape to plant the spring garden. Abundant grasses, white and yellow carpets of wild flowers bloomed on the usually barren sands, the endless miles of them stretching in every direction as far as the eye could see. The horses, and mules regained their vigor. The flock of goats depleted numbers swelling with the arrival of many young kids, ensuring an ongoing food supply for tough times. Bennett had mended his relationship with his old friend, and Sven and Aran had been given the gift of just being brothers again. Both men enjoying the kudos of being the uncle and father to the newest member of the camp. Raissa too basking in the attention her baby afforded her, she felt like some kind of celebrity.

If all this bounty was not enough there was no evidence of any kind they had been located by their enemies and traced to this valley. With a reduced force to feed there was less of a strain on the food supply, and life was as easy as it had been for many years. Freed from most of the pressures of the past few months, there was time to see to many tasks that had been left long neglected.

The western pass though heavily overgrown was shored up to prevent the passage of intruders. The stores were inventoried and restocked, most of the dry rations were spent, the alcohol all but gone. Though there were still quite a respectable cache of weapons and ammunition. Order was returned to the huts and the workings of the camp.

Nathan was interred in the unused shipping container that faced away from Bennett’s own, with a view of the dried river bed. He was provided with a simple pallet and a place to shelter from the weather. Chained securely about the ankle that he might perform some useful work in the garden and gather if he so wished with the other slaves in the camp’s centre. The teenage boy felt abandoned and cast aside it was a bitter pill. He would watch his Master as he came and went from the adjoining cabin, but it was as though Nathan no longer existed. The boy could hear the menacing man in there enforcing his reign of dominance over his captive. Black jealousy simmered ever below the surface of the impressionable youth, like summer grass waiting for a forest fire.

Aran had prepared to go hunting today, he was not so skilled with the bow as he was with a gun, but Bennett had forbidden the use of all firearms for something as mundane as every day food gathering. Bullets were more precious than gold, and there was no sense in alerting the attention of any unwanted passers-by to the hidden encampment, especially now their defensive force had been greatly reduced in number. So the warrior left the valley early that day to scout the plains above, stopping as he passed the horses grazing on the poached egg daisies, the blond man eyeing Renard’s roan gelding and toying with the idea of riding him. It would make hunting an easier and swifter proposition, but the suburban educated man had very limited experience with horses.

He could only recall riding a horse once on a holiday by the beach with his brother, the riding school equine so docile it did no more than plod even with his more daring brother kicking it in the ribs. The only thing that seemed to move it was a carrot or similar treat.

Perhaps horses were not for him, though he could see the wisdom in learning to ride as well as Renard could. Still it seemed hard to trust a thousand pound animal that had a mind of its own. Sven rode on occasion clumsily, Aran figured he should too. Approaching the roan, hand extended, echoes of the beach holiday still reverberating in his head. The waves breaking, the screeching gulls overhead in the clear blue skies, his brother calling to him. Aran was jerked back from this reverie swiftly as the horse shied away from his hand like it had been touched with a white hot iron. The other horses bolting with him, and the moth eaten mules as well. “Horses, stupid animals, waste of time!” Aran spat, turning on his heel and ascending the steep path all thoughts of riding gone, lamenting the passing of the combustion engine.

The day was a fine clear one, a few fluffy white clouds dotted the otherwise uncluttered skies, and the breeze was a light one from the southwest. Todd on the watch acknowledged Aran as he passed by nonchalantly. The high ground here was flat and windswept, with the occasional rocky ironstone promontory to break the vista of smooth red sand and undulating sea of wild flowers. Aran cast about him, hand shielding his keen green eyes beneath his golden brow from the glare, looking for any telltale sign of game. He could see no trace of movement in the spiked grasses, or in the dark recesses of the ironstone. So Aran wandered further and further from the valley in ever widening circles, he had all day, there was no pressing hurry.

The sun reached its zenith announcing midday, the thus far unsuccessful hunter was thirsty so he stopped for a drink from his canteen in the welcome shade of a rocky overhang. Small skinks scurried from the rocks startled by the intrusion to their usually deserted haven, as Aran made himself comfortable on the unyielding stone. It was uncharacteristically warm this day for winter and in no time the young man found he was dozing in the shade.

The thrumming of horses hooves tore him from the welcome verges of slumber. Invaders! Was all Aran could think. He rose into a cautious crouch with all the athleticism of a big cat, one hand on his dagger loosening it from his belt, bow in the other. The thump of hooves advanced on his hiding place, it was an uncomfortable feeling to be thus cornered. Aran electing to sheathe his dagger and pulling an arrow from the quiver on his back to string his bow, the deadly barb poised, and ready to fly.

A shaggy black hoof pawed at the sand, the only place Aran had seen horses like this were in the service of the Wolf Lord’s knights. The man tensed and swallowed hard as the second glossy hoof came into sight and the massive wither of the animal. Its coat shone blue black of almost an almost unnatural sheen, and before he could prepare to attack, the entire beast came into full view.

Aran at once letting his bow’s aim fall to the sand, the horse wore no harness and was riderless, clearly no threat to anyone. Aran was not convinced immediately the horses' presence was not some kind of a trap. This fine animal was too valuable to just be running free in the desert not belonging to anyone. He waited patiently, ears straining for any trace of sound. The fine mare did not leave the precinct of the overhang, instead rearing and cavorting in tight circles her dark eyes on him, pawing at the earth raising clouds of sand.

The warrior did not know what to do, but he reasoned that if there was indeed any threat present it would have presented it'self by now, so cautiously, bow at the ready he exited the overhang and approached the fretting animal. The mare stopped as he drew near becoming most calm. Aran reached to touch its jet wither an easy eighteen hands in height. The great horse sniffed at the warrior expelling great puffs of warm air like a fire breathing dragon on Aran’s exposed flesh catching his scent. The man sliding his hand gently over the mare’s huge arched neck toward her noble head coming to rest finally on her velvet nose.

Always one to take in his surroundings Aran turned to survey the sands, and could see the horse had possibly approached from the direction of the valley. This was disconcerting and he felt compelled to at once return home. He gathered his weapons to him and made to leave, the large mare nudged him in the shoulder as he turned away, almost pushing him to the ground. He was surprised at her power. It was then he decided perhaps he could ride?

Aran was nervous about this, but had watched Renard and even Sven ride many times, was it really that hard? Bracing himself, he leapt up onto the horse’s back. He was no light man, but the animal did not flinch. Aran was both surprised and excited at this wishing he had some rope to make a crude bridle. In absence of this all he could do was entangle his hand in the animal’s voluminous mane and gingerly he urged the beast forward. The mare went eagerly, obeying even Aran’s clumsy signals, he almost fell when the horse broke into a trot, only saved by animal progressing into a smoother canter. The steed effortlessly covered the shifting sands, the warrior clinging to its great back feeling a sense of euphoria. To be one with this magnificent animal felt natural in a way he could not explain, and all too swiftly the valley came into sight in the far distance.

The horse slid to a sudden halt, Aran most unready for the sudden maneuver slid from its back into the dunes cursing and spitting sand. “What the hell did you do that for?” He growled scowling at the animal, the wind knocked out of him, feeling stupid talking to a horse and wishing he possessed a whip. The man dusted himself off and made to mount the animal again, this time it reared and shied away tossing its ebony mane.

Try as he might the mare would not allow him to ride her again, or lead her any closer to the ravine Aran called home. The magnificent horse eventually bolting away at a full gallop to disappear on the southern horizon. Aran stood mesmerized in the horse’s wake, and did not tear his eyes away until he could make out the black speck no more. Empty handed the warrior returned to camp as the shadows closed in, none questioning his fruitless expedition, and the temperature dropped promising a frigid night.

The fire felt good as Aran sought the comfort of his furs, setting aside his weapons. He took the drink proffered to him by Lissa, mind still firmly anchored on the mysterious events of the afternoon, and helped himself to ample mouthfuls of roast meat, and steaming yellow corn. Aran looked long at Lissa but decided he was too weary to satisfy more carnal needs this evening, sighting his brother and greeting Sven warmly. It was good to have his older brother’s company at the fire side again, the two men made it a nightly habit to dine together by the communal blaze. Nearly every inhabitant was there this evening as the temperature dropped, and ice crystals formed on the grasses in delicate profusion. The fire was fed, and the cave was wonderfully warm. Bennett sat enthroned in his usual place eating and sharpening a blade with unerring precision.

Raissa was close to the circle of men, the young Eirik wrapped protectively in soft rabbit furs cradled against her breast sleeping. Life had eased for her greatly since the birth of her baby. Sven protected her from any unwanted advances, making it doubly clear to certain men in the encampment it would be a bad idea to mess with what the most mature warrior here considered his.

The perceptive slave girl observed the two brothers talking with one another, their voices low, sitting apart from the others and at intervals in the conversation she noticed Aran’s intense eyes cast in her direction. It was most difficult for Raissa to look away. The young woman sensing somehow she was the topic of the conversation, and she was not sure she felt uneasy about being discussed, though she had no idea of the contents of the brother’s mutterings lost in the noise of the gathering. It was warm here but in spite of it Raissa felt a chill pass down her spine and could not help feeling like something important was being decided on her behalf whether she liked it or not. Feeling most uncomfortable she decided she would leave and put little Eirik to bed in his cradle his father had lovingly crafted.

Warren and Lucy sat together as they often did further away from the fire. Lucy always ready to do the bidding of a warrior should it be required. The two of them would put a fur blanket over both of their shoulders and quietly converse with one another. No one paid them any heed, they passed most evenings in this fashion. Warren had become a lot more relaxed as time had worn on, he worked as the others did even though his bad limp slowed him down, and no longer felt his life was in danger or any focus was on him.

“You know I've never been to that fortress.” Warren said in a quiet almost whisper.
“I don't think any of us would want to.” Lucy shot back. “It did not seem like anyone here got a very good reception.” The large woman giggled lightheartedly nudging her skinny man in the ribs. Warren chuckled also, trying to position his broken glasses on his nose. They were fast becoming the bane of his life. He had no hope of getting new ones, and without them his vision was terrible.

“But, really my pet...” Warren’s voice was a whisper now. “I actually could have showed those fools something that could have given them that place... Really!” He giggled again, Lucy sobered stared at him. “They think they are such men?” He continued, the topic of the conversation becoming dangerous. “They overlook me you know, but there's something I know of just out there...” He looked from the mouth of the cave.

“Stop!” Lucy spat, as quietly as she dared, glaring at her love. It was already too late, Raissa had overheard part of the conversation and she looked blankly at Lucy and Warren. The two partners in the verbal crime gazed back at her silently pleading, hoping the girl would not speak of that which she had just overheard.

Aran watched Raissa depart, and did not miss her startled reaction to the conversation of the two slaves who were lovers. His brow knotted, and Sven glanced over his shoulder to catch what his young brother was looking at so quizzically. “Ah she’ll accept it.” Sven stated glancing back at his brother. Aran paused, took another hunk of meat repositioning himself in his furs, reclining lazily on his side, again going back to his brother’s request. The younger man sighed and looked at Sven he couldn't really say no, though his heart wasn't really in it.
“Very well, I’ll do the honors then, but not tonight okay?” The real delight in Sven’s smile was worth any inconvenience, Aran just elated to have Sven well, and amongst the warriors again, something he never thought he would see.

Aran did not tell his brother of the horse, nor anyone else. Somehow he felt foolish, and it was better unspoken of. The man was weary the warmth and his full belly lulling him to sleep.


There was a constant ping of water droplets dripping into yet more water in the subterranean cavern, the air laden with moisture, a closeness that pressed in on one from every direction. Somehow this place felt familiar to Aran, he could vividly recall the glowing pond that shimmered before him. Strange light seemed to filter through its brackish waters, due to some undisclosed source. The sight of it drew the man, somehow captivating him, forcing his gaze into its indeterminable depths. The stone that surrounded this body of water was white and polished smooth, its surface covered with strange runic symbols, some of these looked familiar to him others he had never seen their like. Squatting down to inspect them closer his golden hair brushing the floor, tracing the ancient lines with his strong fingers. These too somehow drew him.

She was there beside him before he sensed her presence. Aran started, immediately reaching for a non existent weapon, flustered. The petite woman danced away from him playfully, her musical laughter echoing off the cavernous walls. Long black hair covering her curvaceous form. Unused to being ambushed Aran stood to his full height, his eyes following her every graceful movement. Most odd he thought. The warrior had looked at that unbridled girl many times and she had never seemed much to him. Speechless and no more than a wild child, he had ignored her.

Aran shook his head as though it might aid him to dislodge this strange vision. However it made no difference, Selene again approaching him holding the golden headed giant who towered over her in thrall. The woman child trailed her fine ivory hand across the powerful expanse of Aran’s back. She did not hesitate to touch him, as Raissa and the other slave girls always had, there was no hint of reluctance, or fear as she traced the scars the whip had left with tenderness. Her very caress seemed to cause them to close over, heal and fade into nothingness.

Turning to gaze at her Aran met her eyes, black orbs so like those of a raven, dark, unfathomable, dangerous, with the iridescent green ones of his own. She smiled, an ever so subtle change crossed her elfin countenance and the warrior felt both desire coupled with unease. This woman child all about him, touching him, arousing him, she had no fear, she had no shame, she just was.

Aran was never one to pause when faced with a desirable female, however he found he felt compelled to just stand and allow her further exploration of his hard body. Selene’s hand left his shoulder blade and traveled down his sword arm, it tingled strangely under her fleeting touch. “Ah still powerful.” Again tracing the old scar that ran the full length of his arm. “Perhaps it will be you?” She purred whimsically, and most alluring to Aran, ebon tresses brushing his sun bronzed skin, light meeting dark. The warrior did not question Selene’s sudden finding of her voice, and not just any voice but the ageless voice of the mother, the Goddess.

“Come?” She gestured toward the greenish pond, her voice echoed in the chamber. “Tell me what it is you see?” Aran followed her to the edge of the dead still pool, unsure what it was Selene was hinting at. Looking over the edge he felt vertigo, the sides of the body of water cut straight down deep into the fathomless pond. He felt pulled toward it, and had to fight the impulse to fall.

“I see... The abyss.” Aran replied. Selene gave him a sideways glance through her mass of dark hair, something about the way she looked at him unnerved him, and his flesh prickled.
“Look again.” The girl child all but whispered seductively close to his ear. Aran obeyed gazing into the pool, the green light seemed to pulse with some strange energy. The man was about to look away when he spied a dark shadow in the depths. The warrior narrowed his eyes that he might see better, and the object materialized into a solid form. It was a weapon of exquisite beauty, suspended in the water some six feet below him.

Aran started, such strong dejavu, aware he had seen this all in a dream before while he was delirious from the flogging. The man dismissing it as some fanciful nightmare due to the gravity of his injuries. Why was he revisiting this dream, if a dream it even was?

The great broadsword of blackened steel, some four feet long from its beautifully etched pommel wrapped in twin dragons, to its deadly pointed blade. It’s keenness etched in the same mysterious runic carvings that adorned the stone that surrounded this pond. “You can see it can’t you?” Selene questioned. Aran could barely bring his usually strong voice to answer audibly.
“Yes,” was all he managed to utter in affirmation, eyeing the majestic weapon with open avarice.
“The great sword Blacksteel, your birthright if you are strong enough?” She coaxed in a velvet voice. The warrior couldn't help feeling like a pawn in some strange game, and he wasn’t at all entirely comfortable, but he was not leaving here without that blade.

Aran looked back toward the pond, the magnificent broadsword now poised just beneath the surface as if held by invisible strings. “Take it.” Selene teased and dared in her dulcet tones. The warrior paused and looked back to the pond suddenly aware the dragon ring on his wedding finger was beginning to feel unusually warm. Ignoring the sensation Aran reached for the mighty blade, the steel heavy and cold to the touch. As he grasped it Selene’s voice rose in exultant ecstasy. “Your father’s will is yours!”

The massive blade came clear of the water, a shining prophecy of death. Aran holding it aloft exultant and not afraid, the entire length of the gelid steel seemed imbued with terrible power. The weapon felt as though it had sprung to life in his hands, the chill of the steel so intense in his grasp it blossomed into radiant fire and he screamed in agony as the room spun...

“Are you all right?” It was Sven. “Damn bro you got way too close to the fire.” Aran sat bolt upright, all eyes were on him, he felt like a fool. It was nothing but a nightmare and he had inadvertently placed his hand into the coals of the dying fire. Bennett chuckled seeing this, and many of the men laughed at his misfortune. Aran would have shared their humor at his expense, if he had not caught the eyes of Selene on him from the back of the crowd.


Carlos shivered uncontrollably, he was hungry, thirsty, and most uncomfortable. He was fighting his own mind, the worst battle imaginable. Wondering what point, if any, his life had? It would be so much easier to just give in, let Bennett take what he wanted. However he just couldn't arrive at that either. He still felt the need to retaliate and refuse even if it was plainly not in his best interests. He had no allies here and felt as insignificant as a lone ant. Was this all there is, and all he would be?

Carlos was torn from his ever recirculating string of thoughts, Bennett hauling open the stubborn door. “Up!” Carlos complied somewhat clumsily, heavy hands on his shirt guiding him outside. The same impersonal hands dropping his jeans that he might relieve himself. Better at dealing with heat than cold Carlos was shivering, he could feel the warmth of the great man standing very close behind him. Feeling demeaned and humiliated, his every base function relied on his jailer.

He hung his head in shame and was returned to the cabin. “Sit.” He was pushed down on to the crumpled bed, the hood loosened and removed. Cold meat was pushed into his mouth, he ate without tasting, and drank his fill from the chipped cup pressed to his lips. “Life wont get better unless you let it.” Bennett lectured. “If I have to make it worse than this I can.” The man chuckled evilly in the half dark. Carlos did not reply he had no more words for this most hated of enemies, silent resistance was his newest resolve.

Voices spoke to him from the recesses of his mind they were a little louder than usual this evening. “Why don't you just give up?” They taunted. “It’s really not that hard is it?” He was cold, frustrated, and perpetually uncomfortable, and he ached to give in to them. His athletic shoulders slumped, Bennett picking up on this and moving closer. He brushed his captive’s cheek in the darkness in a gesture of unrequited tenderness, and was surprised to feel the wet of tears on the young man’s face. The sadistic man smiled to himself, as usual he was winning the game.


A peach colored sunrise greeted all those who were up early this day. Sven was uncharacteristically absent from Raissa’s side as she woke to the hungry cries of the baby. The small being relentless in its pursuit of its simple needs, the new mother found it all encompassing and at times overwhelming. She wondered what had called her man from his bed so early? Putting young Eirik to her breast to quiet him. Being so young she had recovered from the birth fairly swiftly, and much to her horror had already resumed her monthly cycle. At least Sven was incapable of the deed, and he was so possessive it was unlikely she would be burdened with another baby any time soon. That suited her fine. Raissa’s mind strayed back to the mistakenly overheard conversation between Warren and Lucy of last evening. What had he been referring to out there? More importantly should she say anything? The girl very undecided.

The baby taken care of Raissa dressed for the day, looking down at her naked body she could see the many changes the baby had wrought on her even without a mirror. Her breasts were much larger than they had been, her waist thicker, and her hips fuller. She was not sure she liked the new her.

That afternoon Raissa sat with Lucy longing to further question her friend about the mysterious conversation of last night, but she found she could not bring herself to broach the subject. Instead she sat quietly sewing many rabbit skins together with cured sinews to make a blanket while little Eirik slept. There was the sound of boots on gravel, Raissa and all the others Nathan included looked up from their tasks. Sven was before her the older warrior still emanating a very powerful presence, none would ever have guessed at his secret. Though Raissa if she looked hard enough could see the subtle changes, the slight loss of his powerful muscle and the thickness he had gained about his belly.

“Raissa come.” Sven no longer addressed her as simply slave, since Eirik’s birth he had used her name. Raissa did not tarry, collecting Eirik and trailing her man to where she knew not. She stalled when he began to ascend the steep path out of the valley. Sven saw the girl hesitate at the bottom of the path and sternly pushed her along before him. Why is he taking me up here? She worried, but did not question the man, Sven did not take to being questioned very well she had learned it was easier just to comply.

They reached the top, Aran was at the watch post, He got up to greet his brother. Raissa observed the two magnificent brethren side by side. Sven at thirty-six slightly heavier, his long hair less full, naturally dark at the roots fading to blond, with no adornments of any kind. Aran at twenty-three, leaner, his bull neck, ears, and fingers adorned with gold and rare gems, sporting a thick mane of purest saffron from roots to tip like a lion. Raissa felt small and positively dowdy, and wondered what on earth she was doing here?

Father Andrew then appeared clutching his bible in his withered claw, leaning on his hand made staff hewn from a scrub tree, looking winded from his climb. “Lets do this.” Sven said moving to take his son from Raissa. She tensed, clutching the child involuntarily to her. One look at Sven’s cool gray eyes told her she had best let go, reluctantly she did feeling small and afraid. Sven handed the child to Aran and Raissa felt weak at the knees, many terrible thoughts rushing through her mind. Sven took her by the arm and marched her a little way from the valley’s sharply descending cliff face, out onto the sands dotted with flowers. The day was mild and beautiful with barely a breeze, the sky cloudless.

Father Andrew seeing Raissa’s fear smiled warmly as he positioned his tired frame before her and Sven. Aran stood off to the side holding the sleeping infant looking somewhat awkward. Father Andrew cleared his throat, smiling at Raissa again he looked more ancient than ever, she was conscious of the pressure of Sven’s hand on her own, gripping her too hard, but she dare not pull away.

“We are all gathered here today to witness the joining of this man and woman before the sight of God...” Raissa almost fainting, my wedding, my wedding, and I wasn't even asked! Angry and confused that this presumptuous man who held her hand so possessively, had never even taken the time to propose. She barely took in any of the simple ceremony her head in a tumultuous tangle of thoughts.

Even more distasteful the ceremony was one sided requiring no response on her behalf, she felt insulted and angry being traded off like a cow sold at market. Sven was very solemn as he recited his vows. “With this ring I wed you, where I go, you will go, where I live you will live; my people shall be your people, and my God your God.” Sven pushed the thin gold wedding band on to Raissa’s trembling finger, sealing their union.

Aran smirked at her obvious confusion, or was it something else? She could not help but wonder what unfortunate had given up this ring that it might be hers, and it fit her perfectly. An involuntary shudder seized her and she tried to mask it with the most dead pan look she could muster. It did not help Sven was staring intently at her finishing his vows. “I Sven Sorenson, take thee Raissa, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, to death do us part. This is my solemn vow.”
“Then I pronounce you man and wife” Father Andrew added concluding the short ceremony. It was done.

Aran handed Raissa the waking bundle that was his nephew, glad to be rid of it, sauntering back to the watch. Raissa much shaken took the child and followed Sven blindly back to the valley below, she was not sure if she should laugh or cry.


The night unfolded in its usual fashion, there was nothing different or untoward. Lucy beamed with genuine happiness for Raissa when she sighted the golden band, congratulating her heartily as did Warren, and the blundering Marcus. Raissa just smiled at their warm wishes, but she was not so naive to believe she was still anymore than chattel. Today in many ways had just reinforced that. I’m glorified property with a name, she laughed to herself feeling nothing but cynicism as far as she was concerned, because in truth nothing had fundamentally changed. The night was cold, but she felt cloyed by the attention and decided to leave early, perhaps she would catch a couple of hours of rest before Eirik woke again. The young woman oblivious to Aran taking interest in her departure.

Raissa sought this dark sanctuary many times to be away from others, especially in moments of confusion such as those of today. She placed Eirik in his cradle brushing his pink cheek with her lips in a mother’s tender gesture of love, and climbed into the warmth of the fur covered bed. Here alone she could think, cry too if need be. The musky scent of Sven pervaded the coverings, it was a comforting smell. Raissa twisted the little gold band on her wedding finger, through her mind ran the phrase. Love is a ring, and a ring hath no end. That's how she had always thought of a wedding band, somehow the purity of it had now been sullied.

The creaking door to the cabin pulled the girl out of her insular world, Sven was here already, and she rolled over to face the wall feeling cheated of her alone time. Raissa listened to the clink of metal as the man removed his weapons belt, and boots. She subtly moved further away as he pulled back the furs letting in the cold night air, it bit her skin raising goose bumps. A solid hand alighted on her shoulder pulling her about.

Raissa sensed something was not right and she made to scream, the other strong hand clamping over her mouth and causing her to painfully bite down on her tongue. This wasn't Sven, this was Aran. The two men easily mistaken for one another in the darkness. “Quiet.” Aran threatened in a low growl. Raissa was totally confused, why would this man want her? She looked up at him in the dark, her husband’s brother no more than a black silhouette above her vulnerable form. “This will go a lot easier if you just accept it and shut up. So can I trust you to?” Raissa nodded in affirmation, and she felt the pressure from the enormous hand leave her mouth, she could taste traces of her own blood.

She did not completely trust Aran not to hurt her, he was different to Sven, more savage. “Now girl let me explain this.” He whispered in his hoarse voice, hot breath on her face. Raissa nodded shaking in his grasp. “You are not special to me in any way.” His hand enmeshed in her hair pulling her head back hard on to the pillow, arching her back under him. “But my brother is...” She jumped and gasped as he tore the front of her light shift exposing her creamy breasts and stomach. She felt the man tense at her small utterance, he was expecting her to scream, but the scream never came forth. “Sven is very proud of the gift you gave him, but both you and I know it could not happen again.”

Aran’s last words hit her like a slap, he was here on behest of his brother. To Raissa this seemed the vilest of plans, and she was mortified it was happening. “No please.” She begged in an almost inaudible whisper. “Not now, not yet. It’s too soon.”
“Shush.” He quieted her. “It’s your wedding night.” Followed by mocking low laughter as he tugged her rent clothing away. Raissa struggled against him, like a leaf drawn into a mighty waterfall she was ineffective to halt his actions. Sven had sanctioned this, there was little point raising the alarm. Realizing this tears flowed and Raissa felt betrayed, as Aran’s hungry mouth sought her neck tasting her tears, lingering at her breasts drinking the milk of the mother, his hardness in her enforcing Sven’s wish.

Raissa lay trembling and clutching the furs to her as though they could form some kind of tangible barrier. Aran rose from the bed spent. “Now that wasn't too bad was it?” Raissa made no sound. “Let’s hope we get you in pup quickly.” Aran leant menacingly toward her, his hair brushing her shoulders and tickling her face, Raissa shrunk away. “And for my brother’s dignity let’s keep this to ourselves shall we?” He touched her on the cheek in a parting gesture of mock affection, and she felt dirty. The man donning his clothing along with his clanking weapons belt, leaving her in the dark.

Raissa felt numb, with naught for comfort but the sound of her blood rushing in her head. Holding the furs so tightly the color draining from her hands, knuckles white. Sven found her still that way when he entered the hut some minutes later. He knelt on the bed and pulled her to him stroking her abundant wheaten hair, wiping her tears, and whispering words of love