Thinking back I recall our first few interactions (as recalled many times before.) When a wide eyed girl balked at the presence of a wretched cur, one who sought to shred her innocence with terror, vulnerability and forsaken prick marks of shame. It was in that heated moment that this selfish soul began to care for her. In my own whimsical way. As an older sibling might his sissa, or a father his daughter. Africa had been naive back then, a pure spirit in both body and mind. An unsoiled woman child, enthralled by the bright green of nature and our mythical world for all its wonders, absent the horror. Unseeing the monsters which breed beneath their eyes.

Yar. Those emotions didn't blossom into other forms of affection until later.

Many following memories hastened that growth and made my eyes open to the woman she'd become. Our time in the Heart Caves. Back when I'd been stripped of my title and transformed into a solider once more. The weight of failed parenting had been a heavy bar to carry, coupled with a loss of companionship. How desperately I'd grasped at straws to keep them near, how vainly. It was all for naught but misery. A bitter seed they planted; it took root, inky threads that burrowed deep and soon became a sapling that appeared white as a bone -- eventually the little hollow would spread its branches and grow horrible fruit. For there is no ill born tree that can spur good fruits; just as there is no good tree that will produce bad fruit.

When Africa had carried the crown, decked in flames and light. Our homeland resting upon her shoulders, yar, she seemed to be forever out of my reach. Because this soul would never pursue beyond these borders, for the sanity of this soul.

Tonight, same as the one in those hidden caverns, I'm willing to accept her presence and comfort. Dive into the soothing froth of marble and velvet. Perhaps I'd been looking in all the wrong places, maybe there was hope worth clinging to. She heaves, a delightful exhale that strengths my already intoxicated desire and yearn to chase that smooth silk of flesh further, until I'd hit the high point of her hip. I press my lips into the soft curve of her flank, finding the flesh there quivering, heated. It'd been so long since I'd allowed myself to drown. To gulp. Nar, this lady wasn't a brook to be trodden into without care. Worth time to sip. Yet there was also a hunger building between us...a demand.

More.

I sensed the searing fire as all men would, felt her press against me, that fullness, supply length drawn like a bowstring pulled taunt. Muzzle glides up, nibbling, grooming back hairs I'd previously disturbed. Crown rises up and over the low peak of her spine, resting upon the threshold. A worn smile appears, a brief flicker of awareness in the storm, "Yar," I speak the old words fluidly, but with deep warmth that was absent a few moments prier, "Ye say true. I say thank ye." Feathers tighten against my barrel, supporting what weight she offered with comfortable ease.

Africa was dancing with a wolf in sheep's clothing. The lass couldn't have known. "Stay then," whispered into the fire that danced before my eyes. An unburning flame that looked ready to snap, blacken my face with soot and pain. Crackle the skin after burning away the fur. I couldn't chase her away, not when every fiber wanted to rub down the length of her spine, until we both went mad. "Linger," a murmur, a repeat; as if I'd need further words to convince her.

Perhaps I would.

@[Africa]

Some legends are told
Some turn to dust or to gold