Intended Ch. 02

The warbling of songbirds filling his ears, Jakal awoke with his usual stiffness, but for the first time he did not hesitate to caress the skin of the woman lying next to him. Propping himself up on an elbow, he lazily stroked the length of Sala's arm, watching her sleep.

She is glorious, he thought, again incredulous he could have overlooked her all these years. He wondered if the Spiritwalker would allow her to commune with other men after they were mated. Somehow, he knew the shaman would never permit it. Jakal hated the idea of never joining his body with this woman again. If I had only opened my eyes instead of being so focused on my own problems, perhaps I would have noticed her. Perhaps we might have...

Had they resumed their journey this morning, it would have given them at least six more days together, possibly as many as eight if they did not hurry. At least now they had a little more time; though certainly not enough, it was better than nothing.

A renewed sense of urgency propelling him forward, he lowered his lips to her softly curving shoulder and grazed her tan skin. Sala murmured and leaned into him in her sleep. Slipping an arm under hers, his hand swept up her side and stopped at a breast. He stimulated its nipple in the space between his first and middle digits, sliding slowly from knuckle to tip, feeling it tighten.

The woman shivered, unsure at first if this was yet another dream. But when she felt fingers winding their way down her belly, she woke, sighing with pleasure. Pressing her backside into Jakal's groin, she signaled her eagerness to proceed with whatever it was he had in mind.

Lowering his head to her neck, he kissed and licked her skin before moving his lips to her ear. "The sun has returned. Did you dream well?"

His hand reached its mark before she could answer. "Mmm," Sala moaned, thrusting her hips back and forth as she rubbed her stiff nub against his fingers.

The man felt her sex pulsing under his hand. As she had done before losing the ability to control her own stimulation, he stroked the length of his digits alongside her button. Hearing the pitch of her cries raise into a keen, he continued on, knowing a second peak was imminent.

Clamping her legs shut, the woman curled herself forward and wailed with the intensity of her release. When her awareness returned, Sala relaxed her muscles, allowing his hand's withdrawal, and looked up into the magnetic eyes of the man who brought her so much pleasure.

Jakal brought his wet fingers to her lips, and she suckled in the same manner as she had his organ the day before. He groaned at the surge that shot through him as she cleaned them of her juices, his manhood so swollen it trembled in anticipation of entering her body. Pulling his hand away, he lowered it to one of her supple thighs.

Lifting the uppermost leg and hooking it over his arm, he shifted himself behind her and slipped into her hot opening. As he pumped, his hard shaft flowed smoothly within her velvety passage and he cried out at the exquisiteness of her steaming caress.

Looking down to see Sala in the throes of ecstasy, eyes closed as she whimpered, Jakal again whispered in her ear.

"Pleasure yourself," he urged. "Beautiful Sala, touch yourself for me."

Numbly, she lowered a shaking hand between her thighs while he penetrated her from behind. Lifting the suspended leg a little higher to give her freer access, the heat of his breath grazed her neck as he looked down, watching her finger her dewy petals.

Sala became more alert, aroused by the sensations of Jakal's stiff organ thrusting in and out of her while she stimulated the node of nerves above her entrance. But more than that, she could feel his eyes locked on her as he groaned and quaked and she knew he derived intense pleasure watching her bring herself ever closer to the pinnacle.

"Keep going," he encouraged in her ear, voice thick with lust. "Make yourself scream. Come to the end with me."

Jakal's aural stroking vaulted her into a rapturous frenzy, and the woman screamed, fingers madly rubbing her nub, clenching her lover's member within her throbbing tunnel. He moaned wordlessly, triggered by her release, his shaft jerking as he emptied inside her.

As they sat side by side on the edge of the riverbank eating travel food for their morning meal, Jakal mentioned, "I think yesterday we agreed that we had many things to discuss after sharing pleasures."

"You are right," Sala answered in surprise. She had completely forgotten about that conversation.

"Only, I do not remember what we were to discuss," he admitted.

A wry grin on her face, the woman turned to gaze upon the dark-haired man, only to catch him already looking at her, his blue eyes twinkling.

They laughed together for a moment. Then, thinking, Sala remarked, "I believe it was about the reasons why I did not wish to share bodies with you."

They looked at each other again and burst into a fresh bout of laughter, tears squeezing from their eyes as they recalled their recent activities.

After they quieted, Jakal started to remember his companion's concerns about him, and was sobered.

"Actually, Sala," he conceded, "you had legitimate reasons to be unsure. Do you wish to speak of them now?"

"Well, as far as the other women, I do not think I care so much now. As I mentioned before, it just always bothered me to see so many females behave in such a competitive, undignified way over one man, even if he is a Light-Eye. I hope that is not insulting to you," she added quickly, glancing at the man beside her.

"It is not. And you describe in a way that is...fitting."

"But the truth is," she confessed, "I wanted you just as much as they did. I just refused to allow myself to act the same way as them."

"That is understandable. I myself am often troubled by the way others behave toward me, solely because of the color of my eyes. Sala," he divulged, looking at her earnestly, "I do not feel that I am particularly special or lucky. I have never felt that way. I am just a man who is treated specially because of the way he was born."

Though she was subject to the same beliefs as the rest of her people, the woman had secretly wondered herself about the veracity of the Light-Eyed One mythology. She did believe that long ago strangers from far away had come to live with the Wolf Clan for a time. She also believed that some part of their spirits remained among them, and that an expression of that presence came in the form of touching the eyes of a very few.

But from what she observed, Light-Eyed Ones did not seem to possess special powers. Yes, women and men flocked to them for friendship or coupling, and their opinions were weighted highly. Seen as possessing a special wisdom bestowed upon them by way of their heritage, they had the freedom to make many decisions autonomously. Their status brought numerous privileges.

That being said, they were subject to the same flaws of personhood as anyone else, made mistakes and sometimes foolish decisions, fell victim to their own pride or rage or jealousy. And they became ill like any other person, could be injured like any other person, died like any other person. Sala recalled one Light-Eye, a young girl, who fell into a lake and drowned many years before. Where was her luck?

"I was thinking of Tema," she said softly. "She was not so lucky."

Jakal cast his eyes downward. Despite their age difference, as the only members of their Clan who were Light-Eyed Ones, he and Tema had shared a bond.

"I do not know if you are lucky or not, Tracker," the woman continued, slowly. "But I do know I feel fortunate that you found me, fortunate to know you as I do now."

"Even knowing I came as your captor?"

Sala flinched. Though the reality of her situation rarely strayed from her mind since the moment the Spiritwalker proclaimed her his Intended, Jakal's admission startled her nonetheless.

Hesitantly, he went on. "Sala, I know only that you do not wish to make a hearth with the Spiritwalker, strongly enough that you would rather leave our people than become his mate. What I do not know is why."

The couple had been so engrossed in their conversation that even the man failed to notice the changes rapidly taking place around them. Without warning, the daylight dimmed and a booming rumble rolled through the air.

They blanched and exchanged a frightened look, both wondering but far too afraid to bring voice to their collective fear of the timing of this unexpected thunderstorm. All at once a sheet of cold rain poured down upon them, drenching their bodies as the nearby fall. The sky indigo, glowing branches of angry light streaked between the dark, gray clouds.

Jakal's instincts returned to him as they cowered together in the deluge. Straining to see around him, he settled on a course. Snatching Sala's arm, he pulled her up and, crouching, they dashed toward the forest. At its border stood a thicket of low bushes, and they burrowed their way into its core, rough branches scratching their skin.

Huddling under the shelter of the dense foliage, they squatted, holding each other, their wet bodies shaking from cold and fear.

Almost as abruptly as it had arrived, the storm passed. Still, the pair remained hidden in the undergrowth, timid and uncertain. Only when the light had returned and they once again heard the songs of birds flitting amongst the trees did they feel safe enough to cautiously emerge.

Surveying the damage, Jakal was relieved to find the lean-to still standing, and he strode in its direction for a closer inspection. The leather of both his pack and Sala's were wet to the touch like the skin of the structure they were propped against. He opened their bundles and was pleased to find the contents fairly dry. Opening the lean-to's flap, he discovered the pelts inside lightly damp. However, along the perimeter the furs were soaked.

He returned to report his findings. "Sala, the shelter remains unharmed, as are our packs. The furs are very wet along the edges. The supplies in our packs appear to be unaffected."

"No trees have fallen nearby, only leaves and branches," the woman, who had been conducting her own assessment of the immediate area, responded. "Your fishing stick was nearly washed away by the river, but luckily it became wedged between two rocks. I have retrieved it."

Sala shivered, suddenly aware of her wet hair and leather tunic. Grasping its bottom, she pulled the shift up and over her head. "I have needed to clean this soiled garment for many days. I think I will gather more of the foaming plant to wash it, since it is already wet. If you wish it, I can do the same to yours," she offered, holding out her hand.

Jakal nodded silently, stripping the leggings from his skin and handing them to her. The woman felt a brief surge at the touch of the leather bundle, still warm from his body, which carried his scent. She carried the items and, setting them down on the riverbank, headed to the location where she first found the soaproot.

Watching her shapely bare bottom swing as she sauntered toward her destination, the man's temperature rose despite his damp skin. He shook his head. We have work to do, he reminded himself firmly, doing everything in his power to will his growing member to remain still. We cannot continue to follow only the urges of our bodies or we will never leave. Perhaps the storm was the Spirits' way of warning us to resume our journey.

Forcing himself to turn away from the woman's enticingly curved form, Jakal returned to the shelter and removed the furs from within it. He spread them along a rocky section of the riverbank, exposed to the sun. That done, he took the fishing stick in his hand and traveled a short distance upstream.

On Sala's way back to the camp, roots in hand, she noted the abundance of food in the area. She paused to pluck a handful of young leaves. These will be nice for a change, she said to herself as she enjoyed her unexpected snack. After I clean our garments, I must return with my gathering pouch. There is much to eat here.

Sala ambled naked in the summer sun near the edge of the trees, following the river's path. Although her gait appeared carefree, she was carefully studying the vegetation, searching for edible plants. Now and then she would stop to gather some roots here, leaves there, a handful of berries, adding them to the large leather skin fashioned into a pouch. She never completely cleared a patch of the edibles she discovered; since the time of her ancestors her people recognized that if they left some behind, they could return the following year and find more in the same place.

The woman had even discovered a bird's nest fallen into a bed of moss, presumably blown to the ground by the storm. The cushioned landing partially protected the delicate eggs within, and three remained unbroken. They were now cradled safely amongst the plants filling her pack.

The leather sling fairly bulged with an array of foodstuffs as she considered whether to return to the camp now or continue with her stroll. It would still be many hours before their clothing would be dry; perhaps she could signal to Jakal her desire to share pleasures.

However, she had to admit he seemed distracted, and did not appear to be in the mood for coupling despite their nakedness. She supposed he would do it if she made her wishes known, but she was not the kind of woman to demand something of a reluctant partner; Sala knew all too well how it felt to be subject to the urges of another.

She shuddered, her body remembering vividly the weight of the Spiritwalker's sweating figure pressing down on her, the searing heat of his acrid breath as he issued his threats in her ear, voice heavy with arousal. Back in the present, her mind flooded with thoughts of escape. Perhaps sharing bodies with Jakal was part of a plan to convince me to return, she panicked, full of paranoia.

Shaking her head to expel the dark thoughts invading her mind, she forced herself to take a deep, calming breath. No, Jakal would not do that, she asserted. A man who pleasures me so unselfishly, so completely, is not capable of committing such a deception. Her skin tingled upon recalling his face and his touch, and as she relaxed, her fingers traveled instinctively toward her contracting nipples.

It was then that Sala spied something growing amongst the scattered wood of a decaying log, something she had not seen in many years. Her heart thumping with growing excitement, fear overtaken by the thrill of her discovery, she slipped into the edge of the forest for a closer look. Crouching, she plucked a specimen from the ground and studied it closely.

The woman knew that eating the wrong mushroom could be fatal, so she examined it carefully as she had been taught, checking the size, shape and color of the cap and stem, the arrangement of the gills, the size and color of the spores. Pinching the stem, she watched as the expected blue-black bruising formed. Satisfied, with a trembling hand she placed the mushroom on the bed of mixed vegetation inside her pouch and proceeded to harvest as many more as possible without exhausting the supply.

The secrets of the Spiritwalkers were restricted to a very chosen few, especially the most ancient, private rituals and the magic that allowed one to visit the Spirit World. Still, a discreet, observant mate of an unwary, even careless shaman could learn much about that which was hidden from all but the spiritual caste.

The mother of her mother, Mala, was, like Sala, selected by a Spiritwalker to become his mate. In the older woman's case the pairing was not unagreeable, though the man was many years her elder.

Widowed after her first mate died in a hunting accident, Mala was available and the old shaman had wished to spare a younger woman the burden of looking after an aged man. Until that time he had resisted choosing a mate altogether; he had not been particularly comfortable with the Privilege of Selection afforded only to those of his rank. Only the desire for a companion to attend to his many aches and pains in his old age persuaded him to reconsider.

The woman did not mind caring for the old Spiritwalker; he was kind and did not demand much of her. And after the death of her first mate, she welcomed the warmth of sharing furs with another each night, even if they rarely used them for any purpose other than sleeping. The two developed an amiable rapport and abiding respect for one another.

The independence and intellectual curiosity Sala now displayed as a woman she learned from her mother's mother. The shaman, noting these qualities in his mate, began indirectly teaching her the ways of the Spiritwalkers.

Perhaps it came from a sense of gratitude and respect for the great care and warm companionship Mala provided in his twilight years. Perhaps it was because he did not necessarily agree with the secrecy surrounding those of his status. Perhaps he had simply taken leave of his faculties. Whatever the reasons, the spiritual leader allowed her observe him, inadvertently of course, while he prepared for rituals.

Because he required assistance to get around, the old man's mate accompanied him on his meandering treks to locate and gather special plants for medicinal and spiritual purposes. Among their people, those not of the spiritual class were forbidden from learning sacred magic; however, knowledge of medicinal plants was not prohibited. The shaman exploited this loophole, telling the others that they were going on walks to "warm his old bones and collect herbs that heal." It never occurred to them to question his word, and Mala learned more than she ever thought possible on their many excursions.

When the Spiritwalker died a few years later, his mate was genuinely bereaved at the loss. He had lived long and was deeply loved and respected by his people. The only individual to rejoice in his passing, though he celebrated privately, was his successor, the man who would one day announce his intention to mate with Sala.

The new shaman had waited many years for the old one to die, too many. He even considered, numerous times, using some of the magic he had learned to slip something into his mentor's food or drink in order to hasten his final journey. Only fear of his elder's power, developed from countless years of service, kept him from acting out his plot.

Furthermore, in his predecessor's final years, the acolyte deeply resented the attention the Spiritwalker lavished on his new mate, to the great detriment, he believed, of his own training. He became suspicious that the old fool was carelessly allowing secrets of the spiritual caste to fall into the knowledge of the common people. That mate of his was too crafty, far too curious. He would have to watch her.

Mala had always been close to the daughter of her daughter. When Sala's mother announced her intention to break the bonds with her current mate in order to leave the Camp and join with another, Sala, only a couple years away from womanhood, voiced her desire to remain. After the girl's mother and younger brother left, the bond between the two females grew even stronger. Some time after her second mate's death, the older woman decided to pass on that which she had learned from him.

In order to facilitate their illicit discussions in privacy, she took Sala, as she had done with her mate in years recently past, on long walks in the surrounding area. Like he, she claimed their treks were for the purpose of teaching her daughter's daughter about medicinal herbs. These lessons lasted for more than two years; over time Sala became well versed in the identification and uses of a wide array of plants as well many of the other secrets of the Spiritwalkers.