A lazy hum of insects drifted lazily through the afternoon sun, burning brightly down upon the tall grasses that rustled their whisper in the heated breeze. Near unbearably hot, the late August climate smoldering with its persistent humidity to bring droplets of sweat to bead upon bare flesh. A splash, giving signal to small bluegill flouncing in the waters of the pond as his hand reached across the blanket, searching but finding nothing.
He had come to this place every day through the month, hoping to see her, feel her presence as he had before, waiting for her, she who weakened him, but knowing as well it was not to be as he raised up from his reclined position on the plaid blanket below, letting the sun glisten off bare skin.
Briac couldn’t help but smile at himself in a saddened way as he looked out over the long grass edging the pond, the large oak tree craning over the waters, reaching to kiss the surface. He was simply reminded of that moment when he held her, his sprite to flit within his arms, his dream and passions made to flesh.
He was a sturdy man, well fit from long hours of work within the forge, giving to the rigid physique he held, as well as the map of markings and scars along his tanned chest and thick forearms from his trade, yet a shock in starkness with the brilliant blue of his eyes. A blacksmith’s son, trouble, dangerous with that darkened gleam within those eyes, a rogue, cad, scoundrel. But only she knew him within.
Devilishly blunt, yet quick witted at the same time, enjoying the hard work he was wont to do, the bending of steel by his own craftsmanship. Falling back, Briac looked to the azure blue above him, clouds burned away by the summer heat as he thought of her, of his nymph from weeks before.
A soft whisper and lush presence of mind, giving fount to a soft melodically song traveled upon the shifting breeze, the dance of water about supple and formed flesh. Her visage, trapped by the glowing rays of the sun to dance the dark raven hair along her spine, gloriously glistening from the dew of the water in which she bathed. She lifted, her head held high as her gaze turned slightly to the side, showing olive flesh, flawless, gloriously beautiful in simplicity. The silk garment held wrapped about her hips did little to hide her offerings, leaving the plane of her belly exposed, toned, smooth, as well as small pert breasts lifting with each breath, topped with a darkened shade for each nipple. The song continued, drawing forth in its beauty, tantalizing, spiritual as long lean arms lifted above her head, pouring a gourd of water down her form, letting it sluice back to the water. She was watched, happened upon by this blacksmith’s son, viewed within the simple beauty of her grace and enchantment.
Slowly, verdant eyes turned towards the shore, watching him, watching him watch her, bringing those full lips to curl softly as she turned away, moving with fluid passing through the water to the shade of the dipping oak.
“What is your name?” Briac asked in his deep rumbling voice, unable to find anything eloquent to speak unto her, yet still finding himself to stumble over these simple words. “I have never seen you here before. Are you from the village?”
Silence followed as she slipped closer to the tree, only to vanish from his sight, leaving Briac to fear she was only imagined, something to tease him of the desires held in check for so long.
“No, don’t go, I did not mean to stir you to fright or interrupt your bath” He pressed still with a low rumble, yet he remained upon the shore, crouched down against the tall grass that did little to hide him. “Are you there? Come out of hiding.”
“Morgance” came her reply, the voice soft, much like the calming of seas after a storm.
“Morgance” Briac spoke, feeling the name upon his lips, bringing him to smile roguishly as it was repeated.
Briac moved with masculine grace, rising up from his crouch in the tall grasses, his foolish grin ever present and light hearted.
“Tell me Morgance, How you have arrived to this pond.” Came low, as Briac lifted a hand to run through his tawny short cropped hair.
“I design not to tell man anything of my knowledge, for you have not been found worthy of such grace” came in reply with that soft feminine voice, soothing out over the waters.
Frowning a bit, Briac moved closer, discarding the thick leather belt that wrapped about his waist and tossing it back to the grass, only to step within the water, uncaring of his boots or the canvas pants he wore. No doubt a challenge within his mind’s eye, intent to prove whatever worth she sought as he was enraptured by her being.
“Tell me nothing if it pleases you girl. But know I will taste you.” He called out with a deep chuckle, finding sport to be had as he stepped around the shallows, moving towards the shadows of the bent oak, forging forward.
He found her indeed, his foolish smile still present as he viewed her settled against the tree, dropped to lower in the water as the white silk floated about her in the cool caress of the pond. Looking to her, yet making no further move, he gave to study, blue eyes dancing over her features present, the locks of dark hair fallen across her cheek, the coil of hair twisted and laid over her shoulder, eyes as clear as fresh grass looking at him without fear or contempt. Only then a movement, a flash as water swirled and a sharp pain alighted upon his brow, followed by only seconds passing before the gourd splashed to the water before him.
“You have aim girl… ” Briac muttered as a hand lifted to rub his sore brow, yet that slow smile still curling upwards. “Let us see how your attacks fair in close range.” He offered as well before stepping forward quickly, an arm outstretched, moments passing before the shrill sound of her capture is heard.