Venla's observation brought a smile to the young knight's face. Drachenberg was ugly, no doubt about that. Most cities were in Willard's opinion. The stink didn't help. 'It'll take some getting used to, granted.' With a hand on the reins, he turned to help Venla dismount, though by now she was more than capable of doing so by herself. Their time together had not been spent in idle conversation, after all. Not completely.

'You're a quick learner, you'll be fine,' he said, trying to ease her nerves, as far as words did allow. Sometimes, one's presence alone was enough. Sometimes, it was the thought that counted.

Watching the sunset in silence, his gaze shifted as Venla spoke, drawn to her silhouette like a moth to a flame. Cast in shadows, her back to the dying Sun, he could not clearly discern the look in her eye. Still, he felt it. The weight of the moment pressing down on him. Questions followed. Should he stay or should he go? Would duty permit he open his heart to this woman, here and now? What was life for if not for the living?

Shifting in his saddle, Willard let his gaze linger on Venla for a few seconds. More. He could feel his heart beating its battle rhythm in his chest, spurring him on. "Do or die, Willard," it said, "what's it going to be?" Smiling gently, the dawnling nodded.

'We can.'

Two words. Simple and concise. They left no room for misunderstanding. Nor would there be any as Willard dismounted to join Venla, his smile as bright as that blazing upon the horizon. 'What?' He asked, sweeping back his mail hood. 'Thought I was going to ride off into the sunset, did you? And leave you here all by your lonesome?' Feigning hurt, he shook his head.

'What kind of knight would I be, to abandon a fair maiden in her hour of need?'
 
Something had shifted in her. In them. Maybe it had been happening for some time now, quiet and unspoken, between stolen glances and the warmth of his hands over hers. But now it was plain. It was right here. Between them. And it could no longer be stepped around. Her chest ached with it. That strange, tightening feeling that had followed her for miles, growing heavier with every stolen glance, every brush of his hand. Day after day, word after word they didn’t say. But she felt it now like a pull in her blood. A restless, aching need. All too near the surface.

Venla arched a brow as he swept back his hood, feigning mock-wounded pride, his boyish grin peeking through the steel and dust of the road. Was he even aware of what he was doing? The mussed hair, the low rasp in his voice, the way the gold in his hair caught the last of the sun? Gods, he was absurd. And kind. And very, very hard to look away from.

She stepped in. Close enough to count the freckles across his cheek. Close enough to feel the heat where their bodies nearly touched. Didn’t wait for him to brush the last of the dust from his surcloak. Her hand came up, slow but certain, fingers weaving gently through the tousled strands of his blonde hair before sweeping them back from his forehead. She’d imagined doing so a hundred times and now, at last, dared.

“Oh, so noble,” she murmured with a voice as soft as milk and honey. Her fingers trailed down the curve of his temple. Her thumb found his cheek, skimming over where stubble shaded the skin.

Then she rose onto her toes, fast, before she lost her nerve and kissed him. Didn’t wait for the sunset to turn into a perfect shade of burning orange. The hand fell from his face and landed gently on his chest, over the leathers and mail. Her fingers curled ever so slightly, enough to feel the shape of him beneath the armour. Broad, young, solid. All that golden eagerness, that fire. That heart.
 
He should have known what was going to happen the moment he climbed down from his horse. Whatever this was, it had been a long time coming. And he had done nothing to prevent it from growing. The mutual interest, the stolen glances and honest smiles. How many had passed between them in the last day alone? Too many, perhaps, to count.

He knew he should've stopped her, the moment her hand reached for him. Break the connection, and in so doing spare them both some heartache down the line. Instead, he stood there, like a dolt paralyzed by indecisiveness.

'Venla,' his voice sounded hoarse, almost unsteady to his own ears. A small flicker of doubt, there, behind his eyes. 'We-'

Before he could make the decision for them, she had taken the final step. In truth, he didn't regret the moment. Not one bit. Later, maybe, would he think on all they had shared with a measure of sadness. But later could wait.

Leaning into the kiss, Willard drew Venla closer, an arm snaking about her waist as her own hand settled against his chest. Fire embraced them both as their lips met, the moment seared into the very fabric of his memory by that one simple kiss. With his freehand still clutching Hellion's reins, it should've been awkward, but it wasn't. Despite his previous hesitation, Willard accepted Venla's feelings, as if they were his own.

By the time they broke apart, Willard's heart was racing in his chest. His face felt hot and flushed, embarrassment settling behind his eyes as he glanced away, then back.

'Well... there it is,' he smiled, repeating the old words. Venla's lips glistened as he studied them, and he kissed her again, quicker this time. 'Come on,' he said, taking her hand. 'There's a spot I'd like to show you, down the way there.'
 
Her name had trembled on his lips. She had heard it.

The kiss burned through her like a fever. Her lips parted against his, tasting him with the kind of hunger that came from days of restraint, of pretending she didn’t feel what she did. She gasped softly into his mouth when his arm locked around her waist, pulling her close. Her world collapsed into the shape of him, his arm around her, the heat of his chest, the taste of him, warm and salt-sweet.

As they broke apart the warmth of him still lingered on her lips and in her chest her breath refused to settle. Her heart was racing, not wildly, not like fear, but with that aching rhythm that comes with longing. "I've been waiting for that." Venla didn’t look away. She watched him, steady and unflinching. Her lips parted, breath shallow, chest rising and falling with the aftershock of what she’d just done. Her cheeks were flushed too, yes... but not with shame.

She knew, they both knew, that this wouldn’t last. Come morning, or sooner, the road would split beneath their feet. He would turn back toward the Order that raised him. And she… would face whatever waited for her in that tower. So if this was all they had left, she would hold to it like breath. She didn’t want to forget how this felt when they were both far away from here.

When he kissed her again, briefer, a sound caught softly in her throat, surprised. “Aye then,” she breathed, voice low and rough at the edges. When he took her hand, Venla's pulse quickened. "Take me to this spot." she murmured and followed him without any hesitation.
 
Willard's pace quickened as he took Venla by the hand. There was an edge to her voice that sent shivers down his spine, but he did well not to show it. The mask of stoicism he had worn up to this point was still there, albeit askew. And yet the knight found himself smiling like a lovestruck fool as he glanced sidelong at the redhead. It would've been so much easier to hide his interest, were she not so comely.

But she was, so it wasn't.

The spot he had in mind had been the result of a previous visit to Drachenberg. Tucked away off the main road, hidden behind thick brush, and encompassed by tall trees, the glade provided a clear line of sight, down towards the berg. Willard had used it only the once, a month or so back. A blackened ring of earth was the only trace of his former occupation.

Letting go of Venla's hand, the dawnling slipped away to hobble and feed Hellion. He worked quickly and efficiently, his mind on more than just the task at hand.

By the time he was done stripping Hellion of her saddle, the Sun had settled beyond the horizon, leaving naught but a faint haze in the sky.

Turning, he looked to where Venla lay stretched out beneath a blanket of stars. The fire that simmered in his chest rekindled by the mere sight of her. 'Beautiful,' he murmurred, before making his way to her side. 'The stars, I mean. And you,' he swallowed down his anxiety. 'Especially you.'
 
Venla had followed him off the road with a quiet smile, her hand warm in his. It was enough to feel the tug of his fingers around hers, and to know he wanted her near. The little glade he led her to was soft underfoot with moss and scattered wildflowers. Her skirts whispering over the grass.

When Willard let go to see to Hellion, her satchel slipped from her shoulder. It landed with a soft thud in the grass. She pulled out a fur-lined wool blanket and unfurled it with a flick. The scent of home clung faintly to it, woodsmoke, pressed herbs, the faint memory of malt. Venla let her gaze wander, not over him this time, but over the stars and the grove. The glade was still, cradled in trees and twilight hush. Crickets had begun their music somewhere in the brush, and the scent of pine filled the air.

Fingers brushing quickly through her hair. Stretched beneath the night sky, she waited for him to join her. The stars above were beginning to blink into place, one by one. Venla tilted her head, watching them. Not in wonder. There was a pattern to the sky, she was certain of it. In the ink-blind spaces where no light had ever been meant to shine, she could feel something pressing back. It was like hearing your name called from very far away.

Now when warmth kindled low in her belly, as it did now, waiting for him to come back. Her magic, poorly tethered, pulsed faintly like a small flame between her ribs. She knew now, without knowing how, that the stars were not fixed. They drifted. Slowly. Impossibly. And when they moved, they shifted something in her. Her heart beat fast.

And then, the crunch of his boots in the grass. She turned quickly her eyes from the sky. The sensation receded. He finally settled beside her and whispered, "Beautiful... Especially you." she couldn't hold back her smile. “You’re not so bad yourself.” she smiled.

“It’s strange, how fast things change. One day I did not know your name. Now I don’t want to say goodbye.”

As she spoke, her fingers came to rest on the edge of his shoulder, brushing the thick seam, then lower. Her fingers found the lower clasps of his gambeson, where the stiff fabric had begun to crease from the ride. Her eyes flicked to his. Gently, she unhooked the fastening, with slow care, like turning a page in a loved book.
 
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'That makes two of us,' he replied, softly. Venla's fingers brushed his shoulder, and he turned to find her eyes already on him, holding him rapt. 'This need not be goodbye,' he said, rolling onto his side as Venla's hand drifted lower, her touch tentative, at first. He wanted to say more, but when her fingers started working at the fastenings of his clothes, he realised there was no need to.

Reaching out, Willard ran a hand through Venla's hair. Fire-kissed. Blessed by the Gods.

The scar was striking, too. As was the rest of her. Slowly, Willard found himself shifting closer, his hand coming to rest against her hip as he leaned in to press his lips to hers. Gently, then more fiercely, as if to sate the hunger raging in his chest.

His fingers traced the arch of her back, seeking the laces of her bodice. It was an awkward hunt, made all the more fumblesome by the way they laid, side by side. It didn't matter. Time ran short, and yet Willard felt no need to rush as he helped Venla slip out of her garments.

Though, admittedly, a part of him wanted to.
 
Willard's words, that this wouldn't be the end, sent a surge of emotion swelling in her chest.

Her fingers traced the reinforced stitching as they wandered up his gambeson. Dust and wear of the road clung to the fabric. One clasp at a time, she began to undo the fastenings. She smiled softly. Her fingers slipped beneath the edges of the gambeson as she peeled it open.

Her hair had come loose as he weaved his finger through her hair. Venla’s breath was shaky as she broke the kiss to look at him. Her eyes were soft, glimmering. The way he looked at her made her feel like the most beautiful woman in all the realms. Venla met his hunger in the kisses.

“You don’t need this,” she murmured as she unbuckled the sword belt, letting the weight of it fall away from his body. It landed in the moss behind his back. The coif and mail would need to come off too, and though not easy, they managed together, laughing under their breath at the awkward tangle of straps, metal, and stubborn buckles. At last, the final ring of mail fell to the ground.

She let him help her ease out of her clothing. When Willard finally tugged her chemise over her head, she felt a thrill roll like a wave through her. The cooling night air prickled against bared skin, a wave of goosebumps washing over her. The violin bow of her collarbone holds her chest as it rises. When the last of fabric slipped off his shoulders, Venla’s hand paused for a moment, resting on the bare skin of his chest. Fingertips gliding over warm skin, the hard lines of muscle and the faint scars. Her hands slid down his arms, pulling him closer as she pressed herself against him. Flesh met flesh. She leaned in, pressing her lips to his again. This time it was different, slower, deeper. Not just a kiss of want, but of reverence.
 
Chest to chest, Willard wrapped his arms around Venla's waist as their lips met once more. His heart beat against the ivory cage in which it was housed, its tempo increasing as his excitement built. To him, Venla was not just the most beautiful woman in the world; she was everything.

Breaking the kiss, Willard gazed up at Venla where she straddled his lap. Funny, the way she had put it.

'How fast things change.'

Watching her a moment, the young dawnling laughed lightly as he rolled her onto her back, the blanket creasing beneath them. Her hands felt soft against his skin as he took her with his mouth again, kissing at her lips and neck. A steady hand traced the line of her body, going lower, as he showered kisses upon her breasts. He could feel her heart pounding through her ribcage, mirroring his own. Then, his fingers found her entrance, pausing there a moment.

Smiling down at her, the knight slipped a finger inside, then another. Venla moaned softly into his chest, and he kissed her again, stealing her voice as his fingers continued their work.

Before long, his hand withdrew, warm with her excitement. 'You're beautiful,' the words poured forth before he could stop them. His member came to rest against her sex. Slowly, he guided himself inside.
 
One kiss quickly turns into more and she was intoxicated by them all. Her heart thundered like hooves over stone. As he rolled them over, settling between her parted thighs. Venla cried out in surprise, the sound quickly transforming into a breathy moan as his weight pinned her. She went willingly, surrendering control, desperate to drown in the maelstrom of emotions he evoked. Her fingers lingered against the curve of his jaw, her thumb drifting to the corner of his mouth. "I've never met anyone like you." So brave, so kind, so... everything.

His kisses wandered a scorching path down her throat, teeth grazing the sensitive junction of neck and shoulder in a way that made her gasp. Her fingers threaded through his hair, brushing it back from his face. She was trembling with need by the time his fingers found her core. Wet before he had touched her. She writhed beneath his touch, spine arching off the blankets. Drunk on the taste and feel of him. "Gods, yes, that feels so good."

Through glazed eyes, she watched Willard withdraw his hand, his praise washing over her. Venla’s breath caught, not because she was unused to such praise, but because it came from him. It pooled deep in her chest. She panted, words raw with need. "Then take me. I’m yours tonight." Her voice broke, hips bucking as she felt the press of his erection intimately against her entrance, making her dizzy with want.

Eyes locked on his as he entered her slowly, slick easing his way. Venla moaned low in her throat, back arching as she felt him slide in, filling her. She threw her head back in ecstasy as he began to move inside her. She met him stroke for stroke. mingling with their panting breaths and low moans as he thrusted into her again and again, giving her everything he had. Hips rolling in a sinuous grind that had them both sighing into each other's mouths. She wrapped her legs around his hips.

Venla could feel tension building under his thrusts, muscles tensed and relaxed. Their bodies slick with sweat as they strained together, chasing the ecstasy. Her head tilted back, red strands tumbling loose as she panted, skin flushed and radiant. The stars had shifted...or perhaps she had... and now they pulsed above in unfamiliar arrangements, constellations that didn’t belong to this sky. She blinked, and the sky seemed to breathe. Star, thousands of them. Infinite. Swallowing infinity. And between them, something moved. Veins of light threaded the dark, subtle at first, then dazzling. And for a moment, she saw through it all, the weave of fate, the roots of the world, the trembling threads of what-might-be.

Her pulse still drummed with desire. It was ecstasy. Her fingers, curled into Willard’s shoulders, her thighs trembled slightly. In that rapture, something looked back. Not alone. Not in her body, not in her mind. A thousand whispers rippled through her bones while pleasure drifted through her body in waves. The night above bent wrong around a single point. Not light. Not darkness. But absence. The place where meaning went to die. The place where magic... her magic... was born.

And then, warmth. A weight. Willard’s breath against her neck as his body leaned over hers, pulling her back the now. A heartbeat. His scent. She leaned her forehead against his until her shudders subsided.
 
Her words spread like fire through his veins, warming him to his core. Unique, he was not, but to hear her say it meant everything- was everything. It sated his pride, made him feel twice the man he was in reality. Despite whatever temporary madness they had fallen under, he would remember, and love her for it. Until time stole the memory away.

For now, though, he contented himself in her. Thrust after thrust, he strove to bury himself deeper in her embrace. Her hands settled upon his shoulders, nails digging into sun-kissed skin. Every whisper of breath, each moan of pleasure, brought a newfound sense of joy to the knight. His want to please her, to  know her, overrode all else.

Sweat dappled his brow as he kept to the rhythm. Bodies entwined, he reveled in the way she ground against him, their hips working in tandem towards a common cause. Even now, with his mind focused on nothing else, he could feel a charge in the air, like that of an encroaching thunderstorm. Venla moaned into his chest, and he held her tight, driving his length into her with all his might.

Then, she was shuddering, gasping as she found her peak. Propping himself up on one arm, Willard gazed into her eyes as she came, his own breath sounding fast and ragged to his ears.

Awash with stars, lit by untamed magic, the dawnling witnessed the moment Venla's irises shifted colour. A virulent green, they ensorcelled the young knight, so much so that his pace slowed. Venla was the one to bring him back to his senses, her forehead pressing against his, arms wound tight about his shoulders.

He did not notice the way his arms and armour had floated a dozen paces to settle by his saddlebags, the magic prickling his skin mistaken for his own burgeoning excitement.

Brushing a few locks of red hair from her forehead, Willard smiled, before landing a tender kiss upon her brow.

'You're special, Venla,' he said, his heart betraying his thoughts. 'And I must be the luckiest man in all Khurun, to share this moment with you.'

Smiling, he kissed her again as his hips started to move, returning to their former pace. Warm and wet, he groaned as Venla's sex tightened about his member. Gripping him. Spurring him on. His thrusts came hard and fast, breath hitching in his throat.

Withdrawing, he found his release on her stomach, his seed spilling forth just in time to avoid any unwanted consequences.

'Shit!' He sighed, chest heaving as he fell onto his back beside her. The light above was gone now. Nothing but stars and the deep black if the void between. 'That was... quite something.'
 
“You are a marvel, Willard of the Dawn” she smirked as her breathing began to slow down. Venla lay beside him, her body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure. Every nerve ending felt charged, alight.

She rolled onto her side, propping herself up on one elbow as she gazed down at him. He was so beautiful to her in that moment, sweat-damp and sated, his dark eyes hazy with contentment. She leaned in and pressed a kiss to his shoulder.

Beyond this night, he would ride again. Blade at his side, sun on his shoulders, with that fire in his chest that would carry him through wind, war, and winters. He’s made for roads like that, she thought. For causes and people and all the things that need saving. Maybe he'd cradle more lost souls in his arms. It was alright. It was a comfort to think he wouldn’t be alone.

There was a part of her that ached, yes. But it wasn’t sharp. Not anymore. But it ached since good things was hard to hold on to. The kind of ache that comes when something precious touches your life and then passes on. A gentle peace settled in her bones. Not sorrow, exactly, but a deep understanding that some gifts were meant for a moment rather than a lifetime.

The blanket tangled at their feet. She lay her head down, resting her ear on his chest. She closed her eyes, listening to the song of his breath and the pulse beneath her. "Aye" she murmured, voice still soft and curled with satisfaction. “Not bad for a knight raised in a monastery." A playful smirk tugging at her lips.
 
Willard's smile was soft, and full of warmth. 'I'm not a monk, sworn to celibacy, Venla,' the dawnling replied, tracing his fingers down her spine and across her shoulder blade. 'Turns out a man stands to learn a thing or two, rescuing damsels in distress,' he smirked, squeezing her tighter, no less playful than before. Her nakedness did not bother him.

But her absence surely would.

Staying still a moment, the knight reflected upon his journeys, past and present. A dark cloud loomed over his future, uncertain and bleak. The Barons' dispute had brought short many a life. Villages had been sacked. Innocent lives had been taken and offered up on the altar of war. Callously. Without thought.

The Order was a part of that war now, and for the first since he had met Venla, Willard felt the first stirrings of fear caress his heart.

'It's odd,' he confessed, staring at the stars, a vacant look about him. 'As short as our... acquaintanceship has been, it feels like I've known you for an age.' Longer, even. Turning, Willard fought hard to suppress the thoughts sundering his soul. His throat felt dry. Palms clammy.

Still, he found it in him to smile.

'Before you go getting any funny ideas, you're good, but you weren't that good,' he laughed, turning the old trope around.
 
'Turns out a man stands to learn a thing or two, rescuing damsels in distress'

Her fingers drifted lazily across his chest. Venla arched a brow, lips twitching in amusement as she nestled closer. Curled closer into the curve of his body. She laughed softly at his words, low and warm. “Lucky me then.” she murmured, a tone full of delight.

"... it feels like I've known you for an age."

Yes… she felt it too. That familiarity. Her throat felt tight, and she swallowed gently, letting the feeling pass like a wave. She reached for his hand, her fingers braided together with his.

Venla didn’t answer right away. She lay tucked against him, skin to skin, her breath slow and steady. Then she shifted just enough to look up at him. “I feel it too,” she said. “Like we’ve known each other longer than we’ve had time to." But she also felt he was walking walking just a little ahead of her. Just out of reach. Like she was always meant to find him on a road she wasn't meant to take. What if things had been different? If the road had turned a little sooner...?

“...but you weren't that good.”

She gasped, hand to her heart like he’d wounded her pride beyond repair. “Well. That settles it.” She sat up, her red hair tumbling over her bare shoulders, and gave him a look that was half teasing, half theatrical affront. “I suppose I’d best go scrub the shame off.” Her belly and thighs were still covered in his spillings.

With a dramatic sigh, she rose and picked up her chemise from where it lay draped over a fallen log. Had they really thrown the clothes that far away? She padded barefoot toward the little creek just beyond the trees, where the moonlight spilled silver across the surface. She hung the garment over a big stone.

She drew a slow breath, then stepped into the water with a quiet hiss at the cold. The water lapped at her ankles, then her calves, her knees. Her breath caught as she eased in further, until the water reached her waist. Her arms wrapped around herself for a moment in the cold. And then she bent her knees and let herself slip beneath. The water closed over her head. And when she surfaced, she exhaled and wiped the river water from her eyes. Water streamed down her skin. Her arms moved slowly, smoothing over her body, rinsing away the smoke and sweat of the day.
 
Faux panic lit up Willard's face as Venla rose. 'Wait! Forgive me, My Lady, I know not what I say!' Amusement caused his lips to curl, and he put on a defeated sigh as the redhead sauntered away, head falling back into the grass. It took all he had to will himself to stand, to move, to carry on with his routine before it had been so rudely interrupted.

Pulling on his hose and boots, Willard drank deep the air, sweat drying on his skin as he went about starting a fire. He had thought about joining Venla down by the stream. He had thought about it a lot. Snatching up his waterskin, he washed his hands clean, poured the rest over his head. A more thorough cleansing would have to wait until after they'd eaten, which was a shame, really.

The knight's gaze wandered down to where the trees held sway. He could hear the gentle tinkle of rushing water, splashes, as Venla submerged herself beneath the flow. His mind drifted back to the conversations they had shared on the way here.

Of family and heritage. Of how it might not hurt to make the effort. To reconnect, to try, no matter how much it stung the heart, left it feeling hollow. His gaze turned North a moment, towards the Highlands where he had been born. Just a memory his mind's eye struggled to conjure, but still there regardless of the years. Despite it all.

Turning back, Willard focused on the knife in his hands. He had caught them a hare during their afternoon break, hoping to make something of a meal for their last night together. It wasn't much, but it was something. In the end, that's what mattered.

Meal prepped and sizzling in the pan, the knight went about gathering up the rest of his clothes. Confusion creased his brow as he retrieved his gambeson. His weapons and armour had moved, and when he touched them, his felt static. A little zap, like heated lightning upon the pads of his fingers. Shroud-touched, he mused, turning as he detected movement amongst the trees. His expression softened.

'So, a faerie comes to share my meal with me,' his voice carried across the clearing as Venla approached, skin still wet from the river. 'I'm honoured, though, I confess, the fare ain't much to look at.' Shrugging, he drew the rest of his rations from his kitbag, meandered back to the fire. 'Seein' as this is your last night as a free woman, I thought, "why not go all in?"'

Falling on his ass with a grunt, the knight gazed up at Venla. He tried not to notice the way her chemise clung to her body. The last thing he wanted was for the food to start burning.
 
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