New chapter up and at em. Please leave a review if you like what i'm doing, otherwise i'll be sad. (cries) New entry might take a while, since i almostgot my WoW charecter to 60. Anyway, i'm goanna try and wrap this up soon, provided i get some level of insperation. Again, R&R if you like it.
Chapter 13
Tyrr slowly disrobed in the sanctity of the pail moon's light and entered the lake without a splash. It was far too late, and the trio was far to tired to trek back to the goblin town of Ratchet; so the tauren, the elf, and the troll decided to wait in the middle of the Barrens for morning. As Taff and Aloos discussed their next move, Tyrr snuck off and found one of the desert's few oases. She felt disgusting: her lavender skin was stained with the blood of humans, her ebony hair matted down with liquid crimson. She let the gentle drops of water rinse her clean of evidence of her dark deed. Physically at least. In truth, she'd didn't feel any mourning for the lives she took. But then, she'd always been taught the humans were her inferiors. After the battle, perhaps that was true.
A splash in the distance made her freeze. The gentle pitter patter of drops returning to the lake embraced her long, slender ears. "Who could that be?" she asked with a whisper. As quiet as she could, she swam through the water and onto land. She dried her soft skin and dressed in her pants and shirt. When she slipped her dagger onto her belt, she stealthily made her way to the continued splashes. She didn't travel far, just to another body of water. The elf crouched in the bushes and proceeded farther, until she could see the pool, and the tauren who bathed in the center, clearly.
Tyrr giggled as her cheeks blushed. She watched Taff lift a handful of water over his head and dump it into his mane. He then scrubbed out his fur, removing any trace of the crimson luster. Tyrr, as perverted as she knew it was, couldn't turn away and leave the tauren in the privacy he believed he had. She gazed at his body longingly, absorbing every detail of his amazing physique. He was very well-built, like all tauren, with a hump of pure muscle on his back that gave him incredible upper body strength and his hunched posture. His chest was like a master sculptor's life work. Every muscle, every rib, was crafted to perfection, all covered by a blanket of soft fur. His arms were as thick as the elf's body. His hands were huge, though he was capable of such tenderness, she knew. The majority of his fur was dark gray. The only exception: the mane at the top of his head, which was jet black. The countless gashes and scars over body didn't repel her; instead they made him more beautiful to her eyes.
She was silently settling down to continue her peeping, when she accidentally sat on a twig. The snapping that erupted from her hiding place was loud against the silent night, and the tauren instinctively lifted a hand and blasted her spot. Flames engulfed the bushes and she was exposed by the burning orange light. Her perfect lavender skin would've been burned if she didn't dive forward and into the lake.
"Tyrr?" the tauren demanded, snatching her out of the water.
In his massive, powerful grip, the elf forced a giggle. "Hi Taff."
The Greywalker growled as he shuffled out of the lake and shook dry his fur. Tyrr diverted his eyes as he hastily pulled on his pants. "Enjoy the show?" he grunted.
"I'm sorry," she whimpred. "I just came her to clean off and…"
"You decided to get an eye full."
"You have a great body," she giggled. She laughed because she was terrified the tauren would get mad and decide to kill her. To her surprise, he chuckled.
"So do you."
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It's an awkward trek back to the camp. Tyrr's sweet scent and the dusty smell of the desert are mixed with the stench of gaucheness. She'd watched me bathe. I should tear her arms off and shove them down her little throat, but I just can't get mad at her. Why? Why can't I even think of hurting her?
Aside from the thick discomfort, the midnight desert is cold. My dense fur, even damp, provides me more than enough insulation to keep warm. But the elf has no such luxury. With each cool breeze, she shivers fiercely. Her skin has lost that lavender glow and is starting to grow a sickly pail. She rubs her arms with each step, desperate to put the life back into her limbs. Obviously she wasn't thinking to clearly when she left the warmth of our camp fire and wandered into the lake. At this rate she won't last, and her's is a spirit I don't want to watch leave this world. I swallow a lump in my throat. I don't have a choice.
I lift the night elf gently into my arms, supporting both her back and legs in my hands. "What are you doing?" she asks. She isn't annoyed or angry, just curious.
"Your cold," I grunt embarrassed. "I can put you down but you might not last."
"No," she says, cuddling close to my chest. That beautiful lavender color returns to her arms, then cheeks and chest. She looks up at me and I realize I'm staring. I blush. She blushes too. She embraces my chest for warmth and I hold her closer to keep her safe. Great spirits, I think I love her.
I'm almost to the camp when it happens. I can smell the smoke from a fire and see the tunnel of black fumes, when something powerful knocks me down. I tumble, shielding Tyrr in my powerful arms as I roll across the dusty ground. When I finally stop, Tyrr shaken beneath me, something sharp and strong begins to tear at my unprotected back. The humans took my vest when they captured me. I can hear their spirits laughing from the other world. I swing an arm and connect with something fury and that gives me just enough time to stumble to my hoofs. I run. Tyrr doesn't know what's going on. Neither do I. My back aches as the torn flesh opens with each step. It something with fur and maybe knives: centaurs or quilboars or even some big animal that's hungry enough to call me prey. I don't care. But my hammer is back at the camp so that means I need some distance to summon a spell. That strong thing hits me again. I land hard on my back. Tyrr falls a few feet away and lands gently on her feet. Something huge pounces on me, the weight on my chest is smothering. I can't see what it is that attacked me: its sheer girth eclipses the moon. All I know is that powerful jaws close around my throat.
"Aisha," screams Tyrr. The teeth abandon my throat and the pressure leaves my chest and I suck the cool night air deep into my lungs. I carefully get to my hooves, burning energy cackles from my hands. A few feet away: Tyrr is receiving a tongue bath from a massive night saber. "I'm sorry Aisha," the elf continues. "I should have called you. Thank you for trying to protect me, but this tauren is a friend." She turns to me. "Taff, this is Aisha." The night saber and I exchange glares and I look into her spirit. She's a smart creature: feral and wild but very loyal to Tyrr. She'll tear me apart if she ever thinks her master is in danger. I nod not to show submission, but respect. The night saber growls in her throat. Tyrr mounts her great cat and scratches her ear. "Ashia," she sings in that sweet voice. "It's alright, trust me." The night saber snarls as she sets out for the camp, but not before she lifts her tail in a mocking gesture. I ignore it and begin to trot to keep up.
You can tell a lot about a race by the mount they choose. We tauren use the mighty kodo: hugely powerful but also gentle. The orcs ride wolves: vicious creature but not without loyalty to their own. The humans: the strong, commanding horses and the dwarfs: the durable and brawny rams. Gnomes ride a tribute to their ingenuity: the robo-chickens while trolls employ the cunning and deadly raptors. The undead of the Forsaken ride the decrepit horses, revived through dark alchemy and magic with their masters. And elves? The night elves tame the night sabers, the rider just as shadowy and mysterious as their steed. You can tell a lot about a rider by their particular beast as well. Aisha: each step she takes is graceful and beautiful and deadly. She can take my life if I let my guard down. That scares me. But the way she cares for Tyrr, the genuine love she showed when she was reunited with her master. That gives me hope.
Finally the ground beneath my hooves grows warm from the roaring fire. Aloos is sleeping near the flames, propped against a large green scaly thing. His raptor, Snot, must have returned while I was bathing, and he must not have been alone. "Goliath," I smile. I wrap my arms around the kodo's thick neck. He licks the damp fur on my chest. I chuckle. His tongue retracts as he notices Aisha, who's making herself comfortable near the fire. Tyrr settles down and cuddles close to her mount's stomach before she quickly falls asleep. "What do you think?" I ask Goliath. He answers with a low roar. "Yeah, I like her too."