Galeria de Saerine & Kroulin

(Saerine) The shooting stars have begun — not the great cascade yet, just scattered heralds crossing the sky every few minutes, bright enough to throw shadows on the grass. I woke Kroulin to share them and she threw a boot at me, so I came out alone with nothing but a blanket and a cup of cold tea. The highlands hold no light but their own tonight, and I cannot remember when I last felt this small beneath something this vast. Would you sit beside me and count them, fearless hunter, or are you too proud to shiver in the dark?

(Kroulin) The archers ride past our tent at full gallop and not one of them can hold a candle to what I managed at fifteen paces — I put three arrows in a circle the size of a saucer and the old men went quiet. My shadow clutched my arm the whole time as though I needed her luck. The dust is still on my skin and my blood is still too hot for sleeping. Tell me, fearless hunter — does a woman who can outshoot half the clan intimidate you, or does it only make you want to test her in other arenas?

(Saerine) The clans have gathered on the eastern plateau — so many tents now that our little camp looks like a single thread in a great woven tapestry. Kroulin has gone off to watch the horsemen show off, and I stayed behind at the communal fire to trade a pot of my curd stew for a skin of fruit wine from a woman who swears her recipe is older than the hills. Do you think you could find me in a crowd this size, or would you need me to wave?

(Kroulin) The stove had water enough for one basin, and I saw no cause to waste it on modesty. My shadow sleeps through every dawn as though it were her sworn duty. I trust you less than the hills, fearless hunter — will you at least own to watching?

(Saerine) The cold woke me before Kroulin — she burrows like a badger under the furs and leaves me to face the chill alone. I reached for my shift and found it had slipped entirely beneath me in the night, bunched uselessly at the small of my back. The first grey light was already seeping through the canvas, and I had not the heart to cover myself before it found every inch of me. Will you look your fill before I find my modesty again, fearless hunter?

(Kroulin) The herd scattered twice before I could coax them back to the eastern slope — stubborn beasts, every last one. I came home drenched in sweat and foul temper, and my dear shadow had the gall to press a cup of tea into my hands as though I were some wilting flower. Tell me, fearless hunter — does sweat on a woman offend your sensibilities, or does it only sharpen your appetite?

(Kroulin) The races left my blood still singing — every galloping hoofbeat pounding through me like a second heartbeat. My dear shadow was meant to be braiding her hair for bed, but she looked at me the wrong way and now the festival carries on behind closed canvas. Care to see who crossed the finish line first, fearless hunter?

(Saerine) Even the highlands have forgotten how to breathe today — the air sits heavy and still like damp wool over everything. I crept down to the stream to let the cold water do what the wind could not. Would you have joined me, fearless hunter, or do you prefer to watch from the bank?

(Kroulin) My shadow tastes like fruit wine and stubbornness tonight — I had every intention of letting her rest, but she opened that pretty mouth first and now neither of us sees cause to stop. Think you could pry us apart, fearless hunter, or would you rather watch until it's your turn?

(Kroulin) My dear shadow sleeps like the dead — mouth open, limbs everywhere, utterly shameless. She grinds against me in her dreams and calls it rest. I ought to wake her properly, but watching her squirm has its own appeal. Shall I be merciful, or do you think she deserves worse?