The Sister was showing him mercy. She was full, round, radiant and no wonder. Bjorn's work this night was the disposal of carcasses. Filthy things, he thought while dragging the six naked bodies to the dark woods. No, it was no wonder she was radiant tonight. The cold, dark earth would get this offering.
The coarse rope he had used to bind their feet together was starting to fall apart in his hands, but it was not far now. Just a few hundred steps to the forest's edge, each intruder would nurture a young tree with its flesh. Giving back to the land they had taken so willfully from. One day soon, he would join them, but not today. The wight still walked the land. The thought made his jaw clench in anger as he looked down at the gloved hands holding the rope. Bjorn had to force down bile. He wanted to howl at the moon, rave at the injustice shown him. He could not. Would not. He knew the Sister could not help someone as lost and ruined as him to be whole again. The anger would not leave him however. The voices were back, but they were easy to ignore now that he knew it was his self hate that brought them this time. Feeding on his despair and misery. He had plenty to go around. Plenty for all. “Come!” He shouted at them. “Come one! Come all! It matters not. I will drown you in my ruin.” They fled, leaving him alone with his own broken thoughts. Grunting in annoyance, he found a young tree for each Softlander body and started digging with the bronze shovel he had taken from their former home.
The Sister was still high in the heavens when he was back at the camp. There had been surprisingly little to salvage. The tools were good. He would take them. The remains of the two squat houses he had raised to the ground were burning by one of the streams, casting a warm and mystical light over the camp. Flickering shadows and comforting light. He would feed the bonfire as it went down through the night. He wanted no predators near the camp.
The sled he had made held the few skins, hides and furs that were done. The rest would go to the fire. The smoke from the hides would help drive the creatures lurking in the night further away. He poured the yellow gold back into the streams, half in each. He would bring the foodstuff that still was good and the white clear spirit on the sled. While not good for drinking, it had other uses. The six clay jars were more than he imagined a family would need in a lifetime of the foul stuff. The stools and tables were poorly made, which would go to the fire.
Looking at the last hut, he was debating with himself if not just burning it down would be the best solution. It would at least spare his nose from going in there again. Walking around it, he opened the shutter to let in some light and hopefully clear the air of some of the stench. The assault it was making on his nose standing outside the window was bad enough to bring bile to his throat. No sounds came from inside. Clenching his jaw, he walked to the door and took it off. There would be no more need for it, and he didn't want to have it close to him by the wind while he was inside.
Ripping down the wooly ox hide, he brought it with him as he walked inside the hut, placing it close to the Soflander. She was not moving or making a sound, still in the stretched, tied down position, face forward. Thin and filthy. If she was alive, he would consider naming her that. He could count every single rib on her back by the moonlight. Her bottom was small and slightly rounded in that position, but at a guess, he doubted it would take much of a squeeze from his hand to feel how little meat there was on it. He missed Brown, then. Her ass cheeks fit perfectly in each of each of his hands during his rutting, as did her large and generous breasts with dark skin around her nipples that seemed to always become hard as buttons at the slightest touch. Her supple flesh accepted each of his trusts with increased eagerness and gasping need. Yes, he hoped his family was treating Brown and Blue well. His former family. Hanging his head in shame for still thinking of them as family Bjorn drew his good iron knife.
Leaning over the Softlanders body, he cut the strap that kept her head in place and then those that had kept her arms down. Reaching down to do the same with the straps on her ankles, he almost lost what little food he had in him from the stench. Gagging as he easily lifted her now struggling body over to the ox fur, he let put her down and quickly ran for the door. Leaning forward with his hands on his knees, he took deep breaths, telling his stomach to stop rolling around. Finally in control of himself again, he made his way back and looked at the Softlander female. Since he had placed her stomach down on the fur, he couldn't see her face, but he heard her whimpering through the cloths in her mouth and watched her feeble attempts at trashing around. Reaching down, he pulled one side of the ox hide over her, then the other, before he tucked the roll under his left arm and made his way out. He was not losing his stomach in there.
Her attempts at moving inside the stiff ox hide were almost amusing as he brought her down to the stream, as were the shrill sounds she was making. If he walked fast enough, most of the smell didn't hit him as hard. Laying the bundle down close to the stream and fire, he brought one of the shirts he had washed earlier that was drying by the fire. Not that it would matter in a moment. Walking back to the squirming bundle, he unrolled it. Her thunderous gray eyes were looking straight at him. He could see anger, despair and shame in them. Sorrow and a quickly dying hope. It was strange to see a Softlander have any expression but fear and greed.
The hair was a tangled mess around her head. Her filthy brow and hollow cheeks seemed to have the same fair complexion as the Western traders. Tears had marked their passage down her face and made rivers of fair flesh. The lips looked surprisingly red and full. It was the biggest contrast on her face, considering how small and pert her nose was, and her jaw, while not strong, was decent enough. He imagined she would become worth looking at if fed regularly for a few months or a year. Now she was skin and bones. He could see her ribs and collarbones were far too pronounced. Her apple sized breasts looked to have lost some of their size, too, making the skin sag and the breasts flat. Pink nipples surrounded by pink flesh. Her stomach was hollow, and her arms were sticks. Hip bones justin out grotesquely, but she had a surprisingly plump womanhood, the small amount of white hair doing little to hide it. The bones spoke of good hips. Thighs and arms were stick thin, with the bone of the knees and elbows jutting out. Her calves had a few white hairs that took on the color from the fire shining through them. The ankles showed the marks of where she had been bound, just as her wrists had the same deep red mark. Softlanders were truly strange.
Looking back at her face, he could see she was less than pleased by his scrutiny, but that was something she would learn to live with. He did with his as he pleased. If he decided to dye her head green and have her sleep upside down from the rafters, that was what would happen. Cloud, he would call her Cloud. Her gray eyes reminded him of a cloud bringing rain.
Stolen story; please report.
Holding the soap bar out at her, he pointed at the stream and said, “Go wash your filth Softlander.” She flinched at his voice but gave no indication of having understood him, nor did she reach for the bar of soap. Holding out towards her, he made signs for her to go and wash. Her only response was some muffled sounds. Drawing his good iron knife, he brought it towards her head. He could see her flinching away, and tears started coming to her eyes again. When the side of the blade touched her cheek, she almost flinched hard enough that he would have cut her face if he wasn't paying attention. Stupid Softlander. With a quick slice, he had cut the bindings that were used to gag her. He took hold of it and threw it in the fire as he could hear her taking huge gasping breaths of air while. If he wasn't mistaken, that would have been painful. Etiher she was laughing or crying, but still, she made no indication of bathing. That would not do.
Her tongue was darting to the sides of her mouth. He could see the white skin of dehydration, she was trying to bring her lips together, but at a guess, he would say she was too dried out and weak. Bjorn would need to check her teeth later, but it would be good if she just brushed them for now. Grunting in dissatisfaction, he went up and got his waterskin. He had just refiled it with the cooled off boiling water too. He removed the pans of water he had been simmering while he was there. Checked how the gruel was doing before adding some of the dried berries he had found. Later he would add some of the honey, he didn't know where Softlanders had gotten honey from, but he was keeping every drop of it.
Returning to the female laying on the ox hide, he could see her shivering. Well, she was about to become a lot colder in a moment. When she noticed him, she flinched away. Good, she understands. He didn't want her holding his waterskin, so he held it up to her mouth and slowly poured it into her open mouth. At first, she tried turning her head away and spitting it out, but something must have registered because she suddenly started drinking. Stupid Softlander.
When he decided she had enough or she would get sick, he took the waterskin away, and hear head followed it. Going back, he brought what he needed to the steam. He could feel her eyes on him as he passed her in the dark, only lit by the distant fire and the Sister. He was angry now. He did not want to do this. Closing his eyes, he repeated to himself. “I, Bjorn, will heal my broken spirit and return to the People whole one day. I will take my name back by right or by force. I will be worthy.” While taking off his gloves and stripping off his clothes.
Naked under the moonlight, he walked to the Ox hide, and with a hand under each of her armpits, he lifted her clear of the hide. She was dangling in front of him as he walked into the stream. The water was cool, but that suited his anger. When her feet hit the water, she started trashing. It was of little consequence to Bjorn. It felt like he was holding a winter coat, he could hold her like that as long as he needed. Together they went under, she had stopped trashing in his grip, but he could hear her keening as if the water burned her. Maybe it did. For all he knew, that may be why Softlanders were so filthy. He dunked her head and hair into the stream, over and over, despite her cries in protest and gasps of shock. He put her down there and held her under until he thought every strand of her white hair was wet. Until he felt she would not contaminate him with her mere presence. Still holding the shaking woman in front of him, he made his way closer to the bank of the stream and sat down on a rock, barely breaking the surface. He placed her on his lap, closer to his knees, to avoid getting her near any more of his body than he had to. Holding her up with one hand on her shoulder, he reached behind and took the soap bar from the bank. He felt sorry for the fish swimming through this water.
He started with her head, lathering his hands and placing the bar of soap in his lap. He started kneading in soap with one hand in her hair. Over and over until it didn't feel as fatty. It was still a tangled mess, but he had a combe. If that didn't work, he would cut it.
She tried to make those twittering sounds at him, but her shivering body made it difficult. Good. When he was pleased with the result, he stood up with her under one arm and the bar of soap in the other and under they went again. Walking back to the rock, he placed her on the same spot and washed her shoulders and back, ensuring he got as much soap as possible on the filthy creature. He swept her arms clean and her almost hairless pits. Ensuring he had lathered his right hand well, he washed between her ass cheeks, what little there was of it. She made a sound of indignation and pain when he pushed a soaped finger up her puckered hole. He tried to put two, but she was in too much distress or pain and was clenching. He settled on going in several times, making sure there was soap in there between each dunk of her posterior in the water when he moved his knees out, lowering her just enough. She was shaking and sobbing when he was done. He continued down the back of her legs, raising each one to get soap on it. Her ankles and feet had the same treatment. He lathered up between each of her toes, noting that the nails needed trimming. The skin under her feet was too fine. She had clearly not spent much time working outside, he thought sadly. Useless Softlander.
When he felt he had done a good job, he lifted her and turned her around on his lap. She refused to look at him. That suited him just fine. Washing her throat and shoulders, he lathered up her arms and chest. Her breasts felt small in his hands, but that would hopefully change with some proper food. Her pink nipples stood out like pebbles in the cold. The skin on them felt less rubbery than it was on Blue, Brown or the village girls he had been with. Her ribs poked at his hands as he brought his soap lathered hand over them, as did the bones in her hips. Her womanhood was smooth, with barely any hair, but he made sure to wash her outer lips well. Blue had once told him women normally don't wash their insides with soap, but he wasn't convinced that this was considered normal circumstances. He ran his soaped, slick fingers over and between her meaty outer lips. Feeling the hood that covered the pleasure pearl, as Brown had called it. Up and down, he washed as he added more soap, then slid his middle finger inside her. She grunted in protest, and he could hear the sobs coming between the shivering breaths she had been taking. He took it out and brought in more soap. Rubbing the tip of his finger inside her, he felt her supple and surprisingly warm insides. The soft ridges gave way under his finger, and he felt the change in texture as his finger ran over a rougher part of her insides while taking it out. Two fingers went in despite her protests, but that was as much soap he could bring in at a time. Three fingers was too much. Not too strange since he doubted she was aroused under the circumstances.
Standing up, he brought them to the middle of the stream and dunked them both under a few more times before he brought her back to the ox hide. Holding the shivering Softlander under one arm and dragging the ox hide closer to the fire, he turned it around and placed her on the sued side of the hide, facing the fire.
He stood looking down at the sorry sight before him for a moment longer than he should have because she lifted her gaze. All anger and despair she had on her face was replaced by shock as she spied his naked chest. Yes, woman, behold my shame. Needing to be alone. Bjorn turned around and walked into the darkness.