Private Tales The Beating of Skin Drums

[Rori]

Her eyes widened as his arm came around her like a living blanket. His chest was solid and warm against her back, his bicep firm beneath her cheek. A small sound escaped her, half protest, half surprise, because it felt like the proper thing to do. But she didn’t move away. Not when the heat of him was chasing the cold from her bones.

“Three days .. to catch a deer?” she asked after a moment, incredulous, her voice muffled against his skin. The notion sounded absurd, surely hunters could do so in half the time. Still… she found she couldn’t bring herself to feel any disappointment. Three days meant three more nights away from the eyes of the others, away from the camp and its sharp whispers and lingering stares. Three more days in the wilds. Out here, there was only endless wilderness and the strange comfort of his presence.

Her lashes lowered, her shivering eased. She listened to the steady rhythm of the rain outside the cave, and to the slower, heavier thud of his heart against her back. Without thinking, she reached for his arm and tugged it a little closer around her, tucking herself more securely into the warmth he offered.

Three days.. She rather hoped the deer were scarce.

 

[Urosh]

He was surprised. He expected a protest and an angry word. Instead she only spoke into his arm, her breath hot in the cold.

To her question, she received only an affirming, “Mm.”

Three more nights, unless they found a deer early. And even then, Urosh intended to delta as long as possible. The more time away from camp, the more heads would cool from the recent battle.

In time, he fell asleep to the sound of her breathing and the thrum of heavy rain.

The next day, they looked to their wounds and ventured out into the foothills. The rain stopped at some point in the night, but it left everything damp and muddy. Urosh studied the ground for signs of game and came upon a creek he knew to be nearby, which led up away into the nearby valley cleft in the high sides of the craggy hill. The mountains of the Spine loomed in the distance.

Urosh knew that the creek led to a waterfall further up the valley. He also knew that game liked the steep, secluded valley and tended to stick to the stream banks. It would prove a climb for them both, wounded as they were, but Uriah felt she was up to the task.

He spoke more to her of shooting with the bow and spent another hour practicing with her when they stopped to rest their legs.

By midday, they were well into the valley and came across three deer clustered by the bank of the stream. Urosh went into a crouch, grimacing as his stitching protested.

“You shoot,” he nodded to her.

She would likely miss. That would be well, for it would give them more time away. And if she struck too, well, her joy would be its own reward.

Rori

 

[Rori]

Rori had slept far more soundly than she’d expected to, warm, cocooned against Urosh's chest, lulled by the rhythm of rain and breath and heartbeat. When dawn came, her body ached as she stirred, every muscle stiff from sleeping on stone. She rose without complaint, stretching sore limbs, her feet tender but bearable beneath the fresh bindings.

The air was crisp, the sky veiled in low clouds, and mist hung in the hollows of the hills. She kept pace with him, her smaller steps steady and determined, only falling behind when something along the path caught her eye; a patch of violet wildflowers nodding in the damp breeze, or a cluster of mushrooms at the base of a tree. Each time, she’d hurry to catch up again, smiling faintly to herself.

When they stopped, she listened as he instructed her on using her bow, trying to remember his advice; her stance, her breathing, the strength in her core. She found herself enjoying the practice, though her arms trembled with the effort of pulling the bowstring again and again.

By the time they reached the creek, the air had grown still, and the quiet was broken only by the burble of water and the occasional call of a bird. When her gaze fell upon the three deer, she froze. They were beautiful. Delicate, graceful things, enjoying their peace, and her heart lifted at the sight… then sank, when she remembered they were supposed to shoot one. It hadn't been three days.

She crouched beside him, glancing at him with wide eyes. “Me?..” she whispered, a faint crease forming between her brows. She hesitated, then nodded and drew her bow carefully. Her pulse thudded in her ears as she took aim, and breathed deep.

She dropped her aim just slightly before she loosed the arrow, and it thudded harmlessly into the mud a few feet from the deer’s hooves. The startled creatures bolted, their white tails flashing as they disappeared into the thicket.

Rori sighed, her shoulders sagging as she lowered her bow. “Shit…” she muttered under her breath, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. She looked at him sheepishly. “Terrible shot. I’m sorry...”

 

[Urosh]

"Do not be sorry," he rested a hand on her shoulder.

She'd shot closer than he'd expected and for a moment he'd been worried their time would be cut short and he would have to find some other excuse to keep them out here. But the way she'd dropped her aim at the last moment... it made him wonder.

Even so.

"Many hunters feel the thrill of the hunt beating the drum in their heart and it makes their hands tremble. Their shots go wild. Yours was closer than many first hunters I have seen."

Urosh shrugged.

"We go further up."

And he led her along the banks of the creek, climbing higher into the valley. In the distance, he could hear the roar of the waterfall. They were still some ways distant.

"Do you hear it?"

Rori

 

[Rori]

He confused her greatly. When his large hand came down on her shoulder, she braced herself for rebuke, but his touch was gentle, grounding even. His words that followed weren’t scolding, but reassuring, praising.. It made her frown in quiet bewilderment, though she nodded all the same, her lips twitching toward a faint smile she tried to hide.

“I’m not sure I’ll ever feel thrilled about killing something…” she admitted after a pause, glancing down at the bow in her hands. “But then, I’ve never gone hungry before.” she shrugged.

She slung her bow back over her shoulder and followed him as he started up the slope. The climb was steep in places, slick from the rain that had fallen through the night, and she slipped more than once, but each time she caught herself, determined not to fall behind or complain. The air grew cooler as they climbed, the wind threading through her hair.

When he asked if she could hear something, she froze mid-step, straining her ears. The valley was quiet save for the rustle of wet leaves and the soft chatter of the stream. Then she focused on the low, distant rumble that seemed to echo through the stone around them.

Her brows knit, and she turned toward him with uncertainty. “What is it?…” she whispered, as though afraid that speaking too loudly might draw whatever it was this way.

 

[Urosh]

“Waterfall,” he grunted.

She truly knew nothing of the woodlands or the mountains. She might not even know what it was.

“You have seen one before?”

He frowned. The idea seemed silly, but then he had met some desert dwellers who knew nothing of the deep snow or the waterfalls or the lakes and bogs. Perhaps the city was just another type of desert.

“Crashing water, like thunder.”

His lips pulled against his tusks. If they were lucky they might see the spirit of this stream. Now that sight would most certainly offend the noble lady’s sensibilities.

“Come.”

Urosh led them closer and closer to the waterfall until the sound became a loud and constant roar.

Rori

 

[Rori]

Her brows rose as he explained, and she felt a flicker of embarrassment at the faint surprise in his tone. Of course she’d heard of waterfalls, they were painted in great sweeping landscapes, spoken of in songs and poems as wild, untamed beauty, but never had she seen one with her own eyes. Her world had always been paved roads and walled gardens, fountains that sang softly but never roared.

When he asked, her head shook, a little sheepishly. “No…” she admitted, voice small against the growing thunder of the sound ahead.

The noise grew as they climbed, a deep, living sound that filled the air and thrummed through her chest. The wind carried a faint, cool mist with it, and the light ahead seemed to shimmer differently, as though the world itself bent beneath what lay beyond. Then, as they rounded a rise, she saw, and every thought fled from her mind.

The waterfall crashed down in silvery torrents from the lip of a cliff high above, pouring into a vast pool that churned and foamed before spreading out into the stream below. The air glittered with drifting droplets that caught the sunlight breaking through the clouds, scattering rainbows across the mist. Moss and wildflowers clung to the stones nearby, their colours bright against the dark, wet rock. The sound was deafening and alive, not harsh, but powerful.

Rori’s lips parted, her eyes wide and glimmering as she took a slow, awed breath. “Holy shit,” she whispered, half laughing, half breathless, as though she’d just witnessed magic made real.

 

[Urosh]

“Why is shit holy?” Urosh frowned.

Southlanders.

Shaking his head, the half-orc left her gaping in amazement and made his way toward the pool of water beneath the falls. He tossed down his javelins, bow, and quiver. The rest of his gear followed. As did his clothes.

All of them.

“We bathe when we can,” he yelled at her over the roar of the falls. They both smelled from two days unwashed.

Wading into the water he splashed it across his face, rinsing his eyes, then closed them for a moment and enjoyed the coolness against his skin, the spray of the falls, and the pervasive thunder that drowned out all other noise and thoughts for a moment.

Rori

 

[Rori]

Rori couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and echoing strangely against the roar of the falls. “It’s a figure of speech!” she called back to him, shaking her head as if the clarification would make any sense at all to him.

She was still grinning when she turned, only to catch sight of far more orc than she had ever intended to see. Her laughter turned into a sharp gasp, and she spun back around so fast her hair whipped across her face. “For fuck- A little warning next time!” she sputtered, pressing her fingers to the bridge of her nose as if that might somehow erase the sight already burned into her mind. The flustered laugh that escaped her was breathless, flustered, and entirely involuntary.

When she dared another glance over her shoulder, he was already waist-deep in the pool, the water glinting off his skin like hammered bronze. She huffed to herself, half scandalised, half amused, and began peeling off her own layers. Well, his layers, really. The rough spun shirt hung loose on her shoulders, the trousers far too loose without the belt. She stripped down to her underclothes, wrapping her arms around herself as though that could preserve her modesty.

The water lapped cold against her toes as she stepped in. A sharp hiss escaped her lips. “Gods, that’s cold…” But it was either endure the cold or continue smelling like travel and sweat. So she took a breath, and surged under.

The cold hit her like a physical blow, biting, shocking, cleansing. She surfaced with a gasp, hair plastered to her face, laughter bubbling from her throat as she blinked water from her lashes. The chill stole her breath, but it was exhilarating.

She squealed, a short, choked sound, part protest, part glee, as the icy water enveloped her over the thunder of the falls, but she was grinning ear to ear.

 

[Urosh]

The snippets of her laughter heard through the din of the waterfall came as the sweet sound of a songbird and he wondered at those notes. He enjoyed them. He enjoyed the way she grinned now too, her smile wide and joyous.

Urosh wondered what made her smile so broadly, laugh so loudly. Perhaps she was always so happy in life and he had not had the chance to witness until now.

The huge half-orc slapped a spray of water across his chest, thinking.

She still wore all her undergarments. Foolish city habit. Now they would have to dry and she would have nothing else to wear. Urosh shook his head and snorted, but could not help the smile that her infectious joy brought on.

“Come here,” he yelled.

He stood waist deep by the falls, water misting around him, dewing on the moss-toned pallor of his skin.

Rori

 

[Rori]

Rori blinked at him, her head tilting. Was he… smiling at her? Her stomach fluttered as she hesitated, taking in the spray around him, the way the mist clung to his skin.

She gave a small, uncertain smile before slowly, awkwardly, she moved forward through the water, trying to keep herself low, crouched against the current, though it was clear she had no real idea how to handle the water. She really should have learned to swim.

Her arms wrapped around herself instinctively, and she glanced up at him again, hesitation written plainly on her face as she reached a hand toward the falls.

 

[Urosh]

He took her hand with his and plunged both into the roaring surface of the falls. The torrent beat against their skin, an almighty force that jerked their arms downward, but Urosh pressed them further until they stood with hands beneath the falls.

At last he pulled back, watching her with her undone hair all tangled and wet and matted to her face. He did not release her hand. Her soaked garments clung to her and Urosh stared openly, jade-eyed gaze finding her form pleasing, with her pale skin and her fiery mane.

He stood proudly in the pool, rivulets trickling down his chest, running between the grooves of his muscles, and he did not shy from her own looks. The orc did not speak. Taking her hand, he put it against his bare chest so she could feel the beating of his heart. Then he placed his own against hers, palm flat, so he might feel the thudding of her heart - a silent beating drum beside the falls.

Rori

 

[Rori]

Rori’s breath caught as their palms met, and gasped aloud as the rush of the waterfall roared around them.
The rush of sound consumed everything, their voices, the sound of their breaths, the world itself. It was as though they stood within a living storm, water pounding down in endless torrents, cold and pure and alive.

She gasped as the weight of it struck her shoulders and back, the chill biting through her skin like a thousand tiny needles, but she couldn’t stop laughing. The sound of it burst from her lips, uncontained and unrefined, the bright, ringing sound of something wild and free. She tilted her head back, water streaming down her face, over her lips, through her hair until it plastered fiery strands against her neck and shoulders.

Urosh’s hand never left hers. His grip was firm, anchoring her against the force of the current. She looked up at him, breathless, blinking through the spray that drenched her lashes. The sight of him unflinching beneath the power of the falls stole what little breath she had.

He pulled her back out of the fall, and her eyes lifted to meet his through the curtain of dripping hair that clung to her cheeks, her lips parting as though to speak, but no sound came as she noted the way he was looking at her. She glanced down at herself, her skin heating despite the cold.

She let him guide her hand to the hard pane of his chest, her eyes on his as she felt the rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her palm, strong and steady. Her eyes tracked his own large hand as it came to rest on her chest, her heart thrumming wildly beneath his palm in comparison. Her breath caught, but she said nothing, only resting her free hand atop his.

 

[Urosh]

The waterfall roared in his ears.

As did his blood.

Her skin felt warm beneath his touch, chilled only by the scrap of soaked through fabric that stood between calloused palm and bare flesh. Her free hand rested atop his own and this too was warm. And showed she did not shy from him like a frightened doe.

Urosh’s nostrils flared and he breathed deeply of the misty air and the cold climes and the scent of moss. But his eyes never left hers.

Then with sudden strength his hands fell to her hips and he hoisted her from the water and into the air so that they might be more level. Lips rough and broken by battle crashed against hers, tusks scraping against her cheek.

And he breathed deeply again, but this time only of the scent of her skin.

Rori

 

[Rori]

Her heart stumbled into a wild, unsteady rhythm that rivalled the thunder of the falls. The world tilted as his hands caught her, lifted her, the cold of the pool falling away beneath her feet. Her startled gasp was swallowed by the heat of his mouth and the fierce, unhesitating press of his lips.

Her mind screamed of all the many, many reasons she shouldn’t, but her heart, her body, refused to listen.
Rori’s arms wrapped around him, fingers tightened instinctively at the back of his neck, her nails grazing wet skin, the tension of muscle beneath her touch. It was reckless, and utterly consuming.

Her lips softened against his, yielding, her sigh lost in the sound of crashing water. Her legs tightened around his waist for balance, and the moment deepened, all reason washed away beneath the current that roared around them and within her.

When she finally broke the kiss, her breath came in uneven bursts. Her eyes fluttered open, searching his face, and for a long moment she simply stayed there, trembling with adrenaline.

“…Urosh…” she breathed. She didn’t know what she meant to say, whether to stop, or to ask for more, only that she couldn’t quite pull herself away.

 

[Urosh]

When she wrapped her legs around his waist, he no longer pretended to hold back. His calloused and battle-scarred hands gripped her tightly, careful of the wound on her back, but moving across her with a strong and knowing grip that showed he was no stranger to this.

He wanted more. This much was obvious, for he wore naught and she wore next to naught. There was nothing to hide. A tusk rubbed against her cheek as his broad, broken lips pulled at hers. The roar of the falls mirrored the thrum of his heart. And he longed to take her then, beneath the water, in this valley.

She broke the kiss and stared at him, uttering his name. Urosh stared back, his jade eyes unflinching as they studied the verdant depths of her own.

"Aurora."

His massive chest rose and fell with deep breaths.

"You do not have to..."

The water roared.

"But if you wish, I will take you before all the gods under heaven."

Rori

 

[Rori]

It startled her, the depth of her wanting. How fiercely his kiss had awakened something she thought long dead. She should not crave this, not from him. An orc. Her captor. The one who held her for ransom and would send her away the moment her worth was paid. And yet… she could not deny the pull. The way his gaze set her blood alight, the way his nearness steadied and unsettled her all at once. How, in a handful of days, he had shown her more care than anyone had in years.

It made no sense. It was dangerous. It was wrong.

And still, her heart betrayed her with every beat, whispering that she did not want him to stop. The warmth of his hands lingered everywhere he’d touched, the strength of them, the steadiness. It frightened her more than the orc himself ever had.

His words caught her off guard. The choice he gave her. The gods he mentioned..

For a heartbeat longer she didn’t move, her fingers still tangled in the strands of his wet hair as she searched his face, the sharp lines, the scars, the eyes that looked at her as though she were something... just something. It made her chest ache.

“Urosh…” she whispered again, the sound softer now, cracking faintly. “Want as I might…The gods you speak of don't take lightly to such sins. I shouldn't.. I can't.”

Her thumb brushed along his jaw before she drew her hand back, as though the contact burned. Slowly, she let her legs slip from around him, the cold water catching at her limbs as she sank back into the cold pool. Her breath hitched with the shock of it, grounding her.

“I'm sorry. I shouldn’t have done that,” she said again, quieter this time, though whether she was apologising to him, to herself, or to the gods, she wasn’t sure.

She took a shaky step back, eyes downcast, droplets tracing paths over her cheeks that could have been rain or tears. And with that, she turned away, pressing her palms to her face, as though she might wash away the heat and confusion.

 

[Urosh]

His shoulders slumped and he nodded curtly.

"I understand."

He was the one who had slaughtered the people she had traveled with and her southlander ways would not permit it, even if he was a conquering chieftain. Fine. He should not have been so careless with his hostage. All manner might have gone wrong. For instance, it would not do well for her to be sent back bearing child. That would provoke a response from the Anirians.

But it would not happen, because...

"You fear me and I slew the others. Your gods do not like such things."

The huge half-orc nodded again, watching the back of her figure and how the wet clothes clung to her, instinctual need still raging within him to go after her and claim her.

"Mine do not see it as a sin. It is nature to rut and how can nature be bad? But yes. It would have been a mistake."

Rori

 

[Rori]

"What?" Rori turned sharply, water dripping from her hair as she moved back toward him, her brows drawn tight.

“No…” she shook her head, and before she could think better of it, her hands came up to his face, drawing it toward her so he would see that she meant what she said. “I do not fear you.” Her voice softened, her thumb brushing against his cheek. “Perhaps I should. Maybe it would be wiser if I did.. but I don’t.”

Her throat tightened as she went on. “Those people… they didn’t deserve it, but they’re not why I stopped. They never cared for me.” The admission was flat, without bitterness, only truth.

Her gaze dropped briefly, her voice quieter now, though it wavered with the weight of it. “It isn’t that I think it wrong, what might have passed between us. But I am… spoken for. And when you have your coin, I’ll return to that life.”

She hesitated, her fingers lingering against his jaw for a heartbeat longer before she let them fall away. “Whether I want to or not.”

 

[Urosh]

Her hand was warm against his jaw. Ah. How cruel the gods were. But her words gnawed at his mind like a hungry wolf. She said whether she wished to or not and had a sad look to her, like a beaten warg cub. He was reminded of the scars on her back, so strange for a noble woman who had not seen battle before to have.

"Who speaks for you?" He huffed, an anger rising in him. "The one who carved your back?"

His nostrils flared and his chest rose and fell with deep breaths. "Do they hurt you?"

Both of his hands came to rest on either side of her face, so that she might not look away, so that her eyes that reminded him of the forest depths, so green, could only stare ahead and up at him.

"Answer. Do they hurt you?"

Rori

 

[Rori]

Her breath caught in her throat at how his voice changed, at the way his chest rose and fell. She took a small step back, but his hands came up to her face, his palms rough but careful, the heat of his anger thrumming through his touch. Her cheeks burned as though the words themselves had peeled her open, exposing what she’d been trying to bury.

Her lips parted, but no sound came at first, only the trembling of her breath as his fury rolled off him like thunder. She wanted to turn away, to hide from that sharp, unyielding stare, but his grip held her there, his questions cutting her deep..

“Please,” she breathed, her voice breaking. “Don’t.. Don’t be angry with me. I didn’t mean to lie.”

She swallowed hard, the words trembling on her tongue as shame burned through her. “I am his wife,” she whispered finally, as though the admission itself hurt to speak. Her lashes lowered, and her voice faltered to a near whisper. “That is his right.”

 

[Urosh]

He could feel her tremble in his grip. He knew it was not from the chill of the water. No. She shook like a frightened animal. And as she shook, he knew he had been right. Her words stabbed into him like an arrow. His wife? His wife.

“You said nothing of a husband,” he growled.

Aurora was right, he was angry, though not with her.

“What right has he? Who gave it to him?”

Urosh still gripped her face in both his hands, palms against her cheeks. He did not let go.

“I will tear his arms from his sockets and then I will find who gave him this right and spit them on my spear. Is he with the king? Does his coin go to his pocket?”

Would he be selling her back to be tortured? He squeezed her face.

“Answer.”

Rori

 

[Rori]

Her breath hitched as his grip held firm, his fury a living thing in the space between them. The roar of the waterfall dimmed beneath the rush of her pulse in her ears. Panic clawed at her chest when she found she couldn’t move, when his hands refused to let her go.

“Only because I did not wish you to return me to him,” she stammered, her words tumbling out between shallow breaths. “Because I hoped- I hoped my uncle might pay you instead and perhaps he might keep me from him.” Her voice broke as tears filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks, mingling with the spray of the falls. “I’m sorry…”

Her throat ached, her chest heaved. “He was the one my father chose,” she went on, her voice trembling. Her father, who had known exactly the sort of man her husband was, but also what wealth he had..

Her fingers clutched desperately at Urosh’s wrists, trying to pull herself free. Fear and shame and helplessness tangled together until she could hardly breathe. “I didn’t mean to lie,” she gasped, sobs catching in her throat. “Please, I’m sorry.”

 

[Urosh]

The half-orc’s hands dropped away and he made no move toward her. She said she did not fear him, yet he could see it written into the skin of her face, the fright in her eyes, the way she held herself, and the tremor in her words. He was right. She was a beaten warg cub, who trembled at a raised fist or angry voice.

“Peace,” he growled, “I will not harm you.”

Then he raised his arms and wrapped them gently around her, careful of her scars, heedless of his own unclothed state.

“I have told you before,” he huffed softer, “I will not let you be harmed. I do not recognize any right of your husband.”

His brows knit together and he felt torn between obligations.

“If I return you to the king, will you be sent back to this man? The one who hurts you?”

Rori

 

[Rori]

Her pulse still thrummed in her ears, but the steadiness of his voice and the warmth of his arms began to ground her again. His touch, though rough and powerful, was steady. A shelter, not a threat. She let out a shuddered breath and rested her cheek against his chest, the rise and fall of it steady beneath her ear. The chill of the water no longer mattered.

“I know…” she murmured, her voice small, weighted with remorse. She had known he wouldn’t hurt her, truly, and still, she had panicked. The guilt of that sat heavy in her chest, and she sighed softly, her fingers curling against his skin..

“I had hoped that if I asked it of him, he would allow me to remain in the keep,” she said quietly, words muffled against him. “But I don’t know. My uncle and my father share the same mind when it comes to duty.” Her brow knit faintly. “To them, a woman’s place is beside the man she was given to, whether she wants it or not.”

She swallowed, voice softening. “My uncle at least, is a kinder man to his wife.. It was only ever a hope. Foolish, maybe, but all I had.”