W-Beside a singing stream

The sun hung low in the sky, casting jagged shadows through the tangled branches of the elderwood trees, where Alina trudged along the rutted path, her boots caked in mud and blood. She'd chased that bandit for what felt like half the realm—leagues of winding trails that twisted away from her clan's highland camps. The man had been a grotesque sight: pockmarked face twisted in perpetual sneer, his body lean from years of skulking rather than honest toil. His wooden club had swung wild, more bluff than bite, and his knife, rusted and cruel, had barely nicked her armor before she drove her sword through his gut. He crumpled like a sack of spoiled grain, spilling his meager purse at her feet.

Alina knelt, rifling through it with callused fingers. A handful of silver slips, tarnished and thin, plus some thick copper coins that clinked dully. And there, nestled among them, a single pearl—pale, nearly lusterless, like a forgotten tear. Not worth the sweat of the pursuit, but enough to remind her of the world's petty cruelties. She sheathed her sword, wiped the blade on the bandit's ragged cloak, and left his corpse for the crows. Her people, the iron-veined warriors of the mist-shrouded valleys, expected no less from one of their own. She was Alina, forged in raids and rivalries, and today she had claimed another victory.

The air grew cooler as she pushed deeper into the woods, the metallic tang of blood fading behind her. A distant rush pulled her onward—the sound of water, clear and insistent, carving through stone. It promised relief from the grime clinging to her skin. But then, threading through the stream's murmur, came a voice. Singing. Sweet, lilting, weaving notes that danced with the water's rhythm, as if the river itself had found a tongue.

Alina's hand drifted to her sword hilt, instincts sharpening. She moved silently, parting ferns and low-hanging vines until the trees thinned. There, by the stream's edge, sat a young woman—maiden-fresh, with hair like spun sunlight cascading over her shoulders. She was idle, legs dangling in the shallows, her simple linen dress hiked up to her knees, oblivious to the dangers of the wilds. Likely from some nearby village, shirking chores for a stolen moment of peace. Foolish to be alone here, where wolves and worse roamed.

A heat stirred in Alina's chest, unbidden and fierce. Among her people, a warrior fresh from battle claimed what they desired—spoils of strength, pleasures of the moment. This girl, with her soft curves and unguarded ease, was a temptation too ripe to ignore. Alina's pulse quickened, the adrenaline of the kill morphing into something rawer, hungrier. She swept from the underbrush like a shadow uncoiling, her armored form towering over the seated figure.

The girl—Silphia, though Alina didn't know her name yet—startled, her song cutting off mid-note. Her eyes widened, blue as the stream's depths, and she shrank back against a mossy boulder, hands clutching at her dress. Terror flickered there, but she didn't bolt. Instead, a strange tremor touched her lips, curving them into a tentative smile.

Alina paused, grip tightening on her sword. That smile irked her—where was the fear she craved, the wide-eyed submission? She dropped her weapon with a deliberate clatter, unbuckling her helmet and letting it thud to the ground. Her dark hair tumbled free, sweat-damp and wild. Then came the breastplate, straps loosening with a rasp, revealing the linen tunic beneath, clinging to her muscled frame. Silphia's smile broadened, a flush creeping up her neck.

It fueled Alina's anger. She wanted awe, not amusement. "Stupid girl," she growled, lunging forward. Her hands seized Silphia's arms, yanking her to her feet. The maiden gasped, but held still, trembling. Alina's fingers hooked into the neckline of Silphia's dress, tearing it downward with a sharp rip. Fabric gave way, exposing pale skin, full breasts heaving with each breath, nipples hardening in the cool air. The dress pooled at Silphia's waist, then lower, until she stood bare, vulnerable, her body a canvas of soft lines and untouched promise.

"Please," Silphia whimpered, tears welling as she tried to cover herself. "Mercy, I... I didn't mean—"

Alina shoved her against the boulder, the rough stone biting into Silphia's back. "Beg all you want, but you're mine now." Her voice was rough, edged with the day's violence. But as Silphia's sobs broke free, something shifted. The girl's eyes, even through the tears, held a spark—not just fear, but curiosity, a pull that mirrored Alina's own hunger. Alina's resolve cracked. "Go," she snapped, releasing her. "Run back to your village before I change my mind."

Silphia stumbled back a few steps, naked and shivering, glancing over her shoulder toward the woods. But she didn't flee. Instead, she turned, hesitating, then stepped closer again, her breath hitching. "I... I don't want to go."

The words hung between them, defying Alina's expectations. Frustration boiled over, but it tangled with desire. Alina grabbed her again, rougher this time, pulling Silphia flush against her body. Their heights matched well enough—Alina's warrior build pressing into the maiden's softer one. She crushed their mouths together in an aggressive kiss, lips demanding, tongue thrusting past Silphia's parted teeth to claim her fully. Silphia stiffened at first, a muffled cry escaping, but then her mouth yielded, tentative tongue meeting Alina's in a slick, heated dance. Saliva mingled, breaths ragged, as Alina's hands roamed, groping the curve of Silphia's hips, squeezing the firm flesh of her ass.

Silphia tasted of wild berries and stream water, innocent and sweet. Alina broke the kiss, trailing her mouth to the girl's neck, teeth grazing the pulse point before nibbling sharply. Silphia arched, a soft moan slipping out despite her earlier tears. "Shh," Alina murmured against her skin, nipping harder, leaving faint red marks. Her hands slid up, cupping Silphia's full breasts, thumbs circling the stiff peaks. The flesh was warm, yielding under her palms as she fondled them roughly, pinching nipples until Silphia gasped, body pressing closer rather than away.

Emboldened, Alina's mouth followed her hands. She bent, capturing one breast in her lips, tongue laving the nipple before sucking hard, teeth scraping just enough to elicit a whimper. Silphia's fingers tangled in Alina's hair, not pushing away but holding, confused pleasure threading through her fear. Alina switched to the other breast, licking broad strokes across the sensitive skin, savoring the salt of her sweat. Lower still, her hands groped downward, one sliding between Silphia's thighs. The girl was already slick, folds parting under Alina's probing fingers.

"You're wet for this, aren't you?" Alina rasped, two fingers plunging in without preamble, stretching the tight heat. Silphia cried out, legs buckling, but Alina held her upright, thumb finding the swollen clit and rubbing firm circles. They stood there by the stream, water rushing indifferently nearby, as Alina worked her hand in steady thrusts, fingers curling inside to stroke that inner spot. Silphia's hips bucked involuntarily, breaths coming in short, needy pants. The maiden's pussy clenched around the intrusion, juices coating Alina's hand, dripping down her wrist.

Alina's own arousal throbbed, a insistent ache between her legs, but she focused on the girl, driving her toward the edge. Silphia's tears had dried, replaced by flushed cheeks and half-lidded eyes. "It feels... strange," she whispered, voice breaking as Alina's thumb pressed harder on her clit.

"Good strange," Alina replied, kissing her neck again, nibbling the earlobe. She pumped faster, the wet sounds mingling with the stream, until Silphia's body tensed, a keening moan escaping as she shattered, walls fluttering around Alina's fingers in her first real orgasm. The maiden sagged, but Alina caught her, easing them both down to the soft bed of moss and grass lining the streambank.

There, on the yielding green, Alina stripped off her own tunic and breeches, her body scarred from battles but strong, muscles taut under sun-kissed skin. She positioned Silphia on her back, legs spread wide, and lowered her head between them. The girl's pussy was pink and glistening, untouched before this, folds swollen from the fingering. Alina inhaled the fresh, musky scent—delicious, like ripe fruit begging to be devoured. She knew Silphia was a maiden; the tightness, the shy quiver, told her as much. Starting slow, she licked along the outer lips, tongue flat and broad, tasting the tangy essence.

Silphia squirmed, hands fisting the grass. "Oh... what are you—ah!" Her words dissolved into a gasp as Alina's tongue delved deeper, circling the entrance before flicking over the clit. Alina ate her with relish, sucking the nub gently, then harder, while her own hand slipped between her thighs. She masturbated herself in time, fingers circling her own clit, dipping into her soaked core. The dual sensations built, Alina's mouth relentless—lapping, probing, teeth grazing the sensitive inner thighs. Silphia's hips lifted, chasing the pleasure, confusion giving way to raw need.

It was new for the girl, this overwhelming rush, her body betraying any lingering fear with eager responses. Alina hummed against her, vibrations sending shocks through Silphia, who came again with a sob, thighs clamping around Alina's head as her pussy pulsed, fresh wetness flooding Alina's tongue. The taste was intoxicating—clean, potent—and it tipped Alina over. Her fingers plunged deep, thumb grinding her clit, and she orgasmed with a muffled groan, waves crashing through her as she lapped at Silphia through the aftershocks.

They lay there panting, bodies tangled in the grass, the stream's song a soothing backdrop. Alina propped up on an elbow, studying Silphia's face—flushed, not just from exertion but something deeper, a mix of excitement and bewilderment. Pity stirred in Alina's chest; the girl had been so willing, so unexpectedly open, that the ravishment felt more like a shared discovery. She brushed a thumb over Silphia's cheek, then leaned in for a tender kiss, lips soft this time, tasting herself on the girl's mouth.

"You're too trusting for these woods," Alina said quietly, pulling back. She reached for her pack, retrieving not the bandit's crude knife but her own—finer, with a silver scabbard etched in clan runes. She pressed it into Silphia's hands, still sheathed. "Learn to use this. Defend yourself against men who won't stop at kisses. They'll take more than you can give."

Silphia took it, fingers trembling as she clutched the hilt, eyes wide with gratitude and lingering heat. Alina swatted her pert ass lightly, the skin pink from earlier groping, eliciting a surprised yelp. "Now go home. Never walk alone in the forest again. Next time, it might be a man, and it'll be worse—no mercy in that."

Silphia nodded, scrambling to gather her torn dress, wrapping it around her nudity as best she could. She cast one last look back, a shy smile flickering, before disappearing into the trees toward the village paths. Alina watched her go, a strange warmth settling in her limbs.

She gathered her gear, following the stream upstream, away from the scene. The water led to a secluded hollow, where boulders formed a natural pool, fed by a gentle cascade. Here, she stripped fully, sinking into the chill flow to wash away the blood, the sweat, the scent of Silphia. The water soothed her aches, and as she floated, mind drifting, the day's events replayed.

Killed an enemy on the road—check. Ravished a maiden by the stream—close enough, though the girl had smiled through it all, begging to stay rather than flee. Alina chuckled to herself, fingers idly tracing the scars on her abdomen. Among her people, she was a warrior now, blooded and bold. This was a good day, one to boast of around the clan fires.

But as the sun dipped lower, painting the pool in golden ripples, Alina felt a pull toward home. The highlands called, with their stone keeps and kin waiting. Perhaps she'd seek out more such encounters—aggressive, consuming, with women who matched her fire. For now, though, she dressed, shouldered her pack, and set off, the pearl from the bandit's purse tucked safe in her pouch as a talisman of triumphs.

Miles later, as twilight wove through the branches, Alina crested a ridge overlooking her clan's valley. Smoke curled from hearth fires, and laughter echoed faintly. She grinned, striding down with purpose. A good day indeed—one that left her sated, stronger, ready for whatever the morrow brought. And if the gods were kind, perhaps another maiden's song would find her ears again.

The stream's memory lingered, a secret heat, promising that the wilds held more than just battles. Alina was alive, unchained, and utterly unrepentant.