Fire in the Cave Read Free

stretched tight around him, feeling every motion,
gasping with mixed relief and longing as he pulled out, her whole
body shaking as he thrust back in, deeper than her fingers could
reach, deeper than the cocks before, filling her completely, forcing
wave after wave of aching pleasure up from her belly to the top of
her head, drawing out her moment so that white heat washed away her
thoughts. He was coming, pouring his hotness into the warm, hidden
center of her, making her overflow. Distantly, she felt her body go
limp. His lips were on hers. She closed her eyes.
    For a while, she rested, her mind empty. She lay there, warm and
sleepy, between the handsome, sleeping warriors who had used her so
well. A smile was on her face; a pleasant ache was between her legs.
Her head rested on White-stag’s chest, his heartbeat in her
ear. The cave was darker, now. The fire burned low. There were
sounds of more gentle lovemaking, sounds of sleep, lovers whispering
to one another.
    Slowly, thought returned. There was something she should do. She
was the witch-girl. She must be clever, wise, she must fix the
problems others could not see. What was it… The hunt-leaders.
The brothers. Who they chose, who they mated with, if they were
satisfied, if they fought, these things were important. They could
bring joy or trouble to the whole Red Cave tribe.
    White-stag had chosen her. She smiled, a shiver running through her
as her tender cunt remembered him moving inside her. But who had
Black-dog chosen? Had she seen? She tried to remember, tried to
recall the scene around her as she had been fucked by one man after
another.
    Black-dog’s treasure had been great. He had two of the boar’s
tusks, strong and sharp, good for knives or spearheads. Trade them
for food, and a woman could eat well all winter. She remembered them
shining white in his hand as he stalked around the fire. He could
have chosen three women, if he had wanted them. Perhaps four, with
his fame and his broad shoulders, his dark eyes.
    He had stopped in front of Sparrow. Thin, short, small-breasted.
Often hungry. Rarely chosen. Shy little Sparrow. The witch-girl
had gotten a glimpse of him leaning down, offering, and another of
him leading Sparrow out of the cave.
    The witch-girl took a deep breath, frowning. One of the two greatest
warriors in the tribe had offered small, hungry Sparrow a gift worth
far more than she could have hoped for. She could not refuse such an
offer. She could not refuse anything he demanded of her in return.
Anything he chose to do to her, in the darkness outside, away from
the tribe.
    She slipped gently out of the tangle of her lovers’ arms, and
rose to her feet. The earth was cool beneath her bare feet. Quiet
amid the gentle noises of the cave, she padded between moving and
sleeping bodies and out into the night.
    Canine heads rose to watch her. The tribe’s pack of dogs
rested at the mouth of the cave, shaggy forms lying atop one another,
much like the humans inside. Ears flicked as she was recognized, the
big half-wolf beasts drifting back to sleep. She counted them
silently. Fika and Rika, the two hounds that always followed
Black-dog on his hunts, were missing.
    The night was cool. A half-moon was shining on the lake. Her eyes
swept over the village, the blue and black shadows of the women’s
grass-roofed huts beside the shore. They were deserted, now; the
whole tribe was up in the cave with the men.
    She closed her eyes and listened.
    Faint and far-off, she heard a woman moan.
    She turned, and padded silently into the woods.
    The sounds grew louder. Gasping. A long, ragged moan. She dropped
to all fours, crept into a bush, her eyes open wide in their stripe
of black soot, her lips open to breathe more softly. She crept
behind a large, smooth stone, raised her head, and looked, and saw.
    They were in a clearing. Black-dog and Sparrow, silver moonlight
falling on them, soft dry leaves below them, rustling as they moved.
They were sitting,