The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Tel awoke. Breath and heat surged in her lungs. Her eyes opened wide to the light of the dying fire. The seer could be seen across. The huntress could be heard behind her, murmuring without words.

It had been the same dream.

She rose, walked, and stood in the cold. But the chill could not refocus her thoughts.

Had it really been the same? Or was it different this time, if only just slightly?

She inhaled cold. She exhaled warmth. Hoping that it would quell the hot tumult in her body.

It had been kissing. Touching. Hot breath against hotter skin.

Her dreams had never had reason. She was not a seer. She told herself it was only randomness.

But her cold fingers were brushing about her stiffened nipples. The fog of her breath shuddered.

Why should the same dream appear twice? Why should she feel it so strongly?

She squeezed. Her breath came out as a silent whimper.

Why was it still so hard to ignore?

The cold became too much. Much too draining to her shivering limbs. Much too sensitive to her raised hairs.

Tel re-entered the tent. Dressing was methodical. Dressing was simple. She did not need to think on it, on anything. She bound her breasts in red. She donned fresh, warm clothing. She fastened tight her coat with its armored padding. She pulled up her hood. She stepped into boots. She picked up her glaive. She planted the spike.

She prayed.

She tried to pray.

Thinking on a dream of the huntress’ naked body was not prayer.

She pled to the ancestors for focus. The only focus that came was on the huntress’ soft skin.

She pled to the ancestors for clarity. The only clarity that came was in the huntress’ dark stare.

She pled to the ancestors for guidance. The only guidance that came was of the huntress’ beckoning tongue.

Her mind would not quiet. Her body could not settle. She could find no solace in ritual, and no peace in the day’s work. Unwrapping the tent’s hide was too much like undressing the huntress’ body. Lifting the tentpole was like to caressing her bared arm. Even simply walking through drifts of snow stirred thoughts unwelcome.

Tel knew that they were not wrong thoughts. But they were distractions. Unwanted. Unhelpful, and, laden with guilt. For while she was daydreaming of a love she could not have...

Rys and the huntress walked side-by-side, yet again. Tel was glad, at least, that they did not hold hands this time.

No, she thought. That is wrong. Thoughts such as that meant wishes of ire on the hopes and wants of her companions. She could not think that. She would not. What was happening was clear. The seer, slight and shy. The huntress, lithe and lighthearted. They made a match. A beautiful one, Tel knew. The way they listened to one another. The way they had spoken too quietly for her hearing as they walked hand-in-hand.

She would not intervene, for she was not selfish. And it was not jealousy she harbored against Rys. Or the huntress. Tel cared for both, and very much. Like their safety and comfort, the happiness of her skeinmates was matched to her own.

Tel had been taught this. She knew this. And yet she could not make herself feel it.

It would be fine. Tel told herself this.

Such feelings would pass.

They always had, after all.

And she was not alone this time. Not truly alone. She had her skeinmates, while they had her and... each other. Perhaps she had hoped it would be different. Perhaps she had assumed it, without words or thought. Such impulses were foolish, hasty, and childlike. If they would love each other, then so be it. She would still be needed—for protection, for counsel, for hearing secrets, for voicing grievances, for holding them close should they drift apart. That is what warriors do. And that would be fine.

There was nothing to be done now, save for waiting and working and focusing on anything that would make her thoughts quiet. Monotony would dull, as it always did. And if those thoughts could be dulled while keeping her instincts sharp and her duties intact, then that would be all she needed.

Her feet were placed one after another. The glaive and the tentpole felt heavy on her back, and their wooden shafts rattled against each other. Tel stared forward, past and through her companions, and considered herself able to think on thoughts less undesired. The huntress had been warm, the night before. Close and amicable.

Less annoying, as well, the warrior thought with a smile. She was curious, and when her temper could be kept even, her presence was pleasurable. Had there been no dreams, Tel was certain she would be nurturing a fondness for the huntress, at the very least. The rest of her was a pleasure, too. The deep red of her braid, the deep warmth of her gaze. The smile, the cocky grin she wore so well. The pleasing look of her cleavage beneath a well-fitting shirt. The shake of her shoulders as she tried to contain laughter, and the...

... Rys had stopped. Both had, actually, and Tel had to remember which muscles of her legs to use to keep herself from colliding with them. “What is it?” the seer was asking. Stood on the edge of the treeline, the huntress’ head was swiveling around, her brow furrowed.

“You hear that?” she asked.

Tel stopped moving. She held her breath. Her pulse was in her ears, while her atrophied senses came back to mind. She shut her eyes.

Boots crunched. Rys’. Too close.

A branch groaned overhead.

Something chittering—a squirrel?

Rys opened her lips, “I don’t—”

There. A noise, distant, and opening her eyes, It came from over a slope blanketed in white.

The huntress stared in the same direction. “Something’s over there,” she said.

“I heard it,” the warrior grunted, and again, as her hands slid the glaive up and off of her back.

Rys was frowning. “I didn’t, but—”

It came again. Louder this time. The seer shut her lips, and her eyes were wide. All three looked to each other. “Voices,” Rys whispered.

Tel’s fingers itched at the red wrappings. Kez unslung her bow. It sounded again, closer and louder. The seer was still glancing around, shaking, fidgeting as her breath came fast.

“Rys.” Tel put a hand on her shoulder. She met the hazel eyes. “Is it danger? Can you see?”

The seer swallowed. “I can try.” Her eyes closed, hands moved, fingers gripped the dark cord around her neck. Closed around the stone that it held. She breathed deep. The engravings glowed with magic, and her face turned past the warrior. Toward the hill, perhaps through it. “Yes,” she whispered.

“What is it?” Kez asked quickly.

“Not a skein,” she said, “another sort of band... four, no, six, or maybe...”

She kept speaking, but Tel did not need to hear. She was seeing for herself.

Atop the small ridge, against the stark white all around, a small blot of red ambled up, stretched itself over the horizon. And then another. And another. Four of them arrayed in a line, all clad in the dark of blood red dress, while another stood askance, draped in white like snow. Heads turned, conferring. Voices carried down on echoes, though Tel could not make out their shapes.

Rys opened her eyes. All three stared. Kez shifted on her feet. “What’s the plan, Rys?”

“I-I don’t know, their colors aren’t of a band I recognize.”

“Sharp-ears?” Kez murmured, squinting as though she was able to pick out the pale points from so far away.

Rys shook her head. “They wouldn’t cross the mountains, not in the winter like this.”

“Maybe we could leave, they might not’ve seen us yet.”

“They have,” Tel said. “Perhaps not, were we deeper in the forest. But we are not. We are exposed.”

“Does it matter?” Kez’s bow was lowering. “Maybe they’re friendly, so we—”

Ten feet ahead, an arrow whizzed and landed in the snow. Kez and Rys jumped back, while Tel stood, and looked on. Unless they were the worst hunters she had ever seen, and she could not discount that possibility, the arrow was not meant to hit them. Though this would make them cannibals, aberrant to—

Another arrow fell in front of her, closer this time. Shoulders rustled on the hill, murmurs of laughter echoed down. They began advancing slowly. Her grip tightened.

Kez was breathless already. “Rys, what are we—”

“You are hiding,” Tel said. “I am fighting.”

“Like piss you are.” Kez stepped up. “You can’t take five.”

“It does not matter.”

“Yes it fucking does, Tel, you want us to leave you? That it?”

“Kez.” Warm breath in her chest. Hot blood in her veins. “There is nothing else you can do. You must go.”

“No.” Rys’ voice, stepping up on her other side. “We have to fight.”

The figures drew closer. Voices grew louder. Her heart pounded. “I cannot protect you if—”

A third arrow, closer. Two broke off at the wings. Left one in white, right one with the bow. Three advanced in the middle. She growled. Stepped out of the shadows to meet them, forty feet of distance.

Concern had to be left behind. It was freezing around her heart. She could not listen to it. They could, they would have to protect themselves. “Stay behind me,” she said, and she did not listen to their replies. They would keep back. It was their way.

No running now. No hiding. Her thoughts ran cold. Her blood ran hot. Everything became simple.

One of the three was coming in close, the others flanking wide. Swords and shields of steel on each.

One was speaking, she could not tell which. The words sounded formal, important, and completely meaningless to her. “By the laws of Damean crown and court over military operations in these regions, your savage tribe is hereby compelled to lay down your arms.”

Another was speaking, and she could not understand his words any more than the first. “We bring tidings of peace, and you will be well cared-for should you not resist our efforts.”

An arrow sang from behind her.

“FUCK!”

The sound of pain, she understood. Kez’s arrow bloomed from the speaker’s side, an empty space in the plate and fur he wore.

“Savage bitch.” She could easily imagine what these words meant. She saw his eyes, below the red helmet he wore. Brown, like any she might’ve seen before, only framed by darker flesh. She realized he was running toward her. Perhaps he had not seen the length of her glaive. Perhaps he thought himself faster. It did not matter. She spun it by the wrappings in her hands, drove its point forward to punch his shield back. He staggered, she advanced, driving it again, forcing him three steps back.

She heard his growl. She felt her own. She readied to stab,

“Tel! Left!”

Rys’ voice. She could not stop to feel. Gratitude would come later. She turned the thrust into a swipe, wheeling the blade past the man at front and toward the one at left. His shield came up, but bounced away, and the glaive just kept coming, knocking him to the ground. She spun with it, planting her feet and shouting with her hips to bring it around once more, through the arcing sword and into the helmet of the first one.

Thud. He dropped. Tel spun again, got both hands on the haft, and turned aside a close thrust from the left. She backed away, but the man kept pressing, her hands holding the now-unwieldy pole close to its blade. She saw a swing coming, twisted the steel so that its back edge came forward, caught the weapon in mid-air with the hook of the glaive. She felt the man strain to twist it free. Her hand slid down, leverage, and twisted harder. Out of his grip, the sword flew into snow. She thrust the glaive in, felt the armor dent, then felt her weapon turned aside by the bash of the shield.

She turned with it. Not fast enough to swing around, but enough to gain distance, to see the one coming from her right before she was hit. She got her arms up, the sword slashed into her coat, out of it. Blood shone on the steel, though she couldn’t feel it. Her arms were up. The glaive was in her hands. She screamed. The man moved his shield, but not fast enough, not far enough, her blade slammed down like a hammer and threw him to the ground. She moved to yank it out.

She heard the twang, the whipping of an arrow through the air.

She closed her eyes.

She prayed to the ancestors. Not for herself.

The world seemed to slow as she felt death’s sure approach, sure as the sound of the bolt in the breeze.

... but it did not come. She looked, to a wall of white at her left. At her rear. All around, she was enclosed in snow, with one hole right at eye-level where the arrow had lodged itself. One of the walls fell, and through it, she saw Rys and her relieved face.

Magic. A smile twitched onto her lips, before Rys ducked and whirled her hands through mystic gestures.

“W-witch!” the man at her feet was screaming, apparently about the walls of snow, about the power Rys wielded. “Witch! Someone help, they’ve got—”

His indistinct speech was cut short by a groan. He was bringing his shield up. She grabbed it, pulled, tossed it through the risen wall then jammed her blade through his face. Pulled it out. Blood dripped on the snow. She ran out from the makeshift shelter, saw one with a sword coming close—an arrow sprouted from his side and he fell. Then another one whistled, and another wall caught it. The field was littered with them, she saw, Rys’ magic making barriers out of the snow, just like she’d cleared ground for their tent each night.

But there was still an opening remaining. The first man’s helmet was gone, but he was standing in the clearing, shouting something. She gripped her weapon hard, walked between walls as he turned his head and—

Something gripped the pole. Her eyes went wide, looked down, just as the glaive was wrenched out of her hands and thrown into the snow.

But no one was there.

What?

She didn’t have time to think. The man advanced, still wearing Kez’s arrow. His sword came up, she rolled right, reached for her glaive—again, it jumped away from her. She chased it, dodging some swipes, catching others, feeling an arrow plunge into her side.

Pain screeched in her head, louder than the laughter of the swordsman behind her. Muscles seized as she took a knee. She looked up. The archer was there, then encased by snow. And to the left... the slightest touch of red in the whiteness. The one in robes. She blinked. Her glaive hovered in the air before her face. No one held it. Magic held it.

“SEER!” she shouted, just as she rolled away from her own weapon as it sliced the air above her. Again it swiped, she was back on her feet. It thrusted—then stopped. She could see it rumbling. Shaking. Nearly about to snap in two. She dropped to the ground instinctually, and the glaive shot overhead like an oversized arrow, punching through armor and plunging into the chest of the man behind.

She got up, put hands to wrappings, groaned at the tension through her arms. The blade didn’t resist her, only the steel it was embedded in. She needed it. She needed it to fight. And it came free. She wheeled around, but then felt chills, chills and heat at once. Heat. Heat. Not inside her, but pressing around her, beneath her furs and blazing like a fire, like burning, and the white seer’s red hands were in the air, and she fell to her knees yelling,

and the heat was gone. She blinked, then a blast of force knocked her back as fire ripped through the air and the snow-clad seer exploded into flames. They screamed, choked on their own smoke, and dropped motionless to the ground.

She scrambled up. Ready to charge. Ready to die for her skein. But she looked around. No one was standing.

Her heart fell. No. Rys. Kez. She whirled around, seeing only white, seeing only bodies. They were gone. Where? No. No, it couldn’t be happening. Can’t be. No. The outsiders were beaten. She’d cut them down. It was over. Her skein should’ve been safe. She should’ve saved them. No. She tried to move. Her legs failed her. Was there even a chance? Was there even a point? She could not stand to be alone. She could not live if she were alone. If she had failed. And she had failed. She was not fast enough. She was not strong enough. She was not...

A puff of noise behind her. A wall of snow turning to powder. Kez, and Rys, running toward her.

She did not exhale. The hole in her stomach remained. She ignored the noises they made, the words that they said. They were safe. One part of her duty was complete.

She had another to tend to.

Walls parted as she walked, as the others trailed behind.

She moved between corpses. Three arrows in the archer’s chest, a woman. The seer was a blackened husk, so badly cooked that hair, eyes, even sex were unknowable. The one whose shield she had taken smiled through a mouth too large. The one from the left, another woman, had bled out from Kez’s arrows.

And then the last. Still moving on the ground, she stood above him, and his brown eyes stared. The hole in his armor, where her glaive had been forced through. It had not done its work.

“Fuck you,” the swordsman gibbered in his strange tongue.

She traded her hands, reversed her grip.

He coughed, and sputtered. “Hells take you, n-northern bitches, hells take—”

He was choking then, gagging on his own blood.

The words were unclear. But she knew their meaning, and it meant little to her. She could not muster any ire toward the rage, disbelief, and pain in the man’s voice.

He was dying. It would be slow. It would be painful. And what rage he bore would soon, surely, give way to weakness. To fear. To bleeding the warmth of his spirit into the cold, alone.

None could deserve such an end.

The rabbit-killer plunged down, hard.

Steel groaned.

Flesh gave way.

Bone surrendered.

She felt the spike catch in mush.

And the man gave up one last breath.

And Tel let go of her own.

They had made camp early.

Kez was gone. Gone to hunt. Tel had heard enough of the huntress’ gloating over their victory. She did not gloat over how they could take none of their goods, too heavy, and none of their food, either ruined or, worse, poisoned. One could never eat a meal unless one saw it cooked before them. These were their ways. Tel could at least make certain some were followed.

She had chopped and collected the branches. Each swing of the glaive was a spasm of pain.

And Rys had been underfoot. Following, murmuring apologies whenever she came into the warrior’s way. The seer was concerned. But she would not voice it.

And that was fine. The pain was louder than her thoughts. It was the clarity she had begged for. It became the focus that she needed. Chopping, and branches, and building the tent. Setting the fire. Putting her weapon on the ground. All of it was hard. All of it was needed, and wanted, and the pain reminded her of this with every step.

“You’re hurt.” Rys had finally gathered the courage. Tel could not meet her eyes.

“Yes.”

“Let me see,” she said.

“No. I will tend to myself.”

There was no reproof in Tel’s tone, but still the seer bit her lip in reply. It mattered little. Rys could not stop her. She began to sit—

Hands closed around her arm. The warrior’s breath wavered, as did the sturdiness of her expression. “You’re hurt,” Rys said again.

“I know.”

“I can help you.”

“Your help has put you in danger.”

“My help kept you alive.” The seer’s voice was harsh. Hurt. “I know that you’re strong. You’re still standing. But there’s an arrowhead in your side, and I saw you get cut... you need help. Let me.”

“... fine,” Tel murmured. The hands withdrew from her arm. “You may help.”

Her teeth tore off gloves. And yet her fingers shook. She willed them to still, then dropped her coat to the floor. Rys was facing away. Glancing over shyly.

Tel ignored it. She looked down at herself. Two cuts through her shirts at the front, she could feel more along her back. But these were glanced, few had even kissed her skin. Her right side bore a twisted, bloodied gash. The left, as Rys had said, still had a sharp point inside it.

Rys moved forward, hands reaching toward the warrior’s waist. “Let me,” she said.

Tel was in no place to argue. Her legs felt unsteady, and she let herself sink to the floor. More wincing, but Rys got her arms free, and her two shirts came away. Tel closed her eyes. Sat down with one knee bent. “Tell me how it is.”

“You... you have burns.”

The magic.

“I-I don’t know how far they go, so I need to...”

“You must see the rest of me.”

“Y-yes.”

“Help me, then.”

“What?”

“I cannot undress myself without injury,” she said softly. “Help me.”

Tel opened her eyes, and neither skeinmate looked at the other as they worked. Boots, stockings, socks and trousers. Being undressed by the seer could have been a dream in and of itself. But Tel was awake. And the reality, the process and pain of it, blocked out any pleasure she might have elsewise gleaned.

Her feet had been singed, somehow, as had the flesh of her left leg. Another burn over her stomach, with the two light cuts, and Rys noted one with the slices on her back. And now the seer was blushing, Tel saw, because she was staring at the warrior’s bound chest.

“I am not burned there, Rys.”

“O-of course not, r-right. Sorry.”

She might have chuckled at any other time. But the dullness she had once willingly desired was overtaking all else. Breath left Tel’s lungs in a sigh as she thought through each of her injuries. “The arrow’s point must be removed. The cuts will need cleaning, the wound in my side must be closed. I think I would not be here at all, had the fire not burnt it dry.”

“We got lucky,” Rys said.

“We did. I have never known a seer to summon flames as such.”

“They weren’t a seer. Not like me, not like the ones in our skeins.”

Tel’s brow rose. “But did you not...” The feeling, the image of bursting fire.

Rys gulped, knelt by the warrior’s side. “The magic we’ve been lent... it doesn’t create, or destroy, not like what they did. The magic of the southerners is... different.”

“But their ears bore no points.”

“Not all of them do. And they spoke of a different land.”

“You could understand them?”

“Only a word or two. They came from a place where one man rules over a land as large as ten of our forests. The sharp-ears do not have a leader so powerful. And after that...”

“What of the snow?” Tel asked, after silence had grown in the memories’ wake.

“I only asked it to grow and protect us,” the seer confided. “I can’t speak to fire that isn’t already there.”

“And the force that stole my weapon from me?”

“That, I could change. I turned their magic against them, both in the spell on your weapon, and in the flames. I think it may have been too strong for them.”

Her voice had trembled. Tel moved her hand to hold the seer’s, and squeezed it tight. “They would have killed you, Rys.”

“I know,” she said.

“I could not let that happen.”

“I know.”

“I think that I owe you my life.”

“I think I’d be dead if you hadn’t fought the ones with blades.”

Tel nodded. “I think that you would be, as well.”

“We protected each other,” Rys said.

“Yes.”

“You... don’t sound happy about it.”

“I am not.”

“Because of your duty?”

“Yes.”

“But that’s okay.” Rys squeezed her hand. Warmth came in with Tel’s next deep breath. “Right?”

“Right.” Tel blinked. Her hand was squeezed again, and warmth pooled even deeper in her chest. Her eyes widened into the hazel gaze. “Rys... you are...”

Another squeeze. The muscles in her limbs were flexing, on their own. She had begun breathing deeply, when had she... The seer was nodding and smiling. “Yes. I am.”

“You said that you could not.”

“You need to be calm if I’m to heal you.”

“I can mend myself, Rys, you do not need to.”

“You can’t use magic on yourself.” Tel swallowed, and then Rys brought a waterskin to her lips. She drank as the seer spoke. “I can soothe the burns. I can clean your wounds, and I can close them tightly. And you will heal much faster if I encourage your body to do so. And you will not be in any pain if you’re in the waking sleep, Tel.”

“But—”

“Hush,” the seer murmured. “Don’t speak. Do you want my aid?”

Tel nodded. No words were needed.

“Do you want my magic?”

Tel nodded. No words came to mind.

“Within the ice, Tel, you won’t hurt, you won’t feel while I work on your injuries. The cold can numb you. Is that what you would like?”

Tel stared into Rys’ eyes. She thought. She focused. And she could see no reason not to nod once more.

Squeeze. Warmth. “You do. That’s right. So you can just look deep into my eyes, can’t you?”

She could.

“Because you already are, aren’t you?”

She was.

“And you’re hearing my words very clearly, aren’t you?”

She was.

“And you feel the squeezing, don’t you?”

She did.

“And you can feel the warmth in your feet?” They were near to the fire, yes, she... “And you can feel the warmth in your legs?” ... rising up, it was... “And you can feel the warmth in your stomach?” ... soothing and weighty... “You feel how it fills up in your lungs?” ... deep breath... “And in your arms?” ... and there was... “And in your hands?” ... so warm... “And how nice you’ve gotten all over, Tel?” ... warmth everywhere... “Inside your eyes, Tel?” ... deep in her eyes... “Deep in your mind, Tel?” ... heavy... “Deep in the clouds, Tel?” ... cloudy... “Deep in the ice, aren’t you, Tel?” ... deep...

“You’ve felt it all, haven’t you.” She had. “And now the ice is closing around you.” It was.

“When did you notice the ice, Tel?” When had she? “When I mentioned it?” Or before?

“Does it matter?” No. “What matters?”

How cloudy she felt.

“And that one thing left?”

One thing left.

“Can you remember it, Tel?”

Could she?

“Tell me the truth now.”

She could not.

“And is that okay?”

That was okay.

“Is it because of the ice?”

Because of the ice.

“Because of the clouds?”

Because of the clouds.

“You don’t have to remember.”

“You just have to follow.”

“And the ice can cloud over now.”

“And your mind can cloud over now.”

“And your whole body clouds over.”

“And my words cloud over.”

And her senses cloud over.

And the ice clouds over everything.

She could just sink.

She could just drop.

She could just fall down

and down

and down,

into clouds,

into waking sleep.

And the hand would let go.

And she would drop farther.

So far into the ice.

Beyond clouds,

into fog,

fog without thinking

fog without feeling

fog without anything,

anything but comfort,

anything but peace,

anything but loveliness,

waking if she needed to,

but never thinking,

never feeling,

just sinking,

deep in the ice,

and falling

Now.

Someone screamed.

Tel flew up, up out of ice, onto her feet, glaive in her hands, eyes wheeling about the tent.

Kez was startling up.

Rys was pointing, mouth gaping, past Kez towards the flap with a look of horror.

The warrior ducked out and into the snow.

Night had fallen. She looked to the ground, but there were no tracks besides the ones her bare feet now made. She circled the tent, then circled it again, gripping her weapon with an uneasy, unsettling calm. How long had she been under? How long had her mind been floating?

When had her breasts become unbound?

She looked around in the dark. No one was outside. She looked to the undisturbed snow, plainly visible by the moonlight. No one had been outside. And delicately, the fingers of her left hand squeezed around the sensitive flesh of her chest. It was cold. She was naked. And after a long, deep breath, she moved to crawl back inside the tent.

Rys was holding Kez’s hand. Once more.

But Kez was not awake.

Or perhaps she was, but Rys was whispering into her ear as she lay on her back.

The seer noticed the warrior standing, and quickly released the huntress’ hand.

“Was that...” Tel began.

“Yes.” Rys said as she blushed. “I-I didn’t want to disturb her sleeping.”

“Then you should not have screamed.” Tel set her weapon on the ground and crossed her arms.

“I thought I saw...”

“You saw no one, Rys. There are no tracks, animal or human. We are alone.”

“... I know...”

“Then why did you shout?” Rys flinched away. Tel hadn’t known the heat in her voice until she heard it in her ears. She tried again, tenderly, “Why did you shout, Rys?”

The seer didn’t reply. Tel crossed the tent, around the fire, and sat down at her side. “Look at me,” she said. Rys did. Her eyes were watering. Her body was shaking.

And ignoring her own nakedness, Tel pulled the seer into an embrace. Tel held her, and squeezed as much warmth into the small woman’s body as she could. The shuddering breaths began to slow. “It was a nightmare?” Tel asked, rubbing her hands soothingly across Rys’ back.

The seer nodded, Tel felt it against her shoulder.

“You are safe,” she murmured to the woman in her arms. “I am here. Kez is here. We are all safe, Rys.”

The seer nodded again.

“Do you want to speak of it?”

Hesitating... then nodding. Tel pulled her away, but kept hands on each of her shoulders, squeezing them and kneading them softly. They were bare, too, the warrior realized. And her skin was so very soft. The seer’s eyes were closed... and the warrior’s slid down, just for a moment, to take in the beautiful sight of her skeinmate’s delicate bosom. Lower still. No trousers nor socks to speak of. And behind her... Kez lay sprawled out, sleeping, also bare in the heat of the fire.

Rys shivered, and as her eyes opened, Tel met the hazel gaze. “I... saw one of the men,” the seer whispered.

“The ones who tried to hurt us?”

“The ones who did hurt you. He was... bleeding, and dead, and so pale and the sword in his hand was—”

Tel squeezed the small shoulders tight. “I am well, Rys, I feel...” She looked down. Her wounds were closed and scarring, the arrow was free of her side, and the bloody gash was expertly stitched. Bandages lined her middle, cut from the same red wrappings that bound her chest and weapon, and she barely hurt at all. “I feel well. You did all of this?”

“Kez helped,” Rys admitted bashfully. “There were some herbs nearby that she recognized, and I ground them into an ointment and, well...”

So the huntress and seer had both placed hands all over her body, then. Tel would think on this later. Now, she just smiled past the faint blush she felt. “Thank you, Rys.”

The seer blushed brighter. “I-it was the least that I could do for you.”

“No, the least that you could have done would have been to let me languish alone, just like I asked of you.” Rys giggled. “You did very well today,” Tel told her.

“... thank you.”

“You have healed me. And I hope you know that it is my duty to do the same for you, and more, as the warrior of our skein.”

“But I don’t need healing...”

“Yes,” Tel smiled, “you do.” Her hands warmly squeezed shoulders. “In mind, if not in body. You are strong. But you are not here alone. You know this?”

“... I do.”

“Do not bear your burdens so heavily. I am here for just that. Even our huntress would gladly carry a share. You know this?”

Rys nodded.

“Even if it is only a nightmare. That is the least that I can do, for you...” Tel’s brow furrowed. She glanced to the fire, and no meal was cooking. “Could the rabbit not find any prey?”

The seer giggled again. “Well, no, she did...”

Tel frowned. “Then why have we been sleeping, instead of eating it?”

“We did eat it, Tel...”

“Without me?”

“With you.”

The warrior blinked. She did not feel hungry. And she had not eaten. “How can that be?”

“You don’t remember,” the seer said softly, in a tone that gave Tel the shivers.

“No.”

“And that’s...?”

The word formed itself. “Okay.”

Rys smiled. “After you were mended, we didn’t want to wake you,” she said, “so... you ate, and you drank, while you were in the ice.”

Tel felt herself blushing more strongly. “And the two of you... watched me?”

“W-well no, we didn’t watch, we just... sort of ate around you?”

The warrior chuckled. “I must say, Rys, that this waking sleep has led to many strange happenings.”

“I am very aware,” the seer sighed.

“You did not need to help me with it.”

“I know.”

“You are not too exhausted?”

“I’m not now,” the seer smiled.

“No,” Tel shook her head. “You are, Rys.” Her hand felt the side of Rys’ face, surprising the woman with her gentle touch, the coldness of her fingers against the warmth of the seer’s cheek. “Your eyes are darkened... you have had fitful rest?”

The seer swallowed. “Yes.”

“If you are not sleeping, Rys...”

“I am.” Tel felt the seer’s hand close around hers, but it didn’t squeeze. Her eyes were looking away. “Just... poorly.”

The warrior nodded. “A nightmare will do this. Are you alright now?”

“Yes.” Rys smiled.

“Good.” Tel smiled back. Their hands didn’t move. Nor did their bodies. Tel took a deep breath. “Rys, I have been dreaming...”

The seer’s hand squeezed. For just a moment, Tel could feel the magic, the waking sleep, as her eyes unfocused, and her body shook with warmth. “You are not a seer,” Rys said.

“I am not,” she said.

Another squeeze. Tel’s smile grew, as did the warmth, while Rys’ voice remained steady. “So you don’t need to think too much about your dreams, do you, Tel?”

“I...” Her brow furrowed.

“Do you?”

“I do not,” she said slowly, and her flush grew deeper, “... but perhaps I might want to...”

Squeeze. Smile. “And that’s...?”

“Okay,” she said, and sighed.

“Tell me that you know such dreams are not real.”

“I know such dreams are not real.”

Squeeze. Shudder. “Tell me that you know such dreams are not magic.”

“I know such dreams are not magic.”

Squeeze. Shiver. “Tell me that you know such dreams are not memories.”

“I know such dreams are not memories.”

Squeeze. Sleepy. “Tell me how you feel.”

“Cloudy.”

Squeeze. Warmer. “Tell me what you’d like.”

“To sleep with you.”

A pause.

Squeeze. Deeper. “Tell me why you’d like that.”

“Because of your nightmare.”

“You only want to hug me once more?”

“Yes.”

“You simply want to hold me as you sleep?”

“Yes.”

Squeeze. Softer. “And you know it will comfort me?”

“Yes.”

Squeeze. Sleepier. “And you know it will soothe me?”

“Yes.”

Squeeze. Cloudier. “And you know that I will sleep?”

“Yes.”

A pause.

Squeeze. Foggier. “Then take me in your arms.”

She did. She came closer, and brought her arms around, then lay down with her front pressed against the seer’s back. Fingers never unlaced.

Squeeze. Closer. “And now?”

“We sleep.”

Squeeze. Icier. “We do.”

The hand let go.

Her body went heavy.

Her self went foggy.

Her mind was dragged down,

and down,

and down,

to sleep.