Chapter 1; Here
Chapter 2; Here
Thumbnail art by Lynxia Here

Story goes on, no sex, no porn. only tender sweetness.
or something like that.
hot fucking in the next part.
or the part after that.

6 pages. enjoy.

--

Mimosa lifts her eyes from the wooden cup between her hands to look at the mysterious human that sits rather close to her in the tall grass by the edge of the deep crystal pools of the waterfalls. Maybe not the best spot for conversation but a real beautiful place for to simply relax and enjoy the moment.

They have already had their meal, she shared her dried foodstuffs with him and he seemed overjoyed by the food as he shared his as well, little more than crusty bread and oddly fresh cheese. They drank from the clear water of the pools and he later gave her a mug full of the stuff that was in his skin that he let her cleanse her mouth with earlier, red in colour and most certainly wine.

She took quite a moment with staring into the deeply red liquid between sips while not knowing he watched her drink with a great deal of interest in his eyes, not by the fact that she was drinking, but simply by how she looked while doing so.
Now, her eyes are fixed on him while he stares out over the gushing water and open sky, the orange twilight still burning, shaping shadows and making the entire wood look like one giant explosion of unworldly colours, if something that happens every night could be unworldly.

She ponders about him, fantasizes even, in her eyes, he is simply the good to balance whatever evil is creeping into her world. Still, some doubts have to remain in her mind, if he is so good, has he gotten mangled and scarred simply by standing up for his nature? She knows the world is rough, she knows of wars and fighting but she has never really experienced it. A little brawl here and there, young men of every race will challenge each other. Drunk escapades or light games at summer festivals, but no one ever turns out as this man. A blunted stick or friendly slap on the shoulder does not tear off a finger or put out an eye.

She sips the drink again, wondering what it is made of, sure, she has had wine before, but that would be of apples or pears, this tastes different. Have to watch herself so that she does not drink too much.
Caught in the middle of thought, she goes from trying to figure the man's past out to what he simply looks like, what she can read from his grizzled appearance yet again. She cannot help it but to admire all the little and all the large cuts on his body, she can see them as a map. If only she had the cipher for this map, a way to read it, to know what the marks meant, where they came from.

She knows a sword and a dagger can cut, but so can a claw, knife and shear. She knows little to nothing about wounds caused by fighting but she knows that one's body does not look like that from simply farming or foresting.
His hair is light, like linen but has dark streaks, making it look almost striped, giving his light skin even more of an almost glowing paleness, besides the fact that he is sunburnt on nearly every inch of exposed skin, telling that he has been traversing lands beyond the forest, such as the plains and marches. Something she would have guessed anyway, very few humans live in this forest, if any at all.

His face is very smooth, youthful, besides the scars of course. He does not look young enough to be without a beard, so he must have shaved neatly very recently, something you do not see in a wandering wayfarer. Yet another small mystery.
She finds herself staring at his eye without realizing that he is staring back. That ice-blue orb locked with hers, making her look down and chuckle nervously to herself as she finally realizes he must have noticed her staring.

He reaches out for her and places a hand on her knee, stopping her chuckling instantly as she looks back up to him. They have hardly said anything to each other but to her great relief and joy, everything has worked out well so far.
She looks to his face again, this time with a softer glare, not wanting to make him uncomfortable, if she ever even did. As well as not making it more awkward for herself.
He tilts his head to the side and simply looks back. She does not talk because she is nervous, afraid to mess it up. He does not talk simply because he does not seem to talk much to begin with. He clearly seems to enjoy her company in either case.

Finally, after another moment of silence, he speaks.
“I'm quite a lot to see, am I not?”
He smiles lightly, softening the blow of his words as Mimosa lets them sink in.
She looks down again, this time with a deep blush as she realizes that he must get stared at a lot, no matter where he goes or who he meets.
“I'm... sorry...”
She speaks as she can feel his hand slip off her knee while he simply smiles for her. Of course she is sorry, does that change a thing? He does not seem the least bit offended by her actions.
He lifts his own mug of wine slowly and takes a large swig before letting it rest in the grass beside him. He then sits up a bit more, stretching with a deep breath, gathering his thoughts for a moment, then speaks.
“My eye...”

He pauses shortly, peering searchingly at her face as if to see that she understands what he is saying or what he is about to say. He even points at the empty eyesocket on the right side of his face. Mimosa nods slowly, looking at his finger rather than the dark hole that is mostly hidden behind a long tuft of hair. He has her on the very edge of her interest, she is so intrigued her mind almost hurts with all the impressions of this man, what is he about to tell her?
“I lost it assassinating a king”
Mimosa gasps at his words, her saviour, her scarred white knight, a murderer? That cannot be, why did he kill a king. She imagines a fairytale king dead at the hands of this man, it does not fit, it does not connect in her head. What could have happened?

The nine-fingered man continues as he sees Mimosa get rather upset about his words.
“A king mad with power and greed, a king with no sense of justice or mercy”
He speaks rather fast now, Mimosa has trouble keeping up, but she does understand the key words in his explanation.
A wicked king, some dark power, oppressing the people under him. Light floods back into the gathering dark in her mind, a murder, but justified with the blood on the king's hands, right?
He looks to her in silence for a moment, his head tilted to the side as if he is trying to read what is going on in that pretty little head of hers by looking into her large, bright eyes.
“But it was all a plot”

Mimosa cocks her head to the side as well as she looks to him with sudden confusion, trying to make sense of his words.
“Plot?”
She repeats the word in little more than a whisper. He nods for her.
“A ruse, trickery... I was lured into a trap...”
He takes another deep breath, Mimosa reaches out for his hand that lies in the long grass after slipping off her knee, she takes the four-fingered hand in her own four-fingered hands, looking to him with a certain gleam in her large eyes, she wants to hear more.
He does not pull his hand back, he seems to enjoy her comforting, understanding gesture. Nothing to worry about, just to keep telling the story.

“More power-hungry men stood in line after the king, bad men that would do anything to get the throne”
He looks to her yet again to check that she understands what he is saying, this time she nods faster, not really understanding all of it but grasping the basic concept and then some. He looks down to his hand in hers before continuing.
“I was accused of conspiracy, that I was doing some trickery of my own”
He shrugs lightly, rubbing his thumb against hers, slowly looking up.
“I do not crave power, I never cheated anyone... and now I am exiled”

Mimosa blinks slowly, then nods. She knows of exiles, they have had wanderers and hermits come by their village to seek their way through the woods, speaking of exile from the human kingdoms for different reasons.
None of them spoke of a corrupt king and his downfall, none of them were scarred and one-eyed.
Yet, she has a feeling he is speaking the truth, if he was just a roughnecked assassin, why would he act like he is doing now? She blinks slowly as tears sting her eyes slightly, even though she is not really sure why
She does not cry. He does notice she looks rather upset though and smiles softly for her.
“Exile is not so bad, the forest is lovely, just like you...”
He looks like the last few words just slipped from his tongue without extra thought, Mimosa looks at him with her mouth slightly hanging open in disbelief for a moment, letting the words sink in while she can see his face shift a little, breaking from his usual smile into something that almost looks desperate before she looks down, yet again a hot blush riddling her face.

Does he really mean that? She isn't used to flattery and coming from this exotic man just makes it all unreal. Unreal, embarrassing and sends both her heart and mind fluttering in the soft evening winds.
She pulls her hands back and shifts a little, also she sitting up more straight and attempting to compose herself, put on a look. Some look. What look?
She finally manages to force herself to look at him, finding him looking at her quite relaxed, even if he made a mistake, she took it well so he isn't going to despair.
Besides, the strong silent type just spilled his hear for her, more words than during the entire day, how could she ever reject that? Seems that the day that started so well and then went on to hell is going to end rather pleasant.

A strong but fair man to her rescue, almost as if taken straight out of a fairytale. The slayer of an evil king and the saviour of a fair maiden in the deep forest. This enchanted scene by the falls. Mimosa's mind races through her own little wicked fairytale. What comes next?
She is unsure if it is fatigue or drink that has her mind feeling all fuzzy, but she soon finds herself less sitting up and more slumped against the man that is close enough for her to have had his hand in hers. She lies the back of her head against his chest, careful not to poke him anywhere with her horns.

She is lovely. Lovely like the forest. The words almost echoes through her head. Even if he did or did not mean to charm her, she is almost like spellbound now.
He hums lightly and lays an arm around her, looking down the best he can while she looks up. Eye meets eyes for a long, long moment.
And as the sun fades more and more over the snow-filled mountain tops, their lips meet as well.
A soft, careful kiss that they both leaned towards, silent and long.
Mimosa blinks slowly, letting one arm slips around the nine-fingered man. She still does not know his name. He told his story, or at least part of it, but they still do not know each other's names.
Telling it now would just be awfully awkward.

When the kiss finally breaks, she pulls back while laying a hand against his chest, gripping the loose fabrics of his shirt, looking into his eye with an almost wild glance in her large eyes, taking a deep breath while making a, to her, vitally important decision.
“Come with me... home”
She speaks the words softly, but louder than a whisper, keeping the wild look in her eye but with an almost extremely shy expression across the rest of her face.
He looks back with a rather dazed look and nods a few fast nods. Of course he will. A golden question, a sure answer.
“Yes”
He speaks the word long after already saying yes with his eyes and entire being. The moment may be unexpected, but they will not have it turn awkward just yet. Have to think of new things to do, new places to go. This wonderful place is peaceful, but inside a home in the village is both safer and more personal.

She no longer thinks about whatever someone else would think if she comes walking with this man, he is worth the risk. He was worth the risk all along. She just needed an eye-opener after an eventful day. Or something like that.
She turns away from him, grasping the wooden cup she had put aside to drink it down in one last large gulp, coughing lightly while gathering the other things into the basket she brought before finding a human hand before her, he has already stood up and is now offering her his hand to help her stand.

Mimosa takes his hand and does not let go of it even after she has regained her footing, she will stay close. She wants to stay close. She finds no protest. He soon even reaches out for her basket to grip it with his one free hand, allowing her to hang on his arm with both her hands as they begin to make their way away from the dream-like waterfalls back out into the now rather dark forest. Where did the time go? The twilight falters, it does not seem to bother the two at the moment, longs shadows and nightly sounds makes the forest eerie but the breeze remains fair. It envelops them, courses through their clothes and pushes on their backs as they soon reaches in between the trees.
The nine-fingered man leads the way this time, he takes almost every step on the way as if he had walked both large and small path many times.

The trees thicken and the sky disappears above as it does not take them long at all to traverse the darkened forestscape and find the edge of the village yet again.
Mimosa looks around a bit as they cross into her village, peering around as if expecting for someone to leap out and make a fuss of the fact that she is trying to sneak a human into the village.
Sneak and sneak, they are simply walking. With caution it seems.
Mimosa seems jumpy, but she doesn't leave his side, she points out where to go and even lets him go first, almost hiding a bit behind him. She is glad her home-tree is not further into the middle of the village as it is already a bit of a walk between other homes. She really does not want this moment to get spoiled by snooping neighbours or anyone for that matter.

Well by her door, she motions up the stairs before quickly scaling them herself, grasping the key she has hanging around her neck to place one hand against the door while unlocking it, looking back to the human she hasn't left the side of the whole time they walked back home from the waterfalls.
She realizes how small the entrance is for him, how small the inside of her home will be for him. She opens the door and looks to him as he has reached the top of the stairs, he looks back, then nods to the doorway.
“Ladies first”
Mimosa is not going to argue and she soon disappears into the gloom of her own home, the shop and workroom. He soon follows her and closes the door after him, looking around the room carefully while standing up fully again after having to crouch through the doorway.
He sets the basket on a small stool near the door and looks around to take in the sights that is the home of one of the gentle folk of the forest.

The general layout of the rather large room tells of it being both a workshop and a shop in itself, rolls of parchment standing or laying in bunches, an endless array of small pots and pans, glass vials and fine quills. The walls are filled with long texts and countless maps of what looks like the wood that surround this place.
His eye wanders over the things and he almost feels breathless. Her work is amazing, by first look anyone could discard her as just another savage being from the deep woods, no matter her fine clothing, but this home tells a different story. A story he has already gotten some words from.
Mimosa finds him staring at her things and quickly prances over to him after locking the door and putting the basket further away between her things. She gets his attention without even making a sound as he turns to her when he hears her come closer after organizing her things.

She points upstairs, the narrow staircase and the drape of dried leaves and vines, then tugs his hand before going up there with a swift motion, she is back home, everything is familiar.
He follows, not much slower but careful. Is she inviting him to her private chambers? Well upstairs his wonder is soon answered, Mimosa sitting pretty on the bed in the small room.
The leaves whisper above, there is hardly any more light and she pats the bed besides her.
A stuffed mattress, feather pillows. He can hardly believe his eyes. Slowly stepping over to the bed, he soon kneels before her while stroking his four-fingered hand over the thin blanket.

“You want me... in the bed... with you?”
He sounds rather doubtful, he cannot jump to conclusions, he does not want to do a wrong move now, she does not need any manner of a let-down. But she simply smiles real sunny for him and nods, she does want him in the bed, it would help her night's sleep endlessly, she would feel so safe.
Safe, fuzzy and warm. Something she needs after what happened today.
“Please”
She pats the bed again and he gets up, slowly, while looking down at her, nodding to her, still looking rather unsure. She simply keeps smiling for him, soon getting off the bed, letting him try to sit down on it while she trips across the room on light hooves to snatch something over on the heavy oak chair in the corner.

He looks up from the bed as he hears the dry-leaf curtain rustle and sits completely still and silent as he does not see Mimosa in the room any more. What now? He does not have to wonder long as she soon appears again, she has discarded her clothes and put on a thin nightgown. It is obvious that she wants to go to bed and that she wants him with her.
While she puts her clothes on the chair, he begins undressing as well. Enough to still remain decent, she has seen his chest and a man's chest is nothing special. Not even his, with the gruesome scars and marks. He lays belts, pouches and his sheathed blade aside, then gets out of his boots but keeps his pants on. A polite gesture or an unwise move?

Mimosa is not bothered at all, she comes closer as he seems finished, soon sitting down on the edge of the bed, blinking slowly and suppressing a yawn.
He shuffles on top of the blanket to pull it up and out from under himself, ending up against the wall with the blanket wrinkled in a tight grip. He is happy to find that the carved wood bed is tall enough to house him without too much discomfort, if not only a bit too short but as it has no gavels he can simply rest his feet outside it or the likes.
As he lays down, Mimosa soon crawls into the bed, doing her best not to take up too much space as the human already covers most of the bed. She lets out a soft noise as she feels his arm creep in underneath her, wrap around her and pull her closer. She takes a deep breath before looking at his face finding him smiling.

“You should be comfortable in your own bed”
She looks at his scarred lips as he speaks with a soft whisper, wide-eyed and shy. She still has to grasp that the scarred man is really there, alive, flesh and blood in her bed. But the fatigue of the day is already taking over. She rests her head against him, brushing up against his side and laying on his chest while answering him with a soft sigh rather than words.
What if it is all a dream? Is it then a good dream or a nightmare? She cannot think further than that, she does not want to know right now, she does hope he is still there in the morning.
As he casts the thin blanket over them both fairly well with one hand, she gets the feeling that he will be.
Now, she thinks nothing of all the troubles it could bring.

To be continued.