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"I love you, my sweet Paul Foster," I told my beautiful husband, staring in his eyes as he looked down at me. My legs were twined with his, pulling him tight against my body. I could feel him deep inside me, throbbing, pumping, emptying into my ripe womb, making my belly warm and tingle, filling my mouth with the taste of sun warmed strawberries and my nostrils with the smell of time sweetened meat wrapped in wet leaves and nettles. I shivered at the sensations filling me, my belly flexing around the part of him that was buried deep inside of me.

"I love you too, Aine," He said, leaning down to kiss me hungrily. My mouth opened, my tongue rasping against him, drawing a slight taste of blood where the barbs on my tongue rubbed against his. He moaned in pleasure softly, making me shiver again.

I pulled him close, our seat slickened skin pressed together. I could hear whispering on the wind as a dark secret approached, but ignored it to feel the raw sensation of our love-sweat mingling together.

It was so good to feel him out of dreams, out of the cool still water he had slept in while I healed him from his injuries. I had missed him, my heart had not beaten right in his absence, and part of me had been in constant danger of slipping away somehow, to leave me both less and more than I was intertwined with him now, on the edge of my brook.

The sunlight sparkling on the ripples of my small stream that burbled through my glade told me that Death Speaks Loudly From Afar had reached my Aodan. Her hand was wrapped about his heart, unaware of the spikes and thorns hidden within him.

Of the monster he was, would become, and always had been.

My sweet Paul Foster slipped from inside me, and I was pleased that only a single drop of his seed slipped from my tightening womb-tunnel before it tightened enough to seal his love inside of me where it could ripen my belly and cause it to sweetly swell with another child.

I carefully disengaged from him, laying him on the soft moss. He was exhausted, his strength still returning to him, his eyes were warm and sleepy as he gazed upon me, unafraid, holding nothing but his love for me.

Shivers made my muscles ripple beneath my skin and the flowers on the vines wrapped around my shins, forearms, and in my hair opened to spread their perfume.

Seeing my beautiful Paul Foster was asleep, his eyes moving beneath the lids as he dreamed, I stood up slowly, stretching and yawning, popping my jaw by flexing it.

The rustling of the leaves sang to me that Chief Henley's hatred still existed, a throbbing red sore full of the heat of rage and hatred for all things living that did not share his blood.

The thought of how his blood must taste, rich and thick with rage, hatred, and heroism made my the thorns around my nipples peek from the flesh, the tips that would normally drip venom drained by my beautiful Paul Foster's hungry lips as he had drained the thick bloody milk from my breasts.

I wandered across the moss to a berry bush, picking the dark blood red berries from the branch, careful to avoid the hollow needle-tipped thorns that sought my skin to kiss my blood from my veins, filling one hand with them.

Prepared, I jumped from the moss to a thick branch festooned with hanging moss and scampered down the branch. The sun caressed my skin lovingly, making the fine hair on my legs and arms stand up with pleasure. Below me the brook babbled and sparkled, its song trying to lure me into its cool depths to swim among the smooth rocks who's surface spoke of deeds yet done, deeds passed, and the wear of the water was inscribing deeds being done.

Another jump took me to a branch of a tree across the brook. I balanced carefully on one toe, pirouetted, and laughed out loud. Birds chirped with my laughter, filling my glade with happiness.

I danced in the sunlight down the branch, bouncing from twig to twig, branch to branch on the thicker branch that led toward the massive trunk of the old oak.

When I saw the glittering silver of the sand where the forest met the water of my brook I dropped down, my feet not even disturbing the sand.

I dancing more, the freedom of being in my glade filling me, my beautiful Paul Foster's seed filling my belly with warmth as my hair flowed around me, rubbing my sensitive skin.

When I reached the thick black rock, shot through with tiny veins of red that dripped red blood on moonless nights, the black rock that whispered threats of hatred, pain, and suffering in the dark starless moonless nights, I stopped and bowed carefully.

The malevolence of what the rock held in the still dark water in the shaded deep spot of my brook, where the water moved as sluggishly as a sated matron's blood as she lay beneath her husband, where not even the fish dared swim, pounded against me, making my hair curl and twist until it covered my sun kissed skin protectively.

What lay in the water hated.

hatred never truly dies

but I had tamed it, would tame it, had always tamed it.

I crawled onto the rock on all fours, biting my lip with my triangular hunting teeth, drawing blood from my kiss plumped lips, as the stone clawed at me with rage and malevolence.

but my servant needed fed

my cavorting with my beloved beautiful Paul Foster had disturbed its dreams of darkness, hatred, violence, rage, and pain

A drop of blood spilled from my lip, falling toward the rock, and I gasped, fear fluttering in my belly.

A lock of hair twisted from where it had been caressing my throat, protecting the vulnerable flesh, and caught the drop of blood.

My lips opened as the lock brought the shining drop to my tongue. I lapped it away, sucked at my lip till the stinging stopped, and then continued to crawl across the black rock.

it would not be good to feed the rock, and what it held down in the cool still water, my blood after such heated and passionate coupling with my beautiful Paul Foster.

Once at the edge, I looked down at my brook

It curved here, the far edge the fast bend

here it sunk into the depths

ancient trees my mother had planted to shade what would what did what always had lain within the water rustled above me, whispers of pain and suffering and death that had happened would happen was happening

the water was almost still, a sluggish current no faster than the blood through the veins of a man asleep in the arms of a lover having been sated

the sand was black, twisted with veins of ruddy red

my guardian lay on the sand

reddish blond hair in a severe flat-top, the gray and silver that had shot through it at the temples washed away by the water

heavy muscle, corded tendons, thick ligaments

scars that spoke of violence that had sought to take my guardians life but had failed

blood staining the water around hands with long fingers, protruding scarred knuckles that could strangle the life from those who dared attempt to profane my glade

cloth patterned after the forest like the one around my glade

boots the color of night, gleaming even beneath the water

the eyes were open a slit, molten jade glaring at me from the dark cool still depths of the brook

my guardian was close to awakening from its dreams

I held out a berry, letting it plop into the water

it sunk down, tiny bubbles coating it then streaming away

it touched my guardians lips

the lips parted and the berry disappeared

one by one I dropped twelve and one berries into the water

each berry touched my guardian's lips

each time my guardian's lips parted to accept my gift, my tribute

the Atlas Ant's eyes slowly closed

I sighed in relief, going limp on the rock my hair almost falling into the water before I pushed myself back up.

Almost weeping in agony, the stench of hatred and rage and violence swirling around me, the breeze carrying the enraged roars my guardian was would is bellowing in the face of his foes battering at me, the pressure of the surging of his slumbering dreams bruising my tender flesh, I crawled across the rock, until I reached the silver sand.

my knees and palms left bloody stains on the silver sands as I crawled away from that heavy stone that held my guardian in the cool dark still water until the night I would bathe his wounds as he died in my arms

the sunlight through a gap in the branches of the ancient oak trees that rustled with hatred war violence loss rage love denied lost and forsaken and the screams of a forsaken child spilled over me and I collapsed into the sand, weeping

I curled around my hands, pulling my knees up so I could kiss the torn flesh

the blood I had not allowed to flow on the rock was so dark it was almost blue as I licked and kissed it away

I could hear him weeping, hear him beg me not to leave him, hear him cough as I poured water from my cupped hand into his mouth, feel the blood from his wounds coat my skin

...hurt bad, Aine...

his voice crushed me against the sand

...it's not my blood...

the Son of Texas's blood taste bitter and searing on my tongue, the pain and loss in his voice pushed against me until I screamed in agony

...my momma hits me, Aine...

the words wrapped around my throat, crushing it, cutting off my scream, making me struggle, trying to breathe, my hair fighting the pressure until I was able to inhale in a great whooping gasp

...it was just a car wreck, that's all...

the lie slashed at me, leaving welts across my skin, and I shrieked in pain until my throat was raw and all I could do was shiver in pain in the sand, blood dripping from the welts on my skin

...aine, sweety, if they get past everyone else, take MADM dancing...

the feel of what should have been could have been might have been our last kiss our last meeting our last touch of skin on skin and the birth of bright nuclear fire to blot away our sins scorched my skin, burning it, and I whimpered, shivering, as the blood dripping from my lips

Strong arms lifted me up

...welcome to Atlas...

hatred and vile poison hammered at my brain, reaching cold iron hooks into my nose to rip at my mind, trying to claw into my womb and poison it

Leanly muscled chest capped with heavy milk full breasts against my skin, milk wetting my burned and scorched and ravaged skin

...my father is dead...

emptiness froze my heart as the warmth and solid presence of the McDaurn Titan vanished in a scream of a wounded child

A heart thudded beneath the flesh of a warm chest pressed against my cheek

"I have you, beloved willful child of my heart and womb," a rich sultry choir whispered in my ear.

my hair intertwined with that of another of my blood, my lips sought out the offered nipple

the thorns hidden inside pierced my cracked, bruised, and split lips, sweet nectar others would call poison numbing and soothing the pain

bloody milk squirted into my mouth, soothing my parched tongue, and I gulped greedily

"Mama," I wept, mumbling around the nipple, wrapping my arms around my mother's firm torso, feeling her hair wrap my arms and lend my mother's strength to my own so I could hold her tight as I sucked greedily.

"Willful, defiant, and beloved child," my mother said as she walked across the sparkling surface of my brook. Her footsteps left no mark on the moss, flowers appearing in full bloom around us on the bushes, in the moss, and on the lily-pads that suddenly grew on the surface of the dark still cold part of my brook.

She sat, holding me, wiping away my tears, feeding me, returning my strength.

"He is beautiful," she sang, looking at my wonderful Paul Foster. I nodded, still suckling at blood and thick rich milk.

I heard movement and looked to the side of the blade, still suckling, to see two small children hiding in the tall grass, flower wreaths on their hair holding back long red hair, bright green eyes, and heart shaped faces

they were naked and unashamed in their innocence

my sisters, gifted to my mother by Aodan

"You chose wisely, willful and defiant and beautiful and headstrong daughter of my heart and womb," my mother sang, her voice a chorus. Her hair slithered to the water, wetting it, then sliding back to gently wash my skin. Always some tendrils in the water, others moving to or from the water, and still more tendrils washing my skin

my sisters sang with her, their innocent and young voices so pure I wept

bumblebees and dragonflies began to dart around my clearing 

I fell asleep in my mother's arms, suckling

I stirred fitfully as my sisters and my mother laid me next to my beautiful Paul Foster

the thorns slid from beneath my nails as my sisters and my mother bent over my beautiful Paul Foster's face, but they only kissed his forehead once each

they moved away and I cuddled against my wonderful and beautiful Paul Foster, the warmth of his skin warming me, the beating of his heart strengthening me, his breath bringing life back to me

i could lay here next to him till the world of man has forgotten us

but a cold breeze finally wound through the trees

someone had said my name with blood on their lips, rage in their heart, and hatred within their breast

my battle-sister, the witch-kelly, my Aodan's would be, will be, always was bride in blood and fire

I leapt to my feet, hissing, thorns extending from beneath my nails

I sniffed the air

dropping on all fours I kissed my beautiful Paul Foster's lips

then scurried onto the hidden dark and twisted paths that led from my glade

and back to the slopes of Alfenwehr

where hatred itself lived

my battle-sister my blood bonded sister the witch kelly's rage and hatred called to me

warm sun gave way to cold breezes and I shuddered, clothing myself in war and fury, the cloth matching the dark forest I was moving through

snow beneath my hands and feet

a dark malevolent shape, raw and unfinished, was in the snow and I snatched up the braided belt jutting up from the ice and snow, pulling it over my head, yanking on the frozen not-cloth so that the unfinished malevolent shape landed on my back

the snow sliced at my feet and I shuddered again, black polished leather covering them

I dove into the snow Tauth du Aine the Bloody in the dark secret paths in the forests of Tir na Nog

and emerged on Alfenwehr's slopes

Snow lashed against me, icy cold tried to reach into my clothing to steal away my life, but I rejected it. It was difficult, but I had withstood the eternal rage and hatred of the Atlas Ant, I had the strength to resist the cold talons of Alfenwehr.

I sniffed the air.

There. That way.

She would emerge from that dark burrow where blood hatred pain violence betrayal rage puddled and festered there

There was time yet.

I knew I'd need things.

Dawn was far away as I gathered the moss and berries I needed.

The darkness thickened as I sprang on the young and foolish warg, the older and wiser having smelled me on the snow and cold and hidden in their lairs, from the high branch, clamping my jaws over the end of his muzzle, inhaling his last breath so that he collapsed in the snow in death. I stripped the blood fat fur meat flesh I needed from his body

it was just before dawn there was no moon no stars in the sky only dark clouds above and mirror smooth black clouds stretching away below

it was not safe

I burrowed into the snow, curling up around the midnight black lethality of my XM-16E3 battle rifle, one hand on the 30 round magazine of 5.56mm NATO full metal jacket bullets, the other clenched in a fist, my thumb in my mouth, and I slept

my battle sister my blood bonded sister would need me soon

but i needed to regain my strength

i dreamt of my beautiful Paul Foster, and together we made love, in my dreams, on the bed of his birth home like we were mortal flesh and dreaming i relived when he thrust deep into my womb and filled it with his seed, warming my womb, quickening me, ripening me with a small spark that would become our beautiful daughter

do not worry, my battle sister, when you can only see darkness while in the light, your blood will call to mine, we are sisters you and i

i will find you

i love you

now and tomorrow and yesterday and today in dreams and awake

i love you