Branka spent many days and nights in the company of her friend, Svetlana, as she healed from her dagger wound. Most of what they discussed was the subject of love, and how a young woman's heart was her most vulnerable place. She told the recovering Svetlana that before her attack and even now, while she healed physically, her own seeing of Moshtok every day in the comfort of his home had been painful to her, as well. She told her fellow slave how once when Moshtok was sleeping she leaned over him and kissed him on the cheek. And how the fearful act gave her the most irresistible and erotic dreams she had ever had.

            Knowing Moshtok was admired by his community and was himself an eligible young man with the local women, some being close to Sharvur's court, her being a mere servant to him precluded his interests in having any affair with her. And that was also how Svetlana saw Branka's unfortunate plight with Moshtok. Branka, however, defended the slight and hopeful possibility they might be together someday romantically. She told her of how Moshtok loved to speak to her in her own Slavic tongue which he had learned as a boy while himself abducted during a reprisal raid against the Scythian tribes.

        She told her ailing friend how at times she could see in Moshtok's eyes that he desired her, and looked upon her body while she worked over him. This, according to her, he was especially doing now, while for the most part healed and beginning to go out of his home again.

            Svetlana listened with concern for Branka, for she knew of what she had to endure being Sharvur's bedroom slave. How cruel and unpredictable he could be. Svetlana had heard the stories of her exploits in Sharvur's bed—the humiliation, the painful games, and could find no comparison to the way she had been treated fairly and lovingly by Murka in his own bed. It was difficult for Svetlana to discuss her past months with the hero without her crying over what now was certain to be the loss of him forever.

            "How can a man be so caring to you? So patient and giving . . . without love? Without love being a part of him . . . for you?"

            Branka just worked quietly while listening to her, washing the ugly gash on Svetlana's side and going about changing the wrapping of the injury.  

            "It was so easy for me to love the pleasure Murka brought me," Svetlana would say. "And which I brought to him. I never knew our bodies were capable of feeling those amazing things. There were nights I even cried following the pleasure, as it had been so great and fulfilling. And yet, I always knew there was something missing as I lay in his arms

        Branka refused to look up.

        "So when he returned from the mission, I brought that missing thing  with me, finally to his bed. It was love, Branka. Love! And for this . . . I was nearly murdered.

            "Yes, " Branka said judiciously. "And it was by his mate, Svetlana. The mother of his children. We must understand her feelings for this man as being as great. Possibly much greater than yours. Though you are not to blame. It was your duty as a slave to be with him. To do the things men do to us. It is Love is to blame for your condition now."

            Branka could see tears welling up in Svetlana's eyes. Not from the pain beneath the bandages but from deeper inside and threatening to never heal.

            "I just miss him so."

         "Svetlana, we cannot expect this life we were given to ever be fair . . . not so far from our homeland. That can only come if we escape. To somehow return to the west and the land of our peaceful people. I miss so much the smell of fresh bread. To see sheep in the fields and to dance in the villages to celebrate the seasons."

            "Oh, Branka. . . don't make me cry more now. I have enough to bear here on my body and in my heart."

            Slowly the two girls took sight of their miseries stoically once again. But then, realizing their feelings of desire and love only made their suffering greater, they began to laugh at their intractable condition. For they had realized there was little else to do about it than laugh—and hold each other for the little joy that such solidarity brought them.

            "I don't know how many more times I will be allowed to go to Moshtok's home and see him now that he is better, but I will be there today. With him alone in the afternoon. I will be honest about my feelings, Svetlana. I will share with him the feelings of my heart and how he has made my body feel while he sleeps and later when I sleep."

            "Please don't speak of these matters to me more now. They are too painful for me to remember."

            "But I will also put my trust in Moshtok to try and find a way for us to escape. Back to our people. Just as he was returned here to the Pazyryk after so many years."

            "It could be very dangerous for us,Branka. If he knows those are your wishes. To be looking to escape."

            "If he truly cares for me, he will listen. He knows better than most how you, Zaria and I have felt this past year. I must prepare myself to leave you now, my sister. I will bring us food and then be on my way to see Moshtok. I have much to tell him."  Branka lightly touched Svetlana's forehead and covered her more securely with a blanket before leaving her small chamber. 

                                                                *     *     * 

            As the palace guard attended Branka on what might be her last call to Moshtok's home, he waited outside in the cold as was customary on these visits. Calling out Moshtok's name in front of the large tent complex, she was surprised that he greeted her at once, as if he had been waiting for her. With his authority he also released the soldier of his duties, sending him back to the palace.

            As she entered the main room, Moshtok walked up to her with a small bag he presented her as a gift. As this was unexpected, Branka felt embarrassed and self-conscious in his presence as it was obvious the meeting was not about her treating of his wound anymore but one of deep gratitude.

            She could see that he had also dressed more properly for the occasion, and  being of some celebration, he wore a finery of clothing on his tall, handsome presence she had not seen before during their lessons out on horseback. Once inside, Moshtok took Branka's hand and led her over to a central rug where they both sat facing each other near a roaring fireplace.

            "Go ahead," he said a little anxiously. "Open the bag."

            As Branka reached inside she felt the presence of small pieces of metal. Pouring them out into her hand she could see that they were a series of rings. Two golden ones and two of polished bronze. The rings were designed of coiled snakes, signifying medicine and healing in the wider Scythian culture. As she slipped them on—two onto each hand, she felt somehow blessed by this young man whom she had such admiration and attraction for.

            "I had these especially made for you Branka," he said, still with a slight nervousness in his voice.  "You are more than a healer to me. And I am grateful beyond words for your seeing me through to my present good health."

            Branka was beside herself to speak. She only continually looked down at the shinning rings in the firelight which now graced her two middle fingers on each hand. As she looked up into Moshtok's face she could see a genuine look of appreciation in his eyes—and yet there was something more. It was an anticipated eagerness to see her which she had not expected.

            "I thank you for this wonderful gift, Moshtok. They are beautiful. It makes me feel very special this day."

            She thought about all she wanted to tell him. What he really now meant to her.

            Moshtok reached over to a large pouring vase and filled two ceramic drinking vessels with the beverage so enjoyed by the Pazyryk to celebrate certain occasions.

            As Branka looked into his eyes while he handed her the container, her heart began to beat stronger and she felt it was now time for her to share with him all she had told Svetlana. Yet her voice and mouth was still frozen to do so.

            Moshtok took a long drink of the elixir, signaling her to do the same.

            "I must tell you something, Branka," he said a little nervously. "In all of the time of my healing I was beginning to feel something. . .  but could not express it to you. And because of my ailing condition and the fact that you are my king's special slave, I thought it inappropriate to tell you. . . until now.

            Branka looked up at him in surprise and with great anticipation.

            "But now I  am now not afraid to be honest about those feelings, as they are even stronger."

            Branka's heart was racing now, as she had no idea what Moshtok was about to share. But she had the feeling it was something of her own strong emotions. Something of their attraction and the very taboo situation which bonded them to their positions and duties to Sharvur.

            "You see, after my sister had agreed to take a mate, leaving this house for good, and following the death of both of my parents, I had been feeling especially alone these past months. When the attack left me so seriously injured, I had time to think about my life and how lonely it had become."

            Branka could only blink her eyes as she sat mesmerized by Moshtok's sudden willingness to be so candid about his inner feelings.

            "You know I had always enjoyed my teaching sessions with you, Zaria and Svetlana. I found that all of you girls made me have feelings I longed for after you had left each day."

            Branka was now clearly dizzy by what she was hearing from the man she so wanted to hear the slightest affirmation from.

            "But it was when I saw only you each day, caring for me and showing that special goodness you have . . . beyond the others . . . that I began to have. . .well, even in my sickness. . . a stronger feeling for you. Stronger than those I had once for a young vibrant student. And stronger still than those for a caring healer. I began to feel something new for you Branka, which now that we will . . . by necessity have to change . . .  should be told to you in all honesty."

            Branka found she could only drink deeply from the vessel which now quivered in her hand. She hoped the bitter substance would give her strength to say what she had earlier rehearsed to tell Moshtok that afternoon. She so wanted to express to him that her feelings were exactly the same as those he was sharing. She wanted to tell him that hers, too, had evolved into something now hard to control. But try as she wanted to, her young verbal teacher, did not let her speak, as he obviously wished to confess even more.

            "Once, while still in pain and healing I was sleeping deeply. I had a dream, Branka, that you kissed me."

            Branka was jolted by this revelation, knowing the kiss was real and she had done it out of her irresistible attraction to him. She remembered how guilty it made her feel and how her erotic dreams of him began from that forbidden event onward.

            I just want you to know," he continued softly, " that I think of you always. And my dreams are filled with us making love with great passion. I would not be honest to myself . . . or to you if I didn't tell you these things before you leave here.

            Banka could not stand this anymore. She moved up onto her hands and knees and slowly crawled the short distance between them, never once letting her eyes leave his. When her face was dramatically close to his, she paused and whispered to him confidently and with great resolve.

            "That kiss you felt . . . was not a dream, Moshtok. I did kiss you that day. It was from my heart that I did so, and with the same feelings you have told me here. I too have dreamed of our lovemaking at night. Just as strongly as you have."

            Moshtok remained still—surprised and speechless.

            "And I would not be true to myself if I did not tell you that in all my dreams . . . we do this . . ."

            With that she leaned forward and pressed her warm mouth against his in long and silent kiss. 

                                                                  *     *     * 

            For the rest of the afternoon on the warm carpeted floor before the fire, Branka and Moshtok engaged in the activity of true lovers, both saturating a lust which had apparently grown, unbeknownst to the other. Several times, in Branka's mind her old thoughts were clouded with a perceived cruelty Moshtok might show her in their moments of intimacy. It was a certain descent into to humiliation and pain which she had learned to expect from Sharvur, and which often uncontrollably entered her fantasies--yet thankfully, did not materialize.

            But by the time darkness had fallen, both inside and outside Moshtok's tent, the two lovers lay exhausted in each other's arms. Moshtok had gained the understanding that a woman could have the same feelings and intense fantasies he had, while Branka was blessed with a confirmation of what Svetlana had experienced and learned—that men could be just as concerned with a woman's pleasure, as their own. True to Moshtok's legacy as a good teacher language, he was just as adroit as a teacher of love. And Branka proved to be far more than the diligent student. Should there be any further plans of Branka's desire to escape, she knew now those plans would now have to include Moshtok himself.                                     

                                                               *     *     *