When Sharvur and his men returned from their warfare training, seven days and nights in the field, there was a general anticipation among the Pazyryk people to get things back to a regimented life. Without Sharvur and the fearful respect he demanded of all his people, the clan might not have lasted so many years. Sharvur and his generals—valuable men like Murka, came back to the relief of the people and also to the affection of those who had missed them. Svetlana understood that Murka would be himself glad to return to his two children, and their mother, Dressa, his mate. The fact that she, as his slave, missed him too, spoke highly of the hero and was rare. By the seventh day she missed him to a degree she did not want to admit—either to her friends Zaria and Branka, or even to herself. Hers and Murka's almost nightly trysts, prior to his departure had galvanized within her a need for what they so passionately enjoyed, sometimes lasting all the night. From Murka's gentle and sensitive ways of love making—always ensuring that it was she who cried first out into the night from pleasure, Svetlana had become endeared to that magic he provided for her. And though her feelings for him had never come to the surface, now in his absence they were raw and she hungered for what she refused to accept was at a dangerous level of desire.

        When that eighth morning arrived and brought the whole community out for the men's return, Murka shunned the celebration and simply entered the pathway to his household. After so much time away, Dressa greeted him with his children in tow. She had dressed them carefully in their finery and held each by the hand as they waited for him. Svetlana watched the scene surreptitiously from the doorway. In the distance she noted that Murka knelt down, kissed each child enthusiastically and then held the boy and girl in his arms separately, hugging them lovingly. It wasn't until they neared the main doorway that he gave his mate Dressa an obligatory hug and kiss, and Svetlana watched even more critically to see how Murka's body language and gaze upon Dressa's face would speak of his love for her. On that day it seemed of tantamount importance to her just how much love the hero would find it his heart to share with Dressa.

          As he performed this in a cursory fashion, there arose in her a feeling she had never experienced before—a mixture of emotions which caused her heart to beat wildly. Part of that curious feeling was the joy at seeing Murka's strong presence again, but another was a selfish sentiment—and one that surprised and disturbed her. This feeling made her glad that the hero made so little of his greeting to Dressa. She was astonished  at herself for not feeling the empathy she should have felt for a mate not receiving a passionate reunion from her man—it would seem a crushing disappointment to any woman.  But she instead, with some guilt, felt her own her own selfish satisfaction buoy her up that Murka did not dote upon Dressa, or even stop to talk to her as they walked from the entryway toward the doorway. Noting this, Svetlana quickly ran back and hid herself at the back recesses of the house.

            Once there in the dim hallways, she wondered how Murka would approach her when he encountered her. She even feared that he might not call for her to be with him on this night of his return. There was in Svetlana a burning desire that he would greet her with greater feelings and attention than he showed to Dressa.

            Prior to his and the other men's arrival, Dressa had Svetlana perform certain duties to properly prepare the house and meals for his return. She was already tired from this work, but looked forward to her bath and the preparation of clothing she would wear for him should he make demands to be with her that late evening. Svetlana now longed for the consistency Murka had shown for her prior to the campaign of military readiness which took so many of the men away from their women. If only this night he would spend several hours with her, she hoped, to ensure nothing had been lost of their sensual and the erotic adventures she had come to adore.

            All that afternoon and evening Svetlana was anxious about the ensuing night and   how Murka's would choose to enjy it. Would it be just sleeping, talking into the night with other men, or with her in their blissful time of mutual pleasure? She knew he would be exhausted from his ordeal of training the younger warriors, and she tried to put into perspective that fact, not to let his possible reluctance to be with her be any indication of his true feelings. But now, as she waited for him, that strange feeling had returned to her, wishing that Murka would show her even the slightest greater affection than he had given to Dressa.

            After several other men had stopped  by his home that early evening to drink and converse with Murka—asking about his time away, and the general strength and readiness of the of the ninety-six horsemen he had trained, the later evening t seemed  would settled down to a quiet night. This was not, however, until the noisy ritual of putting Murka's children to bed ensued, as it always had with much drama. More than usual this night their crying to see their strong but gentle father just once more before sleeping, was a part of the longer wait for Svetlana.

            Finally, after Dressa had led the young toddlers Zetur and Tourna to their sleeping quarters, Svetlana went to her room and waited for her anticipated call. She used the opportunity to bathe and beautify herself after the long day. Carefully she put on one of the short chitins Murka had often complimented her the most in, and she spent considerable time brushing out her long golden hair—so much the envy of the darker featured Pazyryk people. As Svetlana waited out these late night hours, the cooler fall winds could be heard outside the tent complex, threatening a late fall rainstorm. She could see the tall poles and sections of sewn camel leather sheets, which housed the  whole complex, sway gently within each room. Her own chamber was without a fireplace and she anticipated not only the warmer comfort of Murka's bedroom, his magic vase lamps, the red tapestry rugs—but most importantly, his affirming caresses and kisses which so warmed both her body and affections on previous nights.

            In those long hours, the young slave had time to think about the seven long nights she had not been with Murka. It made her realize how his sensual ways and their routine of pleasing each other had become such a powerful need in her life. Laying in the darkness of her room she recalled the climactic night when Murka had finally entered her body with his manhood—all in the ultimate act of their union. She remembered feeling little of the fear or the pain she had expected—just as he had promised her. There was almost nothing of what she had been told all her life by the women where she spent her childhood or even the attending Slavic women who were bound to the Pazyryk nomads just as she and her young friends were. Murka had prepared her well for his gradual and complete act of penetration and made sure she was ready for it, explaining it would be only the doorway to even more pleasures for both of them. It was for this reason that Svetlana had come to trust and to believe in Murka, making it her own joy to please him as she could, and toward the advancement of her own desires.

        Thinking back in a reverie of that important night, she recalled as he had truthfully forewarned her, that even more amazing nights would follow. Svetlana now wanted more than ever those nights to continue, and it was on this night especially, that her return to him meant more than ever before.

        Suddenly she heard Dressa's angry voice just outside her room.

        "Make yourself ready, slave! My mate chooses to use you again this evening. Do not be late . . ., or take too long, as he is tired and must have his rest."

        Though these words were harsh and painful, Svetlana had become accustomed to them from Dressa. Just the fact that she would soon be with Murka made her forget the conditions withwhich she was bound, and feel only overwhelmingly joy.

        "Yes, Dressa . . . I will be on my way," Svetlana replied through the tent flaps which served as her door. She waited several moments before coming out as she knew Dressa would soon leave. They both found it hard to face each other when these nightly duties of Svetlana were the issue.

        Walking down the hall to Murka's bedchamber, Svetlana felt trepidation. She wanted so badly for him to have missed her as much as she missed him. And she knew that in that first instance of his greeting her she would be able to use her female perception to know the truth.           

        "Murka? . . . Master. . . I am here," she said meekly outside his large tent.

        As it remained silent inside, Svetlana's first fear was that he had been so exhausted that he had already fallen asleep. The continued silence quickly began to erode her confidence to the degree that she felt afraid to call his name again.

        Then she saw the tent being untied from the inside. Murka's tan face and bright white teeth peered out at her. Taking her hand enthusiastically he pulled her inside and tied the tent opening tightly behind them. As usual the atmosphere was warm, aromatic and the amazing vase lamps were flickering in the currents of air from the storm brewing outside.

        "I have missed you, Svetlana," he said finally, much to her delight. And I have truly missed the pleasure you bring me here. It was something I thought of greatly in my time away from this house."

        Even these words, demeaning as they sounded, gave her joy to know things had not changed between them. Immediately, Murka took Svetlana in his arms and held her affectionately. She at once could smell the fresh soap and oils of a bath from his hair and the manly tracings of his own scent given off by his skin which had existed almost unnoticed before but now were so pungently alluring to her. Murka kissed her neck and then held her face in his hands.

        "Did you miss our pleasures while I was away?" he asked her, looking into her eyes for some confirmation that she was still under his charms.

        "Yes. . . oh yes. I missed them dearly. And my thoughts were here in your bedroom often."

        Murka led her hastily to the large bed and began to undress her. His breathing was steady and stronger than usual as he kissed up and down her young body and undressed himself in the process. As they lay beside each other and began the ritual of touching and pleasing, there was an unnoticed presence just outside the tied flaps of the bedchamber. It was the light feet of someone who was curious and had been there many times before. Not so interested in the moans and grunts that emanated loudly from inside the bedroom, as a man would have been, but more focused on the possibility of words which had been warned of, was the interest of this person up so close to the door.

        As the frenetic movements of Murka and Svetlana could be heard inside against the mattress—along with the slave girl's melodic voice uncontrollably expressing her ecstasy,  Dressa waited for the moment when the storm of these passion would pass. It was then she knew would come the softer, heart-felt words always spoken after the throes of pleasure between a man and woman. For unbeknownst to Murka or Svetlana, Dressa had attended this spot on many a nights just outside the bedchamber tent to listen for a specific phrase from Svetlana's lips which so far she had the good fortune never uttering.

        Yet it was on this night that Murka's mate, former lover, and mother of his children had the insight that the Svetlana might finally express the very words which would trigger her rage. It would be a fury she had warned the girl of upon entering her house for this unsavoury purpose she had been given to Murka for. The phrase she now expected from Svetlana was only moments away were it to be spoken, and the young slave's very life hung in the balance if she would say it or not.

        As Murka and Svetlana heaved together inside, amid loud breathing, and a climactic moan shared by them for several seconds, Dressa pressed her ear more closely to the thin leather barrier. It was all that separated her from the now glowing and sweat-drenched bodies which had finally become depleted of lust.

        "Oh! . . . you . . .are so. . .perfect!" Svetlana was heard to say in the aftermath of their passion.

        "And you . . ." Murka replied, softly, still out of breath.

        There was silence. And Dressa waited.

        Svetlana was overcome with feelings at that moment. As her sexual reverberations continued to calm themselves throughout her body, she began to realize there was a passion that could not—would not, be extinguished. It came back to her like the feelings of jealousy felt earlier, strong and uninvited. It was a sensation which replicated more a hunger than desire—and had little to do with the heightened physical sensations Murka had just provided for her. This was a deeper calling, and in the back of Svetlana's mind she sensed a more destructive one.

        As Murka began to get up from the mattress, she felt compelled to hold him there, longer and more securely in her arms. She felt for the first time she never wanted him to leave her. Not ever again.

        In that moment of rarefied emotions—brought to the very edge of Svetlana's tears, the young woman with her novice and foolish heart made Murka a prisoner in her arms. With all her might she held him down and shouted out into the night the very words Dressa, outside, had been waiting to hear. They were the exact words which would change the trajectory of the young slave's life—terminally, as Dressa, Murka's mate had forewarned.

        "Murka . . . I Love you!" was the fatal phrase. "I do. . . I cannot help it. Do not ever leave me!"

        Murka in sudden state of alarm, pulled himself free from her and gently put his hand over her mouth, signally her to refrain from saying more of the same.

        "You must leave," he then demanded in a voice she had not yet heard. "And never say those words again! . . . Anywhere in this house!"

        Dressa, in her stealth, had already moved away from the bedchamber tent and into the shadows of the hallway. By the time Svetlana—confused and upset, had dressed and left Murka for her own sleeping quarters, his enraged mate had already positioned herself in the darkness outside Svetlana's room. In her hand, still shaking form the wrath Svetlana's words had caused her, was a sharp and curving bronze dagger. She now only needed to wait until the love-afflicted girl was asleep. It would be then that Dressa could easily carry out her lethal promise.

                                                              *     *     * 

        It was several more hours and just before dawn that Svetlana finally calmed herself enough to drift into sleep. The whole time she had twitched and turned on her bed, crying loudly over letting her true feelings for Murka be known to him. If only she could turn back the time, she wished in her exhaustion, to take back the foolishness of her rash and forbidden words. For it was only then in the semi-darkness of her tent that Svetlana realized the grave consequences her innocent honesty might cost her one day. With a promise to herself to refrain from such actions and to try and change those deep feelings she now felt for Murka, Svetlana slowly entered a deep and emancipating sleep.

        As the crying and movement had ceased inside Svetlana's room, Dressa knew the time was right to strike. She opened the ten flaps slightly and like a shadow moved inside. She came slowly up to Svetlana's bedside and held the sharp weapon above her. In one explosion of rage, Dressa plunged the knife down into Svetlana's side. The young slave screamed out in pain and terror and a guard came running inside. Svetlana had rolled off the bed, seemingly mortally wounded as a pool of blood was quickly forming on the floor next to her. As the girl twitched and showed signs tenacious life, Dressa ran toward her to plant the dagger deep again. But this time she was halted by the arm of a soldier, one skilled at disarming an attacker. In the panic and confusion, shouts and screams, three more soldiers were on the scene holding Dressa and carefully lifting Svetlana back on her bed. Murka himself entered and quickly went to Svetlana's side to assess her injury.

        With a finger he explored the depth of the knife wound into Svetlana's side and determined the weapon had deflected off her rib cage and luckily did not enter it—leaving only a deep flesh cut. Murka from countless battles had seen many such injuries and knew only that pressure to stop the bleeding would be needed to save the slaves life. He took off a sash he was wearing as a belt and quickly tied it around Svetlana's mid-section as she was now unconscious and in shock.

        Seemingly disgusted with his mate and most concerned for his young injured slave's safety, Murka picked Svetlana up in his arms and with four soldiers at his side walked out into the rain toward Sharvur's palace up in the rocks. Never slowing in is powerful gate, Murka carried Svetlana like a child into the torch-lit hallways and asked where the young woman would be best cared for. In the commotion Branka had been roused and came quickly to guide the emergency entourage into her own quarters. There Svetlana was placed on Branka's own bed and the young slave vowed to watch over her friend closely in hopes that she would show signs of improving in the morning and beyond.

        As a violently verbal Dressa was escorted back to her home, it was ordered by Murka that she be monitored closely by his own guards so as not to try and carryout what she so brutally almost accomplished. For most involved in both households that late evening, it was a night that saw the sun sooner than most. It was also a night that unflinchingly told of the unbridled destruction which often rides in the wake of love.  

                                                               *     *     *