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I Love to Write Fiction

He sat upon the hillside beneath an ancient apple tree in his battered armor. He felt the warm of the autumn sun warming his face while he ate a slightly tart apple. For the first time in years he relaxed in peace and drifted off to sleep.

He woke to the sound of an outraged woman. He heard her angry voice below him coming through the trees. He rose to his feet and started down the short slope into the trees while loosening his sword in its scabbard.

The band of trees was quickly passed through and he found a lady wearing only her shift and brandishing a knife as a young ruffian stood before her at the edge of a pond. Her eyes saw him and her face registered it with a fresh blast of rage.

The young man turned his head to follow her eyes and seeing the older man he turned and raised his sword in warning. The older warrior just smiled with experience and slowly drew his sword.

The young man paled, but held his ground. He shouted obscenities at the other and promised a painful death if the man failed to flee.

The battered look of the older man disappeared as he moved like a great tiger stalking his prey. The young man struck and missed his mark, but the sword of the warrior struck back and sank deep into the belly of his foe.

With a cry of fear and pain, the young man slid off the sword and collapsed on the ground. His frantic breaths slowed then stopped. The older man coolly wiped his sword clean on the fallen man's shirt. Returning his sword to its scabbard, he grasped the arm of the dead man and easily pulled him up the hill into the trees.

He returned and stopped several steps from the lady. With respect he addressed her and offered his apology for shedding blood before her. With that he took a step back, but his eyes took in every detail of the woman.

A woman with a face that showed she wasn't a child, but lady in full bloom of her beauty. Eyes that blazed with life and looked blue to him. Hair bleached by the sun and framing a face that had a nose a little too large and a pointed chin. Her well-formed feminine arms were bare to the sun and her pale legs were curved in just the right places.

He smiled at her and told her his name. He explained that he'd been away at the wars with the king, but now desired to return home. As he spoke she sheathed her knife and when his brief introduction was done she really looked at him.

He had the look of a lion about him, his hair was a bit too long and he needed a shave. He looked at her in a way that made her skin tingle in a way she hadn't felt in such a long time.

She walked up to him and pulled his head down to hers and gave him a kiss that ignited the long buried ember of passion in his heart. He returned that kiss with fierceness and desire.

Neither of them remembered how their clothes where discarded, but his kisses on her lips and breasts were like brands from white-hot irons. Her soft hands on his body were like whips that left only marks of pleasure. When he entered her body with his, it was a moment that neither ever forgot.

Afterwards, as they lay in the fall sun in the warm grass, they murmured words of love to each other. He was home and she felt protected once again.
Absolutely loved this, the imagery sang to me, your words and story held me in rapt attention. Truly a wonderful read.
sunrisehawk · 61-69, M
[@432465,PoetLaureate] Many thanks

 
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