FREE USE in Primitive World

The pond existed in a pocket of the world that the feast had forgotten, a place where time itself seemed to move more slowly, measured only by the soft spill of spring water and the silent turning of the moon above the leaves.

Sol stood at the edge of that silence, and for a moment even the weight of the day seemed to loosen its hold.

He had discovered this hidden place while he was looking for animals to hunt, but even then he never saw any one ever come here.

Looking at the beautiful and heavenly scene in front of him, Sol exhaled a long breath, feeling the last traces of social exhaustion melt away.

He stripped off his clean linen tunic and shoes, leaving them folded neatly beside a flat boulder, and stepped into the water.

A pleasant chill wrapped around his calves and thighs before he submerged himself to his shoulders, resting his back against the smooth, submerged edge.

He sat down and leaned his head back against the edge, closing his eyes.

The cool current gently carried away the residual heat of the fermented juices, the lingering scent of roast boar, and the phantom echoes of battle.

For a long while he simply lay there, head tipped back, eyes closed, letting the silence and the cold do what the celebration could not, listening to the soft night sounds... the trickle of the feeder stream, the occasional call of a night bird, and slight rustles of leaves

No shouting.

No hands pressing food or drink into his arms.

No hungry gazes measuring him like a prize.

Just water, moonlight, and the steady beat of his own heart.

Rustle.

A soft, almost imperceptible sound broke the quiet... the gentle brush of a linen hem against tall reed grass, followed by the light, deliberate footsteps of someone approaching without haste.

Sol didn’t reach for a weapon. His spiritual perception had already registered the familiar, grounding warmth of aura long before she stepped past the willows.

He kept his eyes closed a moment longer, then opened them and turned his head, the neon embers glowing faintly in the dim moonlight.

Warchief Veylara stood at the edge of the pond.

She had changed out of her heavier armor, but even in simpler tribal garb the authority in her posture remained fully visible.

Moonlight caught the golden undertones of her sun-kissed skin and lit the edges of her thick, black hair that cascaded past her shoulders in loose, untamed waves.

Her deep blue eyes, usually blazing with sovereign command, held a relaxed, quiet stillness as she looked down at him.

”Chief,” Sol murmured, his voice a low, raspy drawl that barely disturbed the water’s surface. ”What are you doing out here? Shouldn’t you be at the high fire, leading the celebration with the elders?”

A faint, knowing smile curved Veylara’s lips. She stepped closer to the water’s edge, folding her arms beneath her chest.

”I could ask you the exact same question,” she replied smoothly, her voice rich and melodic, carrying a quiet amusement. ”The entire clan is shouting your name, toasting your deeds, and offering you the finest cuts of the hunt.

You are the greatest contributor to this entire victory.

Yet here you are, soaking alone in the dark.”

Sol let out a quiet chuckle, resting his forearms along the submerged stone. ”I’ve had my fill of toasts and roasted meat. After carving through three tribes in two days, I just wanted to wash off the phantom stench of blood and take a breath. The warriors and the young women... their enthusiasm was getting a bit too aggressive.”

”I saw,” Veylara said with a soft, breathy laugh that held none of her usual warlord distance. ”The line maidens were looking at you like hungry wolves circling an elk.”

She looked back toward the distant glow of the bonfires over the trees, her expression softening into a weary, peaceful calm.

”It is the same for me,” Veylara continued quietly. ”When the Warchief stands by the fire, the elders sit stiffly, the captains watch their words, and the young warriors are too nervous to drink freely.

My presence puts unnecessary weight on their shoulders. Tonight belongs to the people. It is better to let them drink and dance the night away without their ruler watching over them.”

Before Sol could answer, Veylara reached down and untied the braided leather cord around her waist.

With calm, unhurried ease, she began to undress.

Sol froze, his crimson eyes widening slightly.

”C-Chief...” Sol choked out, his raspy composure breaking for the briefest fraction of a second. ”What are you doing?”

Veylara paused, tilting her head slightly as if genuinely puzzled by his reaction. Her expression remained completely unbothered, carrying the natural, uninhibited nonchalance.

She did not stop. Her hands continued working the ties of her outer garment as if the question itself were strange.

”What does it look like I am doing?” she answered nonchalantly, as though stating the most obvious fact in the world. ”I am removing my clothes.”

”But why here?”

She tilted her head slightly, the long fall of her hair shifting over one shoulder.

”What do you mean, why here? I am going to bathe. The spring is clean, the night is warm, and my muscles ache from head to toe. I came here to take a bath and relax, just like you.”

By the time she finished speaking, the upper half of her clothing had already been set aside on a clean stone near the bank.

Sol’s throat tightened. As he instinctively swallowed a thick knot of dry air, his pulse quickening beneath his ribs.

Moonlight spilled across bare skin.

Sol’s throat worked in a hard swallow.

He had known, abstractly, that Veylara was a striking woman. Living and fighting beside her had made that impossible to ignore.

But the tight layered wraps, her usual heavy armor, and the deliberate distance of her high status had kept the most of the truth of her body half-hidden.