393

You react quickly; “Come on!” you tell the girl and grab her by the arm. She leaps with you out of the debris field of the destroyed carriage and you both attempt to run. It takes several tries to get started: your limbs feel like lead and it is hard to breathe properly. Additionally, you immediately have to push through layers and layers of bushes and other woody, pointy obstacles. Fortunately you manage to keep hold of each other at least long enough to put some substantial distance between you and the crash site. And then, just as the air and the light are beginning to return to their normal amounts, one of you trips and sends the both of you head over heels the rest of the way down the steeply sloping hill. What your hasty escape started on your clothes your flailing tumble finishes: everything either rips to shreds, is snagged and flies clean off, or otherwise disintegrates. Yet you do instinctively hold on to your backpack as you fall.

Just as quickly as it started, your journey ends. It takes you a moment to realize you’ve stopped and are still alive. Your body feels both light as a feather compared to how it was when you started running, and like dead weight. Tumbling and rolling through plant life that doesn’t especially want you tumbling through it is exhausting, not to mention the hundred tiny cuts and bruises.

You notice how loud you’re panting, and that you can’t hear anyone else. Pulling yourself off the ground you find the girl **** lying only a few feet away. She’s practically naked, and you don’t need to spare a look at yourself to confirm your being in the same state. Almost every shred of fabric has gone.

She lies rather awkwardly on her side, bent an uncomfortable looking way. Without thinking, you crawl over, straighten her back and make sure she’s placed in such a way she can breathe. After checking that she is indeed breathing you finally notice the sight before your eyes.

You can see nearly everything there might be to see on a healthy, strong bodied young maiden of fine human blood. Having turned her over, your hand is still on her bare shoulder, mere inches from touching one of her breasts, completely exposed flesh mountains on her chest. You retract your arm slowly and dare look down along the curve of her waist and hips toward the junction of her full thighs. A lush triangle of hair grows there, and a rather lighter shade of brown than the great mass on her head. You continue drifting down, seeing her sturdy yet curvy legs, clear skin contrasting against the earthy mix of reds and browns of dead leaves, twigs and other types of humus.

You hear a sound that isn’t your own and nearly panic. She’s stirring. First it looks as though she might wake up the next second, and then she settles again, breathing slowly, fast asleep. Feeling guilty, you feel around her head for injuries. There’s a bump near the back of her skull, but no profuse bleeding or anything that looks serious.

As time continues to pass and the girl doesn’t wake, naked and beautiful before you, it becomes hard to keep thinking straight. You never thought it would be this difficult. The sensible thing to do is either try to wake her, wait till she wakes herself, or even just carry her home to her farm. If she’s out cold long enough you might even have time to clothe her. But instead what you really want is to... take advantage of the opportunity at hand. If it was only touching, would she ever know?

If you wish to maintain a minimum of moral fibre and try to wake her, get her home or wait for her, turn to 39. If lust is stronger in you, turn to 199.