Setting sail 7- Lover's Spar

As sunlight dappled in between his curtains, the young sailor rose and stretched his weary limbs. They responded to his whims begrudgingly, the faint ache of sore muscles reminding him of what he had endured the day before. His stomach growled loud enough to remind him that breakfast would not be making itself. Throwing the sheets back he sprang from bed and moseyed into the main room of his shack. A dark wet spot in one of the corners proved that in his absence disrepair had come to take its tax on his home. With a sigh he shook his head and got to work on breakfast first. No use trying to patch his roof on an empty stomach.

With the stove lit he went about his morning routine. Oats would be heated into the bland mush that usually comprised his breakfast, without butter or any sorts of fruit to flavor it this time around it would be extra bland. Grumbling to himself he put a mental list together for what he’d buy the next time he went shopping. Maybe Beatrice would want to go on a shopping date with him. She enjoyed helping him discover how to dress, maybe he could show her he already knows how to feed himself? Assuming she wasn’t stalking through the woods in search of a boar to reduce to a luxury good. He’d need to stop by the Tellish family home to check on that.

The oats sat before him immediately though. Warm, and mushy they tantalized him. Spoonful by spoonful the pit of hunger was filled. It tasted about as glamorously as one would imagine mushed up oats and grains would taste. Filling, rejuvenating, but not flavorful. He could had snuck some fish for breakfast, but that would only require more work, and currently he was not in the mood to cook something grand for himself. He honestly hadn’t been in the mood for upscale food since he started work as a full fledged sailor. Unable to place the exact reasoning for it he cleaned his bowl and set it out on the counter for the next time he’d be in his home to eat. A sharp whistle and Daisy trotted to the door to say goodbye to him.

“Right girl, gonna head to town for a bit. You stay here and guard our home. Think ya can handle that?”

“Awoof!”

“That’s the spirit.”

It was a cool morning, the dying grip of summer was giving some leeway to the dry season. Most nations called it fall or autumn, instead here it was known as the dry season. He hadn’t learned about the fall versus autumn debate until his first voyage to the mainlands when he was sixteen. The difference was dwarven versus elvish if he remembered. The falling of leaves onto dwarven land fathered the term for the subterranean races, while king Autumunus who preferred the cooler weather and allegedly brought the season into existence was the elven one. Or at least that’s what the books Erik read told him. At some point Wilkes would probably have to fact check that. His feet met dune, then pavement. His steps were languid and his gait was a bit off. But at least he was moving, even if he looked like a leaf in the wind skittering around. Shaking his head at himself he soldiered on towards the forest. If the sun was already out Beatrice was more than likely out in the woods.

Passing through town like a ghost was a bit difficult when you were Wilkes though. Friendly faces, all of whom wanted to at least chat for a moment beyond pleasantries slowed his trek to a halt. Old friends of his mother’s, would be sailors, or women who had a feeling things wouldn’t last forever with Beatrice all overwhelmed him at once. He grew increasingly incredulous at the sheer number of people that wanted to speak with him. Thellin’s population was still under ten thousand, yet it seemed hundreds of thousands of people wanted to speak with him immediately. Finally he saw a familiar face that could hopefully push through all of this. Well, a familiar lack of a face.

“Oh! Meryl, there you are!” He cut his way out of a conversation with one of the innkeeper’s daughters, which made them Leif and Svend’s half sister. Why that particular reminder jolted into his brain there and then was beyond him.

“Wilkes Tempest. You are using me to avoid social pressures. Odd.” Meryl spoke softly beneath her flowing veil. The wind seemed to choose when she spoke to give a dramatic gust across the length of cloth so it would billow as her attention turned to him.

“No, no not quite. I just saw you and wanted to catch up. It’s been a few days since I saw you last.” He offered earnestly. He had thought of the oracle briefly here and there, as nervous as she made him she was decent company. A good conversationalist, someone his own age that had their own magical absurdity to deal with, and from the fading memory she was certainly cute. Not that the last one mattered.

“You nearly died at sea again, but survived due to your own ingenuity and prodigiousness in magic.” She said pointedly

“Right, not much use trying to catch you up on me, but I was wondering about you I mean.” He ran a hand through his hair nervously. Doing his best to smile at the slightly unnerving mass of black fabric. He tried to focus on the clear blush beneath her veil the first time they spoke, to at least even the playing field somewhat.

“I have been busy. Many fates to read, many more spinning along as they should according to the great one. You are ignoring the warning you were given. That is foolish.” Meryl’s voice carried the faintest hint of concern.

“No, no not quite. If my future is to be built around new relationships then I should keep you around right?” He tried to argue with her, but she continued to stand nearly motionless. The only indication her focus was on him was the slight bump of the veil where her nose was. It was leveled with his chin.

“You are speaking of the Lovers… perhaps it is wise to keep some tabs on me. I will tell you in private what I have accomplished recently. For now I am grocery shopping. Leif is going to spill a barrel of fish onto the dock in thirty minutes. I would like to be there before then. Good day Wilkes.” Meryl gave a small courtesy then brushed past. A dainty hand running across his chest and dragging down his side as she passed him. As composed as she was when speaking, she was sneaking a chance to cop a feel?

“Take care Meryl, I’ll see you again when the time is right, right?” He called after her. He watched her walk into the busier side of the street before vanishing within the people milling about. He was still smiling at the mass of people she’d disappeared into. At least he had shaken most of them off his tail for now. If he had the time perhaps he could write down his adventures, they’d make for a decent novel at some point if things kept as they were going. But that was once more a thought for another time. As it was he needed to push his way up to the northern outskirts where Beatrice was likely stalking a beast of some kind. The other hunters notwithstanding of course.

He hadn’t had many encounters with the rest of the hunters. Their work group was relatively the same size as his own, five or six of them counting Beatrice. There weren't any personal connections with them outside of taking the pelts they made to sell on the mainland every once in a while. The voyage there loomed over him again. He would spend moons at sea, then be there through quarantine to be sure any kind of sickness the crew had would develop and resolve, then they could trade, and then it was the moons’ journey back. All in all, he may return as a man of twenty years rather than nineteen. He shuddered slightly as he finally rapped his knuckles against the wooden door. It swung open and Salima smiled down at him. She was wearing a plain brown dress beneath a cloth apron with dozens of small apple designs stitched into the fabric, an equal number of them red and green. She smiled down at him warmly and began to fuss over his hair. He laughed and playfully batted the attentive hands away.

“Wilkes my boy, so good to see you. I heard you had a nasty spill and were on bed rest again. You really ought to learn how not to hurt yourself out at sea. You’ll worry my poor Bea to death.” She pinched his cheek for a moment before relenting with the physical affection. He had to pretend not to enjoy the attention. It filled something that had been missing for the past few months.

“Well I was just dropping through to see if she was home or out in the woods being a help to the community at large.” Wilkes half joked, she chuckled and waved him inside. Beatrice was holed up under a blanket made from several of the furs, lounged on a sofa made by the true branches. It was a simple thing, dark brown upholstery on an oak frame. Rangpar had requested it personally, but Beatrice had since staked it as her own territory. The sailor orc was still somewhat timid about fighting his younger cousin. Pulling the fur closer over herself she sighed contentedly. She never did take well to the cold. She was whittling away at a bit of boar tusk again. Turning the priceless bit of bone into a personal trinket. She glanced up from her work and beamed at him once recognition hit.

“Skipping the hunt today huh?”

“No, there won’t be another mature male boar for another few months. Someone killed the other mature male in the woods while apologizing to me. Now I have to wait and keep myself busy.” Her wide smile turned to a tight line as she poked at his ribs. He grumbled and grabbed at her wrists. The two wrestled playful for a bit until he finally got her to keep her hands to herself.

“Sorry, but it rushed me. I can’t apologize if I’m dead.” Wilkes countered her annoyance. “And if you need to keep busy, I need a sparring partner.”

“You’re barely standing. You look like the tide just brought you in.” Beatrice analyzed him critically. “Did you break your nose?”

“It brought me in last night, but I have a new technique I want to show you. Well actually a handful of them.” Wilkes pestered her. Egging her on with playful bats and poking at her ribs. She giggled and fended him off well enough. He dodged the question about his nose. It hadn’t broken, since he managed to hit the spot right between his eyes. Instead it was just heavily bruised and had bled like crazy because he ruptured some stuff in his sinuses. That was what Barry’s assessment was on paper. Wilkes had been sent home with them but forgotten to read them.

“C’mon, c’mon let’s go spar. Loser buys dinner.” Wilkes raised the stakes for their spar. She raised an eyebrow at that, rubbing her chin like she often saw him doing. She tapped twice before nodding.

“If I lose you get the boar soup again. When I win, you’re frying fish, ooh and with shallots and ginger if we can find them.”

“It’s barely morning and you two are discussing dinner?” Salima cut in, shaking her head at the two of them. The young couple simply shrugged in unison as a response. The younger orc lady finally rose from her pile of blankets on the small sofa. She stood at her full height of six feet even, standing just two inches taller than Wilkes himself. He was still the more muscular of the two though he thanked years of hauling catches for that.

“Ladies first.” Wilkes offered her, nodding his head towards the front door. Salima cooed at the pair as they walked out. Seemingly thinking of her younger days with Jonah.

“You want to fight publicly or privately?” Beatrice asked him over her shoulder. Her braid swished between her shoulder blades when she turned to face him. He found himself staring at her harder than usual. Burning her features into his mind for now. There were still about nine days until he had to set out, but he wanted to memorize her every moment he could.

“Privately, just in case one thing leads to another.” He smiled at her, a faint blush spread across her high cheek bones. Her face was so pretty, especially when she blushed. He took her chin in one hand and studied her closely. Her blush grew deeper as he stared deeply into those glittering brown eyes. Honey brown, with faint flecks of gold. She had a diamond shaped face, high cheek bones, and pouty lips. Her tusks poked out lightly as she stared at him mildly confused by the cradling.

“Y-You can’t just say things like that while holding me that way!” She sputtered and smacked him playfully, he let go of her face and let his hand trail across one side of her collar bone while twirling around on his heels.

“Of course beloved, let's head out to our private slice of heaven then, so you can punch me in the face a couple of times.” He grinned at her while bowing at the waist. She shook her head and walked into the woodlands. Following suit he watched how her rump wobbled beneath the short skirt she wore. Occasionally the fabric would flip up and he’d see the wonderful outline of the bottom of her bottom. The immaculate crease between cheek and thigh. The tantalizing valley he could get crushed in. Apparently she had been saying something though because she stopped walking and poked his forehead. He shrugged at her and she repeated her question.

“So what’s the technique you so desperately wanted to show me?” She folded her arms over her chest, the second set of distracting curves nearly shattering the flimsy grasp he had on paying attention.

“I figured out how to punch things and use strong gust.” He said cheerily “Now I can hit things and launch them!”

She stared at him. He smiled back. She uncrossed her arms. He spread his for a hug. She punched him in the jaw. He got rocked to the side and took a few staggering steps. Carrying his momentum with him, he decided to try the elven kick he had been practicing. His left leg swung from where it was blocked from her view by the rest of his body. His torso twisted hard and the toe of boot connected with her guard. A gust of wind followed and forced her off balance. A look of pure bewilderment crossed her face as he followed up with a rapid series of jabs. Swapping between elven and human stances was something he had initially thought of, but now rapidly put into practice.

Her defense was exceptional, he had to admit. He couldn’t land a clean blow, even with inconsistently throwing gusts of wind hard enough to force her to skid across the dirt. She was smiling widely at him now, her tusks glinting in the midday sunlight. Though he was no slouch on the defensive either. She attempted to grapple him, but having just trained someone to grapple he was prepared for the motions. She sank low, swung for the knee, but his knee was no longer there. He had already cartwheeled to the side, laughing playfully as he rolled around. The idea struck him at the moment. Just before his second hand met dirt, he cast strong gust wordlessly. The sailor was then launched six feet into the air. He sprawled out to taunt her slightly as she lunged after him again. He summersaulted and rolled through the dirt while alluding another attempt to be grappled.

“Gotta be quicker than that, I’m slippery now!” he stuck his tongue out at her while continuing to spar her. A wide haymaker on her part let him slip under her guard and place a quick peck on her nose. He knew it was rude to play with his food, and with his new found abilities the gap between them had gone from miniscule to massive. What he failed to notice was her sweeping the leg and sending him crashing down. Without time to get a limb to dirt before she pounced on him, he was very much forced into grappling now. Any gust he used here would only send them rolling through the dirt right now. Which they were going to do anyway.

They struggled for dominance, who was pressing who into the dirt kept changing in the blink of an eye. Until finally, after seventeen some odd rotations, Wilkes got a firm grasp on both of her wrists and pushed them into the soft dirt. His ankles hooked her knees and forced the orc huntress into a starfish pose. He stared down at her with a smug grin.

“Do you yield?”

“Not yet!” She thrashed a bit, but as it stood with her being mounted like this there was no escape. For the sake of her pride she fought for a bit, but when no ground was gained she relented. A slightly pouty expression crossed her face as she conceded “Fine I’ll make the stew.”

“Well, do you mind if I have dessert first?”

“You can, but only if I get to be a pillow princess.”

“Fine by me.” He took her lips in a sweet kiss