Enter Lady Tytts. Yes, that is her real name.

Every time you think about hauling ass into the woods, the voices raise higher and higher as if they know exactly where you are. You know it's irrational, but in the harsh light of post-dryad-induced-orgasm you are more paranoid than you've ever been.

The prince on the run. That's you.

You're doing a piss-poor job of it at the moment. Sorry.

The guy leading the hunters looks exactly like he sounds. His head is basically shaped like a morel mushroom, with a flat, dull face squished over a nonexistent chin. His hair is greasy and shines in the moonlight. Thinking of running a hand through it makes you gag. Weasel Man is directing his henchmen with his lantern. Every swing of the lantern makes you heart skip a beat -- you're painfully aware that a stray flash of light will betray your location.

Caprea stifles a gasp as the hunters regroup near your bush. You instinctively put a finger to her lips. The poor dryad's eyes are wide with fright; you stare into them in a moment and almost lose yourself.

"Ah, milady!" Weasel Man shouts out, and for a moment your heart stops. Did they find Alison? Are they trying to lure her out of hiding? Then you remember that Alison is still pretty far away and there's no way she can hear what's going on out here.

Who else could they be calling, Caprea? No. These yokels wouldn't put up the facade of respect for a creature such as her.

But there's another creature coming into view. Like the hunters, she -- you assume, thanks to Weasel Man -- is on horseback. Like them, she holds a lantern in one hand.

Pretty much all similarities end there.

Your cock was mercifully flaccid up until now, satisfactorily drained by your dryad companion. But the moment you see the newcomer you're painfully hard.

The stranger is definitely female. Extremely female. Cartoonishly female. The shadows of the leaves and branches above do little to obscure the prodigious femininity of this new threat. Like any good traveler in this region she is as the very least lightly armored, wearing small ringlets of chainmail under a dark, moss-colored cloak. How do you know she's wearing chainmail? Because it's impossible not to notice.

The word "stacked" would be such an understatement that the thought of seriously using it to describe this woman embarrasses you. Yes, you, the guy currently hiding in a bush, one hand idly stroking a throbbing erection. This woman is not stacked, she is... mountainous.

The new rider's bust is positively gigantic, straining the bounds of her armor and cloak. They are, without a doubt, the largest tits you have ever seen, at least proportionally speaking. The woman's not overly tall, nor is she exceptionally Rubenesque. If anything, she's way too skinny to have tits that big. Her horse's every movement elicits another wave of wobbling and jiggling. You assume it's painful to couple udders that big with terrain this uneven, but the rider doesn't seem to show any signs of discomfort.

Oh, and it wouldn't hurt to describe the rest of her features -- at least, the ones you can see. The lady's hair is dark brown and pulled into a tight crown of braids atop her head. She appears to be wearing purple eyeshadow, and in the moonlight this highlights her piercing gaze. You spy a scabbard hanging from her waist, and instantly your chest tightens.

Fuck. You're actually in danger.

And so is Caprea. You turn to the dryad, your thoughts fumbling over possible (false) assurances. You're in the middle of whispering something cliche, like "everything's going to be okay," when Caprea stops you.

"That's Lady Tytts!" she whispers, as yell-y as she can be given the circumstances. "Gods... I didn't think she'd come after Alison herself."

"Shit," you whisper back, pressing down on a branch as you peer back out of the bush. The Lady appears to be consulting Weasel Man. "Wait. Her name's Lady Tytts?"

"Yes," Caprea says. "She's been -- wait. Are you hard right now?"

At this you glance down at your aching cock, then back up at the dryad. "I'm not doing it on purpose," you whisper, weirdly annoyed. "How are we gonna get out of here? We can't let them find the camp."

Caprea nods. She's shaky -- you can tell she's frightened.

You take a deep breath and try to think of something.