Girl: A "War of the Seasons" story

Girl: A War of the Seasons story

These events take place approximately 18 years before War of the Seasons: The Human, and do spoil a small reveal in the novel… but if you don’t mind spoilers, sweetie…

Columbus Day Weekend

Sergeant Milton Sorenson, United States Marine Corps, knew better than to go spelunking alone in his favorite caving system. It was isolated, only locals knew about it, and miles ofwinding, pitted, treacherous road up the mountain ensured that only the most robust of four wheel drives could make it, keeping most would-be tourists at bay. If anything happened to him, like falling down a deep shaft and breaking his leg, he’d probably die before anyone found him.

And that suited him just fine. Not the dying bit—the adrenalin of going out on his own and doing something potentially dangerous. He expected to be thrilled, and he expected to have a great time. What he didn’t expect was to encounter a naked, half- drowned, red-headed woman making her way up to the main cavern entrance.

“Ma’am, can I help you?” Judging by the water puddling around her, she must have fallen into the underground river. She had to be freezing. He started unbuttoning his plaid, flannel shirt to put over her. Why was she naked? Where were her clothes? She fixed her gaze on him, and in the yellow light of his flash- light he could see that she had mischievous, sea green eyes. Her mouth split into a welcoming grin, and she walked with the grace of a dancer over to him.

“Ma’am?” It was all he could do to avoid staring at her voluptuous curves.

“Hello. I am Almera.” A foreign accent, lilting and songlike—similar to what he’d heard a Welsh-born fellow Marine use—flowed from her mouth. She stood in front of him, completely un- abashed by her lack of clothing. She was quite short—barely over five feet in height, and Milt struggled to keep his eyes above her neck. The shadows hid much, but not everything. This woman had curves.

He stuck out his hand for her to shake and kept his eyes firmly locked on hers. “I’m Milton, though most just call me Milt. Pleased to meet ya.”

She ignored his proffered hand, and eyes crinkling at the cor- ners from the size of her grin, threw her arms up around his neck in a tight embrace and pressed her lips against his, in what would have been a very chaste kiss had he known her beforehand and had she been dressed.

His flashlight hit the cave floor with a loud, plastic clatter, switching off with the impact and plunging them into inky darkness. He firmly grasped her shoulders and held her out at arm’s length.

“Are. You. Crazy?” He bit out each word, trying to reign in his anger. “What’re you thinkin’ walkin’ ‘round naked and kissin’ a strange man like that? It’s like you’re askin’ for trouble!”

“You are very tall, but you don’t have pointed ears, so you can’t be an elf. Though the way you speak makes me think that you are.” She laughed, as if at some inside joke.

“I’m being serious, ma’am.” He let go of her shoulders and felt around in the dark for his flashlight. He turned it on and jumped back, startled. Her face was right next to his.

“Please, call me Almera. And so am I—being serious that is. You act as if you’ve never met a dryad. Or at the very least have never heard of how we greet new acquaintances.” The musical lilt to her voice was entrancing. Milt caught himself staring at the shape and lines of her plump lips and nearly kissed her again. He stood up and shook his head to clear it—she was ethereal, beautiful, and dangerous. Dangerously close to making him behave like a damn fool.