食色性也
Shí sè xìng yě
By nature we desire food and sex. (Mencius)
Appetite and lust are only natural.
~Several Weeks Earlier~
The first time I kissed Zakhar I swore it would be the last.
After near two months of infuriating boredom trapped in the cabin Zakhar invited me one morning to hunt.
The snow had stopped falling, and the day was something close to sunny. It was brighter at least. The frozen crust on the drifts twinkled, light winking off the thousands of tiny crystals when they hit at just the right angle.
My eyes squinted at all the light. It was the first time I had left the small room in all the time we had been there, save occasional short trips out onto the deck to lean on the railing.
We went on foot, with Zakhar behaving like an overprotective mother hen. He had insisted I throw an extra fur from the kang around my shoulders, and was constantly asking if I was tired or my legs hurt.
Usually I would have found his behavior irritating, but for some reason it did not bother me today. Perhaps it was because of my experience that had brought me so near to death, or perhaps because my legs actually still ached at times. Either way, I did not mind his fussing.
"Are you sure you are alright to walk? I can saddle the horses. The snow is not too deep, and we are not going far. They will manage."
I sighed. "Yes, for the tenth time, I am sure Zakhar. And besides, I saw In'yii this morning. She is fatter than a badger in a berry patch. Too fat for her girth. We will have to lessen her feed, or I will not be able to ride her south in the spring."
I had gone through the trap door this morning, carefully gripping the sides of the ladder as I stepped down the wobbly rungs and into the small stable beneath the cabin.
My horse had looked at me coolly, as though I were a stranger she had never seen before, then gone back to munching on hay, which she appeared to be stealing from Makabe.
Zakhar laughed heartily at my description of In'yii. "I'll tie her closer to Dunya. My girl won't share her food."
I noticed Zakhar had been laughing a lot of late, and smiling wider. I wondered what had put him in such a good mood.
We headed up the hills, to where Zakhar said there was a meadow where game was found often. My big friend trudged ahead of me, ploughing a path through the snow that I could follow. I did my best to place my feet where he had placed his own, so my boots would not sink too far, resulting in me then having to pull them out of the snow again, an exhausting task.
Still, even with Zakhar carving a way through the snow, and doing his best to stick beneath trees where the snowfall was less, I was soon gasping, sweat springing out under my arms and on my chest beneath my many layers of wool and fur. The air was freezing, but still, and did nothing to cool me.
My breath emerged before my mouth in great puffs of cloudy moisture.
"Zakhar—" I said, beginning to ask him if we could pause to rest.
But Zakhar spoke before I could. "We're here."
The meadow was small, little more than an indent in the forest. The day seemed brighter here, in the wide open space. A narrow thread of a creek, near frozen over, ran down the middle, it's soft burble loud in the silence of the snowy forest.
Of course now the meadow was just a field of white dotted here and there with the patterned lines of animal tracks. But I imagined in the spring, when the grass sprung green speckled with wildflowers and the creek shone in the sun, it must be beautiful.
Zakhar dug a hole out for us in the snow under a fir with low hanging bows, carefully carving out a smooth couch in the snow. Then he lay the bearskin he had slung across his shoulders on the ice couch and patted for me to sit.
"Here," he said.
I did as he asked, with a wry smile. This was rather more comfortable then most hunting outings I had been on.
"I do intend to shoot as well," I said, from my fur couch.
Zakhar crouched next to me, boots twisting in the snow. "Do you?" he asked. He took the bow slung across the back and adjusted the string, bending the bow further. "Can you shoot?"
I snorted. "Can I shoot? Of course. Better than you, most likely."
Zakhar chuckled, his sly grin mirroring my own. "I don't know. I'm pretty good."
As he spoke, he drew the bow taunt, pulling the arrow to his shoulder, shaft along one cheek.
He is skilled, I thought, looking at the way Zakhar's hands held the bow. Effortlessly, making it look easy.
Turning, I peered out between the narrow gap between the surface of the snow and the fir boughs, looking out across the white expanse of meadow.
A rabbit, white like the snow, had hopped to the creek, and was drinking at a break in the ice. It raised its head, its perfect pink nose twitching as it scented the air.
It was a gorgeous creature. It seemed a shame to kill it.
My stomach grumbled, reminding that it had only had stew of tubers and grains for the past two days, and was craving something more.
Zakhar let the arrow go.
With a whoosh it disappeared, shaking the fir bough that concealed our hideout.
I watched as the rabbit, unharmed, bolted away across the meadow, startled by the sound of the arrow.
"You missed," I said, peering out once more to try and find where Zakhar's arrow had gone.
"Did I?" said Zakhar, with a grin. There was confidence in his voice. He stood, slipping out from our hide, and started to trudge his way around the meadow. Confused, I stood and followed.
I found Zakhar crouched over a young buck, no more than two summers old. The prongs of antlers were just starting to form on its head.
Zakhar had a knife out in his hand, but had no need to use it. The animal was already dead. The arrow had struck the buck in the chest, and pierced its heart, even from such a distance. A quick death.
I had not even seen the animal. How had Zakhar made such a shot?
"Impressive," I said, watching as Zakhar pulled the arrow from the deer's chest. Drops of red fell to the snow, rubies on white.
Zakhar stirred the arrow in the snow to wash the blood, then returned it to the quiver on his back.
"Why don't you wait in the hide? I want to clean it here, rather than near the cabin where the blood may attract animals."
"I can help you clean it," I offered.
Zakhar looked up, surprised. "It is messy work," he warned.
I snorted. "Do you think I have never hunted before? You are starting to insult me."
The big man shrugged. "I don't know. I always imagined goddesses to have someone else clean their kills. If they go hunting at all."
I snorted again. "Give me the bloody knife," I said, holding out my hand.
Zakhar passed me the knife, clearly skeptical. I ignored his skepticism and began.
The deer was already on its back, and I pulled it into position, with the head up slope. My fingers felt the smooth pelt, finding the base of the breastbone. I made the incision just below that, then drew the knife down the animal's abdomen.
Zakhar watched, but said nothing.
When I had opened up the middle, I reached inside the still warm body, sinking in hot guts up to my elbows. I freed the innards from the ribs with my fingers and the knife, so that when Zakhar helped me turn the body back onto its side they fell out the incision I had made and onto the snow.
I glanced up once while working, to see Zakhar watching me with a strange look on his face. It was something like gratitude or... wonder? I did not understand what was so wondrous about gutting an animal, or why he was so grateful for it.
After scraping the insides clean, I took the heart, liver, and kidneys and tucked them back into the body. "What?" I said, at Zakhar's raised eyebrows. "No sense in waste. And they are tasty."
We buried the innards and other unusable parts deep in the snow, for some lucky creature to find come spring. Zakhar then helped me hang the deer by the antlers from a branch to allow the meat to cool.
In the crisp winter air that would not take long. I washed my red streaked hands and arms with snow as well as the knife and returned it to Zakhar.
"Shall we have a competition, while we wait?" I asked, rubbing my hands to take away the snow's burning chill.
Zakhar agreed. "Archery?" he asked. "You want to see my skill once more?"
I laughed. "I want to show you MY skill."
We found a space a little way from the deer, where an old knotted oak, lonely amongst the firs, provided ample targets.
"Whoever is closest to the large knot, the one just below the low branch," I said, pointing out the dark whorl of wood in the grey bark of the trunk.
Zakhar nodded, his eyes finding the whorl. "And what does the winner get?" he asked, pulling an arrow from the quiver and nocking it to the bow.
"A kiss from the loser," I said. The teasing words rolled off my tongue as easily as they always did, before I remembered who I was talking to.
Zakhar froze and looked at me from the corner of his eye. Damn, I cursed internally. Damn this unthinking, flirtatious nature of mine.
"On the cheek, of course," I hastily added.
Zakhar eyes found the target once more. "Alright then."
He waited a moment, arrow to his cheek, sizing up the shot. Then he let go.
With a whistle and a thunk the arrow found its mark, a little below the center of the knot we had chosen as target, but within the target nonetheless.
I congratulated Zakhar on his shot, then took the bow from him.
"Are you ready to see something truly spectacular?" I asked him, waggling my eyebrows dramatically.
"Aye, I'm ready. But will I see it?" Zakhar goaded as he withdrew an arrow from the quiver and passed it to me.
"Cheeky man, prepare to be bested!" I took the arrow. I noted it was fletched with green duck feathers, which were known to cause curve.
I drew the bow, the fletching between my fingers. The bow was firmer than I preferred, and required me to strain a bit to pull the string back. Zakhar had bent it so easily, but I forgot his strength was many times my own.
I sighted along the arrow, finding my mark, then let go.
The arrow whistled, thudded and hit... just below the target.
"Not bad," said Zakhar. My arrow was close to his own. But his was still the better shot.
I frowned. Had I underestimated the curve? Or perhaps a gust of wind I had not felt... though the most likely answer was I was simply out of practice.
"Let me have another shot. That was a trial," I said, reaching for another arrow.
"Buh-buh, a bet is a bet,' said Zakhar grinning, lifting the quiver out of my reach. "I want my prize." He bent down and offered me his cheek.
I sighed at his childishness. Standing on tiptoes, my feet slipping slightly in the snow, I placed my lips to his cheek.
Zakhar's skin was warm beneath my lips. His beard, the strands that brushed my lips and face, were soft, yet wiry, so I could not miss them. Tickling, insisting on my attention.
I quite liked the sensation.
How long has it been since I've kissed a bearded man? I wondered. My husband had grown a beard, on occasion, though not often enough for me to associate the feeling with him.
Though this could not really be counted as a kiss. Just a chaste peck on the cheek. Just the fulfillment of a simple bet between friends.
I wonder what it would be like to kiss Zakhar on the lips?
I quickly drew back, my own cheeks heated.
Perhaps I have been snowbound in that cabin too long.
I looked away, clearing my throat. "Another arrow if you will," I said, holding my hand out.
Zakhar placed an arrow in my palm. I did not need to look to feel his smile.
"This time..." I said, sighting one more time. Yes, I felt it, this would be the shot.
My arrow thudded into the knot of the tree, dead center.
"Ahah!" I cried lifting an arm in triumph. I passed the bow back to Zakhar. "Beat that, if you can. But you cannot, because there is no better shot."
I smirked at my success, then stopped. Strange. This feeling... it was the feeling I got when I beat a handsome man at his own game.
My eyes studied Zakhar, surveying his broad shoulders. The shapeliness of his jaw, visible even beneath his beard. His bright blue eyes and full pink lips that curled so deliciously when he smiled.
Oh. He is a handsome man.
Zakhar just shook his head at my gloating and drew another arrow from the quiver, smiling all the while.
The big man straightened up, drawing the arrow back. He sighted along the shaft for such a long time I began to feel uncertain. My shot was excellent, but perhaps, just perhaps, Zakhar could dislodge it with his own, were he to—
Zakhar's eyes slid to me, beside him. Then he let the arrow go.
It went wide, not even hitting the tree, instead hissing off into the undergrowth to bury itself in a snowdrift somewhere.
Zakhar shook his head. "Looks like it's your win," he said, but the smile was still on his mouth.
"It is," I said smugly.
Still smiling, Zakhar bent down, placing one large hand to my face. It was warm, and soft, but like his beard rough in places. I could feel the calloused parts of his hands against my jaw, as he gently turned my face up to him.
"What are you doing?" I asked him, surprised.
"Giving you your prize as winner," said Zakhar, pretending to look puzzled. But there was laughter, in his blue eyes. "Or do you not want it?"
"Oh. Yes. I want it," I said, eyes meeting his own.
Zakhar came closer. I closed my eyes.
I felt his warm breath on my face. Felt strands of his beard brush against my chin, my cheeks, my mouth. My lips tingled with the contact, sending bursts of energy across the sensitive skin.
Zakhar came even closer, until his breath warmed only my mouth. I could feel the heat of his lips hovering just over mine. I swallowed and Zakhar heard, chuckling and sending bursts of hot air onto my parched lips. And it wasn't just my lips. Other parts of my body warmed, responding to Zakhar's closeness.
I could take it no longer. I opened my eyes, to tell him to kiss me, or back away-
"Ah, I almost forgot," said Zakhar. "Just on the cheek, right?" He leaned over and brushed his lips to my right cheek, whiskers tickling against my skin.
Then he drew back, grinning, fully aware of the torment he had put me through.
"You—" I said, aggravated.
Zakhar laughed and backed up quickly, the air where he had been suddenly cold.
He tromped away from me, through the snow, to pull our arrows from the tree, then returned.
"How about another match?" he said "This time, loser has to carry the deer back."
*~*~*~*~*~*