Kohn

Since I glimpsed Anya in the cave, my only thought has been how to make her my own. Now that the gods have blessed our union in ways beyond my wildest imaginings, now that she wants to stay as much as I want her to, I am struck by the gravity of what this means.

I am taking her away from all that she has known. Like most other humans, she was raised with misconceptions about our people, our culture. Now she will live by our laws, by my rule. Will she be able to adapt? A warrior’s mate is cherished, but she is also disciplined if she does anything that can bring harm to herself or others. My little human has much to learn. Many a night will I put her to bed with a sore bottom.

It has been two days since the Moon Festival ended. We will not see another in two earth years. By then, we will be parents. The gods have said so.

I allowed Anya’s friend to stay in our village. It will be the last human she will see for many moons. We have decided to close our rituals to tourism. We will work harder on restoring the mines. We will make do. We will recover, with our pride intact.

The long night is coming to an end and the sky has taken on the deep pinkish purple of an extended dawn. Anya is looking at the stars, which shine a bit brighter now against the vast, vibrant mantle.

“There’s Earth,” she says, pointing to one bright spot that does not twinkle. “I focused on it the night you bared me.” She grows quiet for a moment. “I should feel a sense of loss, but I don’t.”

“Not even for your friend?”

She smiles and shakes her head. “Laylah surprised me. She said she envied me. Earth men…” She stops, trying to find the words. “They’re too civilized. We have no warriors there. No man would fight or die for me. No man would take me as you have. Yes, we have respect, but we’ve lost the primal connection, the mad passion that makes magic.”

“We will make magic for many moons,” I tell her.

“I love you,” she says.

Love. I know this word. It is an Earth concept. It is something that happens when a human male and female decide to give it to one another. An Ythilian warrior captures his mate and demands her affection. She fights him until he proves to her that he is strong enough to stay by her side. Is that love? I do not know. I only know that Anya is a gift from beyond the stars. A gift from the gods, and I will forever seek to show her that I am strong and worthy.

“Come here,” I say. We’re sitting on a pink slab of rock. She is naked, and I am happy to see her become comfortable enough to walk out clad only in the air around her, as mated women do on evenings like this.

I push her to all fours, and get behind her. Her dusky, slick inner labia are engorged and protrude slightly from between the pale white lips of her pussy. Her pussy. It is still so tight, for she is so small, and I am so large. I push into her, enjoying her little whimper. I will pound her hard, later, in the tent. But I am mindful of her hands and knees, and move in and out of her with easy, slow strokes as I tell her how beautiful she is, how special, as I regale her with words she would call ‘love,’ which only end when our passionate cries reach the sky, bringing with it, as if by magic, the first glimpse of the rising sun.