((Warning - nothing explicit, but an implied act that may squick people a bit.))

It took two days for Ethan to recover sufficiently that he could be put to work for the care he had been given. In that time, Rob had tried to explain how things worked here. The women were in charge, utterly. Men were captured for breeding and for the manual labor the women were unable to do - the heavy lifting, the work that required strength over skill. Most men accepted their fate; after all, they were fed and clothed, given a secure place to sleep, kept healthy. No invader had ever set foot in the valley, attackers kept away by dint of secrecy and the deadly patrols that walked the perimeter.

It was a good life, surprisingly, and though not all the men were pleased with their lot, they knew better than to rebel. The women were more than capable of making examples of anyone who tried to encourage a rebellion, and whatever it was they did, it was effective. Rob had almost vomited when he had tried to describe a recent such example, proving that control over the men was definitely something these Amazons had brought to a fine art.

Ethan didn't have too much to complain about. The food he was given was of a high quality, and there was plenty of it; the medical care was surprisingly good, despite the limitations every society now worked within. He had been provided with a comfortable bed, and clean clothing. In short, he had been provided with everything he needed to survive. No wonder so many men chose not to rebel. For all that they were treated as lesser beings, they were well cared for, from the lowest to the highest.

On the evening of the third day, the older woman who had first brought him to the care of the men returned for him. "Ethan," she called him by name. "It is time."

Cared for like pets or servants, Ethan thought. He didn't really understand why these men were so docile, so subservient, so ready to remain here where, though they were treated well enough, they were not free to make their own choices or live their own lives. A servant, even one that was treated well, was still a servant, and Ethan was far too headstrong and stubborn to ever willingly agree to a life where he was not master of his own fate, no matter the punishment, or so he now thought. He needn't ask where she was taking him or for what purpose, as he already knew. He was being taken to give stud service to some woman named Ember who was the daughter of their leader. With any luck, maybe she wouldn't like him and would send him to work in the fields with his friends. Even so, he thought, if nothing else, he might be able to gain some information, and so, he followed the woman along without argument.

She led him through more of the twisting, turning passageways, upwards, into the upper levels of this carefully carved complex. And as she walked, she spoke to him - without making eye contact, but still to him. "By now you will be aware of the punishments for bad service," she said quietly, acknowledging each woman they passed with an inclination of her head. "There are rewards for good service, determined by the woman you serve - in this case, Ember Keel. She has not had a man before, and has not shown any interest, but her mother feels it is time. Treat her well, and you will be well treated in response. Harm her, and Marka will hound you all the days of your life, I can guarantee it."

"I like how you all seem to assume I will be able to perform this task without any difficulty. What happens if I can't?" He was careful to say can't, not won't, though he had already decided he wasn't going to play the little role they had decided for him. He didn't bother to argue further, knowing whatever he said would be met with more threats of torture or death. What these women failed to understand was that some men would gladly endure such risks to have their freedom, and his presence was needed back home.

"If you cannot perform, there are drugs we can supply you with in order to assure that you can," she told him, though again, there was a hint in her tone that she disapproved of this way of things. "Ember's word is all it will take to determine if such an intervention is necessary; indeed, if any intervention is required." She paused at the end of a wide corridor, holding her hand out to stop him.

Partway along that corridor, the woman who had picked him out - Marka, the leader of this female tribe - was visible, hands on her hips, glaring through a doorway at someone unseen. "....the least you could do is make some effort to entice him," she was audible saying. "No man will want you as you are."

"Mother, I keep telling you, I don't want a man," a new voice answered - Ember's voice. She sounded young, and thoroughly exasperated.

"Whether you want one or not, you have a duty to bear daughters," Marka insisted through clenched teeth. She glanced along the passage, noting the waiting pair. "Just try." Without waiting for her daughter's answer, she turned and walked away, not even flinching when the door was slammed behind her.

It seemed the woman whom he was expected to service wanted no more of this than he did, and for some reason, he suddenly found that amusing. He chuckled ironically a moment, lowering his voice so that only his escort could hear what he was about to ask. "And what happens if she can't perform?" he asked, a little amused that the leader's own daughter seemed to have more than a little rebellion inside her.

The woman standing with him rolled her eyes at his amusement. "Your success depends upon whether or not she reports a success," she said, her own voice low enough for his ears alone. "I would recommend not antagonizing her, for your own sake, not to mention hers." Assured that Marka was definitely gone, she moved on once again, leading him to the heavy door that stood between him and his duty. She knocked, waited to be allowed permission, and pushed the door open, sending him inside. The door was drawn firmly closed behind him, and locked with a depressingly final click.

He found himself in a comfortable little space carved out of the rock itself, one alcove curtained off and clearly containing a bed, another curtain concealing another of those naturally heated baths carved into the rock itself. The place where he stood was reasonably circular in shape, holding a variety of seats, and a table and chair, along with an opening that suggested a balcony of some sort, through which natural evening light filtered to battle with the dimness of reclaimed candles.

And there was the woman he had been chosen for, curled up on a pile of cushions, steadfastly ignoring him. Her fingers were busy, sketching something on a pad, blonde hair cascading over one shoulder as she worked. She was, perhaps, a few years younger than him, draped in a shirt that had probably belonged to a man once, long legs bare and tucked comfortably underneath her. After a long moment, she sighed softly, glancing over at him. "You might as well make yourself comfortable, I'm not going to make you stand there all night."

He took in the room first, instincts looking for any possibility of escape. It looked like there was a balcony, though he couldn't be sure, and even if there was, it was most likely a high enough drop that would risk re-injuring the leg that was only just starting to heal. Just thinking about the wound made it ache dully, constant and throbbing, but apparently not deemed bad enough to keep him from performing this duty that neither of them seemed to want. His gaze fell lastly on the woman in question, though he couldn't see her well enough to tell whether she was attractive or not. It was a matter of opinion whether that would make things easier or harder for him. "It's nice to meet you, too," he replied as he stepped further inside, with the barest hint of a limp. He was dressed in clean clothes, looking as presentable as was possible, but nothing fancier than a plain-looking shirt, pants, and boots.

"I don't expect anything from you," she informed him, her eyes fixed on whatever she was working on now. "A bit of company wouldn't go amiss, but not if you're looking down your nose at me."

"You're the princess, Princess. I'm just a free man. Or was." He took a long swallow of water, draining the glass and stretched out his leg to rub at place where it ached. "What are you drawing?" he asked, attempting small talk.

"I'm not a princess," she murmured absentmindedly, watching the lines appear under her fingers. As he asked her what she was sketching, she realized what she was doing - his face had started to appear in chalk on the slate. She paused, staring at it for a moment. "Looks like I'm drawing you," she admitted, slightly nonplussed that her free-form had taken shape so quickly. "That is, if you don't mind being sketched by a princess."

"Why?" he asked, just as surprised that she was sketching him as perhaps she was to find his face on the slate beneath her hand. Why the hell would she want to draw him when she hardly even knew him' He curled his fingers around the glass, unsure what to do with it now that it was empty. He'd expected there to be guards here, someone who would make sure he didn't try to escape, but apparently, they had deemed their threats enough to keep him in line.

She was quiet for a moment, adding detail as she answered. "Maybe because you're the first person I've spoken to in almost eight months," she mused, carefully not showing any emotion as she said it. After all, he already considered her spoiled and used to getting her own way - why ruin the illusion for him' "Maybe because you're handsome. Or maybe I just like drawing faces."

He didn't really consider her anything just yet, but he was angry for being brought here, even though he was just as equally grateful for being rescued. Mixed feelings, he thought. He'd been treated well, and yet, he'd also had a gun held to his head and been drugged and threatened with punishment worse than death. What was he supposed to think" "That's not really an answer," he pointed out. Unlike her, he didn't bother to hide what he was feeling, though there was no accusation in his words. So, she thought him handsome. Big deal. He thought she was beautiful, but that didn't mean he was going to fall head over heels in love with her and give her six children for her mother to fawn over.

"I don't have an answer," she shrugged, shaking her head. "I draw what?s foremost in my mind, or what is right in front of me. It keeps my hands busy." She brushed her hair back off her face, leaving a smudge of chalk on her temple, and resumed sketching. He hadn't told her not to, after all. "I have a salve somewhere that might stop your leg from hurting so much."

He accepted her answer, wondering if she drew not only to keep her hands busy but to keep herself from going out of her mind. If she was telling the truth, then she was as much a prisoner here as he was. That thought made him soften toward her situation a little, though he still wasn't sure if she was telling him the truth. "I didn't say it hurt," he replied a little too quickly, though he had clearly been favoring it. "Your mother seems to think I'm healthy enough."

"Yes, well, she seems to think that all a man needs is an erection," Ember said, a little disgusted by her mother's way of thinking. "Just like her mother, and her mother before that. The most extreme view shouted the loudest keeps the power here - if it wasn't for people like Gia, men wouldn't be treated any better than the animals."

"What makes you think they are?" he countered, though all things considered, he hadn't really been treated that badly. They had tended to his wound, clothed and fed him. They'd taken care of his physical needs, much like one would a pet or a farm animal, but that was all. He had survived, yes, but he wasn't really living.

"It isn't ideal, I know that," Ember agreed with him. "My father used to tell me about the place he grew up, a place he called Pax. About how men and women were equals, balancing each other out, and they all had a choice about how they lived. It may not be perfect, but it sounds it from this perspective."

If nothing else she'd said so far had gotten his attention, that did. "Your father" You knew your father" He was from Pax?" Well, of course he was. Where else would he be from' There weren't that many villages to choose from, though it had been a long time since anyone - man or woman - had disappeared from the village. "Nothing is perfect," he added as an afterthought, looking at a distorted image of her through the glass.

"My father was a good man," she said quietly. "He somehow managed to stay on Marka's good side, just so he could have time with me. But when she used him a second time, trying to get another daughter, she gave birth to a son." Her face had gone pale in the dim light as she recounted this. "I never saw my father again."

"Is that why you hate her?" he asked from where he sat, a safe distance from her. He couldn't quite see her face from there, but he could tell from the sound of her voice that she was upset. No one was that good a liar.

"For making me watch my baby brother die from exposure to the winter?" she asked quietly, her voice tight as she spoke. "Or for taking away the only person I trusted" I was eight years old, and I knew it was her. Her and her petty, stupid ideas about men being an inferior species."

Despite his own attempt to keep his emotions in check, he found himself shuddering briefly at the thought of that. He knew he had just barely escaped the same fate, or so he'd been told, though he'd been lucky enough to have been found somehow and raised by a village couple who'd been unable to have any children of their own. "I don't blame you for hating her," he said quietly, his stubborn demeanor softening a little. A thought came to mind, but it was such a crazy thought he wasn't even sure it would work. He kept it to himself for now, needing to know more about her before he dared mention it.

"You're one of a very few," she told him, taking a deep breath to set aside the worst of her feelings. "It wasn't always like this. My great-grandmother took advantage of the bad feeling after most of the men were killed - you know, when the mutants first showed up" And things have stayed in her xenophobic, man-hating pattern ever since." She straightened her shoulders, glancing up at him briefly. "So you're from Pax, are you? Did Niles get there safely?"

He was staring at her now as he tried to take this all in, absorb what she was telling him and put it in perspective with his own knowledge of the past. "Your great-grandmother blamed men for what happened" They were killed trying to defend their families - women and children. How are they - we - to blame for any of this?" he asked, dumbfounded by her statement and barely hearing her mention of a man who'd supposedly escaped. He shook his head after a moment and shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know anyone named Niles."

"I'm going to be punished anyway, no matter what happens," she pointed out with a shrug. She had long since accepted that she was not going to live for too many more years, regardless of her own wishes. "So what is it you propose, then" Exactly, please. I'd like to know how you plan on spending your time while we're building up my mother's trust."

"I'm not planning anything. Not yet. I need to know more first. I need some time. You can buy me that." Whatever it was she thought of him or of any man in general, if she thought he was going to leave her behind, she was wrong. A thought occurred to him suddenly, and he glanced worriedly around the room. What if they weren't alone" What if someone was listening" There was only one way to find out. He pushed himself to his feet, not without effort, doing his best to hide the wince, and limped closer. He laid one finger across his lips to indicate that he wanted her to be silent a moment before gesturing for the slate board.

She blinked in surprise, but was thankfully quick on the uptake. She knew her mother well enough to know that there would be guards in the corridor outside, though she doubted Marka would stoop to actively spying on her. Still, if it made him more comfortable ....She handed over the slate and chalk without thinking, not even wiping the sketch of his face from it first.

He paused only a moment to glance at the sketch she'd made of his face. It was good - really good, but he didn't have any time to comment on that right now. He assumed she knew how to read and write, something his foster parents had been adamant about teaching him, and started to scribble something on the board with the chalk. Once he was finished, he turned the board back toward her with a message that read: Is anyone listening"

Reading the message, Ember felt a brief flare of satisfaction that she had guessed what was bothering him. "No," she assured him. "The only way they could is if someone was on the balcony, and that's easily checked out. Listen ....you can't hear anything from outside this room."

He turned his head toward the balcony, which he'd been curious about ever since his arrival here anyway. How far above the ground were they' Were there any guards below, and if so, how many were there and where were they' "Would you show me?" he asked, needing to be sure they weren't being spied on before he dared go any further.

"Sure." She didn't see any harm in it - the worst he could do was either jump or push her, after all. Awkwardly, she tugged the hem of the long shirt she wore downward, wondering why she was feeling self-conscious of her legs. She'd never felt like that before. She hesitated, looking to him uncertainly, fairly sure that whatever was wrong with his leg was causing him more than a little discomfort. She doubted he had been offered any pain relief for it. "Do-do you want to lean on me?"

He seemed surprised by the request and perhaps even a little touched by it, but he shook his head, his pride taking precedence over the pain. "No, I'm-I'm okay." For now, anyway, he privately thought to himself. She had offered to give him something for the pain, but he'd been too stubborn to accept. Maybe that would change.

"All right." Rolling her sleeves up to her elbows, more to keep her hands busy than for any real purpose, she turned to lead the way to the heavy hide curtain that blocked off the opening to the balcony. Balcony was something of a misnomer - it was, essentially, just a ledge cut into the rock of the hill, open to the elements. There were no other ledges near it, though others were visible above and below to either side, and the drop was not one for the faint-hearted. It did, however, offer an unparalleled view of the hidden valley, even in the moonlight.

He set the slate board and chalk down on the nearest table before hobbling after her, trying not to limp, but failing. The claws had cut deep, and it had only had two days to heal, after all. As he stepped out onto what served for a balcony, the first thing he saw was a breath-taking view of the valley, a clear star-filled sky overhead. He couldn't help but appreciate the view. Was it any wonder that the women who lived here guarded this place so carefully' But that wasn't why he'd asked her to lead him here. He stepped a little closer, trusting she wouldn't push him over the ledge.

If she did, her mother would only find someone else to service her, and her next choice might not be as understanding as Ethan. He estimated the drop to be about twenty feet, followed by a sheer incline of roughly the same distance. Even in the dark, his eyesight was keener than most. He lifted his head toward the guard tower some distance from there, keeping sharp lookout on the men's quarters and the fields where they worked during the day. Escape wasn't impossible, but it wouldn't be easy either. "Those are the only guards on duty outside the keep?"

Ember nodded. "Apart from the perimeter patrols," she told him. "Four teams of three scout our border every hour of every day. If you get past the snipers in the watch tower, you have to contend with them. They're ordered to shoot on sight, regardless of who you are."

Ethan wondered if that wasn't where her friend Niles was caught and shot on sight. It would explain why no one had ever heard from him again. He fell silent a moment, lost in thought. It would be difficult, but it was still do-able. He was surprised no one had ever made it, but there was another problem. "How far from the village are we?" he asked, knowing that as soon as anyone was found missing, a search party would more than likely be sent out to find them, so it wasn't just a matter of getting past the sentries, but making it far enough without getting tracked down and killed.

"Pax?" she asked, just to be clear, leaning back against the rock face worn smooth by the elements. "On foot, it takes about three hours to reach our border; from there, about a day to reach your land. But that takes you through the mutants' territory, so it would take longer."

But he'd made it here in less than a day. There were advantages and disadvantages to going on foot. He'd have to weigh them all before deciding on a plan of action. He'd also have to take the weather into consideration. Winter was coming, which would make going on foot that much more difficult, if not suicidal. Then there was the matter of allies. It would be easier if he just went alone. One man would be harder to track than a group of men, but then the more numbers they had, the better the odds if it came to having to fight their way out or if they had to contend with mutants. He found his leg aching again, reminding him that he'd been standing too long, and he swayed slightly before reaching out to steady himself against the rock. "It will take planning," he muttered thoughtfully more to himself than to her.

He had no idea what she intended for herself, and even if he had, he wouldn't have volunteered to help. Though he certainly was no virgin himself, he only knew of one way to make a woman bleed, and he wasn't quite ready to assist her with that yet, if he ever was. She had made it quite clear that she had no intention of fulfilling her mother's wishes, with or without his help. He made no argument regarding privacy either, knowing he was going to have to take off his pants in order to apply the salve, though they had been kind enough to offer him underwear.

Feeling awkward, and more than a little embarrassed, Ember shrugged once again and nodded to him, backing away to the alcove where her bed lay. She drew the curtain closed behind her, collecting a smooth, blunt stick from beneath her pillow. She had been planning this for a long time, but that didn't make it any easier to go through with.

"Can I ask you a question?" he asked as soon as she was out of sight, partly to fill the awkward silence and partly to help distract him from what he was about to do. He waited until he was sure she wasn't able to see him before undoing his pants and tugging them down over his hips.

"We've got nothing but time," was her philosophical answer as she eased herself down onto her bed, trying to relax herself. This was going to hurt, after all. "Ask away. I think I owe you more than a few answers, don't I?"

That wasn't actually true, but he wasn't about to argue the fact just yet. He leaned over to examine the wound, frowning as he realized it was worse then he'd thought. They'd done a fair job of stitching it closed, but it was going to leave a nasty reminder in the form of a scar. It looked to be healing, though it was going to take time. Thankfully, it didn't look like it was infected, at least, not yet. He wasn't a stranger to this sort of thing, a little knowledge learned back home having prepared him for such eventualities in the field. "Your mother doesn't expect me to get you pregnant the first time, does she?" he asked, knowing it often took weeks and even months of trying before such a thing was successful.

There was a pause before she answered - whatever she was doing behind that curtain, it evidently required a fair amount of concentration. "No," she said finally, her voice just loud enough for him to hear her clearly. "You're stuck with me for a long time, I'm afraid. She'll give it a year, with monthly examinations. If I'm not pregnant by the end of a year, I don't know what her plan is." Ember fell silent again, but it was a heavy sort of silence, the kind of silence that rises when someone is trying very, very hard not to make a sound.

"So, there's no rush then," he said. There was plenty of time to formulate a plan, before they had to go through with it. In the meantime, they might have to fake the rest, but that all depending on how vigilant those monthly exams were. If her mother was smart, she'd keep a better eye on her, but maybe she figured threats were enough to keep them both in line. He furrowed his brows as she grew silent, though he assumed she had gone back to her sketching and was trying her best to give him his privacy. He reached first for the pot she had indicated would help with the pain, as that was his primary concern at the moment. She'd said that he only needed a little, and he didn't want to use any more than was necessary.

The little pot was half full of a creamy-looking salve that numbed the fingertips as soon as he touched it - evidently that was its main function. Ember had clearly used it sparingly herself. From behind the curtain, she spoke again, her voice very tight, as though she were holding her breath. "No," she managed. "No rush ..." She stopped suddenly, her breath taken in with a hiss, and all was silent once again.

He took up as little of the ointment as needed and smeared it over the ugly-looking wound that cut across his left thigh. He sighed in relief as soon as the ointment touched his skin, temporarily at least numbing the pain. He smeared as much of the stuff as he could manage off his fingers and onto his leg, wiping the excess off on his pants. It was only then that he noticed how quiet she was and he paused to wonder why. "Are you all right?" he asked, glancing over at the bed, unable to see anything past the curtain.

Again, there was a pause, but this time there was just the faintest suggestion of a pained whimper before she spoke. "I-I'm fine," she insisted indistinctly. Another pause, and her voice grew a little stronger, more in control of herself. "How are you doing out there?"

He couldn't help but notice the whimper, and he wondered what she was doing back there. Was she crying, and if so, why' Was it that horrible to have to spend time with him until he could get them both of out here" "I'm fine. Better. Thanks," he replied, trying not to sound too concerned or worried. "I know you-you probably don't want to spend any more time with me than you have to, but with winter coming..." He trailed off as he picked up the second pot of ointment, lifting it to his nose and taking a curious sniff. There was knowledge here he was unaware of that would be useful to his own people once he returned.

The second ointment was greasier in composition, with an odd, chemical smell he probably couldn't place. It might not have looked like much, but when it was applied, the stitched up gash in his thigh seemed to tighten slowly, the very edges sealing themselves together. Evidently there were a few things he had yet to learn about the plants that had developed after the Destruction, things that these Amazons had discovered over the centuries.

After another pause, Ember spoke again. There was still a little pain in her voice, but she seemed in better control of herself. "They're not going to let you out of this room," she warned him. "Like I said, we have nothing but time. We could at least try to be friends." There was a creak from the bed as she rolled onto her feet, and another quiet whimper as she realized the knock on effect of what she had just done to herself. She hadn't realized it would make her feel so sore when she walked.

That little bit of information startled him - the part about not being able to leave, that is - and his frown deepened, pausing a moment as if to digest that before continuing to spread the second pot of ointment over his thigh, a little astounded by the effect it was having on the wound. "So, I'm a prisoner here, until I get you pregnant, and then what?" he queried.

She sank down as he came back into view, automatically covering herself with her hands, her chin just above the level of the water. "You don't have to," she pointed out quietly. "You could as easily take some of the men with you. And when I say easily, I mean it will be close to impossible, no matter who goes with you. But you should wait until your leg is healed, at the very least."

He didn't dare look her way. Not again. He'd seen too much as it was. She had offered him a certain amount of privacy, and the least he could do was do the same for her. He felt himself flushing hotly at the realization of what he'd done, thankful his back was turned to her and that she couldn't see his face. "I'm not leaving without you. I'm not leaving you here at the mercy of that..." He stopped just short of calling her mother a bitch. "At the mercy of your mother. And that's final." He wiped his hands on a towel and turned to leave the room, giving her back her privacy and feeling more than a little troubled about the whole situation.

Shy and awkward, it took a long moment before she felt confident enough to ease herself out of the water and wrap herself in one of the linens. The ache had subsided, though she had a feeling it would last for a few days. Dry and dressed once again in her shirt, she opened the curtain, her sense of heated awkwardness keeping her from meeting his gaze. "Thank you," she said in a small voice, hugging her arms about herself. "I'm sorry I worried you."

He wasn't quite sure what to do with himself now, and he was feeling utterly confused. There was no arguing the fact that she was beautiful, and it seemed his initial judgement of her had been completely wrong. He was standing near the chair, putting the tops back on the ointment bottles and looking more than a little thoughtful. "I'm sorry I judged you. It's just..." He shrugged his shoulders, without looking up.

"You weren't to know the truth," she excused his initial perception of her easily enough, shuffling back toward the bed to hunt out fresh panties. For some reason, she felt exposed even when she had them on, something she couldn't quite understand. Why, all of a sudden, did she feel so vulnerable" "You can't sleep out there, you know," she said, her voice still small in the quiet. "You're injured, you should sleep in a bed. I-I can sleep out there, if you would rather sleep alone."

"I'm fine," he insisted almost as quietly back. "I can sleep anywhere." And he had. He'd spent plenty of nights on the cold, hard ground. Sleeping in a chair or on the floor would seem like luxury compared to that. He only had one concern. "Will they be expecting to find us together in the morning?" he asked, unsure what to expect at all, other than for what he'd been told, which wasn't much.

"I don't know," she admitted, moving to cover the bloodied sheet on the bed with another, hiding it from view. "I ....I've never done this before." For some reason, just saying that aloud struck her as ridiculously funny. A giggle bubbled up, escaping despite her best efforts, followed by another, and another, until she was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding her stomach as she laughed hysterically.

He set the pots back on the table, knowing she'd have to put them back in their hiding place before morning, but not wanting to presume to do it himself. He was as much a guest as a prisoner here - this was her home, not his. He glanced over at her when he heard her starting to laugh, furrowing his brows and wondering if she'd just lost her mind. "Did I say something funny?" he asked, looking a little perturbed or confused at her sudden fit of laughter.

"I'm sorry," she gasped, trying to get a grip on herself. "I'm sorry, it's just ..." Drawing in a deep breath, she raised laughing eyes that were wet with tears to look at him. "This is all deeply weird. I just ....I can't believe what I just did." Her breath shuddered for a moment, struggling once again as she fought not to let laughter turn into tears, and she looked away, pushing herself to her feet. "I should put those away."

"I'm sorry, but I'm not seeing the humor in it," he told her, as he looked over at her, his gaze following her as she moved to her feet. That was when he noticed something else, and that look on his face changed again. "What..." he started to ask, spying something on the floor near the bed and wondering if it was what he thought it was. He quickly put two and two together, scowling over at the stick on the floor that had taken her virginity in place of him. "You should get rid of that," he told her.

"Well, I refuse to cry in front of you over it," she informed him stubbornly, but whatever heat was in her disappeared as he drew her attention to her primitive piece of equipment. Blunt and thick, she had spent weeks smoothing it, sealing the wood, but still it had caused more pain than she could have imagined. Swiftly she bent, scooping it up and throwing it onto the fire. Just as swiftly, she marched out of the bedroom, ignoring the faint limp in her stride and the ache with every jolting step, taking up the pots from the table to kneel and secrete them in her box once again.

"So, laughing is better?" he asked, taking a step forward to follow her, then thinking better of it. He was relieved she had at least tossed the hated stick into the fire, though he couldn't help shuddering at the thought of her using it to make herself bleed, and all because of him, or so she'd said. For some reason, he suddenly felt a cold chill come over him, and he realized with some embarrassment of his own that he was still in his shorts.

"Can we not talk about it?" she asked quietly, hands on the smooth lid of the wooden box beneath the desk, eyes on her hands. "You should sleep in the bed tonight, if you can stomach being that close to me. I don't know when they're going to come in - it could be any moment, it could be tomorrow."

"Stop it. You make it sound like you're some kind of monster." He glanced at the pants he'd discarded on the chair and debated whether to put them back on or not. He'd be far more comfortable without them, and it would be good for his leg. If they came in and found them fully dressed, that might toss up a red flag that he hadn't done his so-called duty, but he wasn't thrilled about the idea of them being found in an uncompromising position together either. "Are they going to check on us everyday and expect us to have..." He didn't bother to finish his statement, letting her fill in the rest.

She shook her head. "I don't think so," she said, pushing herself to stand up. "They'll examine me tomorrow, to make sure I'm broken in, and after that, I think they'll revert to the breeding schedule. Once a month, we'll be checked out to make sure we're healthy and to see if we've made a baby yet." Her fingers fidgeted in and out of her shirt before she stopped herself, turning to begin blowing out the candles in this room.

Ember watched him in silence, her eyes studying his profile in the gloom for a long moment before she shifted to blow out the candle beside her. With just the fire, the cave was a mass of flickering shadows, darkness overwhelming the light where it could, but unable to make the fact of his presence beside her slip from her mind. Settling onto her back once again, she stared into the dancing darkness. "You'll get cold," she warned him in a low voice.

He frowned at her warning, already feeling a damp chill creeping into his bones and knowing she was right. "I promise I won't touch you," he told her, even though he felt an almost overwhelming urge to do just that, loneliness sneaking up on him, along with the chill. He pulled the covers aside and slid beneath them, the wounded leg making it difficult to maneuver.

Despite her obvious nerves at being so close to him, she moved to help, drawing back the quilt to help him slide underneath with a little more ease. Once he was settled, she lay back once again, shoulder to shoulder with him. "Ethan?"

"Hmm?" he asked, once he was settled again, feeling strangely awkward there beside her. It wasn't like he'd never slept with a woman before, but never in a circumstance quite like this.

"Have you ever ..." Her voice trailed off. Apparently the darkness made her a little braver, but not quite that brave. She shook her head, biting her lip once again. "Never mind. Silly question." Because obviously he had, she told herself. He came from a village where men and women were equals, and he was a very handsome man. Perhaps he didn't have one girl waiting for him; for all she knew, there could be dozens of girls hoping he would come back.

If there was anyone back home waiting for him, other than his father, he was unaware of it. "Yes," he replied quietly, guessing at her question. "But not in a long time." So long, he wasn't quite sure he could remember when. His mother's death had changed him, turning the once happy-go-lucky boy into a man with little time for the foolishness of his youth. "Doesn't matter. There's no one waiting for me back home, if that's what worries you."

"Oh." She frowned in the darkness, hoping he couldn't perceive the relief she could feel at knowing he wasn't spoken for in any way. And a little confused. Not in a long time, he'd said. Did that mean he'd forgotten how to do it' Was it something you forgot how to do, or was it something you were born knowing how to do' And was this odd jumpy, burning feeling inside her normal" She didn't dare ask him. "I should let you sleep."

He was frowning in the darkness, glad she couldn't see his face. "I'm not really looking forward to morning," he admitted, his own stomach feeling all tied up in knots for various reasons. Here he was lying next to a beautiful girl and he'd promised not to touch her, even though that was exactly what he was expected to do. What the hell was the matter with him' "I'm going to go stir crazy here," he found himself telling her, assuming he wouldn't be leaving this room anytime soon.

"They won't do anything to you," she assured him quietly. "Just don't talk back, and don't try to stop them, and they won't touch you." She sighed softly - that was the closest she was going to come to telling him what she knew what going to happen in the morning. His comment on being confined made her snort without humor. "I think I already am," she murmured.

He made no further comment about the morning, but if anyone so much as laid a hand on her, he wouldn't be blamed for his actions. Odd that, when just a few hours ago he couldn't have cared less. Funny how things changed when you least expected it. "Maybe the sooner the better then," he murmured back. The hell with winter. He'd never make it to spring if he was trapped here all winter.

"Maybe." She was still and silent for a long moment, before releasing a quiet sigh. "Good night, Ethan." Shifting, she rolled onto her side, her back to him, and closed her eyes, trying to ignore the body so close to her own. She didn't think she was going to sleep much tonight.

"Good night, Ember," he replied, turning onto his right side, his back to hers. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to sleep, but as it turned out, he was more weary than he thought. No sooner had his eyes drifted closed and he was falling into a restless sleep full of worries and fears.

It was going to be a long night.

((What do you reckon' Is a girl who is prepared to maim herself for your safety a keeper" :grin: Who can say' Many thanks to Ethan's player!))