Eventide by Celia Kyle

Chapter One
     
    “I must have him first.” Ama spoke softly through cracked lips after spying on the prince through the trees for some time. She lifted a gnarled hand and wiped away a string of spittle from her chin. “He is a lovely, meaty little beastie and I want to taste the flesh of his royal buttock.”
    Her sister, Angr, muscled her way to the front of the hiding place. “You took the last one first and there was little left for me. I found this one. I get him first.”
    “But I am the fairest,” Ama replied.
    “Fairest, indeed, my wart-ridden behind, sister! You are dark like a long winter without benefit of a fire’s glow. You are dark like the dung of an animal. He will not want you. He will shun you.”
    “My dear sister, Angr, you are pale as death and your flesh is as cold as a butchered carcass bled completely out and left to rot for seven days. Flies parade across your bosom as if on a Whitsunday stroll. He will not find arousal while in your bed even with the aid of illusion, nor will you find warmth from his lifeless corpse when he dies of mortification!”
    “Come eventide, he’ll not care if I am crawling with maggots when my mouth is around his member. He is a lovely man and his man’s body will respond to my illusion,” Angr replied.
    Ama nodded. “Come eventide, he will know the fullness of my bosom against his chest as I ride him to glory!”
    “But who shall have him first, sister?”
    “True, we must use caution. The last time we shared a human male he was dead before I achieved satisfaction. Without satisfaction there can be no quickening and dead meat turns sour quickly. We must persuade him more gently than the last,” Ama replied.
    “We can draw lots once we have him to our cave, sister. Send in the fog. Look, he is nearly finished field-dressing that fine young buck he killed with his arrow. I dare say, that if he survives our love, he will make a fine warrior someday,” Angr said.
    Ama nodded. “I shall have the goose sing down the fog.”
    *
    Prince Hlini had been trained to show no fear.
    Though separated from his hunting party, he had taken the time to clean his kill and string it up on his saddle for the long journey home. If he could discern where he was in the vast, dense forest. Come first light, he would scale a tree to get his bearings.
    His horse’s hooves were stone-bruised and the bay mare needed to rest. He had ridden her hard over craggy woodland trails, and his poor horse was too old for such treatment. Dusk had arrived and it was fast growing dark. The forest at night was no place to wander about.
    Whatever direction he decided to take would have to wait until morning.
    Lin, which was his mother’s pet-name for him, knew he should make a fire to illuminate the growing darkness with its warmth.
    He carried flint and steel and had both a skin of water and wine with him. For what was hunting without benefit of a tipple of the grape? He had a dry cloak and a small bag of grain for his horse.
    Should he survive the night, he would emerge from the forest victorious with the choice cuts of a young buck and three pheasants at his saddle. That would certainly impress the king and his council. The sodomite braggarts that they were.
    He knew he should remain calm and collected in the woods, no matter what manner of creature approached him. Forest spirits prey on the weak and challenge the brave to mock combat. Combat of mind, not weapon. He’d always been better with the sword than with his wit, so it was this conflict he feared the most.
    Will o’ wisps were the worst of the forest spirit lot. Their trickery could lead a man to his death. Rule number one for traveling the forest at night. Only trust the light of your own fire.
    The little stream he’d followed after being separated from the soldiers of his court had led to a pond deep in the heart of the wood backed by a lovely waterfall. Alas, the stream ended at the pond and if it continued, it must have done so