The Road

Cynthia threw Alberto into the wagon's bunk, the fire in her eyes matching the desire in his body.

She leans in for a kiss, lips meet as her hands work his vest off and he reaches to remove her tunic.

Her hips start desperately grinding against his groin. He curses himself a fool for not having thought about that.

Cynthia senses the movement and adjusts, starting on his belt buckle and he finishes removing her from her tunic.

The leaf dappled moonlight danced upon her chest with her sitting up to completely take off his pants.

Her muscles from long days in the field were more developed than the ones he earned from a life of loading and unloading wagons.

The heat in her eyes fades to puzzlement. Alberto looks down to see what had changed the mood so.

His penis was glowing with light matching that of the transformation she had triggered weeks ago.

As the light faded all that was left was a little daisy.

He hated daisies.

Alberto sat up, the predawn light filtered in through the wagon as the desire and embarrassment of the dream faded.

The pair had been traveling for several weeks, usually he slept outside in a sort of half watch and to preserve Cynthia's modesty.

Though when it rained he had no choice but to take the second bunk in the wagon, as he had last night when they stopped.

He sighed and when he felt safe to movie poked his head out side, everything was wet but looked like it was not going to continue raining.

Stretching Alberto tended the team before starting a small cook fire.

With the familiar tasks in hand his mind drifted over the weeks on the road. Nothing more unpleasant than some querulous town officials puffing up their own importance through being obsessive about paperwork had marred the time so far.

Alberto was smitten, as evidenced by his dreams, and loved every day learning something new about Cynthia.

Her favorite flower, color and food.

How she often cries at night missing her parents and older siblings as well as now her grandparents and the rest of the village when she thinks he cannot hear her.

He also loved how steadfast she was, like a good farm ox she took to her task with a steady strength that matched her muscles. (the ones he had briefly glimpsed on accident when she was bathing in a creek once and now were etched upon his dreams.)

Alberto wanted to give her some sort of weapon's training but between not being very good himself, and their unspoken hesitation to touch each other for fear of more magic happening, they kept putting that off.

The sound of rattling from inside the wagon indicated that Cynthia was locking things down and folding bunks up as her contribution to getting things ready to move again.

They eat the breakfast, douse the fire and are back on the road quickly and pass another pleasant day in travel.

Well…pleasant for Alberto.

Cynthia's mind was in turmoil, she had spent years in constant activity for her village and so was not happy with the forced idleness of travel. Compounding this the pleasantly rolling scenery did not occupy her mind giving it ample opportunity to worry over, well what ever it could:

Had the Caravan and her village been attacked by bandits?

What would happen if the governmental inspectors came upon the empty village for a spot inspection and then sent enforcers to hunt her family down for moving without permission?

What if she was now like the boy in the old tales who had been cursed by a wizard to turn everything he touched into precious gems before dying of starvation?

This last one was less bothersome as it was clear food was not affected by her new found power, but what if she or Alberto got hurt and the other had to bandage the wounds of the other? They had brushed and held hands a few times so far but how much contact would trigger a transformation?

Did she dare suggest that they try some experiments before they found a qualified teacher? What if Alberto got stuck as those daggers? She had no idea where they were or how to properly enter a town!

What if no qualified teach was to be found or decided it would be easier to turn her in to the Broken One for some reward? Even if her power was no threat he collected people for fun.

So she sat and stewed in her thoughts, while Alberto tenderly nursed his fantasies.

**

Nightfall found them pulled off the road in a clearing of trees grander and taller than anything Cynthia had seen before.

"These trees are supposedly the remnants of the Great Elven forest back when it reached down out of the Elf lands all the way to the Southern ocean. Until King Henry the Unifier of Mankind carved roads into it to unify the two human nations on either side and his son Harold the Builder logged all but these several square miles to build vast fleets of wagons and ships. Some of which still sail the seas and travel the roads, or so it is said." Alberto expounded gleefully over dinner.

Despite the unfamiliar noises Cynthia took their dishes to wash and rinse in the small stream at the back of the clearing, the whole of which must maintained as some sort of rest area.

She looked up into the darkened forest, the edge of the clearing was essentially fenced in by the smaller shrubs and and young saplings that would not have enough light to grow any deeper in.

A pair of glowing eyes reflected the fire light behind her in the brief moment of contemplation. She startled a little to which the eyes responded with a blink and disappeared.

Unnerved Cynthia stood and gathered the cleaned dishes and started to walk back to the wagon and firelight flickered and the full moon peaked out from behind the clouds.

A shrill human scream pierced the dark.

Cynthia dropped everything except the iron pan and pushed past the underbrush into the forest proper, seeking the source of the sound.

Alberto looked towards the creek at the sound, his blood chilling at the idea of Cynthia being in trouble.

Top his relief and annoyance, Cynthia looked unharmed, but was actively disappearing into the woods. With a grumbled curse he grabbed up his knife and charged after her.

She had enough of a head start, and the woods were dark enough that once he cleared the brush he had to stop and listen.

To his right the sound of running steps in the thick leaf clutter sounds and he charged after it.

In his haste he never saw the glowing ring of mushrooms.