The hardest part was getting into the encampment. Under the cover of night, while the moon was hidden behind the clouds and mountains, Litea dodged and darted her way past the half-drunk guards and watchmen. Their victories yesterday and the day prior too had left them cause to celebrate, and despite the battle hardly being won, they had reveled and drank and sang songs of glory they've not yet achieved. Such environs gave Litea the opportunities she needed to sneak in. 

 

She stopped behind a tent, pausing to gather her thoughts and plan her next movement. The black cloak and hood she had used to sneak in wouldn't cover her further in the camp, where torch and firelight would draw suspicion to her- she needed to find something else, something more suitable. 

 

She removed the garment, revealing her body- slim and slender, on the short side, with the undeniably feminine body that would often peg her a girl of sixteen or seventeen (although she was truly nineteen, and the fact that her body didn't match her age only somewhat irked her), with a soft face and medium features, grey-green eyes and a brunette mop of long shaggy hair atop her head.

 

She buried the black cloak under some burlap sacks that once held flour, and then pulled out a small green polished stone that might have been Jade.

 

It was a medium, a conduit for magical power that was drawn about her, and a mark of the mage's science and magic academy in Port Lein, just south of here. 

 

Litea said some incantation, in the rough dialect of her untrained sorcerers mouth and breathed onto the stone. It glowed slightly, imbued with magical force that was now ready to do her bidding. All of the school's mage's had a stone such as this, bonded to them. Without it, she could wreck no major magic- only minor incantations and iterations; flashes of light, pops, noxious sprays, etc.

 

She used the stone to change her clothes, the plain green academy uniform, to a rough spun tunic that matched more in line with what the various guards and workers wore this evening. Setting the stone away, she took a deep breath, realizing just how close she was to achieving her goal. How close to vengeance she was. 

 

It made her stomach aflutter. She was really going to do this. 

 

Another deep breath and she stepped forward, into the mud and deeper into the encampment.

 

Again it dawned on her just how busy the camp was. Victory, both past and impending saturated the air in a thick cloud of heady feel and aerosoled alcohol. Bawdy tales and randy laughter filled the air as well, knights boasting of conquest both martial and sexual. In such a procession of drunkards and revelers, one might've been hard pressed to know where to begin. 

 

Not for her, however- she knew her mark and with what pack she ran.

 

Her quarry was not hard to find- she tugged on the shirt fan nearby worker and asked where the sellswords and knighterrants set their tents and sleep. She was pointed over to a very large fire, were crowds roared in laughter and lutes and stringscops sounded. Funny, she didn't think of that- sellswords and knighterrants are often the boldest of creatures (provided there be gold aplenty), and they often the loudest at encampments. And the most drunk. And ridiculous. 

 

Still, she ought to exercise caution- there was no telling which would party too hard and those who didn't party at all, for if nothing else but the sake of being ready. 

 

Litea hoped her quarry fall in the former tonight.

 

Still, more than like there would be a battle in a few hours, when dawn broke. It would be the final, decisive battle, the last to end the conflict between two petty kingdoms growing in the carcass of a post-invasion Ilica. Such was a common scene, a major battle happening every seemingly four months or so. Some farmers and villages, just trying to get by and bounce back oft found themselves and their families and their farms caught up in a flash that engulfed areas of interest- some of them fertile and giving land, others the ancient seats of houses long dead or scattered, their so-called claimants and heirs bearing no pedigree but a painted shield adorned in the old house colors or sigils (Litea always thought they mysteriously looked freshly painted, despite the claimant boasting they found it in a family crypt- unlikely seeing as how the dead all came up and out under the attempted coup of the entire continent). Still, sensing easy money or bloodlust, people flocked, eager for a quick gold piece or warlord to find renown under. 

 

Litea furrowed, thinking of her objective. One such gold-seeker was Lady Gwyne, a hedge knight of little renown. She was called hedge knight as she had no tent of her own. These knights, while owing no allegiance to any lord, were knights in title, wealthy or not. More often than not, some of the poorer knights moonlighted as bandits and highwaymen, while others stayed true to their code of conduct. Litea was not sure if Gwyne was one of these... But did it matter? Tent or no, sword or no, she was doomed, destined to pay for a crime and slight.

 

The pit in Litea's stomach grew, and her lip trembled, fresh at the memory of the crime. 

 

That bitch, she thought bitterly. She'll pay for what she did.

 

Litea circled round the ring of tents, banners, and bedrolls, searching the banners that hung near cookfires or sets of armor. She sought a particular one, burned into her mind with the fiery brand that could only be imparted by fervent hatred. It was a house between two rivers, on a field of green. By that sign, would she know. By that sigil, Gwyne would be killed. 

 

As far as Litea knew, she had made that sign up. It wasn't in any of the books of heraldry at the academy, and so maybe she simply made it up. But what could it mean? Often, heraldry indicated family status or history, whereas hedge knights might make something up. Maybe it's where the bitch grew up. Litea's own banner, which she only retained by special permission from the academy, was a burning stalk on a gold field. It denoted the harvest, something important in her family's history. It was her mother's banner, and her father's. 

 

And her brother's.  

 

She was so engrossed in remembering, a bitter and hateful and rueful reminiscence that consequently shortened life, that Litea didn't see the group of men at arms walking opposite of her, closing fast. 

 

"You there, get out of our way!" Said a brash, loud, yet unmistakably female voice. Her eyes were almost adjusted to the dark, made difficult only by the torch light blazing. As a result, and by account of the muddy ground that squished and shifted with each footstep, Litea, to her horror, fell into the mud with a tremendous crash in an effort to get out of the way. 

 

It was most unfortunate, as it has rained the day prior, and Litea fell face first in a wet, brown water puddle that splashed up chaotically all around her. More unfortunate still, as the water fell onto the leader of the pack she tried to dodge- all over her pants and boots. 

 

Litea tried desperately to get up, but was helped along by a strongarmed man who gruffly hoisted her up and held her, wet and blinking, in front of the woman.

 

"'Ere she is, lady Gwyne. Ruined your boots, I reckon."

 

Lady Gwyne. 

 

Litea caught her breath in and kept it there, too stunned to speak. She could only stare at the woman, who regarded her callously and scowled at her.

 

"You stupid girl," she barked, looking down at her from muddy boot to wet head. "You splashed me, all over my nice clothes."

 

She nodded dumbly at Gwyne, who shook her head.

 

"Do you know how much these cost me? It took gold. Gold pieces I won fighting for your lord. So, in truth," she said, flashing a toothy grin that caught in the torchlight, "you're disrespecting what I did for you and your kingdom." She let it sink in, those around her, seemingly her entourage or maybe even posse, smiling and chuckling to themselves. The stench of ale was overpowering- enough to no doubt drain the reserves their liege lord and then some. 

 

"So," she barked again, "what are you going to do about? Are you going to pay me back? You don't look like you have any gold... Then again," said Gwyne with a cocked eyebrow and a tired smirk, "you don't look like you've got any wits about you either. Close your damn mouth!"

 

Litea had only then just realized that she was standing agape with her mouth open. And who could blame her? Here was her quarry, all in front of her and no less yelling at her. And she had no idea who Litea was. 

 

A hearty slap to the face brought Litea screaming back to reality. Her cheek burned and stung, bringing back old memories of terrible feelings and discipline from her childhood, not so long ago.

 

As soon as the stars left her eyes and she could see finally, even in the meager light one could see the red flushing Gwyne's face. She was livid! Her blue eyes, shiny like blue lake water in the moonlight, fixed on her a hateful gaze that indicated pure disgust. Not even indignation- just disgust.

 

"You stupid girl. You must be one of Tylar's witless wonders he employs. Huh. Figures." She motioned to the man who was holding her in a lock, and he let go of her. The blood rushed back into her arms, and she nearly tripped again trying to right herself. 

 

"Get up, you idiot. Go find water and a cloth. I'll meet you in a few short minutes at my place, where you can spend the rest of the evening cleaning my clothes off and polishing my boots. Do you know where my bedroll and armor are?" She seemed to slow down her speech- perhaps to accommodate what she thought someone who had a hard time understanding basic words. "It's a big banner; even a moron like you couldn't miss it. It's a big green flag with a house..."

 

"Between two rivers."

 

Gwyne looked aghast for a moment, apparently stunned by the sudden emergence of speech from this girl she thought an idiot. She nodded and squinted at her.

 

"Yes, that, that's right. It's just down the road," she pointed, behind her. And remember- water and a cloth. Do you understand?"

 

Litea thought it best to just nod, and so she did.

 

"Good. And, uh, get to it." Her face hardened slightly again, apparently remembering. "And if you don't, I'll come and find you, and beat you senseless. Got that?" Another nod. "Good."

 

Litea watched them go, walking towards the main tent for perhaps early breakfast. Gwyne had only turned back once to ponder quizzically at the girl she had just taken into her brief service, but only once. Litea had quickly turned away to avoid suspicion, however, and simply walked away in the direction of where Gwyne had pointed. 

 

She could hardly contain herself. Such a close brush with her objective. So close to failure. How differently might that have gone were Litea a bit more talkative? If she had tried to strike out right then and there? Or if Gwyne had decided then and there to add blood to the mud stains on her boots and pants?

 

So many variables. So much room for error. 

 

The brush had put a spark under her- with renewal she walked on, practically jogging over to where the banner was. Determination had filled every crevice of her, and the pit and ice that was her stomach roiled in anticipation. So close.

 

Not within another five minutes had she reached the banner. It was tall, ragtag. The cloth was frayed at the ends and the color, no doubt having been drenched in sunlight on the shaft or on the side of her horse, bleached partially out. Below the banner was a multitude of things, motley of items- a spear, rope, a pile of clothes, a cloth sack. A shield emblazoned with the same markings of her sigil. A bedroll. A small personal fire, no doubt for washing baths or for breakfast. And, delightedly, a set of iron armor, still worn from many days of hard use.

 

This is what she had looked for- the method she would use to extract her revenge. 

 

She removed her medium, the polished stone, from her pocket. She held the piece and closed her eyes, half thinking of the very complex spell she was going to do, half thinking of what was going to transpire soon enough. She smiled to herself. Her discovery of the spell within the older tomes in the library had been fortuitous, almost fantastically perfect in timing. It was a magic way beyond her meager skill set, but the time had been absolutely clear on its utilization. A spell that would warp the fabric of reality, make true the wish of the wielder. A spell that might allow for natural selection to take its course, and the possibility of murder without fear of retaliation possible. 

 

It was a size alteration spell- one that shrank the target down to a size that was a fraction of their normal size. In this case, only an inch or two tall. Barely the size of her thumb!

 

Litea tittered with the idea, the faint sexual lust overcoming her loins. She would not be present on the battlefield, now- but she would set the spell to be times for later on that day, when the battle would be raging. She smiled. All in the heat of battle, Gwyne would find herself suddenly impossibly small amongst the churned mud and viscera. She might drown. She might be trampled to death by a horse or eaten by a bird. Or, she thought, with that faint sexual lust overcoming her again, a fellow soldier might crush her under a boot, or even best, find her- and keep her for their own. 

 

In that thought, Litea almost toyed with the idea of being present at the battle- what better way to extract revenge with her own hands?

 

Or her own feet, rather? Crushing Gwyne would be the highest of pleasures. Of course, she would toy with her first... 

 

She shook her head. No, too risky. Revenge would be hers, but another would be the hand (or foot) that dealt it. 

 

Concentrating once more, Litea focused the energies around her like so many times before, harnessing them into corporeal form, or rather concentrate, into the piece of stone clutched to her breast.

 

It grew warm, and pulsed softly, more so than had ever before, in fact. And that was a problem- such stones, magical and amazing artifacts as they might be, were only training wheels for novice mages. Better, more experienced wizards almost always found power and medium through important, well-traveled, and relevant means. A staff made from the driftwood of a wrecked vessel. A jawbone of an old witch burned at the stake. A jewel from the crown of a deposed king. Things that are made, or rather born, to hold greater magical energy. Especially with so much hatred behind it.

 

As a result, the training wheels broke off, and the spell backfired. 

 

As soon as she had said the last of the incantation, Litea felt it take effect- electricity shot through her arms and chest and legs and only then did feel, or rather know, that something was dead wrong.

 

Her body shook and her stomach roiled- she sudden felt as though she were flying, the ground suddenly feeling very far away, and even the armor, once not so big but slender, seemed to stretch and ripple like a building or one of the towers at the academy. Her inner ear had just cranked out its reckoning when she felt herself falling fast and forward, diving straight for the armor. 

 

In she went, the darkness absolute enveloping her and her mind. For a second, sheer terror and overtaken her and she let her bladder go. Why had she been so foolish as to do this? Everything the masters had taught her, about wisdom and knowledge, the difference between the two- prudence, chastity, moderation. The reason why they made students cook food instead of using magic to will it out of nothingness. All it came flooding back, as she sailed downward into the blackened armor, too late, too late. She had just swallowed, thinking she might die, probably would die, when she smashed her tiny body onto the leather padding within the armor. Padding in name only- it was hard as stone but did not kill her. She instead was knocked out, but continued sliding down, past laces and leather and metal, scratching herself all to hell, and was deep in a dreamless nothingness sleep by the time she fell into and rested in the waist piece. 

 

 

----------

 

Gwyne had just cracked open her third boiled egg when the alarm had been sounded. She hurriedly wolfed it down with a bit of salt as she got up, and then took the last draft of her beer before jogging over to her bedroll.

 

Damn it all, she thought angrily to herself, I had just sat down too.

 

It didn't matter- the alarm had come expected (if not a bit earlier than planned) and she was confident that the last skirmish would be over shortly. The opposing warlord had put up a hard fight, but none so much as her own employer. She had done her research carefully, Gwyne had, and she has known what the outcome would be.

 

Always make safe bets, she knew.

 

Still, despite the impending defeat and gold payout, it proved prudent to be cautious. Thusly, she approached every battle as though her life depended on it- and, in a very real sense, it did, along with her livelihood. 

 

The girl who had splashed her clothes had only been a passing memory and annoyance when she arrived. Thinking on it now, she may've been overly harsh on the girl, dimwitted as she was- she frowned at the thought. Was it so necessary to humiliate her like that? Who knew- she supposed it was over now; soon the battle would be over and she would be paid and off. If she did see the girl, she would apologize to her, maybe give her a copper or two- provided, of course, she didn't do anything stupid.

 

The matter settled in her mind, she turned her thoughts to her armor. The leather padding with metal pieces sown into it provided a good protection while offering excellent maneuverability. She slipped out of her outer clothes down to her very basic shirt and trousers, and began to slip them on, tying them piece by piece. 

 

As she slipped her long, bare legs into the pant leg holes, she did not notice another occupant within them- as she pulled them up, turning passenger, a foolish girl who thought she could harness powerful magic, slipped into the back of the bottom half of armor, and wedged, unnoticed, between the two firm but womanly buttocks that were connected to Gwyne, and there stayed as she donned the rest of her armor.

 

Warm. Warm like blankets. 

 

For a moment as Litea drifted out from sleep, she truly had believed that she was back home then, back in her feather bed, drifting in and out of sleep in her bed chamber shared with her two other sisters. The eldest, she had we own bed while the two slept side by side in their room. She was fourteen again, lying in bed on a late dark morning in the dead of winter. Snows from the Frozen North Sea and the tall craggy peaks of Gabroogna’s nigh impenetrable Gaia’s Wall to the east blistered their lands. The holder of the keep, her dear father, always laid by provisions and fuel to keep both his household and surrounding area unfrozen. One such day as this, her free day to take off from studies, she had decided to lay in bed and simply enjoy the winter wind howling through the keep windows. The shutters rattled even then, and some flakes of snow occasionally got in, but these were quickly dissolved midair by the heat current thrusting from the roaring fireplace and the mound of blankets that she had on top of her. 

 

Warm. Soft.

 

Somewhere in the castle there was an incessant clanging, steel on wood. Perhaps her beloved brother, a handsome lad of seventeen, was sparring with men-at-arms even in this ungodly weather. 

 

Clang. Clang.

 

Warm. Soft.

 

Litea shut her eyes again, wriggling her toes and writhing her legs and arms about, feeling for any thing else in the bed with her. Such a glorious feeling.

 

Clang clang.

 

It grew louder. A man at arms yelped out in pain, eliciting a chuckle from Litea- her brother had been getting good. Soon he would go to enlist in the stadium armies of the United North and fight against the mercenaries of the south. They'd be hard pressed, she realized, to gain any upper hand on him.

 

Another yelp, this one a bit more intense. 

 

Warm. Soft.

 

Clang. Clang.

 

Another yelp, more than a little pained. 

 

Scream.

 

Something wasn't quite right. She shifted in her bed (bed?) and tried to get comfortable again, willing herself against reason to ignore the clanging, the occasional scream. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, in hopes to continue this... This thing she hoped wasn't a charade. 

 

No, no. No. Please no.

 

Litea opened her eyes and it was gone- the dream had melted away like the flakes of snow vanishing in the heat current. The screams and din grew loud and more pained and even fearful as she came more to, her eyes trying desperately to adjust to the dark.

 

The dark.

 

Dark. Moist. Tight. 

 

She tried to wriggle her legs and arms again, only to be pinned back to the hard leather, yes, leather she remembered, to the back of her.

 

Why leather?

 

Oh, no.

 

It came piecing back together for her, not unlike a patch of snow in the intense sunlight peaking over battlements. She squeezed various bits and parts of her, trying to get bearings and orient herself, all the while swimming through the haze and muck that accompanied slow and bitter remembering after a deep slough of sleep. 

 

And, maybe, a... Concussion? But why, why would she have a concuss- oh. Oh goddess above. 

 

The deep pit had welled in her stomach- the sneaking in, the close encounter (nothing compared to now, she realized), and the failed spell. 

 

Pressure built on her, then suddenly, then just as quickly left. It ha just dawned on her how often that occurred- the rhythmic pulsation of pressure and release, covering the whole of her body like, yes, like a warm blanket.

 

The clangs outside were deafening. She was now fully aware of herself, and it dawned on her with creeping horror where she was. She began to push with her arms and legs, pressing against the swollen flesh of Gwyne's buttock. Each time she did, as she moved and shifted, she was pressed back against the leather padding, her appendages screaming in pain. 

 

A sudden yelp, this time sounding like it came from very close- it resonated through Gwyne's body and shook Litea's hands and arms as she desperately tried to push herself up. There was a feeling of freefall, followed by a shocking jolt as Litea's head slammed into the back of the padding, straining her neck and making her cry out. She felt on her back, while the entirety of the knighterrant’s weight rested almost all on her, saved only by sheer luck and distribution.

 

With mounting pressure of Gwyne’s ass came a fear to accompany it: Litea realized how dire the predicament was- she was trapped in this… this armor that protected (ironically) Gwyne’s nethers. Under the very woman she was trying (or rather tried) to murder. The irony of it was stunning- seeing as how the woman didn’t stop or try to dig her out of the back side, Gwyne probably hadn’t the slightest that Litea was there, and even by the sounds of the raucous of battle that raged outside, she would not until either it was over or…

 

The idea horrified her- at any moment, her life might end. Gwyne might shift, and smear her across her ass. She might bump into someone and break her back. She might die, and cause Litea to be poisoned by refuse and decay. Or, and she couldn’t tell if this would be a better alternative or worse, she could be discovered.

 

Another bump, a pull, and Litea felt Gwyne shift her weight- suddenly the pinning that held her loosened, and Litea slide screaming down her ass into the crack.

 

*****************

 

Gwyne drove her sword in to the man’s gullet, shearing the chainmaille with its tip. It was a hard thrust, one that wasn’t possible by arm strength alone- Gwyne had been knocked onto her ass by a rough butt of the spear wielded by the man she had just killed. Using the ground a leverage, Gwyne was able to plant her back hard into the patch of semi-dry dirt not churned into mud and lock her elbows, allowing for an extension that drove the point home. 

 

The sword pushed through the now screaming man, whose life blood poured from both the wound and from his mouth, down and staining his beard. The point pierced his back just nicking the spinal column, causing exquisite stinging up and down his legs and brain, like a bow across a violin string. It came out and cleared the shirt but instead could not pass the second layer of maille, causing the man to hang and yell, for which Gwyne was grateful- had he falledn on her she might not have been able to rise again. 

 

Pushing him off with her foot, Gwyne rose up and started again for the thick of the fight, seeking a new enemy to slay- the battle had been going exceedingly well, and was close to finishing. Alas, Gwyne, like other less reputable sellswords, was no slack- she fully intended to wage this war until the finish, and earn both the heftier bag of coin and the even more valuable earning potential of reputation. 

 

Spying a pesky archer wearing the unfortunate colors of her enemy, she jogged towards the lad and raised her blade to strike.

 

**************

 

Litea had about stopped breathing as she slide down, her screams pushing all the air from her lungs. The air grew more dank, more musky, if that were even possible, and she realized that she was between butt cheeks. He miasma of odor, the sweat of adrenaline and the rank pungent stench common to all backsides of both men and women and beast alike filled her nostrils and made her gag, close to vomiting- she did not, for which she was thankful.

 

The churning thighs that now flanked Litea on either side pumped furiously, slowed only by the scale of things. She thanked the goddess above that Gwyne's thighs were taut and well-muscled muscles enough to fill the leg holes enough and disallow any further slippage- it would have been a messy fate indeed to be smashed behind a pumping knee. However, as she stopped short, she was now right under the shelf of Gwyne's ass, the crack tight and closed, but still quite smelly. 

 

She had to get out of there, she knew- her life depended on it. Dealing with Gwyne was now absurdly optional and the idea of revenge was now ever so far from Litea's mind, her idea giving heed to the amygdaloidal imperative of fear and survival. How would she get out?

 

Her Jade. Her Jade, of course! If she could only get to her medium, she would be set free, able to teleport out of the there and back, with all hope, to normal size. 

 

Litea attempted to reach down to the knapsack hanging at her side, but it was a hard go- with the shifting muscles around her and the sudden open and close motions that were quite now frequent in Gwyne's movements in battle, it was near impossible- she tried to move and orient herself but was continually blocked by fleshy wall or overextension. At one point she moved her head and got a facefull, but rather unfortunate accident, or Gwyne's asshole. The smell was excruciating. Coughing and some bile escaping her mouth, Litea cranked her head back away from it and started to gag, thinking there had to be another way. How was she to gain purchase and able to move herself to here she could palm the stone?

 

She began to climb out, up the slope that she believed led to a more open space, just above the shelf of Gwyne's rear. 

 

The leather, worn and rough from years of wear and tear, had little notches on the inside where it had frayed (as opposed to the outside where it had only smoothed out with time. With these little strings Litea was able to climb up slightly- not by much, but by just enough. Even with the walking motion, the space just above was bit more open, facilitated even further by Gwyne's leaning forward to charge. 

 

Finally able to prop herself against the giant's skin and pants by pressing on it with her foot, Litea hurriedly dig into her pack, pushing aside and even in some cases throwing out unnecessary items to find the stone- where was it. Where was it? 

 

She looked through the back again, her world still quaking all around her. She realized that she had never put away the stone, hadn't she? No, no. No, it was in her palm the entire time she fell, fell into the armor. 

 

She sobbed, realizing just then that she had begun to cry. When she blacked out, only the goddess knew where the stone went. It must have slipped- how long was she out? Minutes? Hours? Maybe longer? It might've rolled out and slipped into the grass, or might have been swept up and away when Gwyne actually donned her armor. 

 

Litea put a delicate hand to her mouth. 

 

No, no. 

 

This couldn't be happening. It couldn't. It was just too cruel. Without  the stone, her medium, there was absolutely no way to get her back- all the resources, items, or potions she needed to grow back to normal size all resided back at the Port Lein academy. Hundreds of miles away from here, and her only an inch or so tall. 

 

She could never make it, not at this size. Not unless-

 

A violent shake tore Litea from her thoughts- again that feeling of free fall, the kind that made her stomach leap and bound. She lost her foothold on the leather, and found herself colliding with the leather face first, only to feel the wall of warm sweaty ass fall down on her, the sound of her scream muffled by the clothing. 

 

 

 

Again, some jerk had knocked Gwyne in the head with a blow from either a spear butt or shield- te helmet had taken most of the force, as well as Gwyne seeing it and bringing her own blade to bear and catch it, but all still still didn't prevent it from whitewashing her vision and momentarily disorienting her. 

 

She was able to remember where she was and right herself up just before her opponent struck again- she saw through her periphery movement that resembled reeling back and began to shift hard to the right, bringing her opponent on that same side into vision. A big, burly, bear of a man, he wielded a long axe and a scowl to match. He swung down hard and despite his attempts could not shift the momentum of his weapon, which planted harmlessly in to the mud half a foot away from Gwyne's armored leg. Gwyne cranked her right sword hand up and over and aimed the blade for his grip, hoping to sever his hands and at least give her time to get up onto her feet. The man deftly yanked the axe handle away from her, the blade slicing through the air. The yank had loosened the axe head somewhat, and the man was able to pull it free from the mud and rock, hefting it into both hands and finding where his opponent had gone. Gwyne used the brief lull to push herself up with all fours to standing, pulling her dagger from left hip sheath and brought it to bear akin to its long sword brother. 

 

 

*********

 

When the pressure released, Litea sucked dirty and smelly air into her lungs by the liters. She nearly gagged when she realized what exactly she was smelling- the fear and sudden upshot of adrenaline had kicked her senses into overdrive, and as such everything was amplified- her skin felt the sweat, the erector pili of Gwyne's follicles. The short an sharp heartbeats of both herself and the woman she was stuck against.

 

The good news, she realized, was that she could more effectively move about now that Gwyne had realized her. Quickly, Litea scrambled up her crack, pressing against the leather and gaining hand and footholds like a rock climber. She made good progress, for a change, and was nearly out of the space between her two cheeks.

 

 

 

Gwyne reeled back and swore at the strike. The man had dealt a vicious blow to her helmet and knocked it clean off of her head. Her ears rang, her vision blurred, sending her into a mild panic. The man had intended to bury the pick side below her neck, but she had cranked her head left at the last half second. 

 

Still, it had grazed her, nicking the ear and pulling the helmet off. 

 

"Bastard," she wheezed, redoubling her grip on the weapons all the while trying to focus her vision. The man had flipped his axe a few times, no doubt in sour confidence of a close victory. 

Gritting her teeth, Gwyne charged and tacked the man, sending them sprawling to the muddy ground below. 

 

 

 

The sudden shift had again knocked Litea out of sorts, and sent her sprawling to the skin below her, face first. Then Gwyne rose, setting her back at an angle and making Litea slide down the slick skin, again down the crack.

 

This time she passed by the anus, and further down down down. The smell all at once became less bad and more heady, and Litea was reminded of... Something. Of herself, perhaps. 

She slid down along the leather padding, coming to a sudden and shuddering stop when her arm dove inside a wet flap of skin.

 

"Nnnnngaaa..." Gwyne moaned, dodging the shield and trying to get purchase on the man's axe. What in the hell?

 

 

Litea realized just where she was, and where her arm had just run into. She blushed to herself, despite the obvious situation. She recoiled her arm as quickly as she could, but too late- the thighs around her, fleshy pillars of muscle, closed in and squashed her to so as to not move. She was trapped.

 

*************

Perhaps it was the battle fatigue, but gods have mercy, Gwyne felt... Great. Better than great, in fact. She realized this as she pulled the dagger from the throat of the man she had finally killed, and pressed her legs together. 

 

 

Litea was rubbed then, getting smashed into the wet mess of flesh that was Gwyne's vagina. Pungent lubricant spilled out onto her, and she screamed. This was unheeded, however, and she only felt the violent shaking of a pleasured Gwyne. 

 

The pressure mounted still. The continual force on her back and face pushed the breath from her lungs, her legs squirming still. She desperately pressed up and up, scraping with her hands and clawing desperately. 

 

She couldn't breathe. No. No no no. 

 

Is this how she would die? Smeared across the thighs and pussy of the woman she was trying to kill? Oh what a mess she had often herself into. 

 

Just as the darkness of Gwyne's pants grew even darker, the struggling getting weaker and weaker, it stopped- the thighs parted and once again Litea sucked air, tears forming in her eyes. She could breathe. 

 

 

Delightful as it was to sit there and apparently pleasure herself in a way she never had, Gwyne's attention had wen commanded again by another person- the battle cries of several others, some four grynocs away, had turned bloody and the enemy's banners had gained more prominence. A short blood curdling cry of another man dying and coming towards her, sword in hand. 

 

Cursing, and wishing she could stay longer and enjoy the pleasurable pressure between her legs, Gwyne rose up and gathering together her own sword and shield, ready to meet this other man head on. She could scratch that particular itch later on. 

 

**********************

Litea didn't think twice about moving on- as soon as she was able, she began to climb out of Gwyne's underwear and small clothes, pulling herself up with more speed and dexterity than she thought herself able to muster.

 

Then again, this situation was unlike anything she had ever encountered before, and she found herself more coordinated than ever before. Some of the healing priests at the academy's medical division theorized that the gods had made the body able to accomplish great feats in times of danger- for example, the story of how the human mother stopped the careless earthborn's foot from crushing her family. 

 

'This one is much bigger than an earthborn to me, however,' she thought morosely.

 

Still, the fact was apparent- she had to get out of there now, before she once again got caught under Gwyne. She might not be so lucky to avoid death the third time around. 

 

She climbed on, while, outside in the tumultuous and large world, Gwyne continued to fight for her coin and life. 

 

It was easy once Litea got into the groove of it. The almost dance-like shuffle of press, hold, scooch, rest became a pattern so ingrained into her that she nearly forgot it once or twice and feel back into the pit between the armor ad Gwyne's admittedly soft flesh. Still, despite the occasional movement perpetrated by Gwyne and any battle that might've been taking place outside, Litea found her niche. She remembered, with the blessed relief of desperation that made even some bad news good, that she had a small utility knife she could use to gain leverage and purchase. She was, as frenzied as she was, not stupid enough to sink the blade into Gwyne's flesh- that would have led to no doubt discovery, but also more than likely death as well. As such, she was careful to press it into the leather lining of Gwyne's armor.

 

Amid the din and constant movement of muscles both here and her host's, Litea took a bit of brainpower and planed her next move. As far as she could reckon, a battle had commenced while unconscious- that would explain the din and fierce movement. The sudden lull and lax might've indicate either that the battle was over (or near unto), or maybe Gwyne had taken a break. Either one would be a boon to the tiny Mage, and she operated on that assumption- she would continue her climb up, up, and up until she reached the place where she prayed a gorget (the leather or maille neck armor between breast and helm) would not be. If memory served, there would not be one. If not, she would climb up and somehow get down and off the giantess knight, and get help. If not eaten by an animal. Or crushed underfoot by a passing person. Or caught by Gwyne herself. 

 

If the gorget was there, then... Well...

 

She furrowed her brow. The idea, a rather irrational one considering she was Litea's mark, of contacting Gwyne purposefully had been a strange one indeed- what risk would it pose? Did it outweigh the almost certainty of being mashed and mangled between flesh and armor? Would her chances of survival increase if she was saved by the woman she meant to kill? 

 

It was a hard decision. One she hadn't fully committed to, in fact. And, in common fashion of her behavior, she vowed to make that decision later- cross that  particular bridge when she got to it. It made no sense to worry about it here, while climbing up and up and up without even knowing the destination. That determined, she continued her long climb up.

 

Press, hold, scooch, rest, press, hold, scooch, rest, press, hold, scooch, hold.

 

"Dammit!"

 

**********************

 

It was no sooner that Gwyne had wiped off her sword of blood and viscera when the horn blasted thrice in the distance- a long, eerie sort of mourn that was so unlike what it meant- the battle blast had meant, in their distinct tone and length, that the battle as over- either the union had retreated or were enough men down to not make a difference any longer- only a simple game of mop up. Despite her fighting luster and zeal, the signal to end had brought a wave of anxiety washing over her- mop up was all at once relaxing and unnerving. Some of the more desperate attacks made by the losing party would occur, as well as the dying of both sides be brought to either be saved or mercy-killed. 

 

A veteran of a dozen battles in her short twenty five years, Gwyne couldn't bring herself to go and do her duty. It wasn't out of pain or fear or even the wave of anxiety, but it was... It was like...

 

It was almost as though she wasn't done yet. Some unfinished business that she needed to attend to. Some enemy still living or a pair of eyes resting upon her from behind the shaft of a nocked arrow. 

 

As she walked, admittedly aimlessly, her legs shifted in such a way that caused her lower lips to rub up against each other in the most delightful way. Suddenly then it was made clear- the budding unease and anxiety turned then into a hunger for something else. Something very far from the white hallow pit that postbattle brought into her stomach- but instead a warm and wet and eager feeling. 

 

She had to slake her thirst for another kind of struggle- one where she wouldn't mind being pierced by a man's sword or spear, the kind given to him by the gods. 

 

She had to release. 

 

After a quick search, she found a river bank, one whose bank dipped below the field of vision from the regular battlefield. Drawing her sword, she poked her head around and looked for any sign of waiting ambush.

 

Into the mild dip, a small flat embankment sat next to the river, the cold river's tongue lapping away at it. A tree had grown there, tall and strong and no doubt the roots contributing to the sturdiness of the bank. Flowers, apparently unheeding of the battle that took place not meters away, bloomed brightly in the morning sun. It was as ever a picturesque place as there might be. Gwyne half suspected it was once a popular spot for fishing. She wondered, with the other half, if it was too good to be true.

 

Still, with no bodies to see and a good foliage to cover her from prying eyes above, she decided that this would be an adaquate spot- she would keep her sword close by, just in case.

 

Sitting down, Gwyne bit her lip and smiled as her hands found the strings that held her armor together. A few undoings of the knots, usually reserved for making waste, and the little cloth hatch she sewed in herself opened.

 

The rush of cool air emanating off of the river was heavenly- the cool of the breeze kissing her labia gently was almost enough to make her not even want to attempt to pleasure herself. 

 

Resisting the urge, she bit her lip once more and snaked her free had down and caressed herself lovingly, sending a shudder of pleasure up her spine, and a smile plastered on her upper lips. 

 

This was gonna be great.

 

******************

 

Litea found that Gwyne had been hunched over for the past few minutes, the incline where this giantess' shoulders began tipping her off. It made the climb all the easier, and soon enough Litea saw what she believed to be the light of day. 

 

As she pulled herself up, using her rear as the main anchoring point, she again pondered what she would have to do. Would she attempt to speak to Gwyne, and risk her life to maybe save it? Questions would be asked, no doubt, and Litea would have to concoct a web of lies in order to save her own skin. Even so, even if successful, there was no chance that Gwyne wouldn't kill her outright, thinking she might be a spy- or worse, recognize her from the night before. 

 

Tough as those options might be, they might be preferable to the alternative- trying her hand and escaping. Would the fall kill her? Maybe. Then to find someone, all the while avoiding someone who might mistake her for a bug, or avoiding animals (or people, she supposed) that might eat her for breakfast. Even then... Would she even find help? Or anyone willing to listen? Being the size of a bug didn't exactly help her cause- she shuddered at the recollection of her own thoughts that day, of holding Gwyne in her hand, literally, or crushing the life out of her under her foot, payment for her crime against her family. 

 

Would anyone not do the same? 

 

She sighed, knowing what she had to do. 

 

With only a few more pulls, Litea felt the rush of cool on her once again.  She drank deeply the fresh and untainted air, free of the stank stench of waste and heady aroma of woman. She saw the undone mess of blonde above her, bobbing up and down softly in the rhythm of something. What was it? She supposed, then, that it didn't really matter- she was nearly free, and her plan would soon be set into action.

 

Pulling herself up to her feet, Litea tried to find purchase on the taut shoulder flesh of Gwyne. She made the mistake of looking forward, and for a brief second caught herself reeling in vertigo with the sudden height an perspective change. He realized, for the first time, just how tiny she really was. 

 

She trotted up to the peak of Gwyne's shoulder, setting her hands to her sides despite knowing it wasn't the wisest thing to do. To her side was a small latch of leather, and she sat on that to rest for a second. 

 

Is this how the world really looked to fae? Tiny creatures whom she had seen as a child and read about in her studies at the academy? Moreover, how incredible that she was going to shrink down Gwyne to this size!

 

She was so enraptured by the novelty, that she didn't see the hand coming straight for her.

 

 

************************

 

Gwyne inhaled sharply, letting herself give in to the rhythmic pleasure that accompanied brushing her finger over and over across her wet labia and tiny clitoris. She realized that that had been what had driven her during the last hour of battle- lust. How many had she felled, screaming, with nothing but lust behind that sword swing? 

 

The thought amused her, and satisfied her all the more as she plunged deeper into herself. She was getting hotter- this was more than just a session of bean-flicking- she wanted more... Involved. 

 

With a renewed smile she reached her free hand up to undo her breast plate strap- she wanted these boys of hers involved.

 

*************************

 

At the very last second, Litea saw the enormous, almost petite hand come her way. With grace and power it manipulated the fingers to grab a hold off the leather strap that Litea had been resting on, causing the tiny woman to squeak and dodge out of the way. She leaned and fell towards her neck, grabbing a tuft of stray hair that hug down fortuitously near. Her balance broken, Litea struggled to gain another positive foothold, hoping and praying that she wouldn't fall.

 

The air vacuumed and wooshed by her in a massive push as the breastplate fell noisily in front of the giantess she clung to. Two ample and milk white breasts exposed themselves with only a bandage wrapping to cover them from the elements- the heat current, the result of them staying trapped in their metal cage for hours, rushed up to greet Litea, still hanging, in a rush of wind and sweat. 

 

She tried, in vain, to climb back up. Her free hand, at first pushing out to try and find purchase for her feet, was then dedicated to trying to get a second handhold on the hair that she hung by. Once, none. With agile toes, Litea poked her foot out and tried to angle herself at a position to 'jump' and grab on. Once she thought she was secure, she counted to herself.

 

"One," she whimpered, terrified, "two...

 

Right as she began to say three, Gwyne shifted, causing Litea to lose her foothold in her neck. Her gripping hand, already tired and slipping, couldn't handle the weight, and her fingers loosened.

 

Litea careened down, down, down, once again, to the exposed breasts of Gwyne.

 

*******************

 

The build up, swift- the end, so far away. Higher and higher Gwyne climbed, alternating her attention between the soft and swishy swish motion that she glanced her clit and the harder, more intense kneading of her breasts. Her legs clamped, her ass cheeks clenched- her fingers down under quickly became sore, flexing and extending their tendons to compensate and bring a steady push pull push pull to her cunt. Her labia was fully engorged, almost hot the touch. Steam wafted softly in the cool morning breeze, mingling with the river's own fog rising from cool waters. Her breasts, her nipples erect and hard enough to be nearly painful, almost began to be sore- and for a fleeting second she thought she may have been rubbing a little too hard. 

 

Still, despite the pain and despite the exhaustion she felt, the self-love was downright wonderful- squeezing her breasts together and in pleasure was beyond the description of good- more than most of the pathetic fellow soldiers or camp followers she'd bedded. 

 

Better. Better. Getting even better.

 

************

 

Litea slammed hard into the soft right breast, smacking her head and dazing her in no small measure. She was still reeling and trying to decide what planet she was on when her legs, leading the way, slide and led her into the warm fleshy crevice that were Gwyne's assets. Down into the darkness she went, completely enveloped by the prison. The sweat from battle had made it quite slick under there, and so anytime Litea tried to break her fall or try and scramble back up, her hand or foot or butt slipped. 

 

She knew, or rather picked up on the fact, that Gwyne was masturbating, maybe in some weird post-battle ritual- all the more reason, she realized, to get out of there as soon as possible.

 

She got relatively far, almost poking her head out to see around when Gwyne smashed one of her breasts into the other one with a soft moan. Litea was immediately pinned against the hot boobflesh, and got stuck there, pressing and releasing with rhythm. 

 

Stuck there, and even struggling to draw a deep breath, Litea realized, in a moment of vacuum clarity and utter awareness, just how ridiculous this was. 

 

Here she was, stuck on the body of the very woman she was trying to kill, and before she ever had a chance to do the deed, the woman was using her, without her knowledge, as a plaything! Squashed between two mammoth mammaries of a moaning maiden, masturbating in the morning.

 

If this wasn't proof of the gods' sense of humor, Litea didn't know what was. 

 

Her arms tired, as did her legs, and soon enough Litea was just as well to let herself be manipulate by the force rather than struggle against it. This time around, the shock, panic, and absolute terror was not as present as had been during the first incident- maybe, she thought, morbidly, she had just gotten used to it. 

 

Still, with this time to think, she found that her breathing began to come easier- instead of ragged and haggard, she found that she could breathe between strokes of Gwyne's breasts.

 

Her breasts. 

 

Again, she marveled at the absurdity of it all, even uttering a chuckle or two. Still.

 

There were worse places to be, perhaps- the morning chill she had felt trapped in the steel and leather armor that covered Gwyne's behind had been unblessedly cold, and here in the fleshy pocket contrasted to the hot and heavy. It might've been, dare she think it, pleasant if not for the constant knead between.

 

Even with the knead, Litea planned her escape- but as she did so, she felt the boob behind her shift and suddenly raise upward. The sudden movement made her yelp out in surprise- she was moving her fingers, she realized. 

 

Gwyne's hand moved itself under, and began to knead once again- this time a finger snaking its way up and up and poking Litea right in the ass. 

 

She squeaked and resisted the urge to seat away the finger- but the blush on her face indicated something other than mere annoyance- the finger nail, long despite Gwyne's occupational practicalities, reached up and tickled Litea between her seated bum- just enough to tickle, and just enough to flick another trigger. The sudden assault on her nethers made her quiver and shake, and… well, confused. She was confused right then.

 

That would have been the very last feeling Litea ever would have thought to have felt in this situation- certainly not now. This tale, she thought grimly, would be one to tell when she got out of this. If she got out of this. The idea lessened the novelty and pleasure of the short intrusion- the possibility of death, or worse, capture had invaded her mind that she could hardly focus on getting anymore.

 

To say it didn’t do the trick, however, would have been false- the finger descended once again, apparently in search of new flesh to rub, but the deed was done. Litea, despite all her harrowing fear and discomfort, was set aflame, and she spent the rest of that time waiting for Gwyne to finish in the most confusing and complex dilemmas. She had wanted to stop, reach down, finish the job her mark had started for her, but… she couldn’t too much was at stake.

 

She shifted her legs and felt the ripple of pleasure wash through her once again.

 

Well… maybe she’d finish later.

 

******************************

 

 A sharp inhale of breath. A muscle down south clenching. A lower lip bitten to the point of the sweetest of pain. Gwyne finished her self-love in the most glorious of fashions, moaning and clenching her breast hard in her hand. She drifted slowly down from her peak, floating on a cloud and exiting that white hot oblivion that slowly morphed into the surrounding areas once again.

 

She pulled her fingers out of her wet mess of a pussy with a soft schlucking noise, relishing the feel of the river’s cool on her moistened lips once again. Her legs, heretofore squatting, turned to jelly and she fell over, landing on her bum with a delighted giggle and carefree laugh, as though she hadn’t just lived through one of the worst battles of her short life. With a soft sigh, she lay down onto the wet grass- the morning dew clinging to the blades of green wet and soaked the back of her head and back, but she didn’t care- she was contented, happy with her current situation- not so strange a feeling considering her work as a wandering sword. Still, it was moments like these she reveled in, and she had learned early in life to take advantage of opportunities when they arose- she never knew when an arrow might catch in her in the neck of a war hammer cave her chest in.

 

She let the love afters run down her legs and into the wet grass, unknowingly dripping onto some ants who just happened to be under what might’ve been a veritable goddess.

 

Time passed, but how much she could not have known. What might’ve been an hour or a minute. All she knew was that she was… spent. In so many ways. What she needed then was a hot meal and a cool beer- perhaps, she thought with a smirk, there’d be some waiting for her when she got to camp.

 

She was lost in thought when an itch bit her in the chest. Some bug or something must’ve crawled onto her, or maybe a splinter of wood? She lazily flung her hand at the itch, but stopped short when there was another short blast of horns. Five of them, signaling the return and meeting. They’d be debriefed and no doubt congratulated.

 

“Oh, gods above,” she muttered. She had hoped to shed her clothing and go for a dip in the river but it was not to be so- the meeting would no doubt end and they’d all shuffle their way over to the payment coffers, where they’d be divyed up their amounts of hard-earned, blood-stained gold. Then, perhaps, they’d have a party.

 

With ale.

 

And food.

 

And maybe some company to put between her thighs.

 

And, of course, more food.

 

Fighting did always make her hungry- the orgasm made the pangs even worse.

 

Sighing and sitting up, Gwyne reached over and set her armor back on her back and chest and began to tie the small leather straps. She winced when she felt something, perhaps a torn leather pad, dig into her chest, but she bore it.

 

Her gold was waiting for her.

 

And food.

 

**************************

 

Disoriented, Litea cursed herself when she realized she had gone the wrong direction. When Gwyne went prone onto her back, she used the opportunity to upright herself and start to crawl…

 

Alas. When Gwyne had uprighted herself not a minute later, Litea fell headlong down towards Gwyne’s stomach, who to where she thought was the right direction out of the shirt. She thought she might fall right into her lap, but a stroke of luck (or whatever the opposite of such a thing might be) caused her to catch her boot to a string or bra or something. Something that held her fast, and something that kept her upside down.

 

Tears welling in her eyes again, she felt the armor come barreling towards her and engulf her, pinning her to the chest of this gigantic woman once again, but not before she was able to pull herself nntey degrees upwards, allowing, at the very least, her head to not be directly down. Still, the position was not comfortable, even pinned against soft flesh.

 

She felt movement, a small little ‘hup’ as Gwyne rose up, and the gathering of a shield and sword, and there she stayed, thinking to herself- would she even be able to get out?

 

The camp had the air of a very active but muted celebration- fire pits were roaring yellow and orange and casting shadows all across the ground, their flickering lights playing havoc with Gwyne’s perception. She had already a fair bit to drink, but nothing that might send her over into the realm of drunkenness. As she wandered the camp in search of a cookpot that had was not already drained and a keg of ale that hadn’t already been broken to scoop out dregs, she felt the heat of it all on her face and hands. It almost felt like an illusion- some mirage that really messed with her head and made her blink.

 

Still, her mood was not at all bad- the return briefing and quick dispersion of a gold salary had lightened her mood considerably, and the last few hours had been spent drinking and conversing with fellowsoldiers in the relaxed way that could only come after a battle.

 

She had survived, she realized, and because she had, the purse at her side was filled- that was almost as good. Well, if not better.

 

The deed was done, and that set her at ease. Wanting some alone time, Gwyne took her trencher of food and ale, and went back to her own bedroll, away from the large fires where others gathered.

 

________________________________________

 

 

Litea had no idea just how long it had been- she had spent most of her time trying to upright herself further instead of being pinned by both her leg and chest, but with little effect- Gwyne's armor, though old, held her fast and not a little uncomfortably. She could be grateful, she supposed, that she had ended up on her side as if she were prone rather than upside down- that could've been disastrous. 

 

Blessing notwithstanding, she had get out. Gwyne had bustled about quite a bit and there were several voices, loud ones, all around her. One had been speaking to what seemed like an entire group, while the soft jingle jangle and clink of coinage had been telltale signs- Gwyne had stood in line to get paid, and probably heard a speech from somesuch or other. Now, she might've guessed, she was simply wandering around the camp, listening and talking with her fellows, possible in a search for a bite to eat.

 

Even through the armor, the smell of roast meat and stew had seeped in and made Litea's mouth position overly water. The sudden hunger struck her, and she realized in dismay that she hadn't eaten since she began this now very terrible idea of a plan. The effect was maddening- her stomach curled in and complained and grumbled almost in tandem with Gwyne's own, and her parched throat burned Ina languid throb, begging for water. She had considered licking the sweat from below Gwyne's breast for her thirst, but realized just how much more dehydrated it would make her. 

 

She made a new goal for herself, some extra motivation: as soon as she got out of there, she was going to find some food. 

 

"Well," she mumbled to herself, "as soon as I can."

 

With that in her head, Litea began to orient herself slightly upright. She was pinned by two point- if she loosened one of them, preferably her legs, she might able to better upright herself and get between Gwyne's breasts. That way, when the armor would be removed, and she would be led fast by only a bra or bandage or whatever Gwyne used to keep her assets in check, she might have better purchase. She tried pulling her legs, but to no avail. She tried pressing anchoring her arms and wriggling, but again for naught. Finally, she cranked her head back and used the tension to try and loosen herself. 

 

It was unfortunate, then, because as she did so, Gwyne made her torso torque to the side, shifting her massive breasts and loosening the strap that held Litea firm. The world dropped, and Litea found herself in a short, stomach lurching freefall- stopped only short of plummeting to death by her foot that had caught in the strings. The drop made her squeak, and in a clear head made so by experience, she decided that she was getting really tired of that feeling.

 

--------------

 

Her bedroll was just as she had left it in the early morning before the battle, save for the fire that had gone out 1naturally. In her haste Gwyne neglected to pour some water over the flames but did not do so, the battle blood boiling in her too wildly. 

 

Though not unkempt or dirty, the bedroll in her little patch of the field was at best rather spartan, and afforded little in the way of luxury or excess- still, the sight of it brought a flutter to Gwyne's heart, and she couldn't help but feel excitement at the prospect of warm and soft sleep. 

 

She set her trencher and ale down onto the ground next to the fire, not letting them get too close and watching her boots- she didn't want to step on her food or kick her ale over. 

 

Victuals secure, Gwyne stood straight up and began to finally strip out of her armor, relishing the sudden onrush of air on her parched skin. She threw the leather vambraces aside on her roll and untied the leather strings that held together her breast plate.

 

-------------------

 

It happened all way too quickly- Litea had been arcing her back up, trying to reach her foot and the string that held it when the world world shook and she found herself, truly and really, freefalling. The woolen shirt grazed and burned her arms as she fell, adding a sharp sting to the already terrifying experience. 

 

More disorienting still was the sudden dim light that flashed in her vision when she exited the bottom of the shirt, the hem flying past her. She squealed and covered her eyes, gritting her teeth and ears stopping, unable to cope with such sudden light. It was fortunate, yes, fortunate that she did- for when she slid on and bounced off the metal plate of Gwyne's leg, she fell into an open space that would have caused her to vomit or go unconscious. 

 

Luckier still- by way of gods, nature, or pure luck her vector angled just so that she flew, by the gods, into the mouth of the open ale mug with a cute little plop. 

 

Alcohol and yellow filled her every sense. The sweet flavor and tart preservative inhaled into her stomach, and she inherently knew the idea to drink was bad. Exhaling as much as she might, Litea kicked hard towards what she hoped was up and clenched her breath (or what little remained) tight.

 

She burst out of the ale gasping for precious air, vividly awake now that she was plunged into the cool beverage.

 

It dawned on her, with creeping horror, just where she was. If Gwyne were to decide that she was thirsty and needed a drop to drink...

 

Gwyne. 

 

Treading the liquid, Litea shook her head and struggled to get the stinging beer from her eyes, but when she did...

 

When she did.

 

There, towering high into the sky like a tower of leather, iron, and flesh stood Gwyne. She had risen from setting her armor down and stood there with her hands behind her head, undoing the braid that held her blonde hair in place. 

 

For a second Litea could not help but be amazed. A flood of emotion that resembled something like awe mixed with innate fear filled her stomach, and she was transfixed.

 

So tall! So enormous! So graceful and goddess-like! 

 

So dangerous. 

 

She watched as her blonde hair flew to all sides around her head, the braid loosened and the strands becoming free and flinging sweat down to the earth. It was something to be admired, almost, and were she not in imminent danger of being killed, Litea might've stood there and smiled at the spectacle, something ensnaring about the whole visual.

 

And then, with her stomach dropping, she saw Gwyne look down at her and lick her lips. 

 

All the awe was replaced by fear as Gwyne began to reach down and fling her huge lithe hand for the mug. Litea desperately clawed at the edges of the cup and scrambled to get out- she was about to be drunk up!

 

----------------------------

 

Thirsty! Gwyne had just realized how thirsty she was. She hadn't much to drink between getting her share of the coffers and now, but now free of any mercenary duties, she could drink freely- at least, drink without any reservation. 

 

Greedily, she scooped up the mug and brought it to her lips.

 

-------------------

 

The liquid shifted and Litea was thrown about by the dynamic forces beneath the ale. She had managed to shift herself in a position, with some quick thinking, to be able to jump out if necessary. 

 

She waited, feeling her stomach bend and twist as she and the mug were lifted higher and higher, ever closer to Gwyne's lips. Gathering her nerve, she watched the surprisingly pink and plush pillows of skin and fat edge towards her and she found herself somewhat unstiffen. The pink lips opened slightly, and she knew it was time. Out she leapt from the mug, and was sent spiraling down towards Gwyne's shirt. 

 

She bounced, skidded, and even thudded along Gwyne's slightly off-kilter body, and then into a hellish freefall once again. Straining her arm, she was able to grab an grip a hold of Gwyne's shirt, halting her and making her yelp out. Her grip soon gave, and down again she went.

 

Luck was again on her side- she plunged headlong and, as if the gods had some kind of joke in mind for her, she landed with a thick plop directly in Gwyne's trencher full of soup. Gods be praised, one might suppose, that the thick soup wasn't burning hot as it might have been- Gwyne had actually been one of the last to get her food, and so the soup (more stew, really) was rather tepid. Still, it was enough to take Litea's breath away from her, and she kicked her feet and arms hard to get upright once again, all the while feeling the darkening shadow from above loom closer once again. Panic. Panic.

 

-------------------------------

 

Gwyne set her ale down, now half gone in a delicious abandon of thirst. She was grateful for the alcohol, feeling now refreshed and her appetite coming along to match it. She stared down lovingly at the trencher of bread filled with a thick brown stew. Bits of carrot and onion and barely and beef and pork and chicken and gods only knew what else. Soldier fare, common food- and all the same absolutely delicious. 

 

Absently, she began to stir at the goop, her eyes drifting away from the bit. She had walked alone over here but her curiosity got the better of her- she liked, honestly, to people watch- to be social from a distance, almost. She clapped eyes on a solider limping not a few bedrolls away from her, his leg bandaged all the way around and him wincing every time he used the leg. He needed a walking stick, badly.

 

Probably a spear wound, Gwyne thought to herself, spooning up a mouthful of soup and shoving it in greedily. The leg probably wouldn't last the week, she figured. As a soldier, she had... Experience, one might say. Even, one might argue, great observation. Not much escaped her gaze once she saw it. 

 

-------------------------

Litea watched in horror as Gwyne spooned up the morsel of food to her mouth, completely oblivious to her presence. She had survived the initial stirring of Gwyne's stew but had only narrowly escaped the wide arc Gwyne made to take up food. She panicked and swam desperately for the edge of the trencher, very intent on leaving this potential disaster behind. 

 

Litea wrapped her arms around the edge of the bowl, trying to pul herself up when the spoon came back down, scraping along the very same edge. Soggy bread, brown gravy, and vegetables plowed Litea slowly until she was swept away from the wall. She kicked hard to pounce off the spoon but the bowl of it twisted and lifted, taking the food, Litea, and all her terror up with it. 

 

Before Litea realized what was even happening an able to see off the edge, but it was too late- to jump now would mean death, breaking her neck. Her eyes shot about to find a safe place for her to land, to fall into, but to no effect- it was just too far.

 

Again she felt that looming presence- the sense that someone was there, very very very close. With trepidation Litea looked up, and saw the cavernous maw, pink and pale, with white gravestone teeth, open and her muscles beckon her further in, the blackened throat leading down to no doubt what would be her death by dissolution if she wasn't chewed and ground up between Gwyne's teeth.

 

She began to scream, covering her eyes, crying out, "No! No please, don't eat me!"

 

----------------------------

Gwyne's eyes narrowed at her spoon, focusing on the thick brown liquid and chunks of something or other. Within the spoonful was a little figure, trembling as shaking, two gravy-laden arms covering a minuscule face. There was something... No, someone, within her soup. 

 

"What... What in the hells...?"

 

The spoon rose up and the tiny creature squeaked, falling over and flailing her arms to recover herself. The tiny thing seemed to suddenly notice Gwyne then, she staring at it with two enormously blue orbs, and backed away.

 

"Who are you?" Gwyne tried, squinting to see little features. "And why are you in my food?" 

 

"I... I..." Litea stammered. All of her bravado, from either the commitment of murdering Gwyne or from being used to wing only an inch tall, was suddenly gone. She felt like a little girl again, caught in the kitchen hunting after sweets. Words failed her. "I'm... Sorry."

 

Gwyne furrowed her brow, huffing through her nose. 

 

"You should be. I almost had you for dinner. What were you thinking? Are all the Fair Folk as bright as you?"

 

Her other hand suddenly appeared and two enormous digits looked over Litea, who shifted her eyes bad and forth between them. Before she could squeak again, Gwyne plucked her up between fore and thumb. 

 

"What's your name? Are you a faerie or a pixie? I don't think I've seen a pixie quite as small as you... You must only be an inch tall!"

 

Gwyne brought her closer to her eye, at which Litea shuddered. Gods above, she was huge! And she was so small! She wouldn't have been more than a morsel or a crunch had Gwyne eaten her! Would she even have noticed? Would her bones even have made her pause?

 

She really didn’t want to think about it, she found. At least, not at the moment. The overwhelming sense that things were about to unsettle took hold in her mind- Gwyne had finally seen her, and was now trying to talk to her. As if to prompt her or remind her, Gwyne barked at her again.

 

“Hey. I’m talking to you- who are you?” Her eyes narrowed at the tiny woman and she scowled, baring impossibly large teeth at her. “Don’t make me ask again…” she growled.

 

Litea swallowed the lump in her throat, trying to think of something. Should she give her name? Should she confess? She might have mercy on her… or she might not.

 

“Litea!” she felt herself burst out, without her permission. “My name’s Litea.”

 

Gwyne seemed to consider this for a second, nodded.

 

“Never heard that name before. Aren’t pixies supposed to be named Leaf or Wind or something equally stupid?”

 

“I… uh…”

 

“But you’re so dirty. Here, let me clean you off… “

 

Still holding Litea, Gwyne reached over and grabbed a pitcher of water, and poured some into a nearby cup. She held it under her quarry, grinning a bit.

 

“Better hold your breath!”

 

“No, wai-glub”

 

Litea plunged into the water without any warning, shocking the breath from her like she’d be slapped in the face- the air from her lungs forced out and she inhaled not a little bit of water. When she came back up, she coughed and sputtered but soon found herself back into the icy water. Gwyne was dunking her in.

 

After several more times and a rough wipe on her shirt, Gwyne laid the tiny girl in her calloused palm, and held her close to the fire for a better look.

 

"Sorry about that. But hey, if you didn't want to get wet, you shouldn't have..." A look of confusion passed over Gwyne's eyes, and she made an inhale of breath. The fingers behind Litea curled up and made her feel... Smaller, somehow, like some imminent danger was very very near. The gasp turned to a sneer, and growler that would've soured fresh milk. 

 

"I remember you... You're that... That girl! From the camp! The lackwit!"

 

Litea felt the bile well in her throat. Not good, she realized. Not good at all.

 

"How did you get so small? You're a human, right? You didn't look like a pixie... Some kind of spell?"

 

"Uh... I..."

 

Gwyne rolled her eyes, and plucked Litea up again, this time by the arm- Litea cried out at the pain.

 

"Okay, bug. I need some answers, and I need them now. What were you doing in my food, and why are you here?" A grin passed her lips and she smiled, the action reminding Litea of a wolf. "You're not a spy, are you? Thought you could get small and avoid detection? Well," a chuckle, "didn't seem to work."

 

Litea screamed when Gwyne reached out and stuck her tongue out- she dabbed the soles of her feet with the huge pink muscle, then licked her plush pink lips. 

 

"You know what the penalty for espionage is? It's immediate execution. And, I have to say,". A purr erupted from her throat, deep bodied and full, "I'm still kind of hungry. We could kill two birds with one stone here, really..."

 

Litea started to cry, curling up into the smallest ball she could be. 

 

"No, no, please..."

 

Gwyne laughed, causing Litea to cover her eyes with both hands. Panic imbued all of her senses, and she had no idea what to do!

 

"Or," Gwyne offered, stretching over and placing her tiny prisoner on her boot toe, "I could just toss you on the ground and just step on you. You'd be squished and popped like a big. I've fought small creatures before, but none so small as you. And I think I sat on a pixie once... But I really couldn't tell. Gunk just kinda showed up on my armor. But you..." She pulled Litea back up to her face. "I wouldn't even feel you at all- you'd just be a stain on my boot."

 

She laughed when Litea cried out again, shaking her head and begging.

 

"Oh, stop that. That's going to get you nowhere, bug."

 

She sighed contentedly and set Litea on her stomach, relaxing her hand and simply cupped her there. Litea had just stood up of her own volition when she felt a sonorous rumble deep beneath her. 

 

Gwyne heard it too, and laughed when Litea screamed in horror. 

 

"Well, maybe I should just munch on you." 

 

Gwyne scooped the little woman up, and brought her to her lips. 

 

"Well, it's been fun, little girl. I hope you fill me up..."

 

Litea screamed bloody murder when she saw the lips open. Dark pink, white tombstones, a waggling tongue to guide her back to her tomb.

 

"Now... Should I chew you up or just swallow you whole...?"

 

Gwyne was just about to wrap around her lips around her little morsel when the horn blew thrice, her own command's horn- a call to gather. Frowning, she pulled out the shaking woman from her lips as grimaced at her.

 

"Aww, dammit... I was just about to enjoy you, too." She pouted her considerable lips at her. "Guess I'll just have to eat you later..."

 

Gwyne reached over and opened her rucksack. Inside were clothes and boots and other tools she needed for the road ahead. 

 

"You'll just have to wait, little bug. I'll deal with you later."

 

With that, Litea was tossed into the bag. She turned just in time to see the leather mouth close, the cruel and blue eyes of her mark-turned-captor smiling down at her. 

 

And then, all was dark. 

 

Chapter 5

 

The world was a shaky hell for Litea. The morning had not been so bad, circumstances as they were- she had woken up to a sudden and violent quake, the nightmarish events of yesterday refilling her mind with terror. As she lay there, stuck between a soft cloth and a hard leather surface, she tried, between her bouts of panic, to surmise where she exactly was. She concentrated on small clues and subtle smells that she found, her eyes being completely useless. In that canvas sack, she might as well would be blind. 

 

The most overwhelming smell was that of a stable- the faint smell of feces and lather, along with the slight bob up and down, told her that she was probably on a horse. Gwyne's horse, most like. But was that guaranteed? No.

 

But still- she hadn't been removed from the sack (to her knowledge), so it wasn't likely. Especially the soft cloth (it might have been silk, even) clued her that she was laying in Gwyne's small clothes or nightwear. 

 

That thought made her blush. Perhaps there was more to this knight that steel and sword. 

 

Then again, she thought, thinking on her slight, the reason why she wanted to murder her in the first place, that was unlikely. 

 

After what seemed like an eternity, Litea heard Gwyne's voice call her mount to a stop. The world stopped bobbing and suddenly became turbulent once again. Was Gwyne flipping the bag over and over again? It sooner passed, and the bobbing started again, but more mild, more halting. The faint mute of forest animals and horse suddenly became a cacophonous din of noise and smell. Hundreds, maybe thousands of voices clamored and bustled, some laughing and some shouting, some of them exchanging salty words and other just simply talking. It was impossible to pick out distinct phrases and words, but ever so occasionally she's hear what she thought was Gwyne's voice. Drinks slamming into tables, some bard with a stringscop in the corner, coins passing hands. 

 

Soon enough, the din died down, an Litea felt the world rising. She heard what she thought was footsteps up a staircase, but that would make sense. Maybe Gwyne was going upstairs. 

 

A door hinge creaking, swaying open. The pervading anxiety and pit in Litea's stomach grew and grew. Where was she? What was Gwyne going to do?

 

----------------------------

 

Gwyne closed the door softly after her, making sure it was shut very tightly, or as well as it might. She wanted privacy for what she was about to do, and it would be quite embarrassing if someone where to walk in and catch her unawares. 

 

Her heart pounded rapidly, and she felt her cheeks flush. She was so excited to do this! She had thought about it all night long and during the trip to the inn. She could hardly keep her words straight when she bought room and board for the night, and the innkeep just looked at her suspiciously. 

 

Still, all that was worth it. All for this experience. 

 

A tiny person, faerie or not (she then recalled that one this small might have been an Atomie), was in her possession, to do with as she pleased. The thought thrilled her! Nothing like this had ever occurred in her life. She recalled stories of Earthborn giants taking human lovers, and even tell of a human-run Inn that catered to the Fair Folk, but nothing like this. 

 

Nothing so perfect for her. 

 

It was safe to say, as Gwyne would acknowledge, that she had a cruel side- that was no secret. In fact, it probably informed her choice of occupation. She did not go out of her way, certainly not, to be a cruel bitch, but when the occasion arose...

 

She decided to take her boots off and  get comfortable, keeping the clothing sack on we shoulder but taking off her armor. She wished she could put on something sexy or slinky, but that was in the bag with her prey. Still, the lack of lingerie did nothing to stifle her excitement. 

 

Looking like a goddess or not, this was happening- she wore only her britches and tunic, her feet and hands and head bare. Her dagger, however, remained at her side table within reach. 

 

Sufficient clothing and excesses removed, Gwyne smirked and tossed the bag onto the bed, hearing the satisfying yelp emit from the sack. She laughed at that, a release from

The anticipation. She walked over to the bed, knees onto the mattress, and undid the sack's tight knot. Inside was completely dark, so she opened it as much as she possibly could. She reached in, pulling an obstructing sandal out and peered in.

 

"Little bug... Where are you?"

 

She bit her lip. How sweet this hiding was. It made the game all the better.

 

"Come on out, little one..." She coaxed, honey dripping from her mouth. 

 

A few more seconds, and the grin turned to a frown. 

 

"Okay, bug. Last time. Don't make me reach in there, because I promise, because you will regret it. You have until three. One," she began, the tone of her voice shifting down. She recalled how her mother used to use that kind of tone when she was a child. 

 

"Two..."

 

Litea tripped out and tumbled headfirst out of the sack, face first into the mattress and rough sheets. She yelled out and tried to stop herself from falling but to no avail. 

 

Gwyne chuckled at the spectacle, amused to think she was scrambling out of her bag in a hurry. 

 

"Aaaaand three," she finished, the edge in her voice gone. She swooped down to the little woman, her blonde hair draping over and cascading all around her. She bent over and made sure that her breath washed over the tiny bug, smiling and biting her lip.

 

"Glad you could join me. It wouldn't have been good for you if I had to come get you," she said in a cutesy voice. The effect was unnerving to Litea. She took a step back and looked up and down her captor- her body hidden ineffectively in the loose pants and tunic, wiggled and moved in the most delightful of ways. She was muscled, taut. The body of a soldier with all the form of femininity, despite how much she tried to hide it. 

 

"Now then," she said, swiping Litea up and holding her up to her face, "I've got lunch coming in half an hour. I suggest, if you don't want to become a part of it, that you start yappin'."

 

Gwyne scootched up the bed so as to set Litea on the pillow, dropping her a few inches or so from the air, causing the tiny brunette to yelp out. Once done, the knight pulled herself up and crossed her legs, setting her hands in her lap and wiggling her toes from under her knees. She peered down at the Mage, who had only bothered to push herself up from her arms.

 

"So?" The blonde knight half-barked. "Who are you? Leia, was it? Right?"

 

Litea stammered, at a loss for words. She had expected murder, death, crushing, making good on Gwyne's promise for nutrition, yes- but a conversation?

 

"L-Litea." She squeaked. 

 

"What was that?" Gwyne leaned in.

 

"Litea!"

 

"Oh, Litea. Huh. Okay." She bit her lip and drummed her fingers on her knee. 

 

"Litea, good. So, Litea, why don't you tell me," she leaned back up again to her full height while sitting, "why you were in my dinner last night?"

 

Gwyne reached over and poked Litea's stomach, giggling while doing so. Litea reeled back, grabbing her stomach and looking up painfully at Gwyne. 

 

"It..." She coughed, "it was an accident."

 

Gwyne peered at her leerily. 

 

"An accident, huh? I don't quite believe that. Try again."

 

Litea swallowed hard, forcing back down the vomit. 

 

"I'm not lying. I was... I was walking around camp and I shrank. A wizard must have done it. Or a Mage."

 

Gwyne popped her eyes up. 

 

"Oh, a wizard then? How convenient. Seeing as how none were present in either our ranks or the other's. Too bad it's a disappearing wizard- a wizard who could shrink people would have been very useful during that fight..."

 

"I... I... Please..."

 

Gwyne rolled her eyes, leaning in slightly. 

 

"Please?" She boomed. "Please what? Please let you go? Please step on you? Well, if you insist..."

 

Gwyne laughed as Litea started to panic, watching the tiny woman cross her arms and back away on the pillow, only to fall back and kick herself as hard as she might. She reached over and wrapped her fist around the tiny woman, smiling all the while. 

 

She picked her up and stood up, deciding how she was going to do this. 

 

"Hmmm..." She sauntered over to her bag, thrusting the other hand inside and wiggling it around. 

 

"Ah ha!" 

 

She pulled out a leather sandal, twin to the one she pulled out earlier. She grabbed that one too, Litea still in hand, then sat down.

 

"Alright bug," Gwyne began, setting the sandals down on the rickety wooden floor and bringing her up to eye level, "last chance. Tell me what in the gods' names you were doing big one hour and then tiny enough to eat in the next, or I will turn you into toe jam." She squeezed her hand for effect. Litea cried out, terrified. 

 

"No, please... I don't... Please, Gwyne, don't..."

 

The knighterrant smiled widely, blowing air out of her nose.

 

"You know," she said, "I was kind of hoping you wouldn't say anything."

 

She reached Litea down and set her right foot into her sandal, edging her toes close to the edge of the thing that went between her toes. Once situated, Gwyne flexed her foot up to create a small alcove near the arch, and deposited the tiny mage inside. Litea screamed when she felt the warm, sweaty flesh envelope her- the all-encompassing heat Gwyne bore along with years of walking gave the skin a desperately hot and rough feel, the calloused skin pressing onto Litea as if the sky were falling. 

 

With a quick edge and a grin, Gwyne slid the rest of her foot into the sandal, locking Litea in. All the while relishing the tiny brunette's muffled cries, she slid her other sandal on.

 

Now shodden with footwear, Gwyne stood up, careful to not (thought tempted she was) to place all of her weight onto her foot and turn her prisoner into a pancake. Despite her threats, she still wanted Litea alive to play with. For now. 

 

She swung her foot forward, feeling the tiny body bend under her footstep as it rolled on the ground. While she did, she felt the girl scream out, but the sound was diminished- as it might be; with a mouthful of footflesh, it would hard to yell. She felt the minute sensations of the woman's arms and legs beating against her, the fists knock and boots kick her skin. It almost tickled. 

 

She walked around, getting to feel her little bug under her. She could get used to this.

 

Litea herself, however, would have been pleased as pie to be out that foot- each rise and fall brought a high pressure, more than she'd ever felt, followed by a release that had her in a free fall that threatened to drop her out of the sandal. She spent each footfall between trying to minimize the amount of her body being crushed, balancing between not falling out of the sandal and not going deeper underfoot, and trying to not vomit from the salty sweat that coated Gwyne's foot. 

 

The cycle was horrible- up down, up down, up down. Each press drove the air out of Litea only to be replaced by aerosoled sweat and foot odor. She coughed and sputtered all the way through.

 

Gwyne, on the other hand, quite enjoying her little walk, decided to go out for a walk- her horse, at the stable, still had something she needed that she had forgotten in her saddlebags. 

 

She favored the feeling of the little bug under her foot, taking special care to not totally crush her. While very much a cruel person, she was not sadistic- at least, not towards anyone whom she potentially stood to gain from. As she came outside, re churned mud from the maybe fifty inn patrons' tread had made her smile. This ought to be fun. 

 

She stepped slowly down, letting her foot sink slowly into the mud and squish between her toes. The feeling was incomparable- she had no idea, though this ought to have upset her, whether or not one of those squishing noises was Litea or not. 

 

Litea however, very much alive, screamed when she felt the wet and cold mud surround and enclose her in along with the foot. She desperately tried to hold her breath against the rising brown tide, but the hot calloused flesh pressed it out of her. 

 

On Gwyne walked, occasionally shaking the mud from her feet and letting her prisoner breathe. A young stable girl, in the middle of brushing down Gwyne's own steed, watched her curiously. When Gwyne approached, she looked down at her mud-encrusted toes and gasped at the tiny bug wiggling there. She looked up at the blonde knight in horror, as though she wanted to either warn or reprimand her. Gwyne let the corners of her mouth curl up and she leaned in.

 

"That was the last stable girl I let brush down my horse. She didn’t do a very good job.”

 

She watched as the girl’s chin trembled and her eyes turned to the size of dinner plates.

 

“But you’ll do a good job…” she reached into the saddlebag and pulled a bottle of sand and sponge from the bag. She held them in her hands and then stole a glance at the girl, still trembling at the thought of what might happen if the brushed this now very large and very unruly beast down incorrectly.

 

“Right?”

 

As Gwyne walked away, Litea still underfoot but now unconscious, she chuckled- that was sure to get her horse a free bag of oats at the very least.

 

Gwyne had still felt her wriggling, though faintly, after she had washed her feet and come in. The innkeep would not allow her to enter back into the building with so much filth on her ("you look like you deliberately stomped in the mud!"), and so she had begrudgingly used the water bucket at the door to clean her feet and sandals off, their tiny passenger included. She had hoped to make the bug clean her foot off (either with rag and water or tongue, which would have delighted her), but there wasn't much left after, except between the toes. Maybe she'd make her clean between those, she thought, giving her digits a twitch and feeling the girl's tiny body barely respond. 

 

She drew a bit of water from the basin provided and got some cloth from her bag, tossing it into the bucket. She took off her sandals and let Litea roll out onto the floor, who slumped loosely and unceremoniously onto the hardwood. The girl wasn't moving, save for the light respirations that marked her as barely conscious. Had Gwyne been too rough, perhaps? 

 

Maybe, she thought. Maybe for a girl who just showed up suddenly in her dinner. 

 

That thought provoked her again and made her remember- the circumstances were just too suspicious to ignore. Perhaps the girl was just in her food by a very unfortunate accident. But was it likely? No.

 

Tired of waiting, Gwyne took the rag out of the bucket and threw it on the tiny mage. She jerked up instantly, gasping and sputtering haltingly. Gwyne took off the cloth, and watched as Litea tried to readjust herself and get her bearings. 

 

"So, bitty bug," she crooned over, causing Litea to jump and look terrifyingly up to the sky, "are you ready to tell me what you were really doing? Besides making a string of very bad decisions?"

 

Litea hovered just above unconsciousness, shivering from the freezing water dumped onto her. She stared at the towering knight dumbly and gaped at her. Gwyne frowned, feigning disappointment. 

 

"Too bad. I guess I'll have to think of some more ways to..." She placed a finger to her lip, "persuade you."

 

She began to reach for the girl, who scrambled to her feet and started to cower, when there was a faint knock at the door. Gwyne's eyes shut over to the portal, then back to Litea, who had done the same. The mage looked at the door, almost longingly, and the knight saw it. 

 

"Nuh uh," she growled, starting to reach for her. "I will very much step on you. In fact," she wrapped her fingers about the mage, "let's keep you away... Just in case." 

 

The second knock came on the door just after Gwyne had folded her boot leg in half and setting it to rest on the opening, trapping Litea inside. Gwyne hurried to the door and opened it, where an adorable old woman handed her a plateful of fare. 

 

Gwyne brought it to the table and felt her stomach rumble. She hadn't had breakfast, and so her stomach growled. Or course, that made her think about her... Er, guest. How long had it been since she had eaten? Since at least last night. 

 

Unless she got into my dried beef in my bag last night, she thought with a sour face. That stuff's expensive. If she did, I may just replace the loss with her...

 

No matter. She picked up stale heel of bread and took a bite, weighing her options. She knew she ought to feed the girl, give her some wine. She wanted her guest fresh and ready for fun, after all. Oh, and that whole not starving thing, either. She didn't want her to die, previous events notwithstanding. In fact, she hadn't decided, in truth, whether or not she was going to kill her. It would be easy. Crushed under boot, thrown to an animal. Her horse ate anything. Or, she thought, with a stir in her loins, she could eat her herself. She'd never eaten someone like her. Not even a pixie, if that's what she was indeed.

 

Still, she thought with a wicked smile, there ought to be some fun in this while she might have her.

 

She bit into the bread again, a mouthful to tide her over until after her planned game. She tore a mite off of the heel and set the rest down, trotting to where the folded boot was. 

 

When she dumped Litea out of her boot, the girl was still crying. She frowned at that- she couldn't well enjoy herself if she was going to cry the whole time. 

 

"Okay, little Litea," she said hovering over her on the bed. She sat down and placed her feet to flank either side of her. "I've got a feeling you're pretty hungry." She held the tear of bread up to her face. 

 

"You want this?"

 

The girl nodded meekly and Gwyne saw the lump come down her throat.

 

"Well then," smiling at her, "I'll give it to you. If, and only if, you can come up and get it."

 

The knight placed the piece of bread precariously in the crook between her shoulder and scapula, which twisted and writhed when she moved her white neck. 

 

"However, if you fall, or if you can't get up my shirt, you won't get your dinner. In fact, I may just..."

 

A wicked grin slashed her lips and she eyed the tiny woman wolfishly with her merciless sapphires. 

 

"Well... Just make sure you get it- how about we leave it at that?"

 

Litea nodded weakly and started to walk around the towering ped, digits still encrusted with dried and smelly mud. Gwyne barked at her, making her jump with fright. 

 

"Not around, little one... Up and over."

 

She wiggles her toes, making some of the dried mud fall off onto the sheets. Litea whimpered and doubled back, going over to where Gwyne's foot loomed over her, the calloused pads of her sole outlined in minute detail, the dirt and sweat creating a intricate drawing of the lines. Litea could see knots of wear on her heel and ball, and she idly wondered how many miles this foot had walked. 

 

She approached it reverentially, trying to figure out how to surmount it. Just as she figured she might not, it lowered slightly, the result of Gwyne pointing her toes downward, and the tops of her digits hovered just level with Litea's head.

 

"Here, that might help," came a giggle from above. 

 

Litea, her arms already weak from a couple's days exhaustive work and malnutrition, had trouble pulling herself up onto the wiggling tootsies. On her third try, Gwyne whipped her foot up, catapulting the tiny mage up and over, causing her to help cutely and land arms first onto the bony part of Gwyne's foot. Litea let out a frustrated moan, uncharacteristic of her behavior thus far, but Gwyne herself giggled and put a hand to her mouth coquettishly. 

 

"Sorry. Couldn't resist."

 

She watched the mage traverse her leg after brushing herself off, feeling the minute steps of this tiny thing pad across (somehow grudgingly) first her ankle, then shin, and knee. The mage occasionally looked up at her hostess/mistress, stealing glances from the woman who was, all at once looking at her with by a hint of malice- it was a childlike wonder, in fact, mixed with something... 'Lustish,' a look that Litea didn't like in the slightest. The faint curve of a smile riding up her lip, a shimmer in the eyes. It occurred to Litea that this woman may not be all evil... Or for that matter, predictable. She was enjoying this. 

 

And how she was.

 

Gwyne had relished the novelty of the woman (she decided that she probably wasn't one of the Fair Folk) walking across her- she felt absolutely enormous, and she toyed with the idea that, for here and now, she was Earthborn, and this little girl her charge. 

 

This idea was somewhat of a fulfillment- she remembered years ago the Great War that had threatened the whole world with destruction- she and her father were refugees, and crossed the Solarian Sea to a camp with the other's fleeing the city. The camp had not one, but two Earthborn, tall and gaunt and emaciated as they might be with hunger. She remembered, despite those terrifying times, the thrill she felt seeing men and women interact with those Giants. How they peeped about their feet and legs, were held in hands, and in the case of two very lucky ones, kissed and made love to. Since then, the idea had become a bit of an infatuation. 

 

She grinned widely at the woman, now crossing her ample thigh and trying to stay as centered as possible. She couldn't help herself- she chuckled wickedly and tilted her leg up, sending Litea screaming and sliding down the rough pants towards Gwyne's crotch. She laughed as she saw her cling desperately to stray strands, trying to pull herself up. 

 

"Hey," she said between laughs, "I thought you were hungry? Why aren't you still climbing?"

 

She bumped her leg again, sending Litea up with her legs flailing in the air. She cried out again.

 

"Or did you..." She feigned horror, her blue eyes wide and her mouth barely covered by a hand, "did you you think you could skip straight to my dessert?" She clicked her tongue with disapproval, eyeing Litea and the between-legs part of her ware (already slightly moistened) back and forth. 

 

"I'm pretty selective about who eats at that buffet... And you yourself might still be eaten!"

 

She shivered at Litea's sudden trembling. How amazing was this power! To cause so much pain with just words.

 

"Now then, why don't you just keep going? You have to finish your dinner before you have your dessert, young lady..."

 

She allowed her leg to flatten and Litea stabilize her grip. She watched her slowly pull herself up. 

 

"If you can even get to your dinner, that is."

 

Litea continued on with an abundance of caution. She made sure to give herself plenty of space while traversing up to the woman's shirt, and grabbed tightly to the rough spun garment when she did arrive to it. 

 

Gwyne had to tilt her head slightly to see past her breast. Her prisoner had taken to gripping in between the strands and finding footholds where she might. Up she climbed, taking her sweet time, all the while Gwyne getting not bored, but perhaps eager. Her endurance was admirable- Gwyne had gone before two days without food or drink, and she had nearly passed out. Still, that prompted the thought- what was indeed driving her? Why hadn't she just fessed up and made it a lot easier on herself? Gwyne probably would've just given her back to her employer in the end, and would've been on her way. 

 

A sonorous growl brought Gwyne back, and she felt the insides of her quake. She peeked back down at Litea and saw the girl dead frozen with a fear in her eyes. Gwyne moaned, satisfied, and waited until she looked up to lick her lips slowly, dragging the pink muscle across the soft pillows of her lips, whetting them with a thin sheen of saliva. 

 

"Hurry up now... You're not the only one who's hungry! In fact..." She placed a cupped hand over Litea and stood up from the bed. She felt the girl scream and fall onto her pinky, her tiny thin arms groping around her skin, trying to find a handhold. 

 

She chuckled and stood straight up, slowly letting the light trickle in and seeing her eyes peep up at her. 

 

"Hello again. Now, how about a little wager? I'm getting hungry and a little impatient, so let's raise the stakes- I'm going to let you hold on to me, as tight as you can- and I'm going to do some jumps. Some big ones- but don't worry, I'll give you a few seconds to really hang on. Sound okay?"

 

The tiny girl immediately redoubled her grip, wrapping the fibers around her hands and sticking her boots in and doing the same. 

 

"And again, the stakes are raised, so... If you don't fall, I'll let you eat as much as you need. By the gods, I'll let you go. You'll be free. I'll take you to wherever you want to. However, if you lose..." She looked past Litea at the hardwood floor below, her feet pigeon-toed, and then back at the girl. "Well... If you fall, and you're still alive, I'll just crush your head before I eat you. Waste not want not, right?"

 

She chuckled as she felt the woman shake, her belly laughs bouncing her prey off her at each sound. Boing boing boing. 

 

"You ready?"

 

Without waiting for an answer, Gwyne leapt high into the air, her arms flung up as high as she could. Both felt themselves lift off the ground, Gwyne the familiar sense of jumping and Litea that terrifying feeling of freefall. They came down with a thunderous crash, Gwyne's bare feet pounding onto the rickety floorboards, her shirt with its cargo barely stretching as she landed- with no elasticity, the motion was translated in full. 

 

Litea felt, the bike rising in her throat, her foothold loosen just a little.

 

Again Gwyne jumped, and again. And again. Up and down, she lifted herself into the air with practiced athleticism, each time, Litea's grip loosening just a little. On the eighth jump, it was too much- he made the mistake of opening her hand right as Gwyne landed, knocking her off and sending her careening down. She flailed desperately, screaming, to get another purchase but to no avail- her other hand followed suit, then one of her feet, and on the tenth jump she hung precipitously by her left leg. She screamed bloody murder as she felt herself rise up again, the thoughts of a gruesome death filling her mind with unabated fear. She was going to die, she knew, in that limbo-like freefall, and everything else before, every Gwyne-related peril, seemed to be so... Filled with hope then, in painful retrospective clarity. Gwyne landed, Litea's foothold broke, and she fell... 

 

Right into a calloused palm.

 

"Gotcha!" 

 

Litea's stomach lurched up, right along with her body, as she was lifted to Gwyne's expansive and smiling face. Litea had just enough time to think about how blue her eyes were when the rest of her stomach caught up with her, and the bile rise in her throat. She scrambled, haphazardly, to the edge of the hand, where she let issue a watery, heaving retch. Fear expelling itself from her already dehydrated body. Gwyne watched the spectacle and frowned.

 

"That's gross. Thanks for not doing it in my hand, I guess. It's too bad, though," she produced the bite of bread, and popped it into her mouth, chewing and making a big show of it. "You don't get dinner, since you lost."

 

Litea looked up at Gwyne with her brown eyes, and began then, to sob. Deep, painful, lurching sobs. No tears came out- no water left. Her cries continued, even after Gwyne had swallowed the morsel down. But then, she realized, Litea was trying to say something between breaths.

 

"What was that?"

 

A sputtering cough and inhale.

 

"I said," she croaked, "just do it already... Just kill me. I don't want to live anymore."

 

An outsider, were they in the room, might have said that something in Gwyne's face changed. The years of war had etched onto her once girlish face naught but two- anger and joy. Anger at her enemy, self, comrades, and joy at her pleasure, bloodlust, or sadism. But sadness? One might not even be able to recognize it even if it ever did cross her face. In this case, with was simply a stone stare and a hard swallow.

 

"Are you really so eager to die? I could do it y'know."

 

"You keep saying that... But you don't. Please, just get it over with."

 

A pause. "You're right. I guess..."

 

She frowned, looking down the side, away from the tiny girl in her palm. She felt just a little bit more weighty in her hand.

 

"I guess..." She reached up and scratched her nose while looking back up at her. "Well. Do you want something to eat?"

 

 

-----------------------------------------

 

Gwyne had finished her portion long before Litea did. She sat there, sipping timidly at a cup of wine, watching this girl devour handful after handful of her shared bread, carrot, and honeyed capon. Every now and then, Litea would stop and sway, and then take very large drink of water (provided in a thimble by Gwyne). Gwyne thought about how hungry she was, and felt just the smallest tang of pity. Not remorse, she supposed- just pity. Pity that she was in this situation. Still, Litea's crime was unknown to her, and despite all her pleadings and proddings, she was no closer to knowing. Perhaps if she tried reason. It might calm the girl down enough. 

 

"So, little one..." Gwyne said, setting her stone cup down. "Let's talk."

 

Litea wiped her mouth with the back of a dirty sleeve. 

 

"About what?"

 

Gwyne smirked, rolling her eyes. 

 

"You know damned well what- don't act stupid." She felt we anger flare up and pushed it back down, letting it dissipate. "Listen, what I did was out of... You being uncooperative." She leaned over and set her elbows on the table. "Granted, I suppose I was quick to... Refer you to my stomach the first time we met, but I was mad. And I guess maybe..." 

 

She twisted her lips, as if her face was helping her choose her next words. She huffed.

 

"Well. You know, Litea..." She picked the girl up by her tunic, the same dull woolen one she had donned at the start of this ill fated journey, swinging her perilously away up to her face. Litea dropped the food from her hands and swallowed her last quick bite.

 

"I'm getting really tired of this. I'm getting tired of you, frankly, your stubbornness and your refusal to talk. Don't you you think..."

 

She brought the mage to rest on her nose, her blue eyes crossing to see. Litea quivered under that gaze. 

 

"...that it would be easier just to tell me?" The vibration shook her and made her yelp. Gwyne let go of the girl and she slid down, screaming, into the waiting hand of her captor. The blonde giantess laughed, amused. She took another draft of her wine, her eyes never breaking with the girl.

 

"I mean, I hardly believe that anything you say could get you into a deeper hole than this... Right?"

 

She looked down at the girl in her palm, who trembled. Gwyne watched her as she shook, her own stomach churning from the excitement. She had felt powerful before, God-like even on the battlefield... But this was something else entirely. 

 

Litea, herself trying desperately to find a way to escape, averted her eyes when Gwyne had made her observation, capped with a confirmation- a bad mistake. The cast down eyes did not go unnoticed by Gwyne. She widened her eyes and leaned her head in closer, her long locks drifting forward and covering her face and a bit of the palm. 

 

"Unless, of course..." 

 

Gwyne shifted her legs from the chair and pushed off, walking towards the the bed's nightstand. With her free hand she picked up the dagger by the hilt and flicked the hilt off, revealing the near-luminescent blade she kept razor sharp. The girl in her hand, kept ever steady by Gwyne, started to whimper.

 

"There IS something else that would get you deeper..."

 

The palm lifted, and Litea was brought shivering to her face. The girl had sat down and made herself into a ball. 

 

"Please, Gwyne, I beg you... Just let me go..." Her voice quaked and tears streamed down her eyes. "I'll leave you alone, I s-s-swear."

 

Gwyne shook her head slowly. 

 

"You need to tell me. Now." Gwyne closed her hand around the girl and walked over to the table, her footsteps never sounding so loud to either of them. She tossed Litea onto the table, who landed with a thud and rolled off, her mewls increasing. Gwyne pulled up her chair then, dragging it across with a horrid screech and sitting down heavily into it. It creaked, years of usage. She put the knife blade down onto its tip, her fingers at the butt of the handle, spinning it and twisting it. It dug into the warped table. Her anger came flaring back in all its fury. 

 

"Litea, I'm gonna make this really simple." She swallowed and pushed a lock of her blonde back. "You're a bug. I'm big. Bigger than you, at least. I can do," she said, pulling the knife up and flicking it around her fingers, "anything I want to you. Now, that in mind," she said, her voice lilting, "you are going to tell me exactly why you were near me last night, and why you're small, and why in the many hells you're hiding something. You're going to do this," Gwyne lifted the blade and held the very top of it on Litea's minuscule cheek, "or I will fillet and roast you alive." 

 

Litea felt her tears stream down and wash the tip of the blade, sharp even this close up. 

 

"So what'll it be?"

 

The silence hung on the air, and Litea felt that white hot indecision tear her stomach in half. She thought about, in that horrifying few seconds, everything that would or would not happen to her- she knew Gwyne was dead serious, but then again, she had been dead serious that first night she almost ate her and decided not to. Whereas Litea telling her the true intent of her actions... That most assuredly bring death. 

 

It was guaranteed death versus only slightly less chance of death. 

 

Slowly, resolutely, with her barely holding her urine in for fear, she shook her head. 

 

Gwyne felt the wind go out of her. She screwed up her face and snarled silently, shaking her own head in disgust. 

 

"You're an idiot. You godsdamned stupid girl."

 

When Gwyne flipped her over, Litea began to scream- ugly, howling noises that one might hear in the wild, a deer crying as the lion begins to eat her alive.

 

"No, noooo!"

 

Gwyne pinned her to the table with her thumb and forefinger, by the head and legs respectively, pressing her painfully to the wooden table. Litea's arms flailed uselessly at the huge fingers that held her down, her tears again flowing and letting her bladder run. 

 

"No, please, gods no!"

 

Again Litea pressed up, trying to wriggle free of the grasp, but stopped immediately when she felt the knife's tip pierce her clothing and barely break skin. Just like that, all the bravado and foolish courage melted out of her, the unimaginable edge of death just inches away. 

 

"Okay, oh gods, please! I'll tell you! I'll tell you!" She squealed. "My na, my name is Litea of house Avernhill!"

 

The blade stopped. 

 

"My... My..."

 

"Go on." The startlingly huge voice booming from above. 

 

"My brother was killed by you! At the battle of Amon Ursa... You killed him, and I came to kill you!"

 

"What?!"

 

"I... I was going to shrink you down during the battle and let.... Oh gods...   Let someone else kill you, crush you, or... Whatever. I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry! Please, please, don't... Don't kill me! Please, for the love of the gods-"

 

"Shut up!" Gwyne barked. 

 

She did. Litea shook and shivered, her body doing so on its own with the flood of adrenaline pumping through her. The two fingers held her still. She waited, waited for what seemed an eternity. Finally, with a sharp inhale of relief, she felt the cold blade leave her skin, followed by a slow trickle of blood. 

 

Gwyne above her uttered a irritated sigh, and she slammed the knife tip first into the wood of the table, causing Litea to yelp. She them yanked, yanked, Litea up and held her a few inches from her face.

 

She scowled at her and glared through her two lapis lazuli eyes. She bit her lip, possibly in consternation. Finally, with a deep breath, said, 

 

"I killed your brother."

 

Litea waited before she realized that it wasn't a statement. 

 

"Yes," she squeaked, small as a mouse. 

 

"And you want revenge."

 

She blushed as she said it. 

 

"Yes..."

 

Gwyne sighed loudly and rubbed her eyes with her free hand. She looked suddenly very tired, gone the mirth of this morning. 

 

"Uh huh..."

 

She then gave a look at Litea something like... Well, she didn't know. Something maybe like guilt and anger and sadness and hate and joy all at once. But instead of doing any action that would be pursuant to any of those emotions, she instead simply stood up from her chair, causing Litea to grab on to her two fingers. 

 

"Listen, kid... I'm gonna put you away for a while."

 

Litea piped up, the sudden question springing to her mind. 

 

"Are... Are you going to kill me?" She dared to ask.

 

Gwyne said nothing, but instead walked to where her boot was. He picked it up, and opened the mouth of it, hanging Litea there right above- but then, she stopped.

 

"I haven't decided yet."

 

And in she dropped her, and the last thing Litea saw was the only black growing as Gwyne folded the boot in half. 

 

Chapter 7

 

The sun peeked in from above her and woke Litea up. She had been, she realized in sudden clarity, sleeping since she was thrown into  Gwyne's boot the night prior to. Or had it been longer? He hadn't any idea. Time had stopped for her in that sunless and slightly smelly prison, and all she could remember was shivering and shaking, thinking on her death before a dreamless, albeit slightly comforting sleep had took her. 

 

When the light blocked out and shimmered across her eyes, Litea's heart had stopped. Had Gwyne finally decided she was going to kill her? She waited, shaking (but not so much as before), for the hand to come down and close around her. Or maybe she was putting on her boots and going to crush her under her sole. Had she forgotten about her?

 

Her fears alleviated somewhat, by only a little, as she felt Gwyne's fingers wrap around her tiny form, the telltale truck-like digits stopping to grope and feel around her, apparently to make sure she was upright. 

 

Up she went, the boots high leather walls zipping up and into the dizzyingly wide space that opened in all directions around her. The sunlight was harsher in the open, and like the curtains being pulled apart in the morning, her eyes squinted and strained to adjust. 

 

"Good morning," boomed an even-tempered voice somewhere to her front and up. Even-tempered. That was the first thing that came to mind. "I hope you slept well. We have lots to talk about."

 

Litea strained to rub her eyes. Damn this light. Who gave the sun permission to be so bright? She felt Gwyne walking and bobbing, her body's swaying indicating a light walk. Somewhere a horse whinnied, and it smelled of smoke. In the Brie moments when she could open her eyes to let just a few photons in at a time, she saw a lot of green. Blue sky. Bark-colored dirt. They weren't at the inn anymore, which somewhat made her ill at ease. The inn somehow meat safety. Indecision. What was Gwyne planning?

 

"I'm going to set you down now."

 

Litea's stomach dropped as her body did. She slowed to an even descent and then finally felt the gritty ground as she was (rather softly) placed onto the dirt. There was a shadow here, and so she was able to open her eyes. 

 

She saw Gwyne's expansive face peering down her nose at her, a soft smile on her prodigious lips. Was she not angry? 

 

"There we are. I have some bread and jerky from the inn. I'll get you some, you must be hungry."

 

The wind shifted and swayed as Gwyne rose up, the vacuum pulling Litea forward just a bit. Now that Gwyne's body had vacated and moved disturbingly swift to her horse's saddle bag, she could see more. The horse was tethered to a nearby tree, a great and enormous tower of a thing, and a small fire had been built. There was a wife canopy of trees above her, shafts of light piercing through and making particulate matter visible. 

 

Everything was huge. The horse, the fire. The tree. Her hostess who, now humming a popular tune blithely while digging through her bag, had threatened to crush or devour her. 

 

And she was so small. So helpless. 

 

Litea was shivering when Gwyne came back. When asked if she was cold, Litea shook her head, still doing so even as she took the puff of bread and sliver of jerky. 

 

Satisfied her quarry was eating, Gwyne sat down again, placing her legs in front of her, her feet resting comfortably and flanking the tiny girl, a fact not lost in either of them. As Litea ate, she half-scoped, half-admired her captor. From the lithe feet and majestic toes (now clean from dirt and grime) that sat in her sandals, up her legs (she still wore the wool pants), to the arms and hands that rested on her knees and rest of her core that leaned forward, Gwyne was quite the looker. She noticed, uncomfortably, that the blonde had been watching her intently, and she looked away blushing. 

 

"Sorry."

 

Litea ate the rest of her breakfast, and washed it down with a drink from Gwyne's water skin. 

 

"There we are," Gwyne announced happily. The knight seemed very... Excited about something, a fact that disquieted Litea not a little. 

 

The blonde seemed to chew her next words carefully.

 

"Well, I guess I'll get right to it. I've decided, little Litea, that..." She watched the agonized look on her captive's face, "I'm not going to kill you. Yet. I still hold that option available until the end."

 

Litea cleared her throat. It was painful, even after two recent meals and drinks. She said something, but it was too quiet for Gwyne to hear. She leaned over, pulling her hair behind her and cocking her ear towards her. 

 

"Sorry, I didn't catch that. Say it again, please?"

 

Litea squeaked once again. Gwyne didn't quite hear it this time either. She looked back down at her and frowned. 

 

"This isn't working," she sighed. Her brought her hand forward and made to grab the tiny mage. "Come here, you."

 

Litea squeaked again as the fingers wrapped around her form, and did so until she was brought up to Gwyne's face. The knight smiled down on her.

 

"There, should be easier. Now what were you saying?"

 

Litea cleared her throat and then spoke aloud.

 

"I said," she started too loudly but then adjusted, "what do you mean 'until the end?'"

 

Gwyne chuckled and bit her lip. 

 

"Well, the end being when I return you to your parents at Avernhill. I've decided that I'm going to hold you hostage. Or kill you. I haven't decided yet."

 

The news ran through Litea, and it didn't quite register the first time. Did she mishear her?

 

"You... You're going to take me back to my parents?"

 

"Well, not quite. Not yet anyhow."

 

"W-wait. You're letting me go? And what do you mean? You're eventually going to take me back to my parents?"

 

"Well, yeah. Once I'm convinced you're not going to try and kill me anymore. By all counts, I'm well, well within my rights to just crush you."

 

Gwyne curled her fingers up around the girl and smirked when Litea squealed. 

 

"But I don't really think it would be wise. You see," she leaned in and licked her lips, "you're a rich girl. Well, more accurately, your parents are. And I bet they'd pay a mountain of gold to get their little girl back. Emphasis on little."

 

"You're not going to unshrink me first?" 

 

"Uh, no? Do I look like a wizard, kid? And besides, you," Gwyne tossed Litea up into the air a few inches, brushing her finger on her feet to put a spin on her. The mage screamed and flailed when it happened, but soon found herself back safely in the calloused palm of the knight. "You're muuuuch more manageable at this size. Not to mention so, sooooo easy," she plucked the girl up between two fingers and brought her to her face, "to squish if you misbehave or try to escape... And not to mention..." She stuck her tongue out and dabbed it on the girl's stomach. "Bite-sized. And, although I would love to make a meal out of you, I still want my personal slave, so don't think you can skip out on your duties. So- if you do your tasks well, you'll live... Probably. And if you do bad, then I'll have you for an after dinner mint. Then again, once I ransom you, I'll have enough to go to Keelah, get fat on fair folk. It would be a smorgasbord there!"

 

She cackled at her own joke, and Litea grimaced at the thought. But then she realized something.

 

"What do... What do you mean by 'tasks'?"

 

The girl twisted uncomfortably in her hand, and Gwyne enjoyed the little dance of terror she performed. Despite all that, if she wanted to make the most of this, the girl would have to be pacified, or rather at least not fidgeting about. Gwyne took a free finger and stroked the back of the tiny mage softly, then continued.

 

"Well, you've got to earn your keep. It would be boring, for the both of us, if you just sat in my bag the entire time. I can have you so fun stuff! You can cook with me, you can polish my boots and scour my chainmail... If you're naughty, you can sharpen my sword, Wouldn't you rather be out in the sun with me for your time here?"

 

"How long?"

 

"What?" Gwyne cocked her head to one side.

 

"How long do I have to be with you?"

 

Gwyne set that same free finger to get lip, genuinely thinking about it. She would have to word this carefully.

 

"Until I feel you're sufficiently not a threat to me anymore. When that's the case, I'll ransom you to your parents and leave you with a trusted friend, who can deliver you back. All that after your dear mummy and daddy have made me richer than King Illicain."

 

“And then… you’ll let me go?”

 

Gwyne smirked and brushed her hair back.

 

“Well. That’s entirely up to you and how you play your cards, and how little you upset me. How well you,” she grinned, wiggling her toes, “massage my feet.”

 

Litea grimaced, looking at the knight’s worn toes. What a monumental task, and probably smelly to boot. Literally.

 

"What makes you think they'll pay? They might think I'm dead."

 

The knight frowned. 

 

"No daddy would ever risk the safety of their little girl. Also, I may cut off a toe and send it to them."

 

Litea's toes involuntarily flexed inside of their boots. She hoped she wasn't serious. 

 

"But what makes you think they won't come after you once I'm home?"

 

Gwyne grinned snidely.

 

"What makes you think I'll still be anywhere in Ilica after this? I'll hightail it across the Solarian Sea to Arrovia or Thraka. Lornak. It's easy to get a new name- grease a few palms, cut some hair off.... Hells, I came by my knighthood easy enough- it would be nothing to throw this one away and get another one. Maybe I'll go to Keelah, make myself fat on fairy. Maybe they'll worship me like a goddess. In fact..."

 

She squeezed Litea between her fingers and smooched her face.

 

"Maybe I'll start with you."

 

Litea cringed and wiggled around.

 

"Please... Gwyne. Don't do this..." She could feel the bile swimming in her throat. Despite her assurance that she would be ransomed alive to her parents, Litea had no doubt that there was a very high possibility of her being murdered by this woman. Under foot, hand, ass, or between teeth.

 

Still. She had to try. 

 

Or would it be better just to go with it, bide time until she could find a way to escape. That plan could work. Maybe.

 

"Oh, but little Litea... You don't have a choice."

 

Something in Gwyne's eyes told her that she was deadly serious. Maybe it was color- cold as the snows of the Frozen North, calculating as ever. Litea figured Gwyne had no formal education, but was as sharp as anyone at the academy. Maybe it was the bloodlust in them, the drive to fight and thrive, the very thing that ha carried her all those years ever since she leaned to swing a blade. 

 

Litea finally huffed through her nose and nodded. Gwyne seemed satisfied at the small but telling gesture. 

 

"That's good!" She set Litea on her pack next to her and sat down. She began to take off her sandals and set them aside. She swung her pack around and set it, rather hard, right next to Litea. The small girl yelped and jumped away.

 

"Careful!" She chided, forgetting for just a brief moment how small she was. Gwyne shrugged and smirked. Gwyne pulled out the other boot from the sack, and then set them both to the side, toe to toe.

 

"I've thought a lot," she almost seemed to confide, "about what kind of tortures I could put you through. Nothing fatal, mind, don't worry... But certainly not a walk in the roses."

 

She pulled a rag out of her pack and then splashed some water onto it, and began to clean her sandals off- the leather was filthy and grimy, and when Litea saw it she remembered how horrible it was to be smothered underfoot between Gwyne's sweaty foot and her worn sandal leather. She shuddered.

 

"I think we'll start out slow. I wanted to put you in my boot and walk alongside my horse for a bit, but gods know you've already gone through that. No, no, we need more variety." Gwyne swung the wet rag around, a ring of droplets shooting all around her. "Maybe... In my mouth? Don't worry, I won't bite. Unless you give me cause to, that is."

 

Litea shifted uncomfortably, the idea triggering a palpitation in her heart. The fresh memory of her almost being a snack for Gwyne made her shiver. 

 

"No...?" Gwyne queried, seeing the discomfort in her face, "okay then..." She went to scratch her arm, but then looked at it. She smiled, and grinned something terrible at Litea.

 

"I think I've got just the idea..."

 

Litea screamed once again when Gwyne picked her up, the thought of her being inside Gwyne's mouth (one of her major source of horrors) making her shake. 

 

"Now now, little Litea- this won't be so bad if you think about it! All you have to do," Gwyne crooned, lifting her shirt up with her other hand, "is not tickle me. Because, hey, if you do, you might be smothered. Or smashed. And I don't want that... Er, yet."

 

Gwyne lifted her free arm up at the shoulder and placed Litea in the hollow of her armpit. It was covered in the thin layer of perspiration, and even only after a morning of riding, it had started to stink from the sweat. 

 

Litea flailed and almost immediately, Gwyne giggled and closed her armpit down, smiling at the tiny girl and laughing.

 

"Hey, stop that! You don't want to tickle me, don't you? I could squish you in there! So don't move. You'll only make this worse for the both of us. I'm jut riding until tonight?"

 

She tried placing her again there, but a tiny toe twitch sent Gwyne into a giggle once more.

 

"Ahhh, Litea godsdammit! Stop that!"

 

She tried to not laugh not smile at this point, unsuccessfully, and brought Litea up to her face.

 

"Hey, hey you... Stop it."

 

"I'm sorry, I'm trying to-"

 

"Well, stop trying and just do it! The alternative, you know, is riding under my toes inside my boot. Do you want that?"

 

A silent and enthusiastic head shake from the small wizardette. 

 

"I thought so. So be still..." Gwyne smiled, and then, almost as an afterthought, said, "or, or else."

 

Litea nodded and held her breath as she was again placed into the crook of Gwyne's muscled arm. As she slid in, she felt the slick sweat that had perspired in Gwyne's arm during the heat of the afternoon sun that beat down on them. Even in the cool shade provided by the forest canopy, it was blazingly hot. As Gwyne folded her arm, the anxiety she felt mounted and she found herself trying harder than ever to not shake and shiver. It might've been a bluff, as way it sounded, but Litea had no interest whatsoever in testing Gwyne's patience. Not again, anyhow.

 

The skin, plentiful and surprisingly soft, enveloped Litea's body like a snowfall, covering her completely from head to toe. As soon as the natural crease folded, she immediately regretted not being able to stick her head out for a breather. 

 

The oils in Gwyne's armpit, probably resident for a very long while, the perks of being a hedge knight, slicked themselves into their prisoner's skin, getting into her clothes and hair and face. He felt the stray hairs poke into her, hardened by repeated shaving. She tried to navigate her head to create an air pocket, hoping to do so would bring sweet relief from the lack of oxygen, but to no avail.

 

The heat grew. And it grew. And it yet grew. 

 

She felt the knight moving and gathering her items up, awkwardly trying to do so with only the full capacity of one of her arms and keeping Litea inside that crook. Gwyne had started to hum to herself, the vibration buzzing through Litea and making her quiver, all at once sensually and very uncomfortable. 

 

The heat grew still. He started to feel her own perspiration mingle with that of Gwyne's, and her whole body shifted from being simply uncomfortable to being unbearable. It had only been minutes (or was it seconds? Hours? Who knew?) since Gwyne had placed her into her armpit, but already Litea felt herself grow lucid and distant, like this wasn't happening to her. 

 

Oxygen became sparse. She felt her eyes blacken as she found difficulty in breathing, each rasp of breath assaulted and fresh with the musk and sweat and scent that was Gwyne. For a brief half second she was reminded of the horrors that as endured stuck in the knighterrant's underclothes, slipping and sliding down between her legs. And come face to face with her lower lips. 

 

Litea made mistake of shifting her body, prompting a yelp from somewhere, some unknowable direction. The resulting shake made the fleshy and sweaty prison around her shake and shiver, pressing against and pleating again and again. The air became yet sparser, harder and harder to gasp for air. Litea struggled, only slightly, trying to, with all the fear and anxiety of a newborn, to try and emerge from the skin sack, to try and reach fresh air.

 

Her sight grew dim, and her eyes heavy. She was suffocating. And yet, just before she blacked out, Gwyne moved her arm is such a way that allowed for unstable air, even coming through the woolen tunic the life-rich oxygen rushed in and filled her lungs, the wet-saturated taint still not leaving. Relief flooding her senses and being, and for a brief moment, just before the gap closed again and she found herself in that blackened and heavy darkness, she was hopeful- but oh so short-lived. It would be a long ride.

 

Litea began to tear up, and she found herself unable to distinguish between her tears from the sweat around her. It was going to be a very long ride.

 

---------------------------------

 

Gwyne mounted her horse shortly after snuffing out the fire. It had been a difficult task doing so, that and pulling her boots on after replacing her sandals, but she did it anyhow, and was pleased with herself that Litea has not fallen out. Pleased more, still, that she felt her captive wriggle around in her arm pit. It tickled, yes, but she would resist.

 

It was a long road to Avernhill. North, in fact, nearing the icy waters of the Frozen North. It would be cold there, she realized, and she wasn’t, to her not-so-disappointed dismay, properly equipped for the journey. It would be better to head south for now, to winter and do some sellsword work before moving back up north. Port Lien, perhaps?

 

Besides, Gwyne reasoned with a grin, I would feel awful if Litea froze...

 

She looked down at her armpit and smiled. Well, perhaps she was plenty warm now. She grinned and chuckled at the thought. Torturing this girl would be the peak to pleasure for the months to come. She still hadn’t truly made up her mind about whether or not she would kill her- it might be better to, loose ends and all that.

 

And yet. Money to be made.

 

Still, she thought, kicking her heels into her horse’s haunches, and feeling the tiny girl struggle in under her arm, I can enjoy this while it lasts.