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.