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.