Page 15 of The Satyr's Wood

Chapter 11

Tiffany stared down in awe at the bolt of brilliant green fabric that Barbasa had pulled out of one of several trunks tucked at the back of the shed that she hadn’t even noticed during her numerous trips rummaging through the shed’s contents. At her side a basket of new sewing supplies awaited her attention along with two more bolts of fabric—one a deep blue and the other yellow with a floral pattern printed across it. She ran her fingers over the soft material in disbelief, a soft murmur of pleasure escaping her.

She glanced up at the satyr grinning down at her, still unable to believe that he gave her all of this. The trunks had been filled with all kinds of goods, but she hadn’t expected that he would carefully select from them the nicest cloth to give. She had never expectedthis! While it wasn’t as glitzy as some of the synthetic fabrics made into stylish clothes that had been everywhere before the Ravening, the cloth itself was the nicest that she had ever seen since and clearly of good quality and durability unlike a lot of the fabric that people had been relying on before beginning to do their own rough homespuns. There was nothing rough about this, however. It seemed far too nice and with what he said before, it sparked hope within her.

It was a foolish hope when words had not been spoken yet of her leaving or staying. Especially when some part of her still waited with dread, day to day expecting him to call an end to their unusual living situation. Yet he had called her his favorite hunt and had frequently lingered around her with what appeared to be some depth of feeling shining in his eyes. And now he gave her all of this to replace her clothes, surely it all meant something more than a casual cohabitation that came with his offered protection.

She smoothed her hands over the fabric and smiled thoughtfully down at it as she pushed away the what ifs rushing through her thoughts. If the Ravening taught her anything, it was that all the planning in the world for one’s future and what one desired was never guaranteed. It was best to just accept what Barbasa offered and not overthink it—at least for now.

It was a pity that her sewing skills were never all that great despite her mother and grandmother both attempting to teach her at different points of her life, but she wasn’t going to turn away the gift. She would manage even if it was just something simple in design that she couldn’t mess up too badly.

“Where did you get this?” she asked in awe, slightly worried that she might ruin an actual treasure. Elvish made things were of such quality that she would curse herself a dozen times for even daring to touch it.

Unfortunately, that possibility didn’t seem to stop her fingers any from caressing the soft material. She brushed her fingers again and again over the fabric, pleased that she had thought to thoroughly bathe herself every morning even if she cursed the icy water to hell and back the entire time. The last thing she wanted to do was soil the fabric before she even had an opportunity to make something of it, much less wear it.

The satyr chuckled at her obvious delight and continued to unload several small packages from another trunk, setting them one by one beside her to join her other gifts. Honey. thick pillows, and a large, soft blanket were then added to the pile before he stood with a large leather sack and carried it over to the kitchen to set it on the counter. He did not linger there, though, but returned quickly to her side to crouch down beside her once more.

“Do you like it?” he asked, the twitch of his pointed ears betraying his hint of uncertainty.

“It’s gorgeous! I’m almost afraid to use it out of the worry of messing it up.” She chuckled quietly to herself. “I’m not the best at sewing, although several women in my family did their best to teach me. When my mother and grandmother gave up, I had a few aunts who half-heartedly made an attempt for a time. But I do think I can make a couple of simple, drapey dresses that I can belt up as I need to.” She beamed over at him. “Thank you! For all of it,” she added gesturing to his other thoughtful gifts.

A ruddy hue rushed under his bronzed skin, and he grinned back at her, his yellow eyes taking on a burnished gold hue with his pleasure. She wondered absently if they would turn a true gold if she kissed him, or what he may look like in throws of passion as he lay beneath her or mounted over her. Would his eyes glow then as they did when he hunted her through the dark?

Admittedly it was something she had begun to contemplate a lot as of late. Although he often cuddled with her during the night and extruded at random moments throughout the day as if it was perfectly natural, they didn’t trade kisses or touches. She had never seen a hint of the real heights of passion that she was certain that he was capable of. There was always something reserved within him as if he was intentionally always holding himself in check. In fact, other than curling around her at night or the brush of his hand or hip against hers, he rarely touched her outside of holding her hand on occasion when they walked outside.

Oh, she was certain that he would touch her sexually since he flirted so heavily with her as if intentionally building up to that, but for the first time in her adult life since losing her virginity to Wes Graver in the back of his pickup, she wasn’t sure how to proceed. For that matter, she wasn’t even certain if his species even had gestures of affection—like kissing, for instance. Would he even welcome a kiss? He wasn’t human and she was coming to realize how little she knew of other races outside of humans. It would be embarrassing as fuck if she flung her arms around him, and he interpreted it as an attack rather than initiating intimacy like she intended. That was one aspect of being with a monster that she hadn’t considered.

She was tempted to try it anyway to express her thanks at the very least and went so far as carefully setting the material aside with the other gifts and lifting a hand with the idea of pulling him close. It was his curious glance at her hand that had her courage fail her. Instead, she plucked up one of the blankets he brought her and dragged it around her shoulders as if that was what she intended all along. Snuggling into it, she gave him an embarrassed smile from behind the thick material. He cocked his head, his expression becoming more curious as he watched her.

“This is a lovely blanket,” she rushed to explain. “So warm. If you can get stuff like this, I don’t know why you don’t stay there among them. We didn’t even have anything so nice in the town where I lived.”

His lips tipped in an answering smile but there seemed to be a new hesitancy to it. “It is a nice settlement with an interesting mix of species. That blanket there was made by a lupi family that rear sheep.” He chuckled at that. “Imagine wolven males and females, and large flocks of sheep that roam their mountains. It sounds a little unusual, but they are among the best guards and caretakers of them, outside of satyrs. And the weave of their cloth and blankets is truly the best to be found among the fae tribes.”

She blinked at the fabric. It had been so soft that she hadn’t even guessed that it was made of wool. What was more, it had an entirely different texture from the blanket around her. “This is all from their sheep?”

He nodded, his smile widening at her surprise. “They use different warps and weave styles to accomplish many differenttypes of cloth. There are also races who are adept carvers who make great things of wood, though the furnishings would take multiple males to cart this far into my woods,” he added with a rumbling chuckle. “Asterion, a minotaur who raises bees, comes through once a month with his supplies—I was lucky to catch him recently and stocked up on honey.” His smile fell a little at those words but returned quickly, though when it did, it wasn’t quite as bright. “There are nymphs who make ciders and ales. Pies and preserves. Oh, I believe I still have a jar of preserves that you must try!” He started to stand but Tiffany grabbed his hand, wound her fingers with his and tugged him back down to her side.

She peered at him in confusion. “Why don’tyoulive there then?”

His smile disappeared and he gave her an uncomfortable look. “Satyrs don’t do well in settlements. We are not comfortable having too many around us who are not flock.”

“Flock?”Was this a sheep thing again?

His lips twitched faintly as if he had some idea of what direction my mind drifted off into. “A flock is a family group of satyrs,” he explained after several minutes of strained silence. “At times a flock will adopt new members but generally most are blood related and descended from a single mated couple who split from their own familial herd with their own line.” His eyes crinkled slightly. “Of course, all satyrs only father males, who are in turn satyrs, so we tend to mate with females who join our numbers by choice. Shepherdesses that we come across are usually the most convenient choice,” he continued with a hint of his old mischievousness returning.

Of course it would be. Tiffany snorted as she attempted to hold back her laughter. She was not going to be distracted.

“Okay, so where is your flock?” She was suddenly very confused. Why was Barbasa all alone? It sounded like his kindwere naturally very social, not unlike humans. “Surely if you are that social to where you live in a large, extended family groups, no satyr would willingly live alone like this. So why are you?”

Pain flashed through his eyes, dulling their yellow hue. “I had a flock. I took over as king with the passage of my grandsire and the responsibility for their care fell to me. And I failed them.”

“What happened?” she whispered, her voice dropping at the gravity of the situation.

There was pain there that he obviously didn’t want to look at—and she wouldn’t push him—but felt like this was something that happened to him that was important. Something that she needed to know.

He cleared his throat and slanted an uncertain look at her. “It’s not a pretty tale. You may be happier not knowing.” He shook his head as he appeared to struggle with his thoughts. “I shouldn’t tell you. It has nothing to do with present circumstances.”

Still holding his hand wound tightly with hers, she rubbed her thumb across his knuckles, dragging his attention back to their joined hands. “I would like to know,” she admitted. “Things shape and change us and has a way of changing us even if we don’t see it for ourselves. The Ravening changed all humans, even if many of us like to pretend that we are still living in the before time. Whatever you experience is clearly something that you are still living with.”

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