As the moon rose, the ceremony began.  The men in their paints and loincloths lowered their torches, setting fire to the huge woodpiles.  The shaman entered the circle of light cast by the three bonfires.  Fearsomely decorated, the flickering shadows made his painted face seem a demon’s mask or that of some terrible beast.  Adding to his savage demeanor were the clawed gauntlets he wore upon his hands.  He strode towards the two guards that gripped between them a trembling girl child.  The men stood rigid, droplets of sweat beading upon their brows from the fire's heat.  The girl looked to be about the age of her first woman’s flow, each arm held firmly by her guards and forced to kneel between them.  With her head hung low, her thin body trembled with panicked terror.  The onlookers stood as close as they dared, with looks of fear and awe in their dark eyes.  Surprisingly those looks were directed at the slip of a girl, so roughly held prisoner.
	The young shaman Brenir, felt a stab of pity for the girl, though all expression was hidden beneath the layers of paint that coated his face.  He’d remembered his own ritual when he had come to manhood, having to be similarly held.  Every one waited as the full moon crested its zenith.  He could smell the fear on the girl, and for a moment, he felt his Dreams had been wrong, that she wasn’t going to take the change.  He felt his own need to change rising up in him like an unconquerable tide.  But he was shaman and had powerful magic; he remained in man shape.

	Malia was terrified.  Smoke and ash from the surrounding bonfires stung her eyes, but held as she was, she was unable to wipe the streaming tears or burning eyes.  Smoke, coupled with acrid dread choked her, making it nearly impossible to breathe.  She knew what the shaman had predicted.  There was supposed to be only One per generation, and that was Brenir.  It was almost unheard of for girls to take the change, the people did not know if they should take this as an evil omen or good.  The shaman seemed to think nothing amiss but Ithila, the shrub priest, had already condemned her as evil, a demoness sent to brutalize the tribe.
	The moon reached its zenith and Malia began to relax.  Then something changed.  She felt a stirring within herself. For a moment, she allowed herself to believe this was one more nightmare, like all the others she'd suffered for so long now.  Her breath caught and she felt as if she might drown in her own terror.  Awareness of the moon began as a small thing, a cool touch, like a physical caress that washed away the burning heat of the fires.  Goose flesh stood on her arms, and her blood boiled.  The feeling grew till it filled her completely, leaving her nothing, but the knowledge of the moon and a burning need for release.  Something was being born inside her. No, not born, for it had always been but rather realized.
	Her arms strained against the hold of the guards, her head snapping back as she cried out to the moon, with howls that shattered the gathered silence of the onlookers.  Her body began to change and even kneeling, she was almost as large as were her heavily muscled guards.  A pelt of dense black fur covered her body, as massive claws grew from her hands.  Pain laced through Malia's limbs as she twisted and writhed, trying to free herself.   Nostrils flared, hackles lifted, inhaling the maddening fear scent of her guards and the villagers.  The glare of the fires burned her sensitive eyes, blinding and confusing her.  Sounds and smells seemed to gain dimensions she'd never before realized, but she was far too ignorant to realize their significance.  Somewhere, and angry voice raged shrilly.  The voice infuriated her, but she was unable to make herself understand what was being said.
A new voice separated its self from the meaningless racket that filled her ears and made her head ring.  The voice was soft but insistent, enthralling, forcing her attention to focus upon it.  Pitch and rhythm rose and fell with a hypnotic cadence, compelling her to be still, to be calmed. She stopped fighting.  The pleasant voice was speaking to her again.  The warm body of the speaker was very close, but somehow his song seemed to float to her from very far away.  She wanted only to lose herself in the darkness of the night.

	“Malia, Malia?  Little one, listen to me, you must stay with me for a little longer only a little longer and then I shall take you into the night, and teach you what it means to run, to be free.”  He continued to coo nonsense to her, whatever she would listen to, though he knew she couldn’t understand.  This was a dangerous time for a skin changer.  If he did not help her now, then the girl known as Malia might forever be lost.
That petulance of a shrub priest began to hurl his accusations almost as soon as the girl had changed, ordering the people to burn her.  Thankfully, his people weren’t listening, and the troublemaker was quickly silenced.  The girl's mother shuffled forward, handing Brenir the collar he had asked her to weave.  It was composed of strong silks interwoven with bits of familiar objects to Malia.  It would help bind her the dual nature of her spirit.  Stepping forward, he began to sing once more the ancient prayers of the Spirit Tongue a musical language comprised of guttural tones and flowing sounds.  He snapped the collar about her neck, whispering the appropriate binding spells.  The girl sagged forward, going limp in her guards’ arms, her immense weight straining their collective strength. 
	The shaman turned, heading back towards his personal lodgings, the guards following, dragging as best they could, the wolf girl between them.   He stepped into the larger hut he used as a temple, quickly lighting the wall torches.  The guards deposited the sleeping wolf girl in the center of the floor and quickly left.  Speaking in the Spirit Tongue, he set a few warding spells about the hut and girl.  He smoothed back the longer fur that framed her wolfish head.  He was surprised to see her eyes open, calmly watching him.  She growled softly, which was as much greeting as it was warning.  He smiled faintly, taking back his hand.  She was a truly remarkable creature, and he felt his own instincts rising at her warm, female scent.  He had to firmly remind himself, that even though her body was fully matured as a wolf; her mind was still that of an untested puppy, and as a woman, she was little more than a girl.

	The wolf looked into the eyes of the shaman, and knew him to be a kindred spirit.  The girl that was Malia struggled within the wolf, trying to find her voice, but succeeded in only a few whines.  She found however, even though these were not words, as she knew them, they conveyed meaning.  Her tongue lolled out, trying to cool her overheated body.  She was thirsty, so very thirsty.  She whined again.

	The shaman had been puttering about the temple, arranging this and that in preparation for the ceremony.  He spun in amazement.  At first he thought her whimpering to be nothing more than that, but then he realized she was trying to communicate.  So fast she learned, without him having to even teach her!
	He brought her a wide bowl filled with fresh water and let her lap till she was content.  "Soon little one, I will take you hunting, and teach you as my predecessor taught me.  I do not know why you have been sent to us, or why I have dreamt so strongly about you.  Perhaps it was my longing that brought you?"  That admission surprised him, as did finding his hand smoothing back her thick hair.  He was destined to be alone, it was always so.  When it grew time for his death, a new skin changer would be born.  But certainly he was not to die yet, and why was the gift passed to a girl child?
	The fear and suspicion in the dark feral eyes of the girl forced his hand back to his side.  Brenir lit a few more sticks of incense before returning to kneel before the collared wolf girl.  He began to sing the Spirit Songs that would bind the girl's soul to this world, and help keep her from loosing herself to the world of Spirits. He had done his part, it was now up to this woman child.  He led her back into the night and to the plains beyond the village.  No one would be out tonight, no one would dare.  He left her collar tied, then slowly, allowed his own body to seek the change.
	The sounds and smells of the night filled the shaman with the powerful call.  His head tilted back and he howled, daring anyone to challenge his mastery.  The wolf girl peered at him, growling inquisitively, ears pressed forward.  He clipped her sharply on the muzzle.  Her hackles arouse and she charged.  The scuffle was over almost before it began, with the wolf girl on her back, and Brenir's jaws pressed against her exposed throat.  She was fast and strong.  The older skin changer found himself impressed.  Her soft fur tickled his nose, her female scent assaulting his senses.  In this more primal form, it was almost impossible not to claim what by rights was his.  He had to remind himself the girl was still young.  He must think of her as a younger sister he must teach.  Releasing her from his hold, he began to instruct her in the ways of the wolf.

	Speech between wolves was nothing like the awkward language used by humans.  It had sound, but also touch and scent, impressions and emotions.  Where as the spoken language of words was flat and lifeless, the language of wolves was a living breathing entity. Such was also the case with names.  At his birth, the shaman had been given the name Brenir, as her parents had named Malia, but upon his rebirth, as a skin changer, he'd been given his Spirit name.  A combination of impressions and scent cues, name designations among wolves seemed almost like poetry to the shaman.  
	He spoke his Spirit name now to Malia, so that she might always know him.  As she stood, he brushed past her, releasing his spore, so that she would always have his scent.  He nipped lightly at her ears and yipped twice, followed by a faint growl.  Added to this was an impression of great power and gentle kindness.  Brenir had powerful majick, more than any of the villagers had ever imagined and a kindness of heart that no man could possibly understand.  This was how he was known amongst wolves.  Though no true wolf could ever fully accept skin changers such as Brenir and Malia, they were loved and revered.
	~Brenir, Malia, I am Brenir~
	
	Malia was enthralled.  At first she felt overwhelmed by the song of the moon, but out in the open plains, she knew finally what it meant to be alive.  In many ways it was much easier being a wolf, new instincts and impulses seemed to be awakening within her by the moment.  She hadn't known she was going to attack the shaman until she was already on her back.  She found his scent as enticing as smells and sounds that were calling to her from the plains.  She did not understand this.
	At first she was confused when he began to 'speak' to her, but then she understood.  Yes, Brenir, she knew him now, his sent, his essence.  He was her teacher.  Her ears twitched as he nipped them, and she felt an almost overwhelming urge t romp and play, to be free!  He then spoke her Spirit name, as her mentor she supposed it as his right to name her.  When he spoke her name, she felt the overwhelming beauty of the full moon, and the glow of a radiant moonbeam.  She felt touched, that this would be her designation, and ducked her muzzle shyly.
	~Watch, Malia.  Listen.  Learn.~
She lifted her head as he began to speak again and her lessons progressed.  She watched in amazement as the large man wolf shrunk to the size of a true wolf.  No one in the village knew the shaman capable of that.  Even more surprising that, with a little concentration, she too was capable of this skin change.  She loped forward, playfully nipping the shaman's ruff, and then dashing forward into a full run.  Oh the joys of such freedom.  The two spent their night, Brenir teaching Malia how to stalk, how to hunt, how to listen to the night.  She was a talented and enthusiastic student.  

When Malia awoke the next morning, she was back in her human skin, lying before a dying fire.  She was naked, covered only in a fur blanket.  When she raised her head and looked about, she realized she lay in the shaman's house.  The woven collar was still tied about her neck.
	The days and nights continued like this for some time.  As the full moon passed Malia learned that she could force herself into the change at will.  Brenir would not teach Malia the majicks he worked; she was not truly his apprentice.  It was by this she learned that her life was still in danger.  Until Brenir could guarantee why she could change, and that she was not born of evil, she would never be safe.

	The years passed quickly for Brenir, and with them grew his passion for Malia.  Whether she was in human skin or wolf she was beautiful; silken black hair and large luminous eyes that could look straight into his soul.  He felt that every time she looked at him, surely she must learn of his feelings, but either she never learned, or she never spoke of it.
	Every full moon, the shrub priest would gather the villagers and demand what was to be done with the girl.  Each time Brenir was able to soothe the people's fears, with the knowledge that he was in control, that the girl did not portend danger or evil.  But how much longer would he be able to do this?  He felt his anger boil with the very idea of Ithila hurting Malia, the shaman would tear out the shrub priests throat if he even tried.

"But Brenir, why can't I join the spring festival?  Surely I am no longer a threat to the people.  And I doubt any of the young men will ask me to dance anyway...Please?"
	The shaman swallowed a growl and turned his back to the woman he knew himself to be deeply in love with.  Though a woman full grown by the standards of their people, he had found he could not take that step that would change them from teacher and student, into lovers.  He wasn't convinced that all of the young men would be cowed by the knowledge she could skin change, and he wasn't sure what he would do if one did manage the courage to court her.
Malia held her breath as she watched her moody teacher.  She could never guess his thoughts when he was like this.  Even his scent was a mystery.  She had watched the past several Spring Festivals pass with a deep longing.  All the girls she had grown up with were already married with babies.  She touched the beautiful dress her mother had woven and lifted her eyes pleadingly to Brenir.
"Please?"
"Fine!" He growled and spun away from her, striding out of the hut they had shared since her first woman's flow.
Malia felt her heart swell in joy.  She jumped quickly to her feet and ran to Jatalia and her husband's house to share in the good news.  As always, her dearest friend's spouse treated her with veiled contempt, accepting her only because of the love he felt for his beautiful wife. Jatalia clasped her friend fondly in a warm embrace, then lead her out to prepare for the nights upcoming events.

Brenir watched Malia from the shadows.  Lovelier than he imagined as she sat primly by the fire, her thick black hair pinned back with bits of ribbon and floss.  The dress her mother had made fit perfectly, managing some how to be both demure and provocative.  She watched the young men parade about, each one trying to jump and spin higher than the next.  He was pleased to see that their posturing did not impress Malia.  However, even now one of the cocky young bucks worked up the nerve to approach her.  Brenir did not right away recognize the man; he was visiting from another tribe but even as a stranger he should already know who and what Malia was.  He brought Malia a Fifni blossom as was custom and sat with her, telling her what nonsense the shaman could not even begin to conceive.   His blood boiled, noting the shy smile on the girl's lips and the delicate blush in her cheeks.  She never looked upon him in that fashion.

Malia was dreadfully bored.  The antics of the village men looked childish to her and the dress her mother had made was chafing.  She was just about to stand and leave when Chasieve approached her.  At first the uneasy feeling in her stomach was unpleasant.  She surprised herself with the image of tearing the young man's throat.  Then he began to speak.  She did not grow less uneasy, so much as she grew used to it, comfortable with it.  She let him tuck the blossom in her hair and when the music changed, she let him guide her to her feet.  

As if in a dream she danced the sinuous courting dances his casual touches burning her flesh like brands.  So this was desire.  There was something familiar in the way her pulse began to race and the heat that rose inside her.  Someone else made her react similarly.  The though fled as Chasieve's hip pressed against hers and she felt another flooding to her senses.  His scent intoxicated her.
The night passed, and Malia was surprised to discover that once again the music had changed.  Couples were beginning to find private places, men and women whispering their private vows.  Chasieve began to pull her into the night, his lips doing marvelous things to her ear and neck.  She followed.  A wolf howled and she felt the urge to run free rise up within her, partially breaking through her daze.  She pulled back on Chasieve's hand, murmuring that she must go.  Rage flashed in Chasieve's amazing amber eyes, signaling danger to the wolf girl.  It passed so quickly covered by a dashing smile, that Malia convinced herself it had been imagined.
	"Of course beloved.  I will call on you tomorrow." 
 Chasieve was furious.  He almost had the girl, but he had underestimated her.  He sighed, watching the gentle sway of her hips as she scurried quickly back to the area she shared with the shaman.
	What an unexpected surprise it had been to discover he actually desired the little tramp.  Coming to this village with a sense of dread, envisioning the horror of what was expected of him, only to find he looked forward to it.  The girl was a delight and now that she had foiled his first attempt…. Fury dissolved into admiration.  He was successful in placing the small spell on the girl.  Her desire for him would continue to grow and grow.  In fact, it was all the better she had denied him tonight.  He would not press his attentions upon her, but instead plant the idea, seeing her only briefly over the next few days until she offered herself to him.  Yes, this is precisely what he would do.   Feeling better, the rogue sought his tent for the night.
	
	The shaman left the festival as soon as Malia and that pup had begun to dance.  He had been relieved when she had returned home, smelling only of perspiration and fire smoke.   She did not wear the signs of recent lovemaking he feared she would, though the dreamy look in her eye disturbed him greatly.
	Chasieve had stopped by every day, several days in a row.  Long enough to speak a few flattering words to Malia and give her some small gift or another.  To the shaman's horror Malia seemed enthralled with these visits and gifts and destitute when the visitor left.  A dark cloud settled about Brenir, and at first he simply glowered and avoided everyone.  But something was wrong, out of place.  He began making subtle inquiries about Chasieve.  Shocked, he discovered that Chasieve was Ithila, the shrub priest's nephew.

	Malia was in heaven.  Chasieve loved her and she him.  It had to be love, didn't it?  When she was with him she was all but consumed with a raging need, and when they were apart she felt her life would end.  She could barely concentrate on her studies or day-to-day functions.  She burned every meal she prepared for herself and the shaman.  
The shaman, Brenir, when she thought of him her mind her thoughts seemed less certain.  He was acting strangely lately, barely speaking to her.  He never looked directly at her, though when he thought she wasn't paying attention, she felt the weight of his stare upon her.  This inspired strange sensations within Malia, but Chasieve occupied so much of her thoughts she was unable to annalyze the shaman's actions too deeply.  Perhaps she desired Brenir, but it was Chasieve she loved.
Tonight she would go to him she decided, and ask him to speak the vows with her.  She would offer her body to him at moonlight, and together they would explore the delights of the flesh.  Yes, she decided, tonight was the night.

Chasieve was more than pleased with himself.  Not only was the girl neatly entrapped within his spell, but also he began to have an inkling of the shaman's feelings for her.  How delicious; uncle would be well compensated.  Chasieve made final arrangements to his attire and the settings of his luxurious tent.  He was sure that tonight Malia would come.

With a deep sense of foreboding, Brenir watched as Malia left her small private hut that was attached to his larger one.  She moved easily amongst the shadows and would have been almost invisible to anyone except to him.  A dark rage boiled inside the shaman as he began to follow Malia.  Normally a peace-loving man, he knew such an intense blood lust he had only felt a few times before.  Malia was his and he would let no one else have her.
That thought shocked the shaman enough that he was able to stop, and think.  Malia was her own person, with the right to choose her own mate.  It was not Brenir's place to question this.  He had always held the secret desire that Malia had been a gift to him.  His destiny.  But it was not to be so; he had to accept this.  He almost turned around, but then there was that niggling sense of wrongness, and danger.  Perhaps it was just his imagination, any excuse to follow Malia, to stop her.  But he didn't care.  If there were the slightest chance Malia was in danger, he would have to follow up on it.  It took him a moment to pick up on her trail, but as soon as he had her scent, he was off and running.

Malia smoothed her fingers nervously though her hair.  She had left it free and long, the way Chasieve liked it.  Trebling fingers undid a few more loops to the front of her dress, further exposing the curves of her modest bosom.  She stepped into the dimly lit gloom of Chasieve's tent.
"Beloved, what are you doing here?" He managed to sound surprised, putting down whatever little task he had been occupying himself with.
"Chasieve..I..I.."  The words dried in Malia's throat.  She what?...Why was she here?
Concern filled Chasieve's pale eyes and he stepped towards Malia, encircling her in an innocent embrace. "What is it my love, what is wrong?"
Malia thrilled at being called his love, her insides melting to liquid fire at the feel of his arms.  She lifted her head and pressed her lips insistently against Chasieve's hoping to express in action what she could not with words.  He crushed her against his chest, the heat of his body igniting her own through the rough fabric of her dress.  Almost roughly, his hand jerked the hem of her dress around her waist and pressed his fingers against the negligible barrier of her loincloth.
"This Malia, is this what you want?"  Chasieve asked in a voice rough with passion.
Malia could only moan, rubbing slightly against his finger tips.  This excited a groan from Chasieve as he bit her shoulder, almost to the point of pain.  The wolf girl gasped as he jerked away the cloth.  She was about to protest, but then his fingers slipped inside and all thought was swept away.  Oh she never imagined!
"Ask me for it Malia.  Ask me for it my pet."  His fingers began to delve inside her, stroking her sensitive flesh.  But something had changed in his voice.  His other hand was hurting her as he gripped her shoulder too tightly.  She tried to pull away.
"No, wait Chasieve..." Just that small protest seemed to require an insurmountable amount of effort, but the more distance she put between them, the easier it was to overcome.
"No my pet, it is too late to wait."  Something wild burned in Chasieve's eyes as he grabbed for Malia's hand and pressed it against the erection that bulged beneath his robes.  "Come Malia, come to me."
Malia's fingers brushed against him, and again she felt the urgent need to be with him. Danger.  Her senses flared intense enough that she stumbled back.  Something was not right here, something was wrong!  She took another step back, hands flying to her flushed cheeks.
"No Chasieve, I'm s-sorry.  I'm n-not ready yet…."
Chasieve's temper exploded.  No, she would not be getting away from him now.  Not while he had her.  She had ensorcelled him as much as her had her.
"You little bitch, it's too late now!"  He hurled himself at her, tripping her so that she fell into the rugs that carpeted the tent's floor.  He pinned her arms above her head and crushed his lips against hers with bruising impact.
Had Malia been a normal woman, she would have been helpless against Chasieve's fierce strength, but fortunately for her, she had the aid of the wolf. "No!" She screamed, clamping her teeth on his lower lip, tasting blood.
Chasieve reared back with a roar and drew his arm back, but Malia was already reacting, she had her knees to her chest and braced them against Chasieve, throwing him back.  The next moment her feet were beneath her as she tried to escape.  Searing pain brought her to an immediate halt as her attacker yanked back on the handful of hair.  In desperation Malia called upon the wolf, trying to change forms, but something prevented the wolf, something held her.  Malia screamed again as Chasieve turned her around.  She lashed out, biting scratching, kicking anything she made contact with.  Her nose burned with the impact of one of his blows.

Brenir began to run as soon as he heard Malia scream.  Halfway to Chasieve's tent the shaman had managed once again to convince himself to stay out of it, but the scream ended all debate.  He burst into the tent to see Chasieve looming over Malia.  Her dress was torn, her loincloth discarded.  The hem of her dress had been dragged around her waist, with Chasieve's hand pressed intimately against her loins.  At first Brenir was shamed and began to step back, thinking he'd intruded upon their mating.  The blood streaming from Malia's nose and the scratch marks that covered Chasieve, however made him rethink his initial judgement.  The girl was straining and pulling against the man, her legs locked, denying him access to that he sought.  As of yet neither had noticed Brenir.
With a roar of outraged fury the shaman grabbed his beloved's attacker and lifted him bodily, hurtling him out of the tent.  Malia was frozen in shock.  Chasieve was standing preparing himself for another attack, but Brenir did not give him time.  He'd already taken to the change, and could feel the hot blood of his rival filling his mouth as he tore out Chasieve's throat.  The shaman's knees weakened and he fell back into man shape, the rags of his robe hanging limply about his blood stained flesh. He stared at Chasieve's disfigured body, staggering under the weight of what he had done.
"Malia..." He groaned her name, turning to see the girl hovering at the entrance of the tent; glazed eyes dully staring at the ruined body of her would be lover.  Chasieve had found some way to beguile her and the traces of that were still wearing off.
Thinking quickly Brenir rolled the body into one of the decorative rugs.  Though isolated, Chasieve's tent was not so far away from the village that the shouts from the struggle would have gone unnoticed.  Even now he could see the flickering light of torches and hear a chorus of concerned voices.  Brenir had had some vague notion of hiding Malia, keeping her involvement a secret.  But it was too late, he had only enough time to wrap the trembling Malia in a blanket before the first line of villagers appeared, with, to his horror, Ithila at the lead.

Malia watched with detached fear as the man wolf launched himself at Chasieve.  She knew that Brenir would never turn on her and watched numbly as her tutor slaughtered the man that she had convinced herself she loved.  Shock wrapped around her like a cotton filled cocoon.  Indifferently she watched the villagers appear, and nearly laughed hysterically when the shrub priest pointed an accusing finger at her, blaming her for the death of his nephew.  She hadn't known that they were even related.  Indifferently she met the gaze of the gathered villagers, seeing the looks of fear, doubt and disbelief in their eyes.  She knew that she should say something in her own defense.  However, as her gaze rested upon the rolled up form of Chasieve's dead body, she found herself sinking to her knees and weeping.

Ithila was secretly pleased at the turn of events.  Four years ago, when he had first dreamed of Malia's gift he had known that that she would be the instrument of his death.  So he decried her as evil, as an unnatural thing.  However, the people's love for Brenir had caused them to accept the girl.  And through her diligent work and mild demeanor, the people had come to trust her, and even a few to love her as they did their shaman.
He had been forced to take matters into his own hands.  Devising a potion that would suppress her lupine abilities and instincts, the shrub priest had sought his sister's son.  The boy had been run out of more than one village and was perfect for the job.  At first Ithila had only hoped to lure the girl away and dispose of her, but discrediting her, and possibly Brenir was so much better.
"Witch, Witch!  She is a witch!  She ensorcelled my nephew's mind and heart, just as she has done to our revered shaman!" The little man shrilled, shaking his staff fervently. "Burn her!"  A few in the crowd, but not many, took up his cry.
Brenir stepped forward; he could stand no more. "Silence Ithila!"  His voice seemed to bellow though he didn't raise it at all. "This girl is no more evil than that tree there."  A few of the bystanders laughed. "Your nephew has brought shame to your bloodline by attacking an innocent.  I will perform the appropriate rites if this is your wish."
Ithila bit back a scowl.  It was within Brenir's right to demand further justice, had he felt Chaviese's death were not a sufficient price for his attack.   However, not only was Brenir 'generous' enough to accept this as justice, but he also offered to perform the rite's that would cleanse the family of further taint.  The priest nodded, then turned and stalked from the gathering.

Livid, Brenir faced Ithila.  He performed the ritual mechanically, trying not to think of what had passed that evening.  He spoke the appropriate words in Spirit Tongue, but behind them was no feeling.  He said nothing to Malia, even when she was led away by her concerned family.  He'd been terrified when she was in danger.  Terrified in a way he had never been before.  The possibility of her being taken from him was simply unthinkable.  The days passed and still she did not return home.  He began to panic.  There was no real way he could force her to return.  She stayed with him of her own free will after all, but it was all he could do not to storm to her parent's house and demand her to come with him.

Malia was still trembling when the shrub priest left.  She watched with dead eyes as the shaman prepared the pyre and ritual cleansing.  She wasn't allowed to stay, her mother and father soon had her ushered back to their hut, letting her stay with them for the night.  Grateful for their company, it was many days before she was able to return to her own hut, never again mentioning or discussing the attack with Brenir.  
She wasn't sure why she returned.  Her parents asked that she stay with them.  Surely she was no longer a danger to the village.  Still she returned, quickly going back to her daily routine, though unspoken between them was a difference.  It was well into the Harvest season before Malia became aware of what it was.  She desired the shaman.  No, it was more than that.  She loved Brenir.  In that regard, Chaviese had done her a favor.  More experienced, she was now able to identify the feelings and longings Brenir stirred in her.
The question now was what should she do about it.  It became obvious that they could not stay as they had been.  People in the village were already talking and the comfort the two of them had once shared was gone.  The Winter Season was fully upon them, with the snows burying their small huts before Malia was able to come to a decision.

The shaman was miserable.  Something had changed between him and Malia last spring, and their relationship suffered seemingly irreversible damage.  He convinced himself he would soon loose her.  A full year had been completed and it was once again the Spring Festival.  Being shaman required Brenir to perform a number of ceremonies and blessings that seemed empty and meaningless, though he had once enjoyed them.  He shuffled home, positive that Malia would not be there.  Certainly his fears seemed affirmed by the darkness of her hut.  Maybe she was at her parent's home preparing for the festival.  Perhaps she would be back tomorrow.
He opened his door and stepped into the darkness of his small domain.  His wolf eyes quickly grew accustomed to the dim light.  In the distance he could hear the drums inviting the young couples to seek the privacy of the night.  Shocked he stared at the vision before him.  Malia stood; her beautiful dark eyes lowered demurely, a faint blush touching her high cheeks.  She wore a new dress, it hugged her graceful curves, tying at the neck and leaving her lovely shoulders bare.
Amazingly she began to dance, swaying invitingly in the traditional pattern.  Speechless, he watched.  She couldn't possibly be here!  Was he dreaming this?  Though she was a bit uncertain and unpracticed, she was surpassingly graceful and arousing, her every move an invitation.  She stopped just before him, trembling hand lifting to the ties at her neck.  Before he could even think to stop her, she had undone the ties, her new dress sliding slowly down her body and pooling at her feet.

Malia waited her breath in her throat, standing before her chosen.  He wouldn't speak, but she could smell his arousal, his heavy musk.  She had no idea what to do now.  She had thought he would be so overcome by her offer that he would take control.  Swallowing hard, she forced herself to lift her arms and slide them about his neck, her body pressing boldly against his.
Brenir groaned and caught Malia's arms, his voice sounding rough even to his own ears. "Malia…what are you doing?"
This was not working as Malia had wished.  She pressed her lips together, eyes closing. "Do you need to ask Brenir?"  She sounded pained.
"Malia, I can not wed you…I am shaman."  His voice sounded as pained and disappointed as Malia's had. 
Malia took hope.  She slid her arms from his grasp, her body pressing against his once more, lips grazing his neck as she spoke. "It is not forbidden Brenir, I asked."  Please, she begged silently, please!
"But…no one has…"
She laughed and when she answered, she knew what she spoke was truth. "But before there was none that was worthy, I am."
Brenir groaned again, his arms sliding about her with almost crushing force.  He took her in his arms and lifted her in a single smooth motion, covering the distance to his sleeping pallet quickly.  This was what he had dreamed of for so long.  This was what he needed.  His body shook with the desire to bury himself within her, but he forced himself to calm.  This was their first time it would be perfect.
Gently he set her down, coming down beside her.  He wanted to devour her, to envelop her and possess her.  He kept his hand away from her, fearing he would loose the tenuous grip on his control.  Brenir began to kiss her, starting at her ear and slowly working his way to her lips, when they parted, it was all he could do to keep himself from ravaging her mouth.
Malia was thrilled he had accepted her offer.  She was surprised by the intensity of his need, but instead of fearing it, she marveled at its power.  She admired his control, and wondered how she might overcome it, but was simply too inexperienced.  She gasped as his tongue slid past her lips, and moaned in pleasure as his fingers caressed her body, discovering what ways to please her best.
She tensed when his fingers rested upon her lower region, remembering Chaviese's invasion the year pervious. 
"I will stop if that is what you wish." 
"Please don't stop…" Was all Malia could manage.  Innocently, her legs parted, lifting her mouth back to his.
Brenir was nearly out of his mind, but he would not rush through this.  He slid his fingers through the moist flesh and tenderly stroked that which was most sensitive.  Malia quivered and moaned against his lips.  He was almost undone.  He brought her to her first climax slowly; pleased with the way her body reacted to his touch.  Unable to wait any longer, Brenir lowered himself atop Malia's body, kissing her neck, face, and lips.  He paused, however, as his engorged shaft pressed intimately against the entrance of her soft flesh.
With a trembling voice the shaman said, "No other will ever possess you as I will Malia, I will let no other, after this.  Are you sure this is what you want?"  He did not know what demon possessed his tongue.  No matter what the cost, if she changed her mind Brenir would make himself stop.
To his surprise, Malia's hands came to rest upon his hips, trying to draw him within her. "You are my chosen Brenir, please do not stop…"
He grunted and slowly, so very slowly, he began to slide inside her.  She was hot and wet and ready for him, but still he stopped so that her body could become aware of him inside her.  He stilled utterly at her cry of pain as he broke her virginal barrier.  He trembled, but he would wait till she was ready.  The tight feel of her was driving him mad.

Malia cried out, more in surprise than in pain.  The pain she expected, but not this...feeling of rightness.  She lifted her hips, wanting more of this intimacy.  She knew at that moment, the feeling of being utterly complete.  As their physical bodies joined, so did their spirits, their dual nature proving the lovers a depth of emotional closeness no other human couple had ever experienced.  Mates not only in flesh but in soul as well. 

 Ithila stood outside the Shaman's hut, amazed, disgusted and slightly aroused by the sounds he could hear.  He still gripped the hilt of his dagger in one hand.  He had come here expecting to kill the shaman and pin it on that slut of a girl, Malia.  Once again, however, that little chit had managed to undermine his plans!
For a year he had tried to turn the event of his nephew's death against those two, but as always, they managed to overcome.  The people's love for their shaman was simply too great!
His body trembled as he imagined the scene unfolding within the hut before him.  He clearly saw the sweating, entwined nude forms of his greatest enemies.  He would have Malia, that harlot.  He would bury himself within her just before sinking his knife into her traitorous heart.  He scurried off, hatching more plots.

Story and characters © Sus
Skryje@hotmail.com
http://vcl.ctrl-c.liu.se/vcl/Artists/Sus/
2002