Nasha the Serious

led Shadow-Thing away from

the cooking boar,

to the far side of the village,

where her hut lay,

generously apart

from the others.

She pushed aside the drape door,

and dragged him in.

Inside was an uneven circle,

lit by the smoke hole above the hearth,

where silver-yellow sunlight shone

into the dwelling

in a warm glow.

There was a mat bed,

a small table with a mortar and pestle,

and a small altar,

with flickering candles,

and painted icons.

An iron pot hung over the fire,

from which sprung

a scent

that flooded Shadow-Thing’s nostrils,

seared his brain,

and poured saliva into his mouth.

He bent his head

to inhale it,

laying his hand on the rim of the pot.

Immediately he drew his arm back,

HOT!

“Alright, you’re hungry, I understand,”

Nasha said, reaching for a ladle

and a wooden bowl.

She scooped some of the stew out

and handed it to him.

Shadow-Thing lifted the bowl

to his mouth,

slurping, gobbling, sucking, and snorting

in his first experience consuming food.

“You’re a damn animal,” said Nasha.

When Shadow-Thing had emptied

the bowl,

he lowered it from his face,

and pushed it back to

Nasha.

Stew gravy was stuck

to his chin, his cheeks,

slathered his lips,

and dotted the tip of his nose.

Nasha rolled her eyes,

and refilled the bowl.

Shadow-Thing consumed this

with as much relish,

and then, smiling at Nasha,

pushed the bowl to her again.

“What am I going to eat?”

she asked him, lifting her hands.

“You’ve had enough. You’re gonna get sick.”

His face fell in disappointment,

but he did not seem inclined to argue.

A heaviness soaked into

Shadow-Thing’s body

along with an

impervious optimism.

He was truly satisfied,

and the food settled

into his belly

like coins into a treasury.

Nasha handed him a cloth,

which he took,

not knowing what to do with it.

“Oh, for the sake

of the All-or-Nothing!”

Nasha exclaimed.

She took the cloth

and cleaned off

Shadow-Thing’s face,

scrubbing at his skin

until there wasn’t a speck left.

“There,” she said at last.

He smiled at her.

“Gruh...”

Shadow-Thing said.

He wanted to express

how grateful he was.

“Gruh!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,”

said Nasha,

as she scooped a bowl of stew

for herself,

which Shadow-Thing eyed

with envy.

She sniffed the stew suspiciously.

“I’m a real culinary genius,”

she quipped.

Nasha looked Shadow-Thing

up and down.

“Honey, you need some clothes.

You’re flopping around

like a shark

on the sand.”

What few tunics Nasha had

were too small for Shadow-Thing,

but she took one and wrapped it

around his waist,

binding it to him

with a leather strap.

In her nearness too him,

Shadow-Thing drew in her scent,

which made him delirious,

and as he looked down upon her,

he could see the curves of her breasts

beneath the neckline

of her tunic.

His groin hardened painfully,

but Nasha ignored it

and finished her work,

covering his modesty.

“There,” said Nasha the Serious.

“Now you’re almost

civilized.”

Shadow-Thing was incredibly tired,

and, feeling safe,

sunk down to sit on the floor,

leaning his head against the wall.

His head was so heavy.

His eyes closed

through no intention of his own.

Nasha watched him

as she finished her stew.

“Sleep, animal,”

she said softly.

“Sleep.”

Shadow-Thing

began to snore.

Nasha began

to bite her lip.

to be continued...