Mistress Of The Marsh - Sex Stories

Mistress Of The Marsh

... woods, but they usually avoided you unless they felt threatened or were desperately hungry. Declan had encountered bears and wolves with his father and lived to tell the tale. He'd even killed a boar, once. Wild animals weren't what worried Declan's mother. 'Be wary of spirits and witchcraft!' she'd warned him. He hadn't taken them seriously, at the time, but now, in the wake of his dream, they felt like words of wisdom.

The young man scanned the woodland depths. The forest echoed with tweeting birds, the knocks of woodpeckers and the chirps of insects and amphibians. This was as deep as he'd ever gone into the wild. It seemed he would go even further, today, in search of his quarry. Declan would be silent as the grave and watchful as an owl as he sought to bring this test to an end.

* * * * *

It was late afternoon and Declan was exhausted. He leaned against a large, mossy rock and rested his forehead in the palm of his hand. He was stressed and voraciously hungry. His meager breakfast hadn't sated him for long. Declan's stomach had been whining and groaning for the last several miles. He wouldn't be surprised if it was scaring away the deer.

On the other hand, what deer? He'd found a few tracks and a pile of droppings, but nothing recent. They were all old. His predicament was growing stark as the fourth day dragged on. He would need to eat again soon. Otherwise, it was questionable how long he'd be able to continue. If he didn't find a promising lead in the ...

... next hour, it was back to foraging and preparing small traps.

After a brief rest, he launched himself off the rock and continued his advance into the lonely wilderness. He was quietly plodding along when an intense feeling of deja vu overtook him. Ribbons of pale light appeared between the trees ahead. It seemed he was at the forest's end.

'A clearing...'

He proceeded through the final expanse of woodland greenery with trepidation. Declan stepped into the dim light and sure enough, he was at the edge of the very same bog he'd visited in his dream.

'This is too weird... I'm not hanging around to be charmed by some witch. Mother was right.'

He was already headed back to the edge of the woods when his nose wrinkled and he stopped in his tracks. There was a scent on the breeze. A smell he would recognize anywhere. Stew. Someone was making stew not far away. And it was coming from...

He whirled around and looked back at out at the marsh. The wind was coming in from the bog. On top of that, a thin trail of smoke presented itself, rising above the mist and floating up into the overcast sky. Its source didn't appear to be too far away.

Forage? Or reach out and hope it was someone friendly? Neither option was particularly appealing, but making allies was part of survival in the wild. Besides, a bowl of stew and whatever might come with it would last a lot longer than another fire-cooked squirrel or handful of berries.

After a few moments of deliberation, Declan ...