1. A Wandering Spirit


    Date: 12/12/2023, Categories: Lesbian Sex, Author: byJorunn 

    ... moment.

I was freezing inside my sleeping bag. Cold, wet, and miserable. I shivered uncontrollably, until I became too exhausted to even do that, then closed my eyes and drifted into the darkness.

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Chapter 7 - Return from Darkness

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"Hej!" cried out a woman's voice. I looked up and saw a cloaked figure kneeling over me, holding an old-fashioned oil lantern. "I saw your kayak. My farmhouse is nearby, with a large fire going, if you would like to come to my home."

From my time as a kayak instructor, I knew of several mountain farms lining Gierangerfjord. It was a difficult life, forcing most farmers to abandon them long ago, but one was restored, and accepted visits by tourists who wanted to learn about the early people who lived along the shore. I was not aware of a farmhouse here, but then again, I wasn't exactly sure where 'here' was.

The woman sensed my hesitation, then said, "I am here alone, like you. My name is Anna, and this is my family farm. We have owned it for a long time. I work at the University of Oslo and visit when I need a break from the city."

I felt better about going with Anna, and the thought of a warm fire melted away any remaining reluctance. Anna suggested leaving my kit and retrieving it in the morning. I was already wearing every piece of warm clothing I brought, so I ducked out from beneath my tarp into the snow and sleet-filled night.

"Follow me," said Anna. She led me through the spruce trees, their ...
    ... branches bowing low from the accumulated ice. We came to a small but steep slope, about 4 meters high. The rocky slope looked slippery with its icy coating. "You should go first," suggested Anna.

I began to climb, using any rocky hand or foothold I could find, and near the top, my left foot slipped. Anna's strong hand grabbed my foot, and she pushed upwards, allowing me to scramble over the crest of the slope. Looking ahead, I saw the outline of a small farmhouse, vaguely illuminated against a murky backdrop by a small lantern near the front door. Anna joined me at the top of the slope, and we walked towards the farmhouse. "There is no electricity here or plumbing, and I have an outdoor privy. I like coming here to be reminded of the way things used to be."

As Anna opened the wooden door, her lantern revealed a series of elaborate carvings on the door. Stepping inside, a fire was burning in the central pit of a single large room. Above the fire was an opening in the thatched ceiling for smoke to escape. Wooden benches lined the sides of the fire pit, with one covered by furs. Various hand tools and bags of root vegetables hung from the walls.

There was a strong smell of smoke, not unpleasant, but pervasive, as if slowly infused into every part of the farmhouse. The smell reminded me of an American barbecue restaurant but smelled much more mature. I wondered how long, years, decades, or even centuries, smoked and spit-roasted meats added their essence to the continual ...
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