PROLOGUE
Vestay 12, 642
I’m sitting in the boat’s stern, leaning back against the slope of the deck as it rises to meet the transom. The long, heavy sculling oar sweeps from side to side next to my head, operated by the young woman standing near my feet.
Arenaria is twenty-two years old, tall and lean, with long black hair, an easy grin, and a mischievous glint in her eyes. She is the team’s main sculler, and it shows in her body. Every Isani woman on this boat shares the same wiry fighter’s physique, but hers is noticeably bulkier than the others’. In addition to being the main sculler, she is also the team’s jokester. Right now she’s serenading me in Isinic, flashing me bedroom eyes, licking her lips, and gyrating and writhing her body like a pole dancer as she works the oar.
Continue reading “[Fiction] Eleven Days in the Valley, Prologue & Chapter 1”