The Wild North - Ch.15 posted 6/13/2023

[AWetterWorld]

[It is already implied in the story, but for explicit clarity all characters herein are adults over 21 years of age.]

[EDIT: This is just to give potential new readers an idea of what to expect. This story presents a variety of (primarily ABDL) themes, and more keep appearing as it gets longer, but infantilism is a reoccurring one, as is sexual tension between the characters and peeing/pooping diapers. If that combination turns you off, probably not a good fit. Otherwise, and especially if you enjoy a variety of themes and situations rather than a story that focuses on just one, I hope you'll give it a try. There IS a proper story here too, I promise, and actual character development, but it's taking me a few chapters to really get it going. I need to go back and edit the first chapters for stylistic and voice consistency, but I haven't gotten there yet. But problems aside, I hope you'll enjoy my humble first attempt at writing for others to see:]

[EDITED FROM THE ORIGINAL POST: UPDATED TO SECOND DRAFT]

The Wild North

CHAPTER ONE (MACADAMIA)

Only frozen foothills lay behind. Only towering rock and a fool's death lay ahead. This was a barren, sharply-sloping land of white. It was broken, only occasionally, by harsh black stone upthrusts. Plants did not grow here. It was not a place for life and living things. It was a land of sleeping giants and the black wings of carrion eaters soaring across the muted gray heavens. A giant hand of unforgiving granite blocked the entire horizon in the distance ahead, thrusting up towards the heavens with a sheer vertical face that might have been carved by the gods themselves, and for the specific purpose of thwarting the curious, and crushing the spirits of the brave.

Yet in between what came before and what stood ahead were two curious figures, tiny by comparison and huddled against the blowing wind beneath an overhang of rock. Both were wearing light, draping furs over tunics, with thick wool covering their legs and vanishing beneath the lower folds of their tunics. A young woman, her posture bold and unbent, stared forward from beneath the meager shelter, her gaze sizing up the mountains before them as if judging an upstart adversary rather than a force of nature, her unrestrained shoulder-length dark hair dancing freely in the breeze. Behind her, huddling bent against the rock wall as if to become a part of it, a young man with short-cropped sandy hair followed.

Macadamia, the young woman was called back home, for she was hard -it was said- like the nut. No one would ever see the woman beneath the shell, they would whisper. She had never been bothered by it. She even embraced the nickname, and no longer went by any other. She was not antisocial exactly, for she saw no value in unkindness, and she was free enough with smiles and a kind greetings, it was simply that people had never been one of her interests. She spent years, long after passing the age of adulthood, gobbling up every story she had come across, written or oral. She worked her family’s farm during the day, but spent zero time courting a suitor, or other such things that were expected of a woman her age. It had earned her the enmity of more than one man who, having spent years admiring her somewhat petite but athletic figure develop into the curves of womanhood, had no-doubt looked forward with longing for the day they might win her heart.

Occasionally a man would still try. “I want to love you forever,” a handsome young man had once said to her. “We’ll… raise sheep and be happy!” She only smiled at the clumsy but well-meaning attempt. “No one should live forever,” she had replied quite matter-of-factly. A couple of women had tried as well, hoping her reasons for rejecting men was the one they wanted. Unfortunately for them all, any such feelings rode in the back of the wagon while she steered her life elsewhere, towards fantasies and books, far away places and mysteries unsolved. Each time she found a trader with a new book it was all she cared about until it was read, and read again, only to be forgotten by the next one that came along. She followed her whimsy like the northern star.

There was another reason as well. She knew that few would truly want her once they knew everything about her, and she felt no need to invite stories to spread.

Against all odds she did one day find a man around whom she wanted to spend time. He too had passed into adulthood but refused to play the game. With his body more graceful than muscular, and his golden skin smooth rather than worn, he was handsome to be sure - but not in the way that so many women wanted. He had no accomplishments about which to boast, would never emerge victorious in a contest of strength, had no interest in winning fame through tournaments or distant wars, and was a stalwart recluse. What interest women might show went unrequited. He was quiet and shy and had -to the best of everyone's knowledge- never actually started a conversation other than to ask a necessary question or make a purchase at the market.

Yet one day he had done the unthinkable – and with Macadamia of all people. It seemed they shared an interest in history and lore, and after overhearing one of her inquiries to a book dealer he had approached her with open, unprovoked questions. The two talked, and were friends thereafter.

It was only later that she discovered the poor man's father was a monster. Though seldom home, he had taken to beating his family when he was. When the father was home the son was never seen. Macadamia had met the family’s matriarch but felt only sadness for the woman with the empty eyes and forced smiles. The town frowned on the whole unhappy business, but their disapproval meant nothing to the brute of a father. Not the inflated prices from the merchants, not the cold looks or quiet stares, could draw a reaction from him. No one dared challenge him openly; the man was a mountain on two legs - so unlike his son in every way. In fact, many rumors had spread over the years about alternate leanages for the boy. Some were as fanciful and ludicrous as an affair with a visiting prince in disguise. To Macadamia he seemed nothing more, or less, than an ordinary young man who had secrets, and she understood perfectly well having secrets.

She did not fancy him out of pity, but for his mind and -if she was being honest- perhaps his sculpted body just a bit as well. When she finally embarked on a worthy adventure, she knew she could not leave him behind. Not to go from day to day hiding his bruises, ever sinking into sadness in a world that did not appreciate him. Not while she was alive. His name was Elm. It was not a nickname, his mother had simply found elm trees beautiful. The irony of naming a boy 'Elm' amidst the bows of deep, green, fir-covered evergreen forests was apparently lost on the woman. Or perhaps her mind simply took comfort in imagining places far away.

Macadamia and Elm had spent many nights gazing at maps and books, scribbling by candlelight and sharing ideas, to the point that rumors had spread about Macadamia taking a man after all, but refusing to claim him. The truth would have bored them all to tears. The two met for only a couple hours here and there, usually in a neutral but private setting, and frequently as the sun was waning and the affairs of the day were done. They studied obscure legends. One in particular stuck and became a lasting shared interest: a legend of a gateway, strangely persistent in its retelling across spans of history. It purported to be a path to a land without sorrow. One without poverty or hunger or hardship. A land of eternal summer. The two talked of books, shared research, did absolutely nothing romantic or sordid as the townsfolk imagined, and then went home.

Until the day they did not.

It was dawn when they looked back on home for the last time. They turned their gazes to the horizon as the orange rays of the morning sun kissed the dew with gentle hews. The market was closed that day. They were alone as they sat before their maps, spread out on one of the old wooden tables. The dew made its surface slick, shiny, and cold but neither took notice. They had finally uncovered what they believed to be the path to the fabled gateway, their breath coming out in puffs amidst the cool morning air, their voices hushed but excited. They considered provisions with glances and short yeses and nos. They had never properly agreed to go at all, it simply happened that they both fell silent, having said their peace, met each other’s eyes, packed up their things, and walked away.

She wondered if their respective families would ever come looking for them, though she doubted it. Such sudden departures were not unheard-of. Sometimes lovers would run away, or those unhappy with the harsh northern life would spend their meager coin to leave on a trader’s cart. Sometimes entire families would have a bad harvest or lose their animals to disease and hardship, then pick up and leave one day without a word.

Guilt nagged at her thoughts, for she held no resentment towards her family and knew they would worry about her, but she pushed it aside. If all went well they would return with stories of their own to tell, and discoveries that would open doors for them far away from their home of gossipers and dark secrets. There would be plenty of time for apologies then, after the worthiness of their quest could not be denied. They would be scholars, she would think whimsically, a soft smile warming her features. They could write books of their own. In her wildest moments of fancy, she wondered if they should return at all. What if there really could be such a land, and they could live there?

They both knew the quest would not be an easy one. Not even leaving in the early spring as they were. Not even if their most optimistic theories were correct. It would be a long, hard journey. They had agreed. Somehow that knowledge failed to alleviate her aches and pains. It seemed that facts would forever fail to prepare her for experience.

The ground had gotten steadily steeper as they neared the great cliffs. Although the snow had relented, a spiteful wind tapped the existing drifts and blew the weaponized ice crystals into her eyes like coarse sand. Their clothing had proven thoroughly inadequate for the pernicious winter weather. Apparently no one had informed the mountains that it was now spring.

At least the exercise of lugging her heavy pack up the slopes kept the cold from causing more than discomfort. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure Elm was still standing, then frowned; he looked likely to fall over at any moment. Concern gripped her heart and she pulled him further into the meager shelter of their shallow cave.

"Elm," she chided gently after worming her way out of her pack’s clingy straps, "why didn't you say something? Here-" She dug out the thick fur she had brought along for sleeping and tossed it around his shoulders, then kneeled, and pulled him down to her until he was sitting on her lap. "We'll wait here until the wind calms," she assured him, rubbing his arms briskly. Would the wind calm? Who knew, but it seemed best not to voice that worry. Nor the other worries creeping up from the shadows of her mind, such as the one that said this whole plan might have been a tad misguided. Especially not that one.

He nodded. "I'm fine," he insisted despite his tacit agreement to delay. "I won't hold you back."

"I know you won't." She kept to her most reassuring tone, then said nothing as he pushed himself more closely to her, his bottom now resting firmly on her thighs as they both pulled the blanket as tightly around them as it would go. Her taller frame accommodated the posture, as if their bodies were meant to fit together, with his head coming to rest comfortably on her left shoulder. She could feel the warmth of his body, so close now, and realized she had never been this close to a man. This wasn't how she imagined it. The story books left out the part where the prince and princess were more interested in not freezing to death than dancing with endearing chipmunks and getting lost in each other's eyes. Even so, she felt as if the heat of her own body had grown just a bit too.

Just two bodies close together in a warm blanket, she decided firmly, nothing more.

His shivering began to subside and she felt a wash of relief, which then turned to surprise as he started... snoring? He had fallen asleep in her arms. Clearly the journey was taking a great toll on him. She mentally shrugged and let him sleep; there didn’t seem to be any harm in taking a couple of hours to nap.

It had not been nearly that long when a new sensation kindled her surprise - a sudden, intense heat was spreading out across her thighs. Her heart fluttered in a brief panic. Had she..? Surreptitiously as she could manage, she tilted her head and looked down, but his round, innocent eyes were still closed in slumber. Her left arm was underneath the furs, and she nervously used it to explore.

In the northern lands of her home, it was a common style of dress for both sexes to wear leggings that stopped at the mid thigh. They were usually made form-fitting and with rigid ornamentation throughout, the purpose of which -beyond vanity of course- was to force them to retain their shape rather than sliding down and bunching up at the knees. It was a strange custom for a land so cold, but proud northerners embraced it conspicuously, showing off glimpses of skin as if to prove how little the climate affected them. What they did not volunteer is that the fabric of the leggings was thick and warm, and that most people wore equally thick, warm underwear underneath their thigh-length tunics, never mind their thick fur cloaks with hoods. Northerners, it seemed, were just as vulnerable to the cold as anyone - but only the unwise would be caught leaking that secret to a southerner.

Her hand explored the increasingly wet fabric of her leggings, and upwards towards her crotch. She reached inside the thick puffiness of her own undergarment, holding a tense breath, but found that it was dry. Relief warred with confusion. Her hand explored -ever so gently so as not to wake him- Elm's underwear. The frontal regions were already soaking, and the warm moisture was spreading steadily outward around the sides and bottom. Without her conscious direction her hand moved forward to the source of the flow. The bulge of his dormant manhood was like a hot spring in the cold winter air as his underwear absorbed all that it could and was forced to let the rest flow freely around her fingers and onto her lap. For a few moments she sat, unsure what to do in this situation, as the flow soaked more of her leggings, and it was during her hesitation that he blinked awake - her hand still resting on the front of his underwear.

He blinked. She blinked.

"What's going..?" His eyes shot wide open.

"I'm afraid you're peeing yourself," she explained unnecessarily. Some dormant instinct took over and she felt a cool confidence. "But it's nothing to lose sleep over," she said soothingly, dismissing the situational irony with a frown. "Don't worry, alright?"

"I can't believe this is happening," he said miserably, lowering his head to avoid meeting her gaze. "Father would..." 

His voice had drifted off, but her own anger suddenly flared to life, like an open fire doused with grease. "Is this why your father always acts so ashamed of you? Why he always treats you poorly and keeps you out of sight? Because you... have accidents?"

"I... I kept wetting the bed," he said in the voice of one resigned to a cruel but well deserved fate. "Father used to humiliate me for it... you know, to try and get me to stop. But it only made things worse and I started having accidents during the day. But I thought... I thought..." His voice was growing even more miserable. He had omitted the beatings, though the whole village knew about them.

"It's alright," she kept repeating softly. The smell of pee and wet fabric started to waft out from underneath the thick fur in which they were huddled, while she pretended not to notice. He did not seem able to stop. The odor was strong, but strangely not unpleasant. It smelled uniquely of him. The gusting wind subsided, and in the sudden quiet she could hear the hiss of his stream penetrating the fabric of his underwear before finally running out. The sudden lack of hot pee washing over her fingers made her realize where her hand still sat, and she hastily relocated it. "There now. I know you feel better. It really is alright."

He grew quiet for a time, and when he spoke again his voice sounded closer to its normal even tones. "I've been getting better since I met you. I thought... I thought I could control it. Now I know I shouldn't have come..."

"Don't you dare say that," she scolded him gently, "I..." She stumbled over how to reassure him, and went with the simple truth. "I wouldn't have made this journey without you anyway, and I'm so glad you came! I don't want you to worry about this at all." When she continued to hold him and he didn’t pull away, she was struck by a feeling of rightness to the situation – of caring for him and reassuring him. She had been doing it almost instinctively since they had met, she now realized, and the instinct was only becoming stronger.

The cold weather and blowing moisture prowled only feet away as the wind resumed its hunt. Wet clothing would only make its bite stronger, but their warm northern wool would provide some protection even when wet, and she saw no more reason to depart right now than she had before. She said as much and gently persuaded him to get some rest.

 

When her persuasions failed she tried something new: she started humming a soft, gentle tune just as her mother had always done for her. It felt strange to share experiences so innocent and yet so intimate with a man who was close to her own age, but his youthful manner and appearance might have allowed him to pass for a younger brother. Did she want to think of him that way, as a boy? Or did she prefer the man? Perhaps all men had a dual nature, a vulnerable child still hiding within. She leaned back against the rock, unable to completely deny her own exhaustion. Did she really mind so much if that were true? Maybe his strange innocence was something she liked about him. Nothing wrong with that. Was there?

 

Sleep took her by surprise after several minutes of stroking his coarse, sandy hair, still humming that same, mellow tune. A voice whispered in her dreams. It said that they would soon need to find their legs, and their courage. It said that far more than wind and weather awaited them out here, in the wild north.

Edited April 13, 2023 by AWetterWorld
SECOND DRAFT

[diappernsfwboy]

Can I be in it

[Kaleros]

Nice start. The prose is vivid and the setting is unique. This story also reminds me of films such as The Green Knight or The Northman.

[AWetterWorld]

On 3/26/2023 at 6:15 AM, Kaleros said:

Nice start. The prose is vivid and the setting is unique. This story also reminds me of films such as The Green Knight or The Northman.

My deepest thanks for the feedback! Both of the films you mentioned look fascinating from the trailers, although sadly the first isn't "available in my country" and I don't have the right streaming services for the second. Ah well. Someday I will see them.

[AWetterWorld]

[EDITED FROM THE ORIGINAL POST: UPDATED TO SECOND DRAFT]

The Wild North

CHAPTER TWO (ELM)

The sharp fluttering of a bird’s wings snapped Elm awake like the crack of a whip, though it took his mind a few moments to make sense of the harsh white images his eyes provided. He had been dreaming just a moment before. A beautiful woman had been holding him, having scooped him up like a broken bird and carried him to someplace warm. There was music, and she smiled gently as he lay before her and…

He felt his eyes bulge as memory awoke. His left hand flew to his crotch. His underwear was still wet and a little bit warm, though the areas not kept so by the touch of his skin -such as the lower folds of his tunic- now felt bitterly cold. Instead of warming him, his accident now caused every errant breeze that slipped through their blanket to sap the heat from him with an unnatural immediacy. Pleasant dreams were now banished; cold and snow ruled once again. Apart from the narrow stretch of exposed rock on which they huddled, protected above by a short overhang jutting out from the building-sized boulder behind them, the ground was a seemingly endless blanket of sloping white.

He had fallen asleep in the arms of his traveling companion ‘Macadamia’, he recalled. An appropriately unusual name for a woman who was unlike any he had ever met. Her propensity for flights of fancy had earned her frequent accusations of having her ‘head in the clouds’ back home, but he loved that about her. Unlike the gossiping, downtrodden pragmatists of the small community they had left behind, this woman had imagination and courage. It was the reason they had embarked together. Alone he would never have done this.

In the stillness of the late afternoon, lulled by her quiet breathing, he inhaled a long, relaxed breath and relished her closeness, her warmth – the very scent of her. They sheltered for warmth, but his body cared nothing about the why. It did not care that nothing sexual had ever happened -or might ever happen in the future- between them. It reacted purely to the closeness of a beautiful woman, with her shapely body and deep, green eyes he could get lost in at the slightest glance. His heart was beating faster, and heat swept his body despite the cold.

Then the feeling was gone - fluttering away like the bird as he remembered why their clothing was wet. He remembered being held by her as he lost control and peed all over himself -and her lap- and seeing in her beautiful eyes not pity, but compassion and acceptance. He knew immediately that he never wanted to be away from her sight, even as his cheeks burned red with embarrassment. His right hand rested against her chest, touching -barely, ever so softly- the round hill of her tunic where it covered her left breast. His head still rested on her left shoulder.

He restrained himself from moving for as long as he could. He refused to shatter the perfection of the moment and trade her warmth for the winter cold. Part of him was screaming that he should run -flee back home with his tail between his legs- leaving humiliation his only prize. That desire faded when he realized he did not feel humiliated. Her kindness and gentleness, the way she genuinely seemed unbothered by his flooding her lap, had taken that humiliation and left only warmth in its place.

His left hand slipped from where it had been resting at his hip and fell into her own, and for a moment he had an embarrassing urge to lift her small, soft, smooth hand and place it back over his crotch, where she had briefly rested it the night before to check and see if he really peed himself.

Then her breathing changed and she grunted softly. He pushed the thoughts away with cold recrimination. To have such inappropriate and laughable fantasies! How childish! As if she would-

Her hand moved of its own accord, feeling around his thighs, hips, and finally the wet fabric cupping his man parts. “You’re still wet,” she said calmly, her voice slightly rough from sleep. “Do you have fresh clothing? It will make the journey easier.”

He nodded, and rearranged himself in order to reach his pack where it rested against the cave wall. The cold air immediately invaded their warm space and attacked his arms. He shivered, but withdrew a fresh pair of underwear and leggings, displaying them to her.

“Good,” she said soothingly, taking them. She untied his boots and pulled them off, then said perkily,  “Now, up for a moment, up, up!” gently tapping his wet underwear as she did so. He caught on after a couple of moments. Rolling fully onto his back, and still on her lap, he planted his arms and lifted his bottom a few inches, at which point she gently reached back underneath the cover and grabbed his undies on either side, gently sliding them down his legs, over his thigh-high leggings, and away. Then she freed his legs as well, and finally pushed the bottom folds of his tunic up and out of the way. An operation that should have been awkward when performed on an adult -and without seeing what one was doing- was managed smoothly as she moved his body parts around like a mannequin’s. He was now woefully exposed to her from the waste down, with only the thick, fur blanket protecting certain things from close inspection.

With the snow only feet away he found himself shivering a little - but definitely less than he would have expected. The heat continued to build in him. He could feel his cheeks burning, yet he made no move to stop what was going on.

Next she grabbed the fresh pair of underwear. Rather than put them on, she paused with a thoughtful frown and set them back down. She dug something out of her own pack. “We’re going to try something else,” she said calmly, and nodded to the snow only feet away. “It’s cold here and wet clothes can be dangerous.”

She had retrieved another pair of underwear, but these were far thicker than normal. She let him touch them, and he noted that their insides were soft and very well padded with at least two layers of thick cloth, while the outside was made out of something that felt like the same treated sheep hide of their water skins but thinner - elastic, smooth and flexible as the cloth itself. Most of the poorer villagers back home used simple layers of wrapped cloth for infants, but this was clearly a diaper as well, no matter how large and luxurious. She must have seen his condition pale, for her brows furrowed sympathetically and she sighed quietly. “They’re really quite comfortable, I promise, and they’ll protect you.” Having settled the matter, she moved on by picking up his clean underwear, holding it like a rag, and reaching under the blanket again. “Now, let’s just make sure you’re dry down there,” she said in that same calm, reassuring voice. “Alright?”

Too surprised to speak, he simply let her work, and soon his legs were dry again. When she started getting near his manhood his true situation dawned on him. He felt his eyes bulge from panic. Sure enough, the first time her busy hand brushed the cloth over his organ it promptly began to respond, hardening and growing rapidly. “Wait, let me do-” he tried, but her eyes were already locked on to the new pointy lump in the blanket that was steadily rising.

“Oh,” she breathed softly, her lips pursing just slightly. For the space of a full two breaths her hand did not move away, but her strokes slowed as she conspicuously tried to avoid rubbing the new obstacle. It was no use. He was soon throbbing. He could not figure out why she was prolonging this. Was she trying to sustain his humiliation?

“Is this… alright?” she asked finally. Her eyes looked like deep pools of green, and they lulled him, pulled him away into a blissful complacency. He saw the same pragmatic kindness there which had always calmed him before, but he thought he saw something new as well. Curiosity? 

“Yes,” he heard himself say. Embarrassment warred with an inexplicable desire for her to continue. He had entertained lustful thoughts of women before, mind you, and had even pleasured himself while thinking of them, but her touch was igniting him like nothing else ever had. His skin tingled wherever she had stroked it. He shivered, but he was no longer sure it was from the cold.

She seemed distracted by his shivers, and frowned a thoughtful frown he recognized from their many hours researching together. “I’m going to do something,” she said with a bit of hesitation, “to warm you, alright?” When he did not object, her strokes resumed. This time her hand did not stray away from his tent pole, but embraced it, cautiously at first, then more aggressively. She dropped the cloth. Her gaze jumped back and forth between his face and the lump in the blanket. Her hand squeezed a bit as she stroked, as if instinctively mimicking the milking of a cow. It was uncomfortable in some moments, but that did nothing to change the momentum of things. He winced and she stopped squeezing so much, moving instead from the bottom up to the tip with a tantalizing, gentle caress.

He looked at her watching him, stroking him, his nakedness nearly exposed before her, as he lay on her lap. Her movements were almost medicinal in their practicality one moment, but exploratory and aggressive the next. His own heart was pounding, his blood pumping in his ears. He was going to explode. He grunted loudly, trying to keep it in but failing, and finally did.

She made that soft ‘oh’ sound again and pulled her hand away as if surprised, then surprised him by slowly lifting back the blanket. Several (gasping) breaths of his passed as she watched him intently, an unreadable expression behind her eyes, her lips cutely pursed, while he pumped his juices into the cold winter air. “I’m… I’m sorry,” he heard himself say for some reason when he was spent.

She shook her head briskly. “None of that. You didn’t do anything wrong.” She grabbed his clean underwear and began wiping him down once more. This time the movements were pragmatic and quick, if gentle. His manhood receded as she worked. She watched, but made no comment. Then she slid the diaper up his legs before he could object, patting it gently as if to announce her satisfaction with the work. “Good. You looked about my size but I couldn’t be certain until we tried.”

He had to confess, if silently, that the garment really was quite comfortable. Soft and warm, with extra padding all around him. 

Unfortunately the cold air now drifted across his exposed, sweat-dampened skin and quickly sucked the heat from his body. He was shivering more with each passing moment. She rushed to get the rest of his clothes on, only letting him tie his own boots, before huddling under the blanket with him again, rubbing his arms. When at last he stopped shivering she pulled away, and by some unspoken agreement the two of them started gathering their things. Neither said anything about what had just happened (or anything much at all).

It was in the middle of that process that two things happened simultaneously. Firstly, it dawned on his dazed and befuddled mind that she had packed diapers… before knowing anything about his problem.

Second, and immediately dwarfing the first in importance, was that his ears picked up a thumping noise decidedly out of place amidst the steady, soft moaning of the wind. It had been almost imperceptible at first, but it steadily got louder. The sound started and stopped frequently, but got closer each time. It sounded, he realized, decidedly like footsteps. Not human footsteps, not even horses or oxen would make such a sound. Something far, far heavier was approaching.

Macadamia seemed not to hear it at first, but after noticing Elm’s frozen posture and wide eyes she stopped too. They shared a look of trepidation, her round, green eyes communicating urgency with a brief and pointed widening, followed by a glance towards their packs. They slipped the heavy burdens onto their backs as rapidly -but quietly- as they could manage.

The footsteps stopped and a deep, wet snort broke the resulting silence. It had come from just outside their small cave, its source still out of sight but ever so close. It seemed only feet from him! The rock wall beside him sheltered him from view, but his nostrils inhaled a strong, musky odor.

Their cave was shallow but at least it was somewhat wide. Before Elm could unlock his muscles she had already grabbed his arm and was pulling him to the opposite corner, as far away from the sound as they could get without breaking cover. A small piece of the rock face above had fallen to the ground here, and offered them an object to hide behind.

Her actions were just in time. A looming shape came around the corner, thumping its way into their cave and stopping where they had rested only moments before. It was enormous. It walked on four thick legs that were short for its size but still massive. Its body was covered by a thick, scaly, reptilian hide. Yet what caused Elm’s blood to freeze solid in his veins was none of that, it was the thing’s head. Massive and thick, held aloft by an equally thick, short neck, it looked almost too big for the creature’s body and most startlingly had no eyes; the dominant features were a wide, gaping mouth full of dangerously-sized teeth, a large pig-like nose, and a long, pointy horn jutting upwards and out. It made the largest spear tip he had ever seen look like a pathetic child’s toy.

The creature entered the cave cautiously at first, its large nose sucking in the frigid northern air in audible gulps as it moved first this way and that. It was so large that its horn scraped the ceiling above when it raised its head, and only half of its bulk (at most) could fit in the cave at a time.

Neither human dared so much as twitch as the thing explored. It seemed obsessed with their scent, sniffing everything they had touched, everywhere they had slept, stood, or sat. Perhaps, some part of Elm’s terror-frozen mind managed, it had not smelled their kind before. It could just be curious… couldn’t it?

It huffed and rooted around the cave floor with its nose, liking one spot in particular. Elm could not see what was there. Huffing and snorting turned to stomping and scraping. Its massive hooved feet mauled the rock, throwing up dust and pebbles. Then there was the sound of ripping fabric. A piece of Elm’s wet leggings went flying. That was when he realized what had attracted its attention: it was him, or more precisely his mess. The wet clothes he had forgotten to stuff back into his pack were still lying on the cave floor, and now they were being brutally destroyed. ‘Curiosity’ was looking less and less likely.

Another piece of torn fabric went flying over his head, and the thing turned its back on the remains of the clothing. A stream of hot liquid shot out from its posterior, covering the entire area, followed by more stomping, more scraping, and finally a low, blood-curdling howl that was also part roar. The cave quickly filled with the scent of the creature’s spray - a bitter, acrid assault on their nostrils.

Elm felt himself losing control again, but he had only a small dribble of liquid left inside him at the moment, and his diaper easily absorbed it. Then the wind shifted, whipping around inside the shallow cave and blowing the creature’s scent away from them. At first it was a relief. Then the thing’s oversized nose started sniffing the air. Its head started turning. Slowly, ponderously, it oriented itself right at them, and for a few terrified heartbeats nothing happened. Elm felt certain that the thing, this being with no eyes, was somehow seeing him all the same. His heart was trying to pound its way out of his chest. His senses were hyper-alert. Yet his limbs did not want to obey his commands.

Then he noticed Macadamia preparing to throw something. It was a small, palm-sized rock, but it looked as if she had wrapped a fragment of his torn, wet leggings around it. The wind calmed for a few moments and she chucked it. 

His jaw almost dropped at the impressive throw. Its flight path went right in front of the creature’s nose and well away from the cave. It landed in a collection of snow-covered pebbles and loose rocks, and created a noticeable amount of noise. It did almost sound like a fleeing human slipping on the loose rock. Without hesitating, the creature bolted after the projectile as fast as its thick legs would carry it. Did the ground actually shake or was it his imagination?

“Now!” she hissed beside him, grabbing his right arm and yanking him to his feet.

They ran. He had no idea in which direction, nor did it matter as long as it was away from the beast. He dared look over his shoulder at one point and saw that the creature was still hyper-focused on the rock. Its quarry slipped and bounced, as did the rocks around it, while the creature stomped and scraped, relentlessly pursuing the stone down the steep hillside.

Elm had no idea how long the thing could keep on like that before losing interest, but hopefully it was long enough for them to get well away.

It was almost worse after they lost sight of it. Every sound of rock shifting caused him to look over his shoulder in terror, expecting to see its gaping maw thundering towards him. Every slight howl of the wind sounded like the creature’s terrifying cry. He could feel it creeping up on them, and pictured its disgusting wet nose plowing the snow as it followed their footsteps.

His breath burned in his lungs and every heaving gasp took more and more effort. He felt at least a modicum of dignity that Macadamia was the one who stopped running first, if not by much. She held her stomach and almost doubled over, gulping in the mountain air. He fared no better himself. The one upside was that the breeze, which had before seemed so cold, was now a welcome respite to his overheating body.

Either by deliberate effort on Macadamia’s part or by chance, they were now closer to the great northern divide than before. The smooth, sheer rock faces seemed tall as mountains themselves from this close, and all that could be seen above and beyond them were the towering peaks of still mightier, more terrifying mountains. Their peaks seemed to block out the very sky itself where they were not shrouded by the clouds. By common knowledge of every northerner, before them lay the end of the world.

Macadamia soon recovered and pulled him along behind her to another shallow cave in the rock. Only once there did she truly seem to rest, slipping her pack off her shoulders and leaning against the rock wall. She looked ready to collapse against it, as he soon did, but to his consternation she did something completely unexpected instead: she started laughing. It was a light, musical sound. A beautiful sound, he would have thought at any other time, though it seemed absurd at the moment.

He wished to share in the feeling, but could not. Nor could he fully appreciate the cute way her eyes crinkled, or the alluring way her body convulsed as she laughed with her whole self. He only watched, silent. For him, this new cave felt too much like the last: a place of terror in his unsettled mind, despite the intimate moments they had shared there.

They needed to keep going, he was about to suggest, until he noticed it was getting harder to see. The sun had already passed below the western horizon, and the sky was reflecting an ever smaller amount of light.

His hope faded with that light, and the fresh energy from his brush with death was leaking out of his veins. Night would be cold, he knew. Cold, dark, and now full of terrors he had not known existed. Where did the creature come from? How did it live out here? Was it still following them? How many more of its kind wandered these lifeless slopes? Was he going to die here?

There was only one certainty in his mind: whatever it had been, it did not care much for their presence. The mountains, it seemed, had already decreed their deaths, aloof in their mighty thrones in the clouds. If they cared about such puny mortal lives at all.

Edited April 14, 2023 by AWetterWorld
SECOND DRAFT

[AWetterWorld]

[EDITED AGAIN. ALMOST NO CHANGES THIS TIME, JUST UPDATING THE ENTIRE THING TO THE SECOND DRAFT.]

The Wild North

CHAPTER THREE (MACADAMIA)

Macadamia could not help herself; her body took on a will of its own as she shook with laughter. It was an incongruous sound to come from the cold tomb of a cave in which she stood, somewhere in the great abyss of the northern slopes, with death on her very heel. Yet the inexplicable well of humor seemed to have no end. She gave into the feeling, surrendered control, and simply let herself finish laughing. Surrendered all control, that is. Her bladder released as well and she peed helplessly, not caring that she was doing so, and let her body spray its liquid warmth into the swelling cloth of her diaper with everything that it had.

From across the cave her companion Elm stared at her as if she had sprouted wings and become a strange fairytale creature. “What? Why do you - how can you laugh? We… That thing almost…”

She felt her face contort as she looked back, feeling as if he were asking the questions of a mad man. Was it not obvious?

Then the moment passed, and reality came crashing in like a tidal wave, smashing her mind against the cold heartless stone around them. It was true. That… creature, that huge beast without eyes, had destroyed everything it ran across with even the scent of humans. They had escaped only hours ago by the skin of their teeth, and only because the thing had been so intent on destroying the remains of their camp.

So why did she laugh? She desired to explain it, but the words kept withering on her lips. Her own understanding was fading with each moment. “We’re… alive,” she heard herself utter feebly. The words felt hollow, empty of the meaning they’d been meant to carry. She tried again. “What if life is just a play, with all of us reciting the parts we’ve memorized? Until all of a sudden something happens and you realize in that moment that nothing is written? The world challenged you and you gambled it all, but you won, and there are no words for it except… I am alive. Everything is new.”

“Alive?” he repeated in a miserable tone. “Of course… I mean, you’re right.” He clearly tried to force some cheer into his voice, but it was a doomed and transparent attempt. “We’re alive… It could be worse; we could be dead.” His haunted tone implied the rest of it for him: ‘and probably will be soon.’

She frowned. Her freshly peed diaper pressed her own warmth against her. It buoyed her against the cold, but she knew that all too soon it would surrender its heat to the greed of the mountain air. She knew that her body, which at that moment felt like a furnace, would soon cool and leave her alone with her exhaustion. They had no way of knowing if the creature was still in pursuit, but either way their energy was spent. What would they do if it returned? Was he right? Would they even last the night?

After stamping out the pessimism -or at least pushing it aside- she knelt down beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Resisting that voice of despair was their only chance. This would not be the end. Not for her, and not for him. She would not let it be. “Are you alright?”

He just shook his head in affirmation. His gaze would not leave the snow-covered mountainside. It flitted nervously from one lengthening shadow to the next.

She indulged a sudden, powerful instinct and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him to her, sheltering him from the cold. Sheltering him, as best she could, from the fears that haunted his mind.

They had not eaten since breakfast, and night was nearly upon them, so she released him a short while later and shrugged off her pack. His own rested against a corner of their latest meager, cave-like shelter, and by some unspoken agreement they both started rummaging through them for food. Both too exhausted to start a fire, they snacked on nuts and dried meat.

“You need to stay hydrated,” she instructed, thrusting a waterskin into his arms. She had already gulped down a considerable share of it herself. Their bodies were demanding copious amounts of water from the constant exertion, and she knew that soon they would have to build a fire, if only to melt some snow and replenish their stores.

By the time they were satisfied, the sun was low enough in the sky that their small cave was almost completely dark. They made sure everything was meticulously stowed away, save the two fur blankets under which they would sleep. She had no trouble convincing him that it was better to be ready for another quick exit. 

Elm looked about to crawl underneath them, but she stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Do you need to…” She pointedly glanced down to his waste, trying to be delicate.

“To what?”

She felt herself blush, though she doubted he would notice in the poor light. “Your diaper? Do you want me to-”

“No!” he replied, too quickly.

She looked away with a sudden embarrassment. So she had gone too far earlier. Though she could not say why, she had become attached to their closeness and now disappointment blanketed her emotions. It had felt right to care for him. Could she now be happy to step back?

“No, it’s not that,” he hastily amended, causing a wave of relief to wash over her. “I just mean… I didn’t have much left so…”

“So long as you’re clean and dry,” she said in her instinctive matter-of-fact tone, satisfied that he did not need her attention right now. Then she got up and walked to the edge of the cave where there was a little more light. When he asked her where she was going she had to smile. “I still have to take care of me,” she replied lightly, “now don’t you peek, alright?”

It was too dark where Elm sat to see if he complied. She frowned but decided to let it go. She had certainly seen him quite exposed; it did not seem entirely unfair if he cheated and looked a little. She proceeded to reach beneath the lower folds of her tunic and pull her diaper down to her knees. It was heavy, and gravity quickly slid it the rest of the way.

The diaper itself was two thick, thirsty layers of cloth sewn to the inside of an outer layer (made from animal parts she did not care to dwell on but thoroughly treated and quite sanitary) and was all one piece. Cleaning and drying them was a chore even when she was not camping in caves. Given the circumstances, she resigned herself to turning it inside out, wringing it damp with her hands, and leaving it out to air dry while she snuggled into a clean one. She would have to think of a real solution later.

She jumped slightly when Elm’s hand locked onto her wrist, stopping her just before she relieved the fabric of its burden.

“No!” he hissed urgently, spinning his head about as if expecting an attack any moment.

“What ever is the matter?” she asked, looking around nervously herself.

“The scent,” he insisted with another hissed whisper, “remember? When I peed it… the creature… it…”

Her frown deepened. “Yes… That’s what it was after. Your wet clothes were on the ground and… Why, it didn’t even notice us at first, it was so intent on that odor!”

“Yes, and think how far our scent might travel in this wind!”

Macadamia had never seen the young man be so vocal about anything, and despite the gravity of the situation she was strangely fascinated by it.

“We have to hide our scent as much as we can,” he finished.

She considered her options. “I can walk some way and then-”

“No! It’s dark out there… Dangerous… Please, I can’t… Don’t leave… please?”

For the first time that day she found herself truly at a loss for what to do or say. Surely she could not leave him there, alone, to panic. Besides which he had a point. They had already been attacked out here once. Would she really risk attracting the creature to within walking distance of their camp? But how to hide the odor here? They had no charcoal or even loose dirt. The ground was solid and mostly rock - they had no hope of burying anything.

Even now the creature might be catching the scent of the wind that blew across her exposed diaper. Her gut felt like it had twisted into a knot.

Just then a deep sound echoed across the vast sweeping mountainsides, just as if it had been on standby, waiting for the right moment to torment the two tiny humans. Part howl, part roar, the discordant, stomach-churning sound trumpeted first off one one rock face, and then echoed off the next, at first distant, then almost terrifying in its closeness.

Hastily she reversed her previous actions, sliding the wet diaper back up her legs and snuggling it securely against her underside. The fabric had been chilled by the mountain air, and she flinched at its unwelcome cold touching her most sensitive areas. Despite that, her hands kept nervously tucking the lower folds of her tunic between her legs and pushing it all up against her, as if to further hide her wetness from the moving air. “Alright,” she said under her breath, walking away from the cave mouth “let me think…

“We should keep moving. That would be the wisest course… But it’s already dark and we must have light to read the maps and see where we’re going. Demons of winter! If only I had thought to bring a lantern! I don’t know what we might attract with a fire. Or will we be more vulnerable without one?

“We can’t turn back; the howling came from the very direction we would need to travel…”

It was then that she finally, for the first time since leaving home, began to feel the weight of what she had done. She was no explorer, no warrior or slayer of beasts. Never before had she attempted anything near as reckless as this. Out of her element, and hunted by dangers she had not known existed, she finally felt true regret at leaving home. Perhaps her family would not see her again after all. The idea was much harder to swallow now that it felt so… real.

She had never found a wet diaper to be uncomfortable per say, but this one felt as if it clung to her like a writ of execution tattooed to her skin. It pressed against her, an insistent, unsettling reminder of their situation. They could not wear the same diaper forever, nor had they any way of cleaning them. Discarding even one might draw death near, while carrying them around wet might bring it down right on top of them!

Elm spoke up quietly from beside her. “You know, I… Never mind.”

“No… What is it?” she replied with a tenderness that belied her terror.

“I just… You remember that saying? We read it in a book once, though my mind is too frantic to recall which one. It… it went something like ‘courage cannot exist without fear, and absent the influence of fear no act may be named courageous’?”

The cave remained dark to the eyes, but somehow she felt the shadows retreat. He could not see her warm smile, she knew, so she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed for multiple long, deep breaths before releasing him. “We’ll sleep here tonight. I’ll take the first watch. We’ll figure the rest out in the morning. Alright?”

Her own renewed confidence seemed to bolster his own, and he mumbled his acceptance before the two went to opposite ends of the cave.

She awoke during the night, aware of a sound in the distance. (Had it been the moaning of the breeze through the rocks, or the howl of an eyeless monster?) The clouds had cleared while she slept, and the pure white of starlight on snow returned some part of her vision to her. Nothing moved in the open save the wind, but in every deep black void, hiding from the moonlight, she felt a monster watching her…

She shivered despite not being cold. The world had changed the moment she learned there were actual monsters in it. Now anything might be concealed beneath those ominous, inky-black shadows. It took a long time for her heartbeat to slow once more, and sleep to accept her back.

Edited April 15, 2023 by AWetterWorld
SECOND DRAFT

[AWetterWorld]

[EDITED FROM ORIGINAL POST: SECOND DRAFT]

The Wild North

CHAPTER FOUR (ELM)

The snow fought Elm every step of the way. It gave way beneath every fall of his boots, then pulled against his every attempt to lift them free. It greedily sucked the warmth from his skin where it could, while its co-conspirator the wind pushed against his forward motion. Wandering off on a trek deep into uncharted territory in search of treasure right out of legend was nothing like in the stories. It felt tedious, not glamorous. His muscles ached from constant use, to say nothing of his sore feet or the frostbite in his fingers. It felt terrifying, rather than exciting. There had been no new appearances of the monster, but they had both heard its roar echoing off the slopes several times – it seemed to be coming from all directions at once. A constant, invisible threat that breathed down their necks at every moment, yet never stepped into the light.

The one thing he did not feel, he realized with a budding warmth in his chest, was lonely. His companion Macadamia had grown quiet, but never cold. She walked ahead but frequently looked back to check on him with an encouraging smile. She took his hand when he started lagging behind, gently pulling him forward and giving him courage. Whenever they stopped to rest, her warmth was there as she pulled him close and held him. Never like that first night, never in an… intimate way. Not that he would have objected to feeling her touch once again in places no woman had ever touched him. Yet whenever circumstances drifted towards a repeat, one of them quickly withdrew or found some distraction. He had no idea why; it had simply appeared there: a strange, unfailing reflex, some invisible thing between them.

Taken altogether, this experience was worse than in the stories by far, and yet infinitely better. His constant, silent lament was that he was not brave like Macadamia, or strong as ox like his father. Not a warrior, not a tracker, he had no place in this wild country. No place anywhere. Except for Macadamia’s side, that was where he belonged.

He could stay there beside her forever, and it would be enough. Or would it? Having given life to the thought, he was suddenly uncertain. He wanted to be with her, but what if he was starting to want… something more… He remembered resting on her chest as she sung him to sleep, a firm round breast beneath his fingers – separated only by the cloth of her tunic. He had the sudden, intense desire to be held by her again. To be close to her, perhaps even closer than before.

No – he would not be selfish. She had always kept him close before, but now there was a distance. That was how she wanted it; why else would she shy away from having more? He would respect her wishes, always. If this was how she wanted it, he would see that it was so.

He had to admit that the thick, padded undergarment she had slipped on him -the diaper, he conceded- was not only quite comfortable but its protection had been a literal life saver. Not only had he not embarrassed himself in front of her again, but it had helped conceal odors. So far it seemed to be enough; the creature had not returned. Perhaps, when their ordeal was over, he would ask her if she might give him a few to keep. If they were still alive by that point…

The dark thought made his control weaken, and his left hand flew to his crotch instinctively as he released some pee into his diaper. More critically, the whole business distracted him and he put his left foot down wrong, twisting it and lodging it in a crack in the stone shelf beneath them.

Hearing the resulting yelp, she stopped and spun about. “Are you alright?” The soft features of her gentle, heart-shaped face were a portrait of concern and sympathy. Instead of replying, he stood frozen – not even feeling the pain as he stared dumbly into her eyes.

“Here, let me…” She kneeled down for easy access to his ankle, putting her face almost level with his waist, only to freeze when a familiar loud hissing noise made itself known.

The humiliation he had been hoping to avoid washed over him as his pee flooded the thick cloth surrounding his genitals, not a foot from Macadamia’s face where she now looked pointedly at his midsection. Casually, she lifted up the lower folds of his tunic and watched his diaper. Upon seeing a sudden sag and sharp yellowish tint, she put on her patient smile. Oh that smile… she could melt him with that comforting, reassuring smile every time.

“It’s alright.” Her hands ran up and down either side of his body -like she did when she was trying to warm him up, but slower- before the gesture ended with a gentle, two-handed pat of his outer thighs. He felt strangely like a treasured child being patted by his mother. “Don’t hold it in, it’s alright.”

No matter how many times she repeated herself the words still worked like magic. Already he felt his shame melting away. His stream faded as well.

She lifted his tunic for another peek. “All done?” she asked in her back-to-business voice. When he answered in the affirmative she patted the crotch of his diaper affectionately. “Alright, let’s get you free.”

Her gaze had moved on quickly enough, it seemed, that she did not notice the beginning of his manhood’s sudden expansion. He was deeply relieved, but at the same time something else… Disappointed? No, certainly not that. Think of something else – anything else. “Do you have any children, or… or younger siblings or something?”

She shook her head as she manipulated his foot, then messaged it a bit while watching him for a reaction. “No children. I do have two younger brothers. Why?” She frowned when he winced, and sometimes yelped, as she cautiously tried to bend his ankle.

He thought again of the way she patted him affectionately, held him close when he was scared, and of her kind, reassuring smile every time he peed himself. Did she really not see it? “It’s nothing. Forget I asked.”

“You shouldn’t walk on this yet,” she stated, releasing his ankle. “I’ll carry you; we mustn't waste daylight.” He had never seen her scowl, but she did so now as she decided that one of their packs would need to be left behind. He watched her shuffle things from one to the other, sometimes changing her mind and putting something back, until she was finally satisfied. Fortunately (or unfortunately) they had eaten much of their food, drank easily half their water, and lost some of their clothing, so it turned out that most of their remaining possessions could (barely) fit in one pack. Only the second sleeping blanket had to be left behind. It was not only heavy, but extremely bulky due to its size and the thickness of its fur and hide.

Finally, she faced him and gently wrapped her hands around his bottom, lifting him to her. Due to his upper body being shorter than her own, his head could rest comfortably on the front of her shoulder, but his legs had to wrap around her abdomen to get out of the way. He wrapped his arms gently around her upper body, relishing her closeness. The lower folds of his tunic, being bound by gravity, hung straight down rather than covering his diapered bottom. He felt her soft hands against his skin, pressing his diaper against his body, and realized that he never wanted this moment to end.

At least his manhood was not swelling, he realized with relief. In fact, he was entirely content for the moment just to be held by her. Sometimes one of her hands would break off from holding his bottom and gently rub his back, or simply hold him tight. 

“But about what we said before… I think you’d be a good mother. I mean, you do seem a bit, umm… motherly, sometimes.” When she did not immediately reply he felt a strange, growing nervousness. “That is… I mean in a good way. Like a kind… beautiful mother… who's not that much older…” He winced. Somehow his situation did not feel like it was improving. “Or… or an older sister! But you’re not really related… Like a half-sister who you think is pretty but it’s okay because she’s not really your sis – I mean, she would be in that example, sort of, but at the same time–”

“‘Pretty’?” she interrupted, blessedly putting his monologue out of its misery. Her voice was strange. Not angry, not pleased, just… something.

“Well, umm, yeah.” She had rotated her head to look at him, and he turned his own head to look up at hers. She was doing that thing again: the thing where half of her face smiled but the other half was something else.

Her right hand stroked the side of his face before reaching into his hood and brushing his wind-blown hair back into something resembling order. “You’re such a sweet boy.” Her hand lingered as her gaze bored into him, probing him for… something. Then the moment was over just as suddenly as it had begun, and she turned her attention back to the mountain, walking forward in silence. So that was all he would get. He tried to push away the disappointment.

Until she spoke again. Her voice was so close to his ear he had no trouble hearing it over the wind – despite its uncharacteristic softness. “My mother was always very tender with my younger brothers and I… Especially with me I suppose. She would sing to us when any of us were upset. After she was gone I guess I began taking over for her. Father would hardly speak sometimes. He would just sit in his chair and stare at nothing. My brothers are old enough now to tend to the animals and look after Father, but back then they were still too young; they needed me. Still, it wasn’t just for them. I think I would have turned out like her regardless.”

“Then your mother must have been strong, and brave!” That got him a smile, and his heart swelled with warmth. “Did they have… accidents too? Your brothers?”

Her smile faded. “As children of course, yes, but they aren’t… like me.”

“Like us,” Elm said quickly, wanting to share a connection with her. Curiosity was boiling over yet he was horrified at asking his next question. “So I’m sort of like… a younger brother?”

“No… I wouldn’t say…”

He waited, but this time she refused to elaborate.

Soon enough it was forgotten anyway when his bladder released again. He was unsure what had done it. Perhaps the rhythmic rocking of her steps, or her gentle arm patting his back one too many times. The way she periodically bounced him in her arms as she shifted his weight. Whatever it had been, he embraced it completely; he couldn’t help himself. He released fully, with utter contentment, resting his head gently against her shoulder. He basked in the feeling, letting the already wet diaper soak up his pooling warmth at its own pace as she held him. Nothing had ever felt more right.

A few moments later her left hand, still supporting his diapered bum, apparently felt the warmth spreading out across his bottom. She patted him there a couple times in a soft, affectionate spank, then moved her supporting hand to one side, so as not to press against the diaper and make it leak.

“You’ve been drinking too much water – no wonder we’re going through it so fast!” He heard no actual anger behind her scolding, and continued to feel only contentment.

She bounced him against her one more time as she adjusted her grip, then her right hand began rubbing his back in a small circle before patting his lower back gently, and then going back to rubbing.

He had become so lost in the wonderful feeling, that he did not realize until it was too late just how completely he had let go. His body began pushing of its own accord, and a new, squishy kind of warmth started bulging the back of the diaper. He sucked in a breath and tried to stop it, but it was too late. He had not had a bowel movement once since they had started their journey, and now he realized just how much had built up. He even helped push some more out with a soft grunt – he just couldn’t resist the urge any longer.

The poop soon had nowhere to go and started deforming, spreading across his bottom and even a little up the middle towards the front.

After his suspicious grunt, Macadamia explored the new bulging in his rear with her free hand, pausing as she noted it was still expanding, and sighed. “It’s alright. It had to happen eventually. That’s it, just let it all out.” She even bounced him once on purpose, and patted his back again.

He did not need to be told twice. He complied with another involuntary grunt as his muscles pushed, and finally a sigh of relief. His poop had now spread evenly and everywhere across his bottom, and was becoming so thick that the outer layer of the diaper was lifted slightly away from his skin in places, breaking the seal and making him nervous that it would leak should he have another accident later. The messy brown cushion had spread far enough to touch the bottom of his man-parts in front. He felt his body release the last of his pee, assaulting the diaper from both sides at once, and then he was finally done.

At this point, between her own more-than-a-day-past-a-change wet diaper, and the incredible mess in his own, the combined smell was getting more than a little noticeable. He wrinkled his nose. “I’m sorry, Mom-” he cut himself off mid-word, aghast. What had he almost said? “-Macadamia,” he recovered. “You don’t think…” He did not want to finish the horrifying thought.

She sighed again. “My sweet boy. My good… messy, boy. None of that now. It can’t smell us, it’s too far away. It’s going to be fine, alright?” She did that affectionate, soft, double spank again – even softer this time due to the state of his diaper.

In a strange moment of detachment, he noted again how blatant her mothering tone could be sometimes. Did she really not notice this? Either way he was not about to say anything lest she stop. Perhaps he was just crazy to begin with. Being treated this way made him feel warm and secure, yet earlier her touch had aroused him. The quandary refused to be reconciled; it was easier just to push it aside.

 “I can hardly smell it myself,” she said, finishing her own thoughts.

Her words did nothing to reassure him at that point. She did not sound convinced herself. The pace of her steps increased, and he belatedly wondered how she was even doing this. Between the bulk on her back, and carrying him in front, he was sure that the woman herself could barely be seen.

She was breathing heavily too. Evidence of her humanity did not reassure. Right then he would have been elated to learn that she possessed some inexhaustible strength inherited from her hidden, half-magical heritage.

He almost fell out of her arms when she halted abruptly. “Father Winter and Mother Spring!” she exclaimed under her breath. Then she set him down so quickly he almost fell into the snow a second time. “Elm, quickly, hand me the maps!”

After digging them out of her pack he nearly surrendered them to a gust of wind as his eyes finally locked on to what she had seen. They had been following the slopes and heading steadily towards the sharp vertical face of the Great Northern Divide, a sheer cliff almost unnatural in its uniformity that blocked access to the mountain peaks and whatever lay beyond. Most believed that there was nothing beyond.

Yet before them, still a distance away but visible due to its sheer enormity, was a gap. The insurmountably tall granite wall of the Great Divide simply ended in a smooth vertical cliff, and then resumed a short distance away, as if it had been cut through by a giant’s butcher knife. In between was an unmistakable passageway. This is what they had been looking for: a way past the rock wall, to where the mythical portal to the ‘land beyond’ purportedly awaited. 

“It’s here,” she breathed in obvious awe, looking between the rock face and the maps before her. “Right where we thought it would be. I always trusted our research, but I’m not certain I really believed until…”

She looked at him strangely, a roaring inferno of passion behind her eyes. He almost backed away. Then she placed a stone to hold the maps in place and literally leaped at him like an animal, wrapping him up in a great hug that lifted him off his feet. She twirled him, then set him down – not letting go of him. “I’m peeing myself, this is so exciting! Oh, Elm. Without your insight and help I never would have known where to look; you’re a genius!”

For a moment she squeezed him so close that their cheeks touched. The warmth of her breath lingered on his skin. She relaxed her grip a bit, and suddenly -through chance or fate- his face looked right into her own, his lips only an inch from hers. Her breath had a nutty smell. He had never liked nuts so much. Time seemed to slow for a heartbeat as he floated slowly back to the ground.

“Wait, just hold on a minute,” she said after releasing a bewildered Elm and taking a step back. “Alright, think. Let’s not get too excited! This could be anything. It could be a notch in the rock, nothing more. It could go a short way and then simply stop. There could be a veritable maze of canyons winding through the divide and all leading nowhere – we must be careful not to get lost! Here – help me pack up the maps again.”

Elm was utterly transfixed, and did no such thing. He could only stare in fascination as he watched his companion display such simple joy. Unlike the first time this happened he now had something to grasp, something that allowed him to dip his thirsty soul into her well of optimism and share in the feeling. The gap was right there: that inviting doorway out of the doom that had loomed over them; it was real. It had to be. He needed it to be. He did not want to die on this miserable, cold mountainside. He wanted to be someplace warm and pleasant, with Macadamia, forever.

She bundled him back up after doing the same to the maps, and held him close once more as they set off towards the narrow canyon. The smell of his mess persisted, and he frowned as he began to wonder what in the world they were going to do about it. Nothing had changed just because they knew where they were going.

The smell of her persisted as well, and he breathed it in deeply. It was the smell of security, warmth, and hope. That, and perhaps… Yes, she had actually peed herself again too.

Snow began to fall as they walked, and he noted her footsteps becoming more rapid, more desperate. She was right to be worried. Despite feeling closer than ever to their goal, if a blizzard overtook them now they could get hopelessly lost before ever finding it – and with no shelter in which to wait out the storm.

When she stopped again and gently set him down he was almost overwhelmed with relief. She had found it after all, and-

As he turned around he noticed the canyon entrance was near indeed, but within the gap lay something else, something even more unexpected than mythical creatures: people! A whole group of them numbering thirty strong or more. No one lived on these mountain slopes; everyone knew that. Yet here they were, marching towards the slopes from out of the canyon’s depths.

The larger group seemed to be organized into smaller ones, all moving in concert. Each group had one figure being carried on a palanquin, surrounded by more people on foot, and a final few in the back carrying large chests suspended by wooden poles.

As the strangers moved towards them, Elm began to pick out more details. The figures on the palanquins all seemed to be extravagantly dressed women, while the figures walking on foot surrounding them were all bulky men who looked ready to wrestle an ox to its back at a moment’s notice. They carried long spears on their backs, but nothing else. Even their clothing was skimpy. Despite the cold they did not wear leg coverings of any kind. Their manhood and the surrounding area was wrapped by thin cloth in such an elaborate way he had to wonder if they really spent half an hour unwrapping and rewrapping themselves every time they needed to pee.

The figures carrying the palanquins all seemed to be old men – though obviously still quite fit. Only women carried the chests though. They were dressed in more practical clothing, with thick cloaks draping over them to protect against the cold. They numbered four per chest.

“Hold!” shouted the woman on the nearest palanquin. She turned her head to look behind her at the other women on platforms. Not one of them seemed to take notice of the two figures gaping at them from the slopes. “I would impose upon you all to camp here through the storm.”

The other women on the palanquins all nodded and voiced formal-sounding agreements, and that was that. The old men knelt but kept their vehicle’s floor resting well above the snow. The women carrying the chests abandoned the poles and held their cargo using handles on the sides. The scantily-clad men’s spears ended in a wide flat slab, which they used to clear snow. Shelters were rapidly erected from the poles that had carried the chests and large cloth canvases. It all went so smoothly and efficiently that Elm was certain they did this on a regular basis.

Macadamia seemed as transfixed by the show as he was and also remained silent.

“You flatter me with your courtesy,” said the woman who had spoken up before. Her voice was rich and powerful, and carried well through the wind and snow. “You need wait no longer. Please unburden yourselves and join my fire!” It was the first time Elm really noticed the strangeness of her pronunciation. She emphasized some vowels, while almost skipping over others.

It took the two travelers several breaths to realize that no one was responding to the obvious order. The men busied themselves with starting a bonfire near the shelters, everyone else was waiting patiently, but the woman was not looking at any of them. She was looking at Elm and Macadamia.

“Were you talking to us?” Macadamia asked cautiously.

The woman nodded. “You may approach.”

Elm’s heart fluttered with relief. They were saved! He lurched towards them as quickly as his ankle would allow, rather than wait for Macadamia to pick him up. His diaper was incredibly heavy and his steps became half-waddle to accommodate it. He felt his cheeks redden in fear of it being seen by strangers, and self-consciously tugged downward on the lower folds of his tunic before he caught himself.

Macadamia walked beside him, never taking her eyes off the strangers. 

“I am Helindra,” spoke the palaquined woman in an imperious voice. “I graciously speak for my sisters, who will be joining us shortly. I have received the loyalty of thirteen vigorous and worthy bucks. I see you have but one.” She nodded towards Elm. “...and also that you have few supplies. Has some unfortunate tragedy befallen you, Huntress?”

Elm noticed his companion’s brow furrowing in confusion at several points, but she spoke with confidence. “We had an unfortunate encounter with… a powerful beast of some kind. It was as big as a cave and had no eyes, but its mouth was filled with…” She shivered at the memory. “Well, I would caution against traveling the way we came.”

The chest-carrying women, whose hands were now empty as they had already deposited the chests in the various large tents, made a shocked sound almost in unison and shared unreadable looks. The men started glancing at the two of them but continued their work.

“You found and tracked a deathbiter, a superb accomplishment! I lament that your bucks were not up to the task. We have all made the mistake of underestimating the might of our quarry at some point. I am sure that this…” she nodded towards Elm for the second time. “...this slight one here does not represent the strength of your herd at its best. He also does not walk right. You will surely want to attend to his injuries. You may remain by my fire for tonight. Are there other survivors, do you imagine?”

Macadamia’s voice became guarded. He could tell she was reluctant to answer. “It was only ever the two of us,” she admitted.

The remark drew loud, shocked gasps from many. Helindra remained quiet, but her eyes widened momentarily before she recovered. “You went hunting with… only this one?”

“We are not hunting anything, only exploring.”

The entire camp seemed to release a tense breath. “Of course, that explains much,” Helindra replied with obvious relief. “Forgive my assumption of your station. Most who are not hunters know better than to brave these lands. You are clearly young, and have wandered off alone. Many have made such a mistake in their youth, and let their fantasies of being a huntress blind their good sense.

“I will make you an honorary pole-bearer, that you and your buck, such as he is, may travel with us in safety until we all return home. I would know your name?” The woman’s tone had changed, Elm noticed, from one who addressed an equal to one who was politely indulging someone of a much lower station.

“Macadamia, but… there seems to be some further misunderstandings. My home is in the opposite direction, and we have no intention of going back just yet, you see-”

“You are not of the Hunters, of course,” Helindra interrupted in a tone that said she had known all along. “This explains the strange way you are both dressed. Also there is your strange accent. There were other peoples who split away from our own long ago, but we were not aware that any of them settled this side of the gap. I will forgive your accidental deception. You say that your home is back the way you came, and that you were exploring when you encountered the deathbiter?”

“If that’s what you call it. We were not a day into our travels when…” She quickly summarized their journey.

“Hmm… Yet you do not wish to help us hunt it?”

He saw Macadamia shiver again. “No, thank you. We are… quite certain on that.”

“Such a pity that you would abandon them… but I suppose we cannot all be as brave as we might wish to be…”

“Abandon… who?”

“Your kin, of course… My poor Dear! Has it truly not occurred to you? The beast has not continued hunting you because it no doubt detected the stronger scent of your kin, back wherever you call home. As lightly packed as you are, it cannot be too far away. I highly doubt the deathbiter could have failed to find it. I do hope that you have many strong bucks there, perhaps then your losses will be few. That is the way of the hunt; if one is to live, another is to die. We must hope that your kin were victorious.”

The blood drained from Elm’s face as the ramifications set in. It was so horrifyingly obvious now. Any previous thoughts were buried beneath the avalanche of this new revelation, and the bottom dropped out of his stomach. This was why it had not hunted them down. This was why its roars had been heard all throughout the night. It had followed their scent alright – followed it right back home to their village. No one there would even know of the beast; no one would expect an attack or know how to fight the thing. It would be in the dark of night. By now, they could all be dead and most likely were.

The regal woman still ignored him and addressed Macadamia. “My poor dear! I can see that this truly is the first time you have considered this. How is this possible? Your people are surely not so woefully unprepared that they would let anyone wander out unprotected, or that no bucks would be left behind to guard your young mothers and infirm?”

“We…” Macadamia was struggling to speak now, Elm realized. Her eyes were round saucers of pain. She had obviously come to the same conclusion as himself. “We never knew… We’ve never seen it before. I…”

“‘Never seen it before?’ repeated Halindra slowly, as if tasting the words. “Is there truly such a place? A place where the deathbiters have never been? We have been so successful in our hunts that the detestable beasts have retreated from our lands, and must only now be discovering yours… How marvelous! It must be such a peaceful paradise there if you had no need of hunters all this time…”

“‘Marvelous?’ ‘Paradise?’” Macadamia repeated softly, her voice sounding miserable. Then she laughed. It was not a laugh of joy as before. This was a miserable, hollow sound, an involuntary convulsing of her lungs.

“Surely you do not presume to mock me. You cannot be that displeased, having run away with no wish to return.”

Elm remained frozen by his shock. Too much was happening too quickly; he could not seem to process it.

Next to him, Macadamia actually fell to her knees in the snow. Her voice was weak yet distorted by rage – it sounded nothing like her. “I killed them all. It was ‘paradise’ I was looking for, but now I’ve caused the death of everyone. My family… Everyone…They’re all…” Tears rolled gently down her cheeks now. “All gone but me; me and my fool’s quest to discover some stupid ‘paradise’. They always told me… always told me I was a fool chasing after silly fantasies… this is what I have caused.”

Elm’s body finally unlocked, and he fell to knees in the snow by her side, unable to watch any more. He rested against her, inviting her to hold him and squeeze him tight. He longed to be held more than ever now, if only because it would mean that she was alright. He snuggled for all he was worth, suddenly not caring about the audience, but the attempts were awkward without her cooperation.

Helindra waved airily, turning her head away as if the scene before her was unseemly. “Oh dear, this cannot stand. Why are you all standing around? We will need another tent for our guests tonight, and a fire for them as well. In the meantime, escort them to my tent.”

One of the trunk women snapped into motion. She soon stood before them and bowed. “This way, please.”

For a full breath he thought Macadamia might actually have to be carried, but then she lurched slowly into motion. Her footsteps were clumsy and she was constantly on the verge of tripping. Her mind clearly paid little attention to her movements.

They were being escorted to some manner of safety, or so he hoped, but he repeatedly found himself looking nervously at the faces around them. Having a huge mess in his diaper was one thing when it was just Macadamia, but here it felt as if everyone who so much as glanced their way could see right through his tunic. He tried to walk normally, aside from his ankle, but he could not escape the burning heat of those stares…

He still had so many questions about these strangers. Helindra seemed so incredibly callous when discussing the presumed death of an entire village. He did not understand how anyone that cold-hearted could truly be a good person. Macadamia seemed to have some sheltered status here, but any leeway he was being given seemed to be due to his presumed status of belonging to her, if that was the right word. Her ‘buck’. It was unclear just how close to being outright property he was here.

Strangely, the idea of belonging to her did not bother him as much as he assumed it should. If they had to pretend, that is… For their hosts’ benefit of course… 

Never mind that. He had to keep moving; he had to get Macadamia to safety before his mind shut down on him. He could not think about the beast, or home; those things were dangerous to his fragile mind. Macadamia would know what it all meant. She would know what to do. She had to…

Edited April 15, 2023 by AWetterWorld
SECOND DRAFT

[AWetterWorld]

The Wild North

CHAPTER FIVE

The still torpid, lethargic Macadamia, Elm clinging to her the whole way, was brought inside Helindra’s massive personal tent. For being a meager construction of cloth and poles it was ridiculously decadent. The entire floor had been lined with soft, warm furs. Huge pillows fit for sitting or laying also populated the space, with several large trunks resting around its edges. One was open, and was clearly overflowing with opulent clothing. A large fire was built just outside the tent’s open flaps, and small braziers hanging from tent poles were filled with coals or small fires of their own. It was still the frozen north, but this was definitely the warmest place he had been in since leaving home.

The Huntress herself made her appearance only after a conspicuous delay. She was grateful for the woman’s ego; it gave her time to collect her scattered thoughts and force the gears of her mind back into motion.

“Whatever happened, it… it isn’t your fault,” Elm said from beside her. “You heard miss high-and-mighty, the creature would have found home sooner or later even if we’d never come… right? And – and, we don’t even know if anything actually happened, do we? Everyone could be perfectly fine!”

He tried to snuggle against her again, and she relented, pulling him into a tight hug. Her eyes were dry now. She had made a decision: she had shed her last tear. Whatever had, or had not, happened back home, she had Elm to look out for right now. She still did not know enough about these strangers to completely trust them. There was no way to know if they were truly out of danger.

They both sat on the ground, legs bent so that their soiled diapers were held aloft rather than being sat on. Yet even without leaking all over the furs beneath them, their smells were distressingly obvious. She periodically swiveled her head to look out the door behind them, hoping no one was standing too close. No one was. In fact no one seemed to be paying any attention to them at all. That was until the same young, robed woman who had led them into the tent reappeared. Her demeanor had completely changed from the stiff, formal ‘pole-bearer’ from before. She moved quickly and glanced nervously around, her voice urgent yet barely above a whisper. “Come, both of you! Now!”

Elm looked to her, but Macadamia wasn’t going to budge. “Why?”

“You’re in danger…” The woman gestured repeatedly towards her waist. “You must not be discovered in your present state! We are on a hunt! To give us all away would be… severely punished!”

The woman was young, but clearly an adult. She had a kind, round face, and unruly dark hair tied back in a simple tail. Her eyes held obvious urgency, and her voice was pleading. Her twitching and other nervous gestures indicated sincere distress. Macadamia got no sense of deception from her.

Trusting her gut, she nodded and grabbed Elm by the hand, pulling him along as she followed the stranger towards a much smaller tent on the periphery of camp. Helindra seemed to be involved in a discussion with another one of the women on palanquins, and did not look in their direction as they moved quietly by. The men and some of the other women moved busily about, but did not so much as acknowledge the strangers scurrying through their midst.

Only once they were inside the small tent and out of sight did their new host begin to visibly relax. “I am Phendala. I am Third Pole-Bearer. My responsibilities at present are limited; I will not be missed yet. Even so, we must be quick.”

“About what?” she insisted. “You still haven’t told us-”

“Cleaning you up! You both reek, but especially your buck! You cannot go before the huntress in such a state!” Her nose wrinkled as she sniffed repeatedly. “I have been assigned child duties before, and if I did not know better I would say…” She drifted off, then moved with surprising speed and agility as she lifted Elm’s tunic before he could so much as protest. She made a face. “I thought as much. What were you thinking, bringing one such as him into the land of the deathbiters?!”

“Look I already explained all this,” Macadamia shot back warily.

“Yes, yes. You are correct – we have no time for this. We must clean him up before he is brought before Huntress Helindra. You see, no one is allowed on a hunt who has not trained themselves to master their own scent. Our prey do not hear well and cannot see at all, but they have an impressive sense of smell. You risk us all! I am surprised you were not already noticed by the others.

“Remain here, do not move until I come back!”

They did so, and she pulled Elm into a light hug while they waited, stroking his hair. His face was still bright red from when his diaper had been so brazenly inspected. He tried to apologize again, but she only shook her head and brushed it aside.

It was only after Phendala returned carrying a couple of towels and a waterskin -rather than an armed escort- that she could begin to let herself relax. She held out her arms, expecting the woman to drop off the supplies and leave, but no such thing happened.

“Have him lay down,” the pole-bearer instructed instead, having set one of the towels out on the ground. Without waiting for compliance she grabbed Elm’s tunic and pulled it up over his head and away, then pointed for emphasis.

The help was not unwelcome, in truth, but Macadamia wondered how Elm would handle this. He seemed to be comfortable with Macadamia attending to his needs, but a complete stranger? Even as she watched, his worry lines deepend on his forehead and beneath his eyes, and his cheeks turned as red as she had ever seen them. She gave Elm’s arms a quick, reassuring rub. “It’s alright. We can trust her. Now lay down.” He did so without complaint.

Immediately Phendala was on him. She pulled off his leggings, moved his midsection to be centered on the cloth, grabbed his diaper at both sides, and started pulling.

She recoiled for a moment, pulling her hands away to pinch her nose. Elm squirmed under the naked scorn of her gaze. In her eyes, poor Elm was clearly not a creature who merited any kind of dignity. Then she tried again, grabbing his diaper and tugging it down again. It slid away from him with a slight sucking sound, and almost immediately the smell of used diaper permeated the entire tent. She scowled at Elm’s nakedness one more time for emphasis. “Did you never discipline him? I would give even a young fawn a good spanking for making such a mess of himself! And this diaper – do you never change him at all?”

Even Macadamia had to frown at the odor, but she was not about to humiliate him for it, and the woman’s constant verbal assaults were beginning to irritate her. Not to mention her blatant implication that Macadamia’s care was lacking. How dare she? In point of fact, the squishy mess left all over Elm’s backside was not anything she had not cleaned from her younger brothers’ heinies back in their day – just on a larger scale. Of course they had been children, but Elm was not to blame for his condition!

She watched him bury his face in his hands and frowned at their new ally, feeling angry on his behalf as well. “Enough!  You’re humiliating him! He’s no… ‘antelope’ or ‘buck’ or whatever you keep calling him! He’s an intelligent young boy…” She felt her own cheeks redden slightly. “...Man.”

Everyone froze as the sound of footsteps in the snow could be heard coming towards them.

“Sister, do you require assistance?” a feminine voice asked softly from the other side of the closed tent flap.

“None at all, thank you, Sister,” Phendala replied curtly.

“What are you doing in there? Everyone is wondering.”

“Preparing our guests, now there is no need-”

Too late. A third woman burst into the tent, which was small enough that it was starting to feel crowded. “No, truly! You must share the secret-”

Everyone froze.

Elm grabbed Macadamia’s arm, his face a reddish sculpture of wide-eyed embarrassment. She gripped his hand in both of her own. “It’s alright. You couldn’t help it. Don’t think about them; it’s just me and you, alright? I’m going to get you cleaned up.”

“I must watch!” the new arrival blurted. “I have never been entrusted with the care of a fawn; it will further my education… Is it always this smelly?”

“You may stay,” Phendalla said sternly, preempting any reply Macadamia might have offered. “but you must say nothing! I am third, you are forth. This is an order, do you understand?”

The woman nodded as Macadamia felt herself frown. If these women were right then there was danger in anyone finding out what was going on here. She needed their help – or at least their silence. Even so, how large was their audience to be? She hated that Elm was becoming a spectacle.

Just as work was about to resume, Elm’s bladder apparently found a bit it had been holding in reserve. The humiliation had clearly upset him enough that he quite truthfully had no control at all right then. A stream of pee was ejected from his penis, causing Phendalla to scoff loudly and throw the lower folds of the towel over it, pushing lightly as if he were a barrel which had sprung a leak that must be plugged. “Honestly!” she said under her breath. 

When the pee spot stopped expanding she pulled back the wet towel and tried to use the dry parts to wipe his front.

The new arrival actually giggled. “His spout cannot be bigger than a baby’s!” She turned to Macadamia. “Are all your bucks as small down there as a fawn? Or just this one? No wonder no proper huntress would take him!”

“It… gets bigger,” Macadamia heard herself say somewhat defensively. The new arrival giggled in response, while she tried in silence to stop feeling like an idiot.

“He is your fawn,” Phendalla interrupted, “you can be the one to touch his… mess. I will hold his legs.” Without asking for permission or giving warning, she bundled up his legs in her hands and lifted them straight up, far enough to lift his bottom off the towel. Elm let himself be moved around like an infant, exactly as he had done with her back in the cave. He had always been docile by nature, but at the moment she chalked it up to a case of not believing what was happening to him.

She let go of Elm’s hand and brushed his hair once with a reassuring smile, but it had no obvious effect. His face had lost its color now, looking almost deathly pale, and his eyes stared straight up at the tent’s roof like empty saucers. A moment later she realized why. His manhood had indeed started expanding, and he was clearly mortified.

“Honestly, now?” Phendalla said with disdain.

Macadamia threw the towel over it in a futile attempt to protect his dignity, but his tower continued to rise and was plenty obvious. Finally she gave up and simply used the towel to start cleaning him. When she was done, she wrapped the dirty towel up and set it aside, then laid the clean one out in its place.

The giggler spoke up, still watching in open fascination. “You’re right! It does get bigger! Still… I thought it would be more. His skin is smooth and bare like a baby! Where is his mane, do fawns not have them?”

“Enough, Skilla! Take the towel and his diaper, and go and clean them! Since you insisted on watching, you can now make yourself useful.” She frowned. “You may have to use that entire waterskin, just make certain you cover the remains with adequate charcoal!”

“I will in a moment, but may I have a turn with him first?”

A pointed glare crossed the room.

“Oh, please, Phendalla, I am fourth in line – I will never be a huntress! I will never have bucks… or even fawns… of my own! I just want to play with him for a short while! He is such a cute little fawn is he not, with his little spout calling out for attention? Hardly worth your time, Sister; I know you prefer a wild, untamed sort of buck.” She turned to Macadamia. “I can, yes? You will give me permission in exchange for my silence?”

“No!” Macadamia and Phendalla answered in unison.

The woman sniffed. “Fine, have him. It is not as if he is worth my time anyway.”

Macadamia stopped listening to their bickering, and went to retrieve her last clean diaper from her pack, which she had set down in a corner of the tent earlier. It seemed obvious now that she should have brought more, but how was she to know that she should have been packing personal supplies for two?

After frowning at the beginnings of a diaper rash on Elm’s thighs (and trying to ignore his prominent rod), she retrieved her bag of talcum powder and spread some around the general area. His skin was soft as ever, and his manhood swelled to its maximum every time her hand so much as brushed it. Phendalla was helping, moving him around and inspecting him, occasionally wiping him as if unsatisfied with the job that had been done, while Skilla just kept staring as if Elm were an animal being studied rather than a person.

Yet Elm did not look at the other two women. His gaze was locked onto Macadamia. Her presence, perhaps her touch, seemed to restore him somewhat, although his color had not yet fully returned. That look in his eyes though, the intensity of it -as if she had literally become his entire world- she knew that would haunt her.

She slid the new diaper up his legs, but was interrupted just before getting it around his waist by the tent flap being abruptly opened. Beside her, the two pole-bearers suddenly gaped at the entrance with open horror; Elm was immediately forgotten.

Helindra stood before them proudly, the sharp features of her angular face now slanted in obvious disapproval. “So this is what keeps my pole-bearers?” 

It was immediately obvious to Macadamia that the woman’s tone, seemingly light and casual, was a thin veneer over something dangerous. Without thinking about it, she shifted her position so that she was between the huntress and Elm.

The woman looked at the messy diaper still sitting on the floor, then tilted her head to look around Macadamia to Elm’s exposed form. Her gaze lingered on his diaper, his erection, and the soiled cloth that had just cleaned him, before she addressed the room. “You were wise to choose a tent downwind of the camp. We can only hope that any predators in the area are similarly ignorant.”

“Huntress, forgive us!” Both pole-bearers were down on their knees now. “We never intended to deceive you; we were only following your instructions to prepare-”

“Enough! Put clothes on him, but leave his… diaper… exposed so that we can all see the next time this happens and catch it sooner.” The word ‘diaper’ sounded almost foreign when she said it, as if the mere topic was taboo and never spoken of aloud. She gently tapped the full diaper on the floor with her toe. “Deal with this promptly. The bucks will get no sleep tonight, in case our camp’s scent has already been detected. They will have my foolish beneficence towards outsiders to thank.” She sighed as if the world was an undue burden she was heroically shouldering. “No one is to touch this dirty creature other than to get him cleaned up! A fawn as old as him needing such a garment – preposterous!”

The huntress stabbed an imperious finger at Macadamia. “You, follow. I will deal with the other two of you later.” The two pole-bearers flinched as if struck, but Helindra had already seemed to forget them as she walked briskly away.

“Go, please,” urged Phendalla in response to Macadamia’s hesitation, “or it will be worse for all of us! We will tend to him.”

The situation seemed to be getting more out of hand by the minute, and she did not like the idea of leaving Elm unattended. Yet Helindra seemed to be the source of the danger, so angering this woman further seemed like the worst thing she could do. She frowned but acquiesced. Surely the two women would not turn him into some sort of plaything after just being threatened by their huntress?

Elm looked at her with those eyes, those soulful pits of affection and need, and melted her heart as he always did. She had been at her most hopeless only minutes ago, and he had pressed himself against her and woken her from her stupor. He needed her, and she was beginning to realize that in some way she needed him. She hated to leave him, but it would not be for long.

Helindra led her back to the woman’s huge personal tent and laid herself down sideways on a pile of pillows. Her bent elbow propped her head, which rested in the palm of her hand, up to a higher elevation. Still, it felt odd to look down at the lounging woman – not that the huntress looked any less imperious. How she managed that baffled Macadamia.

She moved to sit, but was stopped by her host’s protest. “You do not sit in my presence. Not yet. You will have earned that right only after I have made a few things clear, and you have agreed, understood?”

“Good,” the huntress continued in response to her nod. “Now, you two may leave.” The only other two people in the room -two more pole-bearers she didn’t recognize- did as they were bid. Then, quite surprisingly, she sighed and looked at Macadamia with raised eyebrows and pursed lips – an expression that looked distinctly like forced pity. “You poor thing. I had no idea your plight. To be burdened with such a… defective fawn. You must have a big heart to shelter him as you do – even knowing he has no place in this world.”

At some point she would have to ask what all this business about bucks and fawns was… had Elm been demoted in some fashion? She mentally shrugged the matter aside until more important matters had been dealt with. “I care for him. I do not pity him. One is not the same as the other.”

Helindra’s angular face was an unreadable mask. “It seems you are more foolish than I believed. That will make things harder for you, I regret to say.”

Macadamia’s heart skipped a beat. “What… things?”

“You will compensate me for bringing that defective fawn into my camp. You will help us kill a deathbiter, and thus ensure an honored celebration awaits my return home. Only this will grant you my forgiveness.”

Another lump of hot metal landed in her stomach. Going back home in the hopes that it still stood was one thing. To do so in the company of these crazies was quite another! Never had she imagined running into actual people out here in such a frozen wasteland, only to end up preferring to be alone. The truth was this ‘huntress’ was beginning to frighten her as much as the beast. She didn’t care for the way everyone lived in terror of her displeasure. “But Huntress, I’ve told you: we are not hunters! We would be of no help to you that way. I must insist that we… compensate you in some other way.”

“Yes, yes, so very true. You would be no help at all as hunters… but as bait…” The immodest woman shifted herself in the comfortable pile of pillows, languishing in comforts that Macadamia was conspicuously denied. “You see I have come up with a unique way your little fawn can help us. We do not normally set our traps with a living lure, but imagine how much more effective it will be!”

It took Macadamia what felt like an endless void of time to recover her voice. “You would… kill him? For needing a diaper?” She could not believe it; she must have misunderstood the woman!

“Kill? Poor, Dear. Who said anything about killing? He will lure the creature and we will kill it. I admit there is some risk, should things not go entirely as planned, but do we not give our brave bucks everything, and yet ask so much less in return? I am certain you wish to see what fate befell your people. What safer way to do so than under our protection? If things go exceptionally well, perhaps I will even gift you a superior buck as compensation; would that not be fair?”

Something snapped inside Macadamia, and she actually picked up a pillow and threw it at the woman. Her voice came back to her with gusto. “You monster! You people are all crazy! What is it with all this ritual ‘control’ you all supposedly practice anyway? Do you seriously just not ever pee? Or poop? For weeks!? Humans have other smells you know! Sweat, and… other things! What does the creature have against bodily functions anyway? Or humans? You make your men all dress up like… circus performers! You even talk about them like they’re livestock! You’re all just… crazy!”

“We do urinate, and the rest,” the woman calmly explained. “But we moderate how much we drink, what we eat, and how much. We have learned control. Our bucks are trained to exert themselves without profuse odors, and we have oils and powders that help. When it is necessary, we-”

“I don’t care!” She glared at the huntress, further infuriated by her sudden analytical calm. “Those weren’t real questions! I am not a ‘huntress’! I don’t want to be a huntress! He is not a ‘deer’ or ‘elk’ or whatever! We want nothing to do with your bizarre little parade through the mountains! Just let us go!”

“I will not.” The woman smiled sadly, tenderly, as if explaining unfortunate facts of life to a child. “You will consent to your fawn helping us in this fashion, or I am afraid I will have to kill him. I must have this hunt; the prize will be mine. You, meanwhile? Your fawn will endure the cost of your deception. Do you not realize that I know exactly who you are now?

“You are outcasts – you must be! You did not leave your village to go exploring; they must have banished you both for having neither decorum nor control! To think you almost let your broken little fawn spill his seed around my women of quality! You could hardly admit that to me, however, could you? So you concocted this story -which I never believed I will inform you- about ‘exploring’ these utterly barren mountains. No one ‘explores’ these mountains; there is nothing here! Let alone a woman who cannot hunt, with only one worthless buck to protect her!

“The fact is that you will cooperate, one way or another.”

“I will not,” she spat back in a venomous parody of the woman’s own words.

Helindra only shrugged a shoulder and daintily clapped her hands twice. Two women entered, taking position behind and on either side of Macadamia. They pointedly blocked the door, and there was something about their stances -at attention yet ready to break into motion at any moment- that left her with no doubt as to why they were there.

“Do you wish to… amend your hasty answer? I won’t kill you, but I will make you watch as I put your dirty, broken little fawn out of his misery… before releasing you to the snow with no supplies or proper clothing of course.”

Swallowing her anger enough to answer left the worst taste in her mouth she had ever known. Yet she managed. For Elm. “Very well. But I get to see him.”

An imperious wave, and the matter was apparently settled. “Take her back to our guests’ tent. Watch them carefully, but stay away from that dirty fawn of hers except to guard him.”

Macadamia memorized Helindra’s face as she was led away, imagining her hands around the woman’s neck, the way the color would drain from that face while life fled from its eyes. She squeezed her hands as if in practice. Let the woman sit on her arrogant, cold pride. This wasn’t over.

[AWetterWorld]

The Wild North

CHAPTER SIX (ELM)

Elm felt strangely immune to everything that was going on around him. Nothing was real. None of this was truly happening. For example, the two women who had just been gawking at his humiliation while they changed him like an infant were obviously just a figment of his exhaustion. Should the truth be anything else, he would clearly be deceased. Heart failure, it would be, brought on by sheer, unadulterated embarrassment.

Phendalla’s face had remained almost as white as his ever since the moment Helindra had barged in on them. Rather than finish with him, she had now turned her attention to his tunic, turning it this way and that as if visualizing something.

Skilla swooped in to torment him in her place. “Bad fawn! You got us in terrible trouble.” Again without warning or permission, his legs were grabbed and raised into the air. She bent over and struck his bottom several times, causing him to flinch and grunt with shock, but she did not hit hard enough to cause lasting pain.

She kneeled down beside him and raised her right hand as if to strike him harder, then hesitated and looked at his (still) swollen manhood. “My huntress says not to touch…” Her smile was downright predatory as she released his legs and slid his diaper up the rest of the way. “So I will not.” With a surprisingly strong hand she began to rub his diaper hard, forcing the cloth against his member. Up and down, up and down. She paused only to shrug off her thick woolen cloak.

“But she did not say you could not touch me.” Then her left hand pulled up the hem of her gilded brown robe, slowly revealing her white cotton underwear. Next she straddled him -still massaging his organ with her right hand- and grabbed one of his wrists with her left. Her strength was easily more than his own, most especially at that moment, as he was too shocked to debate if he should even put up a fight. She thrust his hand against the gentle curve of her, and he found himself exploring of his own free will.

Through the thin fabric that denied his hand the feel of her flesh he charted her cleft, noting her body stiffened slightly as he explored the top of it. She yanked on his hand, forcing it aggressively into her groove, underwear or no, and her back arched as he experimentally massaged it. He was fascinated, far too engrossed to stop. His body craved more of her reactions, as if her pleasure was transmitted down his arm and into himself. Had her underwear always been damp? Perhaps she peed herself sometimes too. He cringed at the thought of causing her to have an accident; she would no doubt be angry with him! Yet when he tried to pull away she only yanked his hand back.

Somewhere far away (everything that was not Skilla was far away) there was the sound of ripping cloth.

“I am not allowed to bring a buck to my tent, and they are all too loyal to Helindra to be… convinced,” she was saying, “but women want to be touched sometimes, just as our bucks do…” It was hard to focus on the words. He was positively throbbing, ready to explode, yet she would not stop rubbing, and there were still more areas of her body to explore! “I know your pretend huntress looks after you, but she ignored your need even though we all saw it! I would not ignore your needs in such a way! Yes, you would be my plaything, but I would satisfy you as well. Is that not a generous offer?”

“Skilla!” Phendalla interrupted. “You fool! Do you want to get us both removed from the hunt? Spend the rest of your life watching over the invalid? Gathering water and cooking their meals, far from danger and glory? Never to be mentioned in the stories?” 

Fortunately, Skilla seemed too busy for such considerations, a decision he judged to be quite prudent. Her voice grew more quiet, and she leaned over him as they continued. Her face was now mere inches away from his own. It was enchanting, that face! How had he not noticed before? All of a sudden it was far too hot in their little tent; had winter picked up and left?

“Helindra will not be huntress forever,” she breathed. “I know things… things that will happen soon.” She flinched slightly, and gasped a tiny gasp.

“Was that-”

 “More!” Her hand gripped his own tightly, instructing it on where to touch her, how fast, how hard. He began to catch on, feeling out the rhythm to which her body responded. Slowly at first, letting it build. The way she occasionally flinched or gasped worried him. Was he hurting her? Yet she insisted he continue, and soon her every sound, every facial expression further ignited him.

He could take no more; he erupted in his diaper, his breath coming in gasps. Skilla showed no sign of stopping, but as his passion began to ebb and his touch lost some of its urgency she started glaring at him from beneath furrowed eyebrows until he got the hint. He redoubled his efforts to please her, circling her tender spot, stroking inside her just so, just there. He was no longer certain what he was doing, if he ever had been. It was harder to get it right without his own unspent desire egging him on, yet every movement of her body entranced him, luring him back into the rhythm…

Suddenly her back arched and she uttered another of her little gasps. Both of her hands clamped down over his own, taking over for his clumsy movements, before her body convulsed a few times. Then she too seemed spent, and his hand was free (which came away quite wet, much to his unslaked fascination, just as her underwear now was). She bent down so far her breath warmed his ear. “When the time comes, you will choose me,” she whispered. “You will be my first buck. I do not care that you are broken. The others will feel foolish as I choose a little fawn like you over them. That will be the first thing you do for me: you will humiliate them. By your very brokenness you will shame them! And Helindra… she will get everything she deserves as well, worry not.”

Disturbing monologue complete, she pushed herself to her feet. In the one short moment it took her to stand, her bearing had completely changed. Now she was imperious, rather than intimate, and looked down upon him like a broken toy. The consummate huntress’ proud pole-bearer. “He knows little of how to please a woman. Poor, pathetic creature.”

Elm turned away as if struck. This was surely because he had made her pee herself; of course she would be mad – everyone here seemed to despise such things. If Macadamia ever allowed him to touch her in such a way… would he disappoint her as well? Of course he would. That was why she kept him at a distance; it was so obvious now…

Phendalla was standing over them, he suddenly realized. How long had she been doing that?

The pole-bearer stared politely at Skilla, waiting for her to put her cloak back over her shoulders. Then, with a sudden crack, Phendalla slapped Skilla’s face so hard it turned red immediately.

“To think it is the fawn who is believed to lack control.” She shoved the used diaper into Skilla’s chest. “If you are quite done, I have given you a task.”

Skilla nodded demurely, but there was fire behind her eyes. She left without a word, pausing just outside as Phendalla added “I will not forget your behavior.”

Then the woman’s fierce gaze turned to Elm. “Up.”

He complied with the obvious order, not wanting to experience Phendalla’s anger first hand. As she slid his tunic back over his shoulders he was initially relieved. Then he noticed the bottom portion had been crudely ripped away. The garment now covered only his upper body, leaving his diaper woefully exposed. He felt suddenly chilled; the tent was so much colder than it had been before. A shiver came over him and he wrapped his arms tightly about himself.

If she cared about the matter at all, it did not show on her back as she turned and left without a word.

After a brief delay another robed woman appeared outside the tent. She glared at him in warning whenever he looked as if he might try to leave. In this way the evening dragged on. The shifts changed but always there was a guard – some stranger who looked away from the sight of his diaper with disgust, pity, or both. He longed for Macadamia to return, and eventually she did so, but once she was there he realized he no longer knew how to act.

Even more strangely, she acted with a new hesitancy as well, as if touching him now carried some unspoken stigma. Fear stopped him from meeting her eyes, yet he longed to know what she was feeling and thinking. She shied away from meeting his gaze as well. Each had their own side of the tent and stuck to it.

There was only one explanation: she knew. What had happened with Skilla had confirmed her doubts about him. They had been proven right, all of them. He was damaged goods. The chill that came over him no longer had the cold as its source, but rather was stacked on top of it. He shivered. He did not care that he shivered. It was no more than he deserved.

He almost fell asleep that way, he was so tired, but as the last coals of the fire were dimming to orange Macadamia crossed to his side of the tent with their one remaining sleeping blanket and wrapped them both inside of it. They slept that way, as close together as they had ever been, yet a mile apart. A blanket and a warm companion banished the cold from his body, but his heart and mind were another matter. He was grateful when sleep finally took him.

[AWetterWorld]

The Wild North

CHAPTER SEVEN (MACADAMIA)

Vowing the death of an intractable enemy was not all that satisfying when her chances of success were somewhere around the level of slaying a giant, eyeless monster with her bare hands – which was another thing she really wished she could do. If only she could put beast and huntress in a tent together and then finish off whoever came out on top. Too bad none of that was going to happen. As much as she hated to admit it, the sane plan in this situation was to run away.

Her raging blood had cooled into bitter ice, and it occurred to her that no matter which way she went she needed a plan. Helindra was not a fool, but she was arrogant. There had to be a way to use that against her; a woman like that had to have enemies, but who? The other huntresses?

The frigid air of the mountains held little sway over her, now that her blood ran just as cold, though her clothes had not gotten any thicker. Anger burned within her, giving what little warmth she needed. While being escorted back to her tent she watched the organized commotion of the camp: the men going about their chores as the aloof ‘pole-bearers’ supervised. The warrior men appeared to be at least slightly above the lowest rung of the ladder. That indignity was foisted on the old men who, despite carrying around the huntress’ weight all day, seemed to be given the most mundane and tedious chores.

The old ones? No, they would be no match for their younger, armed counterparts. She needed the young, strong men built like oxen and carrying vicious spears. Second-lowest was surely indignity enough, especially considering how they were always addressed as ‘bucks’; it seemed unlikely they enjoyed being treated like livestock, or talked about as simple animals.

A plan was beginning to hatch, but something pulled at her heart with a more immediate demand: Elm. She had to make certain he was alright.

She paused outside the little tent they had been assigned. The sounds coming from inside were anything but what she had been expecting, and sudden caution took control of her movements, causing her to creep up on the tent flap quietly and create an opening just big enough to peek. The women escorting her said nothing and did not interfere.

Her heart skipped a beat. That annoying giggler, Skilla, was on top of Elm! She was touching him, clearly aroused. It was worse than she had feared! What a fool she had been, to leave Elm alone with these women! Her rage flared. Fire pumped through her veins in place of blood. Skilla would regret the moment she touched him! She would-

But wait... He was touching her just as vigorously as the other way around. His face was drenched in sweat, his breath came out in excited gasps, and his pupils were as wide as saucers. He was… enjoying it. He wanted this. The way he looked at Skilla then, the naked desire in his eyes, it was intense. She could feel their heat from where she stood. She could smell their passion.

She recoiled, taking a few steps back. Did Elm… like it here? Had she been arrogant to just assume he wanted to escape as she did? She had caught glances from him now and then that made her wonder. Certainly the way he let her stroke his manhood back in the cave had been… What had that been? Not this, she was certain – not what was going on in that tent. She had been curious, it was true, but had she ever truly felt… more?

She cared for him, protected him, but maybe that was not enough. Perhaps what he truly wanted was this: to play the little ‘fawn’ for these deranged women. Clearly, they were giving him something she had not. A friend from back home had once told her that ‘a man’s brain was in his penis’, as if that was the greatest untold secret to life. She had dismissed the notion then. Now she saw it in a different light.

Well good for him. It was not as if she had claimed him, or he claimed her – not in that way. They were traveling companions and nothing more! If this was what he wanted, she would not stand in his way, but nor would she let Helindra get him killed. Once she knew he would be alright she would leave and wish him the best.

No longer sensing anyone hovering over her, she looked around to see that her escorts had indeed left. They probably had no desire to get involved with whatever impropriety was going on in that tent. They had followed the literal interpretation of their orders, and likely planned to let everything else be Phendalla and Skilla’s problem. Or so she guessed. It didn’t matter why; she was free.

To that end she stalked away and searched for an opportunity to approach one of the ‘bucks’ alone. She found it when one of them slipped into an empty tent that appeared to be used for keeping snow off of supplies. Quietly, being careful not to be noticed by the others, she slipped in after him and pulled the double flaps closed behind her.

The only question now was how to approach this with-

“I was hoping you might choose me,” came the deep, clear voice of the ‘buck’.

Choose him for what now?

No, that didn’t matter – she had to stick to the plan. “I didn’t know you actually speak,” she admitted, realizing she had no idea how to phrase ‘insurrection with possible assassination’ in a way that would not get her killed should things go wrong.

“Of course; we are not animals.”

She did a slow blink while she processed that one. Should she point out the obvious? No, better not to risk insulting him. “No, clearly not. Do you… have names then?”

“I am Karichted.”

“Well, Ka…rik…t...ch, I’m glad I ran into you. I was just…” Her eyes locked on to a pile of firewood and her mouth jumped. “...looking for more wood.”

He smiled a handsome smile. His eyes were dark and smoldering, his angular face beautifully sculpted, and the rest of him… She involuntarily gulped as his tight, muscular body slowly approached her – his every movement was an avalanche of power precisely controlled. His aura of confidence was like a physical wind that buffeted her. “Of course, Huntress. Do you wish me to bring some ‘wood’ to your tent?”

“No! It’s… busy there. I only wish to talk with you.”

He stood a foot away from her. He smelled of nature, like the mighty pines back home. She had gotten used to being the tall one around Elm, but this man was a head taller at least, to say nothing of his tight but sizable chest, and she had to look up.

Once again he smiled, as if she had said something amusing. “Yes, talk to me, Huntress. Tell me of your many adventures.” His hands were slowly, deliberately moving about his waist, unwrapping his manhood.

“I’m not…” She had to clear her throat; something had stuck there. “Oh, but I’m not a huntress. Don’t you already have one? Won’t her ‘magnificence, the great Helindra’ or whoever, be,” she gestured at his busy hands, “upset?”

My Huntress has not forbidden me from your company, and until she does I am free to ‘talk’ with you whenever you might choose it to be so.”

“But I’m an… ‘honorary pole-bearer’, or something, aren’t I?”

“Did my Huntress not address you as an equal when you first met? Perhaps I did not hear anything after.” Clearly she was not going to win this argument. “But in truth, it is not so unusual for a huntress to allow her favored pole-bearers some time alone with her bucks. Do you prefer that title? I will call you whatever you desire.”

Macadamia indulged a sudden need to flee. His closeness was distracting, and she moved to the other side of the tent.

He followed. She could feel him standing close behind her again, though her back was turned. “That's not… I only wish to ask you about Helindra. Are you, well, happy here as her ‘buck’?”

“Forget her. You do not need to worry about what pleases me; it is I who must please you.”

This was not at all how she had imagined subterfuge to be. “No, that’s not…” She turned around, prepared to insist that he listen to her, and was immediately struck by the fact that his wraps were now gone. His considerable phallus, surprising in its ability to fit underneath those tight wraps in the first place, was quickly expanding.

“You must… you must tell about… about…” It was suddenly quite imperative that she look up. “Helindra! Yes, are you satisfied with umm… with…” His extended member was almost reaching out and touching her, so close did he stand. She tried to take a step back, but bumped into a couple of stacked chests.

His smile faltered just a bit. “My Huntress gives me whatever I desire. My loyalty to her is absolute.” A large, strong hand reached out with startling gentleness and stroked the left side of her face. It was a gesture filled with tenderness and desire. It promised satisfaction, yet threatened unbridled passion. “Unless…”

She gulped; why was her throat so dry all of a sudden? She tried to try to force thoughts back into her mind, but they were being troublesome, illusive. “Unless… unless what again?”

“Unless I were to find another huntress, one who can give me… more?” He inhaled deeply through his nose. “You wear your scent so brazenly, Huntress – I mean, Pole-bearer. You intoxicate me.”

At that point she finally remembered that despite taking care of Elm she had done absolutely nothing about her own still-wet diaper. “Oh, that. I, well…” He had said something important. What had it been again? Oh yes: ‘new huntress’. That was it. Just focus on that…

“Please, do not explain! A huntress does not explain to her buck! Just let me smell you… touch you. Let me show you that I can please you, Huntress, and that you will be pleased at making me one of your herd. I am experienced. I can do things…” His right hand reached around to rest gently on her lower back. With tantalizing slowness his hand moved up her spine, exploring her body as his other hand reached around to enfold her waist.

She should stop this. Shouldn’t she? Then again, what was so wrong with it? Her mind pictured Elm, the naked hunger in his eyes, his hands all over Skilla. It was for him that she was here in the first place; what could be wrong with wanting something for herself as well? And his touch – how it lit a fire in her!

She yelped softly in surprise as he pulled her against him. His grip was strong, oh so strong! The lower folds of her tunic slid upward as he scooped her right off her feet and squeezed her. His fingers gently explored her neck, her chin, their warmth spreading into her. His mouth was only an inch from her own. Something broke loose inside as control fled from her body. She released into her already-wet diaper, heard the steady hiss, felt her cheeks getting hot, and did nothing to fight it. Her own warmth pushed against her now alongside the heat of his body. She could feel his swollen member pressing at her no less urgently.

He inhaled like a man who had never tasted air. “You spray your scent for me. How bold, how aggressive! You flaunt our customs as Helindra would never dare! You know that I cannot resist this, Huntress! I am your helpless buck, under your control. Please, take me into you!”

“I… ah… but…” She pushed him away, though it took all of her will to get her muscles to obey. She could never have overpowered him, but fortunately he gave way. Flustered, she moved to another corner of the tent. If only she could clear her head! This was important, yet his own urgency seemed to banish all other concerns from her mind. “I… well… assuming I took you as…  buck, or whatever… what about Elm – my ‘fawn’ that is? I need to make sure. I need to know he would be safe from Helindra.”

He frowned in obvious disappointment, but did not give up. “Of course, Huntress, you may claim us both – my Huntress Helinda has many other bucks! I would protect you and your fawn with my life, as I would obey any other commands that you give. The one thing a huntress cannot overrule is a buck’s right to choose which huntress he obeys.” He was once more standing too close, pressing himself into her space, causing her to back against a tall pile of firewood with a soft gasp of surprise. “You… you know that you would not be a slave… not with me.”

“I do not know that word but, believe me, I would be whatever you want me to be. Perhaps one day, you wish to have little fawns of your own? For them too, I would give my life.” He placed his hands on her hips, then slid them hesitantly down to the diapered hill of her buttocks, his eyes pleading for permission. “With me you would never know a cold night again…”

Her heart pounded; she was burning up, yet she shivered at his touch. No longer able to take it, she reached up and pulled his lips down and onto her own. Neither could breath as they tasted each other passionately. His hands made their way under the folds of her tunic, lifting it steadily higher as they explored her hills and valleys. His touch was insatiable yet always gentle. She felt him even more now, skin to skin, and he knew right where to touch her, where to gently massage her to bring her pleasure. She felt completely surrounded by him – the outside world banished while she was kept safe within his thick arms.

His left hand went lower, messaging her buttocks again, playfully squeezing her diaper, hitting that spot on her lower back that made her shudder before it slid underneath. Just a little ways… just teasing. She gasped softly and released again into her poor, soaking undergarment, her bodily functions completely out of her control.

He used both hands to grab her abdomen and lift her effortlessly, setting her down on top of a large trunk a short distance away. The soaking cloth of her diaper squished beneath her with a soft but audible splunk. Moisture pooled from it, making her feel like she was sitting in warm, shallow water. Caring nothing about it, even liking the feeling a bit, she wrapped her legs around him and sighed and unsteady breath, her bladder finally emptied. She leaned back on her arms, staring up at him, her chest all but heaving in anticipation.

With her cooperation, he lifted her tunic completely off, then shrugged out of his own loose fur top. He looked at her exposed body, very yellow diaper and all. “I have never desired a huntress so completely.” He lifted the front of her diaper away from her skin just a bit, letting the odor waft upwards, and inhaled lustfully. His gaze scoured first her legs, still wrapped around him, then her arms, her chest, the hills of her breasts... His powerful hands stood by, more than capable of ripping the diaper right off of her, his throbbing member ready to take her right then and there, and all the while his eyes held back naked, overwhelming desire. It was entrancing. Her body almost ached for him, but her mind felt a sudden hesitation. There was something about that look... It was, she realized, the same way Elm had looked at Skilla.

Elm.

“Wait,” she said despite feeling out of breath. Something passed between them as she looked into those pools of desire, unsure how to voice her feelings. He looked deep into her eyes, and she saw disappointment dousing the fire behind his own.

“You do not want me,” he said sadly. “I have already failed to please you.”

“No! I do… Maybe. Just… Not here, not now. Not like this.” The plan came together then, complete in her mind as if it had been packaged and hand delivered. “We can be together, but I need you to do something for me first. To prove your value as a… buck. Will you?”

His smoldering gaze bored into her. “Anything.”

* * * * *

The sun was low in the sky when she finally made her way back to the tent that might have been an accommodation or a prison cell; the two concepts seemed perpetually blurred around their peculiar hosts. There was a single woman guarding it, who glared at Macadamia as she approached as if she were an unruly child late for dinner. Somehow she doubted another opportunity to walk about unguarded would be presenting itself soon.

She entered to find that someone had torn the lower folds off of Elm’s tunic and left him that way. He sat in his thankfully still-clean diaper and huddled on the ground against one wall of the tent. He would not meet her eyes.

She found it just as difficult to look him in the eye. Images of him enjoying Skilla’s body as she straddled him came unbidden, and they had friends close on their heels. Karichted’s naked longing, his hand brushing her cheek, came next. She had been so close to giving fully into her desires. Despite her claiming it was all to save Elm, it had become very much for herself. Then, abruptly, it had become something else again. Something she no longer wanted, however much her body felt otherwise. Had she ever truly wanted him, or had it just been infatuation? Was there anything between them that was real?

Her companion hugged himself. He was cold; she should go to him and wrap him up in a blanket, or better give him a big hug, as the old Macadamia would have done. Why did she now hesitate?

For that matter, why did he hesitate? Perhaps he would rather it be Skilla holding him close; perhaps there was no longer a place for Macadamia in his life.

Did she even deserve one? She thought again of Karichted. He truly seemed willing to do anything for her. How could she be comfortable with herself, knowing that she was deliberately using him, knowing that he could not help himself? Was there any line she would not cross? Who was she doing it for anyway? Some… adult boy who no longer needed or wanted her? It would be much easier to escape by herself.

At least she was (mostly) dry. Karichted, before they had parted ways, had shown her to a sheltered place near the back of camp where a hole had been dug through the snow, down to a rare patch of dirt beneath, and then some distance into the ground. A bucket full of charcoal was kept beside it. Apparently those in camp still had occasional bodily needs, despite acting to the contrary. In her case that included wringing out her cloth diaper (at one point borrowing her companion’s strong arms to get it as dry as possible), before squatting and emptying her bowels in front of him, and finally covering it all with the requisite layer of soot.

If he possessed any sense of shame it did not show. He watched her openly the whole time, with that same undisguised desire, as she slipped the diaper off and all the rest. That her tunic went as far down as her lower thighs helped to protect the bare bones of her dignity, but her own modesty struck her as farcical after nearly taking him inside her minutes before. At least he never tried to touch her again; she no longer completely trusted herself to stop him.

As for her diaper, she had unfortunately given her last clean one to Elm, and who knew what Skilla had done with the third one. As she again tugged cloth made uncomfortably cold by the mountain air up against her, she had to wonder what idiotic optimism had led her to believe that in three days time she would be basking in a (possibly mythical) warm paradise.

The cold attacked her relentlessly, tormenting her for such foolishness, while the warmth of the tent’s fire faded. One thing was for certain: she was not going to get more wood. Let the fire die; she was not going anywhere near that tent again. Even her tunic still smelled of him, and it annoyed her that his mere smell stirred the embers of yearning within her.

Meanwhile Elm was outright shivering. After watching the pitiable state of things for a while, she relented to guilt and her indefatigable compassion by wrapping herself and Elm in their thick sleeping fur. He did not cuddle against her this time, and she did not pull him close. They laid down together and fell asleep together, but only because exhaustion and the night’s cold dragged them into it by force.

[AWetterWorld]

Well, as far as the story I know where this is going, but as far as ABDL content I feel like I have more or less covered the themes and situations that most interested me. Other than perhaps some diaper pooping on Macadamia's part as well. I am probably going to end up repeating, which is fine, but I am curious if anyone who actively follows this story has a preference on what they want to read next in that department, or which themes I have already done they liked best?

I notice the first three chapters, with the clothes wetting, diapering of Elm, and Macadamia in more of a maternal role got all the likes.

[AWetterWorld]

It is probably just going to merge these posts, making this all look weird, but whatever. I can't figure out this site's software.

Anyway, it's three days later and this story's many adoring fans (who apparently reside exclusively in my head) have spoken!

Here comes more... whatever-I-feel-like diaper... stuff.

Actually, this one is more just story than anything to do with ABDL stuff. *shrug*

The Wild North

CHAPTER EIGHT (ELM & MACADAMIA)

Macadamia woke first. It was the cold blast of the north as she moved the blanket away that woke Elm. For a moment -one precious moment- he might have been back home again in his own bed. It might be his mother pulling back the cover and rousting him out of bed. Except that it was not. He noticed the camp coming to life around them as his mind returned to the present. Busy shadows darted across the tent walls, and there was a constant busy noise of people moving about. He lifted himself to his feet, grateful for Macadamia’s presence despite the cold emotional wall  that had stood between them the night before.

She brushed his upper arms briskly in that encouraging way she did, before promptly pulling back the hem of his diaper to peek inside. It was all quite business-like, even her frown. “You’re wet again. It can probably wait, but we might as well tend to it now.”

It was his turn to frown. He had no memory of it, but she was right. It was not just where Skilla had made him explode his male juices into his diaper the evening before – he had obviously peed himself overnight as well. His regression, it seemed, was nearly complete. All the years spent trying to stop himself from wetting the bed, and here he stood, wetting himself day and night both! The stress and constant worry had destroyed his control. The world had tested him and found him wanting.

Then again, as long as it was Macadamia who tended to him, did he really mind? Quite the opposite, he realized. Even her casual act of checking his diaper somehow comforted him and dulled his fear of the world. He looked forward to her changing him. But would she? She had seemed so cold last night. His shame burst to life within him at the mere remembrance.

“There’s no time,” blurted a familiar, authoritative voice. It was Phendalla. Once again she had barreled in without warning. “My Huntress requests the immediate presence of you both.”

Macadamia’s eyes widened, and her voice took on a new urgency as she gripped Elm’s shoulders. Did she know something? Were they in danger again?

“Whatever happens today, trust that there is someone looking out for you. You will know who.”

He shivered. This new Macadamia was frightening. If they were in danger, why would she not just tell him? What was that cryptic advice she just gave? “What’s happening?” he tried.

She only shook her head sadly. “Just remember my words. I won’t abandon you. Promise you’ll remember?” Her grip was so tight his shoulders began to ache.

“I… I promise.”

“Good. Come.”

“You won’t need that,” Phendalla said as Macadamia reached for their pack. “The camp is not moving yet.”

Oh, but he was as it turned out. More escorts soon showed up and separated the two of them. He shot a last, desperate, pleading look at his companion when they parted ways, but she would not meet his eyes and soon Elm was marched out onto the snowy mountain slopes from whence he had come.

Skilla was soon his only female escort, and the resentful scowl on her face implied she wasn’t too happy about being there herself. Their escort was, so far as he could tell, the entirety of Helindra’s ‘bucks’. The men all looked decidedly more weary than they had at camp; their gazes scoured the mountainside; their heads snapped to the direction of every sound. Each of them held his spear ready, rather than tied to his back.

The march was a long one, and without Macadamia to hold him he was soon shivering. Skilla gave him water during the journey, but no food. The last time they paused to give him water his hands had lost all feeling and he clumsily dropped the waterskin.

It was then that Skilla uncharacteristically showed compassion. Unlike Elm, she wore a thick woolen blouse over her robe, and a heavy cloak over that. The latter was shrugged off so she could remove her blouse and tug it over Elm’s head. It smelled of her, but that only made him miss Macadamia more. True, Skilla had set him on fire the previous evening, body and soul. Even now he could recall the incredible feel of her soft curves – the way his body ignited as his fingers went inside of her, the way her body spasmed in such a tantalizing way…

He wanted to slap himself to make the memories stop. His desires shamed him. She excited him, but only Macadamia could make him feel safe. If only she were there.

“Remember, Little Fawn, to not get eaten – I have plans for you! I will have – we will have such fun together, yes?”

Confusion overtook him. Surely it could not be Skilla that Macadamia had warned him to trust? Not after… Wait, could it be? Was Macadamia leaving him, abandoning him to the care of this woman? It was no more than he deserved, but even so… she had promised never to abandon him.

Either way his bladder took advantage of the break in motion to release. His warm spray heated his diaper in turn, and both were a welcome respite against the cold, but re-wetting his exposed diaper before a whole group of strangers heated his cheeks in a less pleasant way.

She watched his diaper yellow, giggling as it grew heavier, with a strange smile on her face the whole time. “Good little fawn! Here, drink more water.” He complied, feeling even more confused.

They continued. It took most of the day, but eventually they stopped at a very familiar, very shallow cave. An invisible hand gripped his heart and squeezed; his breath caught in his throat. Not here, he silently pleaded. Anywhere but here – that place of terror where he had trembled alongside Macadamia, staring at the very avatar of death itself, only feet from them… The beast with no eyes.

One of the men had brought an extra pole, it was revealed, and managed to find some crevice in which to brace it. Elm was then tied to the pole. The whole thing was a nightmare come to life, and this time Macadamia was not around to banish it. He no longer felt anything but his terror – not even the cold. He was too frightened to resist, or even protest.

“Take your positions,” Skilla ordered.

The men complied, forming a circle around Elm and digging themselves into the snow.

Skilla smiled with brows tented in sympathy, but her eyes were as cold as ever. “I am sorry, my little fawn, but some things must be done.” She turned to Elm and yanked his diaper down to his ankles. The sudden cold air against his manhood caused him to yelp, and he felt more blood rushing to his cheeks. “By your own account,” she explained, “your smell attracted the deathbiter before. Perhaps it will do so again.” She playfully slapped his right cheek. “Remember: don’t die!”

To think he had felt exposed before! He still wore his leggings, but they only went up to his thighs. His torn tunic and borrowed blouse (which also looked ridiculous on him) stopped at his stomach. Between the two rested his openly showcased privates, and his pee-soaked diaper sat below for all the world to see. With his hands further tied around a pole behind him, this was well beyond the level of humiliation to which even his own cruel father had subjected him. At least Skilla was the only one really looking at him, although some of the men glanced his way a couple of times with looks of pity or disapproval.

He thought perhaps she meant to do something to him again -a thought that both excited and terrified him- but she did not. “I would love to stay and watch, but I’m late you see!” She turned in a circle, addressing the bucks. “When you have felled the prey, return to camp with this fawn in good health, if it is possible.” Then she was gone, fleeing back up the mountainside in an obvious hurry.

* * * * *

Macadamia was unable to look at Elm as they shuffled him away. If she failed to come back to him for any reason -for example these lunatics killing or imprisoning her- the last thing she said to him would end up being a broken promise. Even the possibility of that gnawed at her.

She herself was brought before Helindra, who rested regally on her palanquin as the old men once more elevated it. It all seemed to be some kind of official ceremony, she decided, given the stiff, formal way everyone stood and moved, and the fact that three other huntresses were also in attendance. They also sat on palanquins, but their old men held the wooden constructs conspicuously lower than Helindra’s. She knew a hierarchy when she saw one.

Taken altogether it was a decently sized (if obsessively ordered) crowd, but there were some conspicuous absences. Helindra’s bucks, for one. Most of the woman’s pole-bearers were also unaccounted for, but Phendalla and another unrecognized woman stood on either side of their huntress’ palanquin with arms tucked behind them, chins lifted, and a regal set of their shoulders. They were wearing new cloaks over their robes this time; these were more elaborate than practical, with gilding and colorful ornamentation all over.

“I welcome you all to my hunt,” Helindra spoke in an imperious voice, “which has now begun. Food will be brought when my brave bucks return triumphant. Until then, let us enjoy some entertainment!” She paused for soft applause. A hot, tea-like beverage was passed around to Helindra and the gathered assembly. Her two escorts were excluded, as was Macadamia.

The hosting huntress continued after everyone had taken a few sips. “As you all know, I have taken many fine prizes in my-” Her body shook with a sudden fit of coughing, causing a soft commotion of whispered voices. “...have… taken many fine prizes in-” Her face was beet-red now, and this time the coughs had turned to a deep-throated, intense hacking.

Phendalla and the other escort abandoned formality and ordered the palanquin lowered, but in only that short time Helindra had worsened. She was now coughing up blood, and her skin was turning a bluish tint instead of red.

Macadamia almost bolted right then and there, deciding that any distraction would do for her escape, but instead she froze in fascinated horror as she watched the huntress expire in a horrible bloody fashion. Surely this could not be an accident? Had Karichted’s sudden change in loyalty prompted him to turn assassin?

No; his admiration for Helindra had seemed genuine, and an act such as this would be wildly out of character. Besides, he would be a distance away by now, just as Macadamia herself should be. 

When Helindra was carried away to the huntress’ massive tent, Macadamia began backing slowly towards the periphery of the gathering, trying to disguise her movements as mere shock and surprise.

Open panic gripped Helindra’s people, yet she noticed that everyone else was bizarrely still. Rampant whispering aside, everyone seemed determined to act like nothing was happening.

Once far enough from the commotion that no one was looking at her, she turned to flee but purposefully took her time, just to see what would happen. She kept her head over her shoulder, watching, as Phendalla came out of the tent with wide, shocked eyes.

The pole-bearer’s voice was hollow now – nothing like the commanding woman she had been only moments ago. “My… My huntress, the magnificent Helindra, is…” Everyone held their breath. “...dead.” She had a short whispered conversation with Helindra’s other escort, then her face grew white as a woolen sheet. “It seems that… her first and second pole-bearers are also… dead. Their bodies have been found, killed by an assassin’s knife. We are betrayed. It seems that…” No one, Macadamia decided, had ever had to work harder to push their words out. The woman’s shocked disbelief over what she herself was saying was convincing. If it was an act it was masterfully done. “... It seems that I, as Third Pole-bearer, must assume the rank of-”

“You cannot.” There were shocked gasps as one of the other huntresses, having been lowered to the ground, walked into the center of the commotion. “I am Huntress Velina. As you are all certainly aware, only a first pole-bearer may directly ascend unless an alternate heir has been chosen. Was anyone so named?”

“Huntress,” Phendalla said with a bow, “no. There is no one so named.”

More shocked gasps. Velina herself paused, looking around with a raised eyebrow as if something were amiss. Whatever it had been, she apparently decided to ignore the matter. “In that case, as the next-most senior huntress present, I will save you from your unintended breach of propriety. As your first is dead, and with no heir named, I am afraid that I must oversee the dissolution of your huntress’ rule. I generously offer your late huntress’ remaining pole-bearers and laborers a place in my own-”

“Wait!” It was Skilla this time, who nearly doubled over as she ran into camp. She had nearly seen Macadamia on her way in but was in too much of a hurry to pay attention to much of anything – let alone a figure huddling, mostly concealed, behind a boulder. She was gasping for breath, but managed to steady herself after a few moments. “I have been named! I am…” More labored breathing. “I am named heir!”

“Is this true?” Velina demanded, looking between all three women.

“No, Huntress. My sister, Fifth Pole-bearer Skilla, was so named, but that naming was rescinded by Huntress Helindra herself just last night.”

Skilla seemed to transform before their eyes into a raging demon of outrage and indignation. “You lie, Sister! She would not have – she couldn’t have! This is outrageous!”

Velina’s face was not quite as good a mask as Helindra’s had been; her eyes darted between the two women, her lips pursed with uncertainty. “Do you have any proof that your sister superior is lying, Pole-bearer?” When there was no immediate response she spoke louder. “Will anyone speak to the matter?”

No one did.

“Then my decision stands, Dear. I’m sorry.”

“You – you can’t! We had a deal-”

In a fraction of a moment commotion turned to stricken silence. The whispers stopped as surely as if every single person present had been slapped.

Skilla had turned pale again, and her rage fled. Now she stumbled over her words. “I… I meant only that-”

“You dare besmirch me, a huntress, by insinuating some ‘deal’ being struck, after just being caught in a lie about your own sister superior?”

“No-”

“Enough! You have no place in my camp like the others. Furthermore, as I am the senior huntress here, it falls on me to investigate this whole fiasco. Where, may I ask, were you as your huntress lay dying?”

“I… This wasn’t supposed to – I wasn’t supposed to be, but Helindra -my huntress Helinda that is- ordered me to escort the hunt at the last moment and-”

“I have heard enough. You are not to leave camp until I have decided what to do with you, meanwhile…”

Macadamia had heard enough. An ‘investigation’ was it? Surely that would keep these lunatics occupied for some time. Even better, everyone seemed to have completely forgotten about her! She now had only to free Elm and get them both somewhere far away from the whole mess, and she had to do it quickly, before the poor man was eaten by a no-eyed monster.

Yes, that was all: just rescue her friend from a beast the size of a house. Of course it couldn’t be easy…

* * * * *

Elm lost track of time. It had been forever, yet barely a heartbeat. Each moment seemed an eternity of uncertainty and fear. When the monster’s howl penetrated the late evening, sounding terribly, terribly close, his blood went cold.

The thing burst into sight around a rock outcrop only a few breaths later. It sniffed the air with its wet, too-large nose. Saliva dripped from its open mouth of mighty, discolored teeth. The beast’s head turned right at them and it inhaled.

Then it charged. Elm could no longer breathe. He was vaguely aware that he was peeing again, but that no longer seemed important.

Clearly the ‘bucks’ around him had done this before. They remained perfectly calm as the thing tore through the snow, gathered together at the last moment, and braced the flat end of their spears against ridges and crevices in the rocks.

Having no eyes, the creature barreled right into them with a terrific noise of tearing flesh and cracking wood. Despite looking wide enough around to be used as framing for a house, only two of the four spears that penetrated the creature avoided snapping like twigs.

For several horrifying moments the creature writhed in agony and swung its massive horn around blindly. Elm thought it might somehow keep going, but fortunately it crashed to the ground after one last swing, and trumpeted its death with an ear-splitting roar. Then all was silent.

One of the bucks slipped away as the others inspected the carcass. They prodded it a few times in understandable caution but seemed disinterested in their companion as he untied Elm. “I am Karichted. I am bound to your huntress, and I have been ordered to protect you. Please, come with me.”

No one had to tell Elm twice, although his movements at first were extremely lethargic. He could breathe again, now that it was setting in he would not in fact be dinner, but his muscles seemed disinclined to obey him. Even when they did act, his movements were shaky.

He pulled his diaper back up after trying to walk and almost falling. It was heavier than ever, and his fright wetting had soaked his leggings too. Karichted looked at him from beneath stern, sloped brows, but he decided the look held as much concern as disapproval and put that down as being something.

Another roar pounded his ears and he looked in horror to see that a second beast had shown up!

The ‘bucks’ seemed as surprised by the turn of events as he was, and scrambled to form a line of defense with whatever spears were not broken or hopelessly embedded in the first creature.

Karichted frowned and glared, as if the new arrival had offended him. “Never! There are never two! Even when they mate they do not stay together…”

The thing charged and hit several spears, but this time the men had not had time to prepare. Without being anchored in the rock their pointy wood only gave ground and further enraged the creature. The spears penetrated a short distance, but were subsequently pushed across the rocky ground, uselessly plowing the snow. Several of the men were pushed back with them or leaped to the side. One was actually trampled by the monster with a sickening squelch and the cracking of bones.

Elm imagined that the beast had originally intended to kill the source of the smell: him. However once the spears started biting it went rogue, attacking anything that made a sound or tried to fight back. The ‘bucks’ made a good stand, landing another spear or two in the creature’s side, but he had no doubts about the poor men being doomed.

Karichted’s huge, impossibly strong hand clamped down on his wrist and he was helplessly pulled along as the man darted first one way, then another when the creature changed direction. If his savior tried to say anything he didn’t hear it; his ears were ringing from the thing’s deep-throated roars.

Somehow, impossibly, they got past it. It was all Elm could do to keep his balance as he was towed along faster than he could comfortably run. Finally Karichted gave up and tossed Elm over his shoulder like a sack of wheat.

It was hard to keep track of everything that was going on after that. His rescuer flew over the snow-covered rock with incredible agility -his thick long legs covering miraculous ground with every stride- and Elm was almost dizzy from that alone, never mind that his position left him staring straight down at the ground, but he knew what he heard. Screams. The cries of dying men whose bravery should have guaranteed them some better end, but had not.

Some time passed until Karichted slowed. Elm hoped that meant a rest break, but quickly realized that was unlikely. The man wasn’t even breathing hard!

He heard Karichted sniff conspicuously and realized his diapered bottom would be practically sitting on the man’s shoulder.

“You walk.”

He was abruptly set down, then almost fell down when the pressure in his head faded and he started feeling light-headed. His rescuer slowed his pace so that Elm could keep up, but said nothing more for the rest of the journey.

Elm himself was so dazed that his mind could barely form a coherent thought. It didn’t even occur to him to ask where they were going until they were there.

At first he didn’t recognize it. Some part of him must have seen the familiar arrangement of fields, fences, and buildings, but it wouldn’t register. It was all wrong somehow. The buildings all looked unused or damaged. Many had outright collapsed. Everywhere lay mutilated bodies, and no one had made any effort to bury them.

Only one thing stood out as hopeful: a large group of men on the far side of the village. They had horses, some wore metal plate mail, and all were armed with swords or spears. He moved towards them instinctively, but his mind was elsewhere.

He… knew this place, didn’t he? No. No, it was all wrong. At least the familiar men ahead would know what to do…

“Capture him!”

The men were moving towards him now. What had they said? Capture? No, that couldn’t be right. Yet soon he was surrounded by armed men, and not in a friendly fashion. Why did they point their spears at him? This was all wrong too.

“What, under the cloudless sky, is wrong with you, Boy? Why are you dressed like that? Are you wearing a… Never mind that! What are you doing traveling with this barbarian? Did he do this to you?” The flurry of words had come from a man towering over him on horseback. He wore full-body plate mail, and his voice carried authority. But who was he talking about? Elm looked to Karichted, only to find that the man had not only been surrounded, but forced to his knees and tied up. Everything, everything was wrong. He was expected to say something. “I… this man saved me… the monsters, the beasts, they were… they were going to eat me but…”

“What are you babbling about, fool? Are you stupid?” The man turned to another man beside him. “Is he stupid? What do you suppose those curs did to the poor fool?”

“There’s this big… thing, this eyeless monster. It’s going to attack. We have to warn… have to warn…” Suddenly reality came crashing down upon his mind. His legs lost their strength and he collapsed to his knees.

The men around him laughed. It seemed absurd, unreal. That sound had no place in this world, especially not here, surrounded by death. This place – he knew it now. This had been his home once, in what was only days ago but seemed like another lifetime. “No, you don’t understand! The monster, the beast, it… our smell, it hates our smell!”

“I hate yer smell too, Lad,” another man said with a mocking, comical wave of his hand. He had no horse, only a rusted spear. “...but that don’t make me no monster… less of course you ask my wife!” A few of the men laughed.

Another man replied, “Maybe no, but I’ve seen ya try poking’ something’ with that spear a’ yers, and you sure ain’t got no eyes!” That drew even more laughter.

“Lad…” It was the tall man with plate and horse again. “You saying some, er, monster with no eyes did… all this?” He swept his hand dramatically.

“That’s right!” More laughter. “Why won’t you believe me?”

“Boy, I’ve lived a lot of years, most of them spent right here in the north, and I’m not going to buy some story about monsters under the bed. I’ll tell you who really did all this…” He jabbed a finger at Karichted. “Those barbarian curs! We ran into a few of their scouts not two weeks back, coming down from the mountains. They also tried to convince me of some nonsense about big scary monsters they were ‘hunting’, and they looked just like him. Outright attacked us when we wouldn’t let them scurry off back to whatever dank, dark cave they came from.

“Here we are, not five leagues north, and now we find a whole town killed in ways that make me sick to my stomach. By strange coincidence, we find him…” Another jab at Karichted. “...just strolling around amongst the bodies. Now, I’ve heard enough of this. Put them both under guard for now! I’ll sort out later of this lad is deranged or a victim of barbarian torture. This barbarian here on the other hand… Oh we’re gonna have some fun with this one.” His smile was the coldest Elm had ever seen.

He couldn’t believe what was happening. His thoughts were muddy again. This was all wrong too. He was supposed to be home. Safe. Rescued. Macadamia was supposed to be here – she promised! These men didn’t feel safe at all! In fact, it felt just a bit like being back in that tent under the guard of some crazy ‘huntress’. What were they going to do to Karichted? What were they going to do to him? 

This felt nothing like ‘escape’ at all.

[Guilend]

I'm curious how they would have treated Macadamia if she had pooped her diaper before they got to camp or right afterwards. Would she be treated as a child, would they have actually spanked her for it? I'm actually surprised they didn't notice she was also wearing a diaper. I'm definitely interested in this story. 

[AWetterWorld]

16 hours ago, Guilend said:

I'm curious how they would have treated Macadamia if she had pooped her diaper before they got to camp or right afterwards. Would she be treated as a child, would they have actually spanked her for it? I'm actually surprised they didn't notice she was also wearing a diaper. I'm definitely interested in this story. 

(LONG VERSION):

The fact that the women of the camp never acknowledged Macadamia's diaper, even if they noticed an odor, I rationalized as:

1) a consequence of women's superior role in that society, and her quasi-sheltered position as both a woman of a vague and undefined rank, and (officially) a guest. Much like how the server at a restaurant might be hesitant to confront a guest about an odor problem unless they had to, I always envisioned the pole-bearers and men kind of feeling like they wanted to avoid the topic with Macadamia. If she had ever adopted a permanent position in that society, oh boy yeah, things would have been different (or if Helindra had ever officially demoted her below honorary pole-bearer).

2) helped by the fact that she was seldom alone with anyone besides Karichted (and also usually outdoors), UNLESS she was also with Elm, where the smell of her diaper might be blamed on / disguised by his much smellier diaper (Macadamia diaper pooping is still something I'm interested in doing but never quite got around to).

3) visually, no one would be likely to actually see her diaper unless they looked up at her from below.

But yeah, you're absolutely right to suggest it was at least a bit of a stretch they didn't notice, as obsessive about such things as they were.

I think I may have rushed things to get them away from the matriarchal hunter people in order to introduce the army of men, so that I could make the world they inhabit a bit larger, with more players in it. I was honestly kind of worried I was losing people by focusing too long on the hunters.

(SHORT VERSION):

Yeah, good point. *fidget, fidget*

In any event, thank you for expressing an interest! I love to write, but knowing that someone else enjoys it is what makes it truly rewarding and keeps me going with a particular story. I'm definitely re-energized about this one a bit.

[Guilend]

Yeah I definitely don't think it would have gone so well if the woman that was changes Elm's diaper had noticed she was also wearing one. I have a feeling if Macadamia had pooped her diaper, especially right as the woman was scolding Elm and threatening to spank him and she then noticed Macadamia pooping herself, she probably would have really got mad and probably spanked them both even with Macadamia not being part of their society. 

I am curious to what happens now with the new leadership and how they'll treat Macadamia. I don't think she'll be able to slip away completely. 

[AWetterWorld]

22 hours ago, Guilend said:

...I have a feeling if Macadamia had pooped her diaper, especially right as the woman was scolding Elm and threatening to spank him and she then noticed Macadamia pooping herself, she probably would have really got mad and probably spanked them both...

Okay so now I realize that I need to be reading your own work. You clearly have a good mind for this. I read that quote above, and I was actually like "aww, sad face, now I almost wish I had done that instead of what I did!" Macadamia pooping after cleaning her diaper was so much less interesting and fun than that would have been and I mean... at that point she hadn't pooped once the entire journey, and she has to have limits. Having her poop right in front of them while they're already changing Elm's own diaper, followed up with a forced spanking/diaper change, oh gosh...

Plausible because of her desperation, in-character only because she would have no choice but to go along with it, and all around humiliation/diaper-messing/diaper-punishment gold. I could have worked it in right before Helindra barged in, and still had Macadamia wet her diaper again later with Karichted.  *sigh*

Oh well, there's plenty more story. Do you mind if I keep your idea in my front pocket and... I don't know... shamelessly plagiarize some variation of it while pretending I thought of it? 😇

[Guilend]

2 minutes ago, AWetterWorld said:

Okay so now I realize that I need to be reading your own work. You clearly have a good mind for this. I read that quote above, and I was actually like "aww, sad face, now I almost wish I had done that instead of what I did!" Macadamia pooping after cleaning her diaper was so much less interesting and fun than that would have been and I mean... at that point she hadn't pooped once the entire journey, and she has to have limits. Having her poop right in front of them while they're already changing Elm's own diaper, followed up with a forced spanking/diaper change, oh gosh...

Plausible because of her desperation, in-character only because she would have no choice but to go along with it, and all around humiliation/diaper-messing/diaper-punishment gold. I could have worked it in right before Helindra barged in, and still had Macadamia wet her diaper again later with Karichted.  *sigh*

Oh well, there's plenty more story. Do you mind if I keep your idea in my front pocket and... I don't know... shamelessly plagiarize some variation of it while pretending I thought of it? 😇

Lol I do have one story I ever started, but never finished on here. It's called The Unusual Amazon. While I have good ideas, they usually only come to me while reading what someone else wrote lol. My story was horrible lol. Once I have a computer again I'll get around to finishing it and even start on others that I've got started on that's in my Google docs. Yes feel free to use that lol

[AWetterWorld]

[Sorry in advance: this one got kinda dark. Like, seriously, if you're not okay with dark subjects like fairly severe ABDL-themed punishment/humiliation/torture... please just, don't read this chapter. Well, for better or worse, here it is:]

The Wild North

CHAPTER NINE (MACADAMIA)

Her muscles burned even as the frigid mountain air tried to scald her lungs. Strange how something so cold could feel like fire. Her body ached, and that was without toting the weight of her pack and all of its valuables. Supplies she would probably never be able to recover. Still, it was not enough. She needed to be there already; how had she been so foolish as to linger around camp while Elm might already be getting chewed up in the mouth of a-

No. She was not going to think about that. Faster – she just had to run faster.

Above them all, the sky darkened into unsightly shades, an ugly portent for all to see. She would defy it. She would defy that ugly sky to her last breath. Which, now that she thought about it, seemed likely to be soon. She could no longer get enough air, and her muscles were beginning to rebel against their orders. One foot’s momentary disobedience had caused hard, snow-covered rock to rush up into her face and try to smother her. Skin broke on the hard stone, and several bruises and gashes were added to her grievances. Someday there would be a reckoning. Someday, when she finally found that better world she and Elm had risked everything to find… On that day it would be the cruel sky that bled.

Finally, just when she thought she might be done, she recognized a familiar, oddly-shaped upthrust of rock and found a last hidden store of energy. It was promptly swallowed by a terrifying, throat-tearing roar. It was the sound of her fears, the sound of her defeat. “NO!” she cried helplessly.

Running on pure desperation, she crossed the final distance and rounded the obstacle. She tripped again from cold, clumsy legs, and looked on in terror as one of the great beasts trumpeted a final death wail and was forever silenced. She cared not a whit. Where was Elm? Did this mean he was okay?

Then she saw him tied to a pole wearing -oddly- the blouse of a pole-bearer, and with his diaper between his ankles. His eyes were wide as saucers, but seemed to be staring at nothing. He did not move, but was clearly not dead. Terror, it seemed, had frozen even his shivers.

She gasped out tears even as her breath demanded oxygen in great gulps.

A moment later and those joyful tears, so hard won, were next to be silenced. Another terrifying roar pierced the late evening. Her heart missed a beat; her lungs forgot their need for air. The tide of battle turned before her eyes as the second monster trampled through the unprepared hunters. Despite all their bulk and their mighty spears, they were no match for a creature the size of a large building. She felt the vibrations from its thundering steps carry through the rock beneath her as it charged. She felt every crunch of bone, every scream of a dying hunter, as though it was in some way happening to her.

“Elm!” she screamed, though her hoarse voice had no chance of being heard over the commotion. Making a final run for Elm, she watched in relief as one of the hunters was already there, untying him and toting him away. Some small part of her heart unlocked. Karichted, at least, had come through for her. She had only to follow-

“Huntress!” cried one of the hunters, breaking off the fight to run at her, “you cannot be here! We have failed! You are in danger!”

She tried to tell him, to demand that he either help her follow Elm or leave her alone, but her voice was raw. She tried to resist him as he grabbed her and threw her over his tall, broad shoulder like a sack of grain, but her body was beat up and weakened, and he was too strong to begin with. He cared nothing for her protests, or the pitiful cries of the other hunters.

As she watched with renewed consternation, Elm grew further and further away. Soon he was gone, again, and she herself was heading in the wrong direction. “Let me down!” she insisted, but he would not relent. Raw fury taking over, she beat on his mighty back with her fists but to no avail. “Elm!” she cried desperately as she lost his shape in the evening’s shadows. “Don’t be afraid! Wait for me!”

They were back at camp before her alleged rescuer put her down. He hauled her towards the nearest fire with a gentle but firm hand around her wrist. It was fully dark now. The configuration of the camps had changed little that she could see, with each Huntress having her own group of tents, her own central fire. Except that now there was one less camp, and she no longer recognized the women busily moving about them. Apparently dissolving Helindra’s staff and taking her place at the most prominent of the bonfires had proceeded quite smoothly, taking less than a day. Were timers from Helindra’s palanquin being used as fuel? They clearly had a non-ambiguous policy towards changes in leadership.

Karichted walked cautiously into camp as if unsure he was in the right place, or perhaps wondering if this was a strange dream. “My Huntress, Helindra!” he called in his booming voice. “I return!”

“My poor, loyal buck,” came a low, melodic, feminine voice, “I am saddened that I must bring you such terrible news, but your huntress is dead. I would know your name, so that I may speak it aloud in sympathy and to honor your loss.”

“Kologatcht,” he replied. His own voice had withered; he now sounded almost as hoarse as Macadamia.

“Brave Kologatcht. I am Huntress Velina.” She looked around conspicuously. “Your return was expected, but… where are the other brave bucks of your hunting party?”

The ‘buck’ let go of her as his whole body slumped. She almost took the opportunity and ran right then and there, but knew she could not. Exhausted, alone, without supplies, and into the dark of night, she would never make it back home alive. If the hunters tried to stop her, she would not even make it out of the camp.

“Huntress… We failed. I believe they are all dead. I am only alive myself because this huntress, a guest of Helindra, was in danger. Honor demanded that I keep her from harm.”

Astonished gasps and whispers rose up all around them. “How can this be?”

“There were two, Huntress. The second took us by surprise.”

More appalled gasps and whispers. Macadamia found herself getting quite sick of it. Exhausted, cold and in pain, demoralized, and tired of being imprisoned, she lashed out with her words. “They’re all dead!” she accused. “Don’t you get it? You sent all those men to their deaths while you sit back here by your comfortable fires and have your little power struggles!”

Instantly she knew it had been a mistake. Shocked gasps were followed by a heavy, conspicuous silence. All eyes now focused on Velina and Macadamia. Quite a few faces held looks of anger and shock, others bewilderment.

“Who am I addressing?”

“My Huntress Velina,” came a familiar voice. Phendalla slipped into view. Upon receiving a nod, she continued. “She is no huntress. Her name is Macadamia, and it is true that she was a guest of Helindra. She was made honorary pole-bearer. She had one buck with her when we found her in the storm.”

Velina lifted her chin which, combined with her arched brows and disapproving frown, communicated perfectly the multiple ways she looked down upon Macadamia. “For the second time on this very day I find myself having to tolerate outrageous remarks by a mere pole-bearer. I am beginning to wonder what kind of a camp the once-esteemed Helindra was running! Tell me: where were you when your huntress was assassinated, and why did this buck have to drag you back kicking and screaming? I give you this one chance to be honest with me.”

“She was… never… my ‘huntress’. ‘Captor’ maybe, and I had nothing to do with her death!”

The obligatory shocked gasps and whispering circulated. “So you say. Very well, I strip you of the very title you reject. You have no place in this camp. You claim to be a prisoner? Well, now that you are bereft of your privilege, you shall discover how we truly treat malcontents.” She turned to the women lined up neatly behind her. “Put her with the other one.

“Brave Kologatcht,” she said next, turning back to the hunter, “It was clearly your previous huntress who is to be held responsible for the poor planning of your hunt. I must admit this is the first time I have ever known two deathbiters to be so near to each other. Perhaps it can be forgiven.” Her tone suggested otherwise. “Your bravery, however, is not in question. You did the right thing to bring this woman to us. It is not for a buck to question a huntress’ validity, and we may yet learn something valuable from her.

“In recognition, I offer you a place among my own bucks.”

Macadamia had been pulled away from him, and her hands tied behind her back, by the time the hunter finished professing his new loyalties. They were both whisked away in different directions while Velina began a speech that appeared to be about the sad state of ‘the hunt’ under Helindra’s ‘misguided’ leadership.

For the second time in as many days, Macadamia found herself forced to her knees in the same grand tent, awaiting the arrival of a huntress who was to pronounce her fate. Her proximity to the camp’s largest fire and the shelter of the tent allowed her limbs to regain feeling. It was not a pleasant development. Bruises and cuts over her face, arms, and legs all announced their displeasure. Nor was it enough to truly warm her, but rather just enough to keep her at the point of shivering.

Finally, what seemed an eternity later, Velina entered. Unlike Helindra she made no obvious show of luxury. Instead she plopped herself down unceremoniously on the pile of cushions that seemed to substitute for a throne and waved dismissively towards the two women who had escorted Macadamia.

“Let’s agree to dispense with the theater,” the huntress said once they had left. “You have something I need. If I get it, your time with us will be much less… unpleasant. Publicly, you are still a suspect in Helindra’s murder, but if you cooperate I will save you the indignity of any confessions.”

“You’re just like her,” Macadamia replied sullenly, after something that was meant to be an ironic laugh but came out more like a series of quiet gasps.

“If you mean Helindra, I think you’ll find I am nothing like that pompous fool. I have watched her for years, in disgust. All that woman cared about was her honor, all her glorious hunts and kills. She would have gotten us all killed, never seeing the real threat. Look at how many of our brave bucks she wasted on this latest… fiasco.”

“What do you want?” Did all these huntresses have to speak for an hour to say anything? She had no more patience left for this. All she could hope for was some way to do a song and dance, find an opportunity, and make an escape that would stick.

“Right to the point? Yes, I think we shall get along just fine. Yet to answer that question, we must understand what the ‘real threat’ is, do you not agree?”

Whatever. “What is it?”

“The real threat… is you. Or more precisely, your people and your army of metal bucks. Yes… I know about them. Far from some ‘long forgotten sisters’, your people seem to have quite a little empire over here, and a terrible mess of one at that! Your bucks run completely wild, doing whatever they please! Like all such creatures, being without proper… guidance… has ruined them. They’re aggressive, smelly, violent, and seem to think they’re above the women!

“They cannot even be reasoned with! Two of my scouts fell victim to their disgusting little mob not a fortnight ago! It is fortunate that the pole-bearer I sent with them had the good sense to hide and report back to me.” She scoffed. “More good bucks lost! I cannot allow them to continue to pick us off a few at a time while we deny the reality of their numbers, and the danger they pose.” She leaned forward. “Which is where you come in. You will tell me what I need to know. To start with, how many of these wild animals of yours are there? Where is their camp? These, what are they called? ‘Herse’, ‘horse’? We do not have them in our lands. How many of those creatures do your animals ‘ride’?”

For the space of several breaths the world seemed less real. Her previous life might have been a dream. What was left of it? What would she truly be giving up by telling this woman what she wanted to know? Had she ever truly been happy in that place she called home? That place where the highest rank a woman could achieve in society was as a merchant or farmer? That place of gossipers and wife-beaters? That place where her own brothers and dear father now, in all likelihood, lay dead? Where she now had nothing and no one? What did she owe that world?

If telling this woman everything gave her even a chance of grabbing Elm and escaping all this madness, of completing their shared dream and finding a land of equality and plenty, surely it would be worth it.

But… no. She thought that leaving home forever was what she wanted. She thought the ones she was leaving behind didn’t matter. Now they were probably dead: the very brothers she had raised, and the father that had provided for her. She could not give away information that would get more people killed.

Apparently taking her silence as an answer, Velina sighed heavily and clapped her hands softly. “This did not need to be difficult. It could have been reasonable… civil even. But you have made your choice…”

Two women entered. With only a look from their huntress they abruptly set on Macadamia with clawing hands and rough shoves. Her clothes ripped. She tried to fight back but she was still weakened and the two women were literally on top of her. The tunic she had left home with was torn away from her. Her leggings were ripped away next, her boots pulled from her feet.

When they were done she had only her underclothes: the tight wrap which covered her breasts, and her thick, cloth diaper with its thin, waterproof outer membrane. She wrapped her hands tightly about herself, but could do nothing to stop the shivering from quickly taking over her body.

Velina raised an eyebrow. “So, the rumors are true. You call yourself an adult yet you wear the clothing of a child! I did not believe Phendalla’s suspicions… How delightful! Humiliation will entice you to see reason if the cold does not. Perhaps I will put that other traitor in a diaper as well.” Once again she sighed heavily. “Spank her, like the disobedient child that she is.”

The two women complied, forcing her on her back, crosswise before the huntress. One held her arms down while the other lifted her legs straight up in the air. They weren’t gentle. A firm hand pounded her diapered bottom, causing her whole body to rock with each slap.

It was too much. Her exhausted body and tired abused muscles surrendered on all fronts, and pee started flooding into her diaper as she released. The warmth splashed against her groin and spread out through the cloth, giving her small respite from the chill but exacerbating her hatred for the new huntress. She didn’t try to stop the flood; it was a bit late to think she could salvage any dignity from this.

The pole-bearer doing the spanking paused as Macadamia wet herself. The silence was heavy (aside from the hissing of pee against sodden fabric). All three women gazed openly at her as she did her deed, her diaper steadily turning yellow starting in the middle and expanding down the front, finally over the sides… The warmth now enveloped Macadamia, front to back.

One of her tormentors shook her head, as if Macadamia had somehow brought this on herself. She heard Velina make a contemptuous snort, then the spanking was on again. She grunted involuntarily as the peed-on fabric of her diaper was pounded against her bottom with a wet smack. She looked at Velina, trying to ignore the other women present, willing her hatred to travel through the air and choke the huntress.

“If only this could be avoided. Humiliation is a tool I do not care for, but I will use it when necessary.” A third woman brought in hot tea, which Velina drank while Macadamia shivered, her body rocking from her continued ‘spanking’. “And trust me, it is. I have seen a world ruled by men. I have seen women… taken… by force mind you… by animals calling themselves ‘men’. How strange that you would suffer in order to preserve such a vile way of life! Why not simply tell me what I want to know? This can end now.”

“You… You think you’re… so much better?” Macadamia spat between bouts of shivering, small hiccups of pain, and the wet slaps that caused them. "This is a real… great society… you got here.”

“This?” Velina’s face held a strange intensity. Her eyes bored into her prisoner with the fiery fervor only righteousness can bring forth. “This is war, in point of fact. If you are not with us in this, you are against us.”

“A war… for who gets… to be despot?”

“A war for who gets to be free! Think very hard, my confused sister from afar, for which side you wish to suffer…”

With that, Macadamia’s ‘punishment’ was done and she was once more banished from the woman’s sight. She was marched across camp in her underclothes (at least her guards chose a course that avoided the men) and thrown into a small, out of the way tent near the back. It was sheltered from the wind but still cold. She shivered there, on the ground, in her sodden diaper, her bottom in too much pain to sit on, trying to decide if she could rip the outer fabric of the tent and escape, but also feeling foolish for considering it. How far would she make it without such simple needs as clothing? Hopelessness pressed against her mind just as the cold pressed in upon her body.

At least Elm had been saved. Perhaps there was still hope for him. Maybe he could find the mythical portal without her, and one of them could finally know a world of warmth once again.

“Well, well,” a bitter voice ground out. “History repeats itself, but I liked the first version better. Did you lose your broken little fawn?” Skilla crawled out from one of the tent’s deep shadows. She seemed to have been stripped down to her underclothes as well.

“Why… why’d they… do this to you?”

Even mostly naked, Skilla held herself with a stubborn dignity, even superiority. “I was betrayed by that vile creature Phendalla, and perhaps even Helindra. You?”

She held no good feelings for Skilla, but she discovered a certain camaraderie in shared incarceration. “Tried to… run away. Why… Why give us a tent?” 

“A woman is never to be tortured openly, in front of the bucks. It would demean us all.”

Had there been a taste of mockery in the woman’s words, or did she really still cling to her beliefs, even under the circumstances? Macadamia couldn’t quite tell. “So they… throw us in a tent to… shiver until we break?”

“No, my foolish, pretend huntress… They throw us in this tent to shiver until we DIE.”

Edited April 29, 2023 by AWetterWorld
[Edited for typos]

[Guilend]

That was probably my favorite chapter, the one of Elm's poopy diaper change being second. My favorite part is them discovering her diaper and what they said about it and how she told them to spank her. Then of course her wetting her diaper. 

[AWetterWorld]

On 4/29/2023 at 6:24 AM, Guilend said:

That was probably my favorite chapter, the one of Elm's poopy diaper change being second. My favorite part is them discovering her diaper and what they said about it and how she told them to spank her. Then of course her wetting her diaper. 

Thanks! Makes me feel better to hear it actually, I was kinda worried I was getting too dark. Been a hectic few days but hopefully I can get back to this soon.

[Guilend]

4 hours ago, AWetterWorld said:

Thanks! Makes me feel better to hear it actually, I was kinda worried I was getting too dark. Been a hectic few days but hopefully I can get back to this soon.

I don't know, it really didn't feel all that dark to me. Maybe the last part about being left there to die, but the spanking could have been much worse. They could've done it on her bare bottom, even used an implement to spank her with. In my opinion, it could've been much worse. I guess my threshold for dark is pretty high, which could be because I was a CO in a maximum security prison for a time and seen and heard of a lot of bad things. 

Overall the tone of the story is a bit dark. But I enjoy it. 

[AWetterWorld]

On 5/3/2023 at 2:03 AM, Guilend said:

I don't know, it really didn't feel all that dark to me...

...Overall the tone of the story is a bit dark. But I enjoy it. 

Yeah, upon further reflection I'm not sure why I thought it was really all that dark. I guess it's just the tone of the story that feels dark to me more than anything, probably because I'm going back and forth between writing this and writing goofy, light-hearted comedies.

Well, anyway, next installment:

The Wild North

CHAPTER TEN (ELM)

The darkness was complete. His eyes disagreed; they insisted that light peeked in from the edges of the dank cellar’s thick wooden door. They insisted there was something outside, a reason to keep going, but he knew better. He was alone in the world again, for the first time. Even the home he had forsaken was lost, and the cellar of the ruined building in which he grew up had now become his prison. He had only thought he was alone before, having no close friends and a broken family. Now he knew: there was an existence even emptier than that.

Macadamia had not come, although a part of him refused to give up hope. Each time he heard footsteps outside, each time the heavy door creaked slowly open and the sunlight blinded him, each time he was pulled from his dreary cage and questioned -again- about his time with the hunter people and his role in the fall of his village, each time -for just a moment- he was certain it was her, come to rescue him.

He had been given a moth-eaten coat to shield him against the cold, and an itchy straw mattress upon which to sleep, but the constant dampness penetrated everything. It was his one constant, miserable companion. No one would tell him what became of the male hunter who saved his life. In all likelihood, he decided, the answer involved torture and death.

The bucket in the corner remained unused. Since being banished to this new world of darkness he had lost any remaining control. His bladder was releasing again even now. Warm pee flooded from his spout, flowing gently down his front before being soaked up by the diaper and spreading fresh wetness around his entire midsection. He was going to leak soon. No one had yet come to change him. Even his father, back when he had a family, would eventually relent when all punishments were done, and let his mother dry him, clean his clothes, his bed sheets… Not now. Now he peed and peed, but no one came.

The hissing of his stream was loud in the constant quiet, and he let himself get lost in the sensation of relief for as long as it lasted. It was one of the few pleasant experiences his prison could not deny him. It soon ran out. Warmth pressed up against him, wrapped around him, but he knew it was only temporary. It would soon enough revert to a familiar cold clamminess. His own smell wafted up to his nose, made unnaturally potent by constantly re-wetting his diaper without a change.

When the light around the door hatch failed he knew it would be another night without dinner. He was too miserable to sleep, but too tired to stay awake. So with nothing better to do he compromised by laying down on the mattress and beginning the timeless ritual of tossing and turning.

He felt, as much as heard, the groaning of his stomach as it processed the last of whatever cold slop they fed him before throwing him down here. The churning and growling made a poor review, and he had to agree. Had he not been starving he would have stayed as far away from the wet detritus as possible. His body slowly began ejecting a large mound into the back of his diaper, and he rolled over into a fetal position to let it happen.

He heard footsteps. Again there was hope. It flared to life like an oil-soaked torch no matter how many times disappointment crushed it back down. This time there was talking. That was new.

“Don’t know nothing about it,” came the muffled, surly voice of his guard, “but I heard they tortured him - that’s the rumor. Bunch of hogwash if you ask me; the boy was stupid from birth – anyone can see that. Not right if you ask me though: some pathetic creature like this -not even right in the head- gets to live while this whole town is a graveyard? Sad business. He should be put down, anyone can see that. Not right wasting supplies on him. Instead he gets some pretty whore nanny?” He heard the man spit, then the sound of someone fiddling with the lock.

Elm shivered. The man talked like his father often had after consuming too much to drink. Instead of facing his own darkness, his father had painted the world in labels like ‘idiots’, ‘animals’, and finally ‘whores’. The words got uglier the more he drank. Hateful words, from a hateful man. Was it truly so much easier to despise the world, to throw one’s own ugliness upon it like a bucket of ugly, unwanted paint, than to face the darkness inside? It seemed selfish to Elm, mere cowardice wearing the guise of self-righteousness. Yet these men were ‘soldiers’ in the ‘king’s great army’. Titles of respect, and even awe. The world was upside down. The greater the cowardice, the greater the respect.

No. That wasn’t true either – not always. There were honorable soldiers, that much he knew. He had met some. Yet none of them seemed to rise to the top. Not here, in this society where men acquired power the way dogs fighting over a bone acquired meat. Men who fought for others tended to die for others. Men who fought for themselves preferred to have others die for them. It was the latter who seemed to live the longest and rise to the top.

The door opened and the shape of a person blocked out the darkening sky of evening. Too little light remained to identify them, but the shape looked decidedly feminine in profile. She dressed in the style of the south: a flowing dress that covered everything down to her ankles, with a large blanket draped across her shoulders. They did not believe in showing their legs down there. Despite the warmer climate, southerners liked to cover everything and drape themselves in layers of cloth. How they avoided melting like butter over the fire had always been a mystery to him – not that he had seen many southerners in his icy, northern home. It was that which crushed his hope once more: that flowing dress. Macadamia still had not come.

He expected more questions, but received silence. The woman, whose face remained shrouded while the dim light was at her back, walked slowly down the cellar steps and folded herself gently onto the edge of his mattress.

Someone in the room was crying now; he could hear their sad sniffling. A few moments later he realized it was him. He had no idea what had started it, but once it began it could not be stopped, and soon tears were rolling down his face. There was something about having sudden company, any non-hostile company, in this soulless, dank prison that broke a dam of sadness within him.

The woman made a gentle shushing sound, like one did to quiet a baby. A calloused hand tenderly brushed the side of his face and combed his hair. He still needed to evacuate his bowels, and found he no longer cared if he did so in front of this woman. There was a kindliness about her… like Macadamia had.

He pushed gently, and grunted softly in relief, as more poop gushed from his backside and filled his diaper. He was peeing again, but there wasn’t much left. “I… I went poop,” he said between sniffles. Why had he said it like that?

Because he wanted her to continue. He needed it, he realized. He needed that compassionate, human touch and her gentle calming sounds. She said something, but not to him. He did not hear the words. Her gentle hand and soothing sounds had become his world. Language was of that other world – that cold place to which he wished no return.

She had brought supplies, he realized, in the form of a small knapsack, from which she presently pulled a blanket, a jar of powder, and -to his surprise- a fresh diaper. Macadamia was the only one he had ever met who carried them. Was this woman like her? No, he realized, immediately feeling foolish. The entire company of soldiers knew he wore a diaper. It had been on full display when they discovered him. She had been sent as caretaker. Was that another form of jailer? Perhaps he did not care. Not so long as she continued to whisper reassuring sounds and stroke his hair.

Both of which she did while she worked, laying out the small blanket, rolling him onto it, and pulling off his soaking, poopy diaper. She began humming too, and her voice seemed to transform into Macadamia’s, rising in pitch. Her thick, strong hands pulled a few rags from the knapsack and began wiping him off, but despite being the rough hands of a woman who had clearly worked hard her whole life, her actions were surprisingly gentle.

His manhood remained dormant this time, even as the woman wiped it dry, and then touched it again as she smeared the powder around. Whatever he had felt towards Macadamia was not present here. In this place there was only his need to be cared for and her compassion.

The diaper she brought was not one of Macadamia’s. It was two layers: one of simple, absorbent cloth that she unfolded, wrapped around him, and pinned together. The second was the same pliable waterproof membrane as his last one had, but this time it was a separate garment that slid up his legs like underwear and covered everything, gently squeezing the cloth against him.

“My little Gordon is hungry.” His caretaker’s voice was gentle and plain. It hid nothing. There was no place for concealed malice or deception within its open, kind simplicity. Her phrasing made it sound like a statement rather than a question, and -having no idea who this ‘Gordon’ was- he did not immediately respond.

His body made its own reply in the form of a long growl from his stomach. In response, he was lifted by surprisingly strong arms and held against her chest, his diapered bottom resting on her lap.

He wondered what this had to do with food even as she reached up and slid one shoulder of her dress down her arm. The v-neck front opened in response, allowing him full access to one of her breasts. They were larger than Macadamia’s, he noted. That didn’t seem important, just interesting. When he still didn’t get the message, she squeezed her areola gently until a line of white milk escaped, and all but shoved his head against it. His hunger took over for a moment as he licked at the small stream.

Suddenly all that was important was how to get more of that tasty milk into his mouth. He had not, his body suddenly reminded him, had a proper meal in days. His hunger was sudden and intense.

However it felt more than a little strange to try and suckle from a woman’s breast, and she was forced to continue to push him, instructing him through quiet, stubborn insistence in order to finally gain his cooperation. He could not even recall how at first, but at some point his body started to remember and warm deliciousness flowed into his mouth. Surely he had never tasted anything so good.

The guard entered as this was happening and noisily deposited something metal. Elm gathered it was a lantern when a warm flickering glow lit the room, although he couldn’t bring himself to interrupt his meal long enough to look.

His caretaker’s whole body lurched briefly, rocking Elm, as a soft, short hiss escaped her lips, but her voice was that same soft, simple monotone as she said, “No biting, now. My little Gordon… Teething already. Shhh… It’s alright.”

 “Look at this!” the guard said. “Never seen such a thing! Look at him! Stupid all right. Stupid as a child.” His voice changed subtly, taking on a hunger of a different kind. “Maybe I get a little stupid myself later, eh? Come down here for my own little ‘snack’?” He left with a flem-filled, throaty guffaw.

Elm would later have no memory of when he fell to sleep, only that it was the most peaceful sleep he had experienced in a very long time. He dreamed, and in them Macadamia had finally come and rescued him. They had found their portal, and beyond it lay a world of innocence and warm sunshine.

[Guilend]

I have a feeling that the woman caretaker has some sort of mental illness, probably stemming from losing her child. Very interesting. 

I have a feeling that the woman caretaker has some sort of mental illness, probably stemming from losing her child. Very interesting. 

[AWetterWorld]

12 hours ago, Guilend said:

I have a feeling that the woman caretaker has some sort of mental illness, probably stemming from losing her child. Very interesting.

Ah yes, her poor little Gordon...

[AWetterWorld]

The Wild North

CHAPTER ELEVEN (MACADAMIA)

The sun’s rays were given power by their high elevation and a clear, crisp blue sky. The kind of blue so light and clear it seemed almost white. Macadamia could see a piece of it, just one small precious square of freedom, by looking upward through the flap on the ceiling used for letting out the smoke from a fire (not that there was one).

The bright yellow sphere beamed benevolently down on the tent’s thick, dark canvas, which greedily soaked up the warmth. While it lasted, Macadamia found some small relief. Even without proper clothing, the tent was almost comfortable. Alas it was a cruel sort of relief; her muscles could relax, but they ached from shivering so much, and while her fingers and toes started regaining feeling, it came in the form of a tingling pain. She would have preferred they all remain numb. She and Skilla were given food and water in small amounts: tough, stringy dried meat in a disgusting, thin soup, and some clear but foul-tasting water. Sleep came to her in restless bouts filled with dark dreams, and never quite made her feel refreshed.

Unfortunately, as the sun dipped low in the sky and its heat abandoned them, even that one small respite was taken from her. Soon the penetrating cold would be sucking the precious life-giving warmth from her exposed skin (of which there was quite a lot, considering she still wore nothing more than chest wrap and diaper).

One of the ‘pole-bearers’ entered (Macadamia still found the title ridiculous, but to everyone amongst the hunters it was treated with great dignity). She claimed to come on behalf of Velina and stiffly demanded to know if Macadamia had ‘reconsidered’.

Macadamia almost spat at the woman’s feet, but it would have taken too much energy so she ignored the aloof emissary, who turned to go moments later with a disdainful sniff. Just as she was leaving -and only for a moment- the pole-bearer turned back and looked at the prisoners with something that might have been pity. That brief glance was the closest thing to proper compassion Macadamia could remember receiving since fate had brought her the misfortune of meeting the ‘huntress’ Velina, and it did not take her long to decide that it had been a fluke, for as the light faded she and Skilla were abruptly hauled out of their puny tent and dragged across the camp into Velina’s. The women who shoved and pulled them refused to speak at all, let alone offer anything so cordial as an explanation.

Once inside the huntress’ massive canvas structure, they noted that one end of the canvas floor had been rolled back to expose hard rocky soil beneath. A pole had been anchored into the ground, and another wooden beam was tied crosswise near its top. Macadamia and Skilla were each tied at the wrists and ankles, and were then hung from the crosswise pole, one on each side. The room was lightly populated with robed pole-bearers standing at attention or scurrying about serving some sort of tantalizing, delicious-smelling, hot beverage. Velina sat on the most elevated pile of cushions, while several other women sat on their own lower cushions. They were all in a circle around a central fire, the smoke from which escaped out a flap in the high ceiling.

All of the huntresses wore plain silks over thick wool, over another layer of silk. Their clothing appeared simple at a glance, being without elaborate embroidery and using fairly plain, earthen colors, but closer inspection revealed it to be quite elaborate. It was in the cut, she decided: the way each layer of the garments was tailored precisely to the body shape of its huntress so as to be form-fitting and yet still drape elegantly. Each layer of clothing was a different color, usually ones which blended well with the dark granites, stark white snow, and brown scree of the mountain slopes. Their variegated folds and shapes confused the eye. Under different circumstances she might have been fascinated by a culture in which it was not showy riches that expressed taste and style, but a strange form of artistic camouflage and subtle tailoring.

As it was, she only wanted to curl up by the fire and be warm. Throwing the huntresses into said fire was next on her list, but only after a nice, warm sleep. She stood where she had been tied, her arms tented above her head, but her legs felt like rubber.

“Please ignore our ‘guests’,” Velina said to the other huntresses. “I only wanted the poor things to warm up a bit; I do not wish to be cruel, after all. Certainly, no one here needs a reminder concerning the rewards of disobedience and betrayal.”

Macadamia stared at the women with quiet contempt, but they ignored her with a remarkably honed technique. They never met her gaze, even when they looked her over coldly, as if she were a tied-up animal. Somehow, they were simultaneously aware of, and deliberately ignorant of, her presence. Her glares had no effect; they were transparent to her animosity, which passed right through them without evident harm or bother.

At least the tent was warm, she had to admit that much. Not that Macadamia had any illusions about concern over her comfort being the reason she was here. This was not just part of her torture and humiliation. She was being used to send a message.

“By now, you are all no doubt aware of the fate which has continued to befall our brave bucks. I have given my scouting parties strict orders not to engage the hostile barbarians, and I recommend you do the same.”

While the huntresses talked, several other women began attending to the two prisoners. They gave the prisoners cursory sponge baths to start; apparently Velina was not opposed to neglect and cruelty, she simply didn’t want to smell it in her presence.

For better access, Macadamia’s breast wrap was removed, and her diaper was slid down to her ankles. It landed with a heavy slap. Her memory failed her as to when or how many times she had wet. She was slapped on the legs like a stubborn animal until she lifted first one leg and then the other, freeing the diaper to be taken away and (she hoped) cleaned and returned – not that she truly held any optimism about getting anything returned to her really, ever.

Two women aggressively wiped down every part of her, with all the attention but far less kindness that might have been shown to a horse back home. She didn’t fight or protest, nor did she have the energy to feel properly outraged, though some amount of color returned to her cheeks as she bore the humiliation her captors vigorously piled upon her. The circular arrangement of the huntresses, with more people gathered behind them, meant that quite a few eyes had a clear view of her. None looked at her in an obvious way, but Macadamia had never felt more watched.

“I wish to inform you all,” Velina continued as if nothing was going on, “that I have sent my first pole-bearer back to my village to speak for me. She will call council in my name, inform them of what has taken place, and call for a greater council, not just for my own village, but of all huntresses, to take place here with us.” There was the usual soft, surprised murmuring by the observers, which Macadamia was starting to think was just part of the ritual of announcements.

Meanwhile, Skilla was being cleaned as well, and she seemed to have a bit more fight left in her. She actually did spit on one of the women, and was paid a vicious punch to her abdomen in return, strong enough to cause her to fall to her knees. They began stripping her scant remaining coverings, beginning with her chest, but soon noticed that her underwear was wet. After lifting her and forcing her to turn around, the women further noticed a large dark stain on the back of the otherwise white garment, as well as a squishy lump. The operation was paused.

“Mistress, forgive me,” spoke one of the women doing the cleaning. “This traitor has soiled herself in your presence. I beg forgiveness for allowing this insult. What do you wish me to do?”

“I’m no traitor, you useless-” A loud, sharp, backhanded slap cut her off.

By this point, nearly everyone present was sparing them a few conspicuous glances, if not outright staring. Macadamia could only watch in helpless sympathy and mortified curiosity at what they would do to Skilla next. She needed to relieve herself as well, but held it back fiercely. Now was clearly not the time.

Skilla’s underwear was still getting wetter. The woman was clearly trying to hold it, likely doubled over from effort as much as pain by this point, her legs crossed and her arms still tied up above her head, but despite her efforts pee continued to come out in short spurts, yellowing her front. There was a quiet splat and a quick grunt of frustration from Skilla as her dark spot in back grew larger. “I’ll never forgive any of you!” she growled. “I’ll pay you back and more!”

Velina turned her nose up and away, making a show of being disgusted even as she uttered a sorrowful kind of sigh that mimicked sympathy. The other huntresses dutifully did the same. A few shook their heads sadly. Macadamia had the sudden feeling of being in the audience just as the lead performer went on stage.

“Oh dear. I show leniency, invite you both to share my fire, and this is how I am repaid? It appears there are two babies in this room that presumed to masquerade as adults. To think my misguided predecessor encouraged and sheltered you both! Clearly, you need some further discipline.” She turned to the women giving the sponge baths. “Diaper them both, since they so adore being children… and give them some of that much-neglected ‘discipline’ I mentioned, yes?”

Skilla continued to put up a fight, but the pole was anchored securely enough to keep her from doing much besides flailing around. Her words had been reduced to pure growls of rage by this point, as she twisted and continued to fight both rope and body. More spurts of pee followed, and soon her underwear could absorb no more and began to drip. Another spurt turned into a stream, penetrating her thin, wet covering and pouring out onto the rocky soil beneath. There was another splat, and the brown backside of her undergarment began to show quite a bulge.

The huntresses ignored her and turned back to each other, but the gathered pole-bearers did not. Expressions of naked disgust were on prominent display, despite the women’s previously demonstrated ability to hide their feelings when they chose. More actresses on the stage, Macadamia thought.

“I am certain that I may count on the support of each of you as we face this unprecedented danger,” Velina continued. “Never in our generation, or our parents’ generation, have we encountered such a deadly foe. Understand this, my sisters: deathbiters cannot think. They do not plan. Never do they attack in groups. The monsters we now face do, and they represent nothing less than an existential threat to our entire people. This is why, once council is convened, I intend to do something unprecedented in our lifetimes…” She paused to meet the gaze of each other huntress present. “I intend to call for permanent status as Supreme Huntress, at least until this matter is resolved.”

For the first time since she had been dragged in, Macadamia felt that something had happened which was most definitely ‘off script’. There were no dutiful murmurs this time. Just silence. The huntresses maintained their impassive masks, but many of the gathered pole-bearers gaped at Velina in evident shock. Even Skilla was mostly forgotten.

Mostly. Phendalla was present, Macadamia noted, and did not seem the least surprised by the news. She only stared intently at Skilla, with a gleam in her eye and the slightest quirk of a smile on her lips. Several others continued to watch as well.

For her part, Skilla appeared to have struggled herself into a temporary exhaustion. Or perhaps she was simply too humiliated, Macadamia could not say for sure. Either way, she had her head bent forward onto her chest, and had fallen to her knees. Only her wrists, still tied above her head, kept her from falling forward. The excommunicated pole-bearer had apparently surrendered her fight, and helplessly peed herself before the group, her narrow yellow stream tumbling forward from between her legs, forcing itself through the sodden fabric. There was a final long, wet, series of splats and pops, and her underwear was stretched to its limit containing her mess in back.

“Is it entirely necessary,” another huntress abruptly spoke up, “to… detain these women like this?” She was younger than Velina. Her posture was stiff with the forced confidence of inexperience. Whenever she glanced towards the two captives she shifted uncomfortably.

“Oh, I believe it is.”

Only once Skilla had finished humiliating herself did the clean-up crew resume. They violently ripped open the sides of her underwear (which was quickly whisked away) rather than force her to stand. Ash was scattered across the wet ground beneath her, and her lower parts were wiped down. It was all a very efficient operation, and Macadamia could not help but wonder with disgust if the women had done this all before.

She felt an abrupt surge of need to relieve herself as well. That was odd. Then she remembered: the last time they were given water was not long ago, and the pole-bearer who delivered it had seemed quite intent on making sure they drank it all. Not that either of the thirsty captives had argued at the time. Had it tasted even more wrong than normal? She mentally scolded herself for letting exhaustion and demoralizing circumstances dull her mind. She was not keeping up, and would never escape by being a witless victim.

Her attention was drawn back to the huntresses as one of them stood, a different one than last time. “I wish to offer another… perspective on this matter. No one doubts your wisdom, of course, Huntress, but what you plan has not been done in generations. It has not been needed in generations. We live together in peace, as one society. We coordinate our hunts. I wish to acknowledge the wisdom of our ancestors as well, in choosing not to name a permanent supreme huntress. Surely we all appreciate the authority to govern for ourselves.”

Velina waited patiently for the speaker to sit before responding. “Thank you for your wisdom, Sister Huntress. I would offer you my own, further perspective on the matter. Despite the lack of cooperation from this misguided… child woman,” she gestured to Macadamia without looking, “my scouts have determined an approximate number of these barbarian men. It is staggering. Easily ten times our number of wild bucks have gathered, and even now they prepare to advance. Surely one of these savages would stand no chance against one of our fine bucks, but while it is skill that wins a hunt, it is often numbers that win a war.”

Macadamia had not noticed the two women who had left until they returned, each carrying one of her diapers and some wide ribbons of cloth. The second diaper puzzled her, then she remembered the one which had been removed from Elm days before and never returned. Apparently they had kept it around after all.

Each pole-bearer chose a prisoner. Macadamia heard Skilla being forced to her feet beside her, while another woman slapped Macadamia’s legs until she lifted them into the proffered diaper. It was forced roughly up against her groin, still slightly damp from apparently being rung out and nothing more, then the woman began wrapping Macadamia’s breasts using the long ribbon of cloth.

Neatly-carved pins made of bone were used to secure Skilla’s diaper, which was just a bit large for her narrower waist. Her chest was wrapped, and finally the two captives were left alone.

“Then it is decided,” Velina was saying. Macadamia had missed much of the conversation, but decided she cared nothing about it anyway. She only hoped it was getting close to over. This tent was warmer, but she had endured quite enough of being tied up and treated like an animal.

“Nothing is decided!” declared the huntress who had objected earlier.

“Oh?” The room held a tension so tight it threatened to shatter into a million pieces at any moment. The gathered pole-bearers held their breath, looking uncharacteristically tense. They gathered a little tighter into groups around their respective huntresses.

Slowly, in an absent manner, Velina lifted her left hand. Just as casually, she snapped her fingers.

Apparently that ‘punishment’ that had been threatened before was not forgotten. The huntress had simply been waiting for the right moment. Two women stepped up behind Macadamia and Skilla, each holding a short, leather whip.

Then it was on. The two captives had their diapers shoved down to their thighs and the beating began, each sharp slap of the whips cutting violently through the heavy evening air.

Velina did not even look. Her gaze was locked onto the protesting huntress. Each crack, each grunt or cry from the two prisoners spoke for her. Crack. ‘See what I do to my enemies?’ Slap. ‘This could be you.’ Snap. ‘If I can take down the most powerful of us, then you are nothing.’

Macadamia’s already sore bottom felt like it was in flames. Despite her best efforts, she cried out as the whip struck again, then gasped each time it returned. That was the final lie, she reflected miserably, of all the storybooks and tales of adventure. They had all, no doubt, been written by people who had no idea how much pain actually hurt when it was applied as a tool, how sharp it could be, as it cut right through her thoughts and into her free will.

“Please!” she said breathlessly. Her tormentor, miraculously, did pause, but until Velina actually gave the order Macadamia felt certain the sharp pain might attack again at any moment. Her rubbery legs collapsed and she found herself on her knees, which -like Skilla- was as far as her tied hands would let her drop. Sure enough, a sharp pain shattered her thoughts a moment later. “Make it stop,” she whispered, “please, I’m going to… I’m going…” Her bladder released. She no longer had the control necessary to fight both the drug in her system and the pain. It spurted out of her in plain view of everyone, but her diaper had only been lowered to her thighs and still caught the pee. A spurt became a stream as she closed her eyes. She still throbbed and burned in back, but the whipping had stopped, she noticed gratefully. Relief from her bladder granted her its own small boon as well.

Velina snapped her fingers again, and Macadamia felt her diaper being pulled back up even as she continued to pee. The cloth scraped across her bottom like a hundred tiny knives, after which the pole-bearers moved away. Apparently, the demonstration was complete. 

She was now soaking herself again, breathing heavily in relief, her own spray spreading out through the cloth as everyone looked on, its warmth a meaningless comfort. She thought she might poop as well. It never came, though she would have had no ability to stop it. Even control over her own body had now been taken from her. 

To humiliate, to reduce another human being to ruin… or to show pride, and look down upon others… They were like two halves of the same coin, she thought dimly – all some sort of demented, maniacal currency, and between Helindra’s death and the public torture of her enemies, Velina had now shown her ‘wealth’ in terms that no one would ever question.

“These two pitiful creatures are the mark of my misguided predecessor. Imagine bringing overgrown children on a hunt! She too believed in a policy of inaction. We all saw what an unfortunate disaster that ended up being, did we not? All her valiant bucks lost… I could barely salvage half of her hunt after I weeded out all of the traitors. Not even her cook could be saved! Such weakness in a huntress! It boggles the mind, does it not?”

So that’s how it's done, Macadamia thought as she half-listened with a quietly simmering bitterness, how to properly imply responsibility for an assassination without admitting guilt.

“Surely, you, my dear, wise sister, would never advocate repeating the mistakes of the past? Perhaps you only meant to say that we should discuss a strategy to defeat this barbarian army so close to our borders before we adjourn?”

The muffled quiet of the camp around them and the gentle crackling of the fire, both normally below the range of comfortable hearing, were as loud in that silence as the approach of a trampling herd.

“Of course, Honored Huntress.” The second woman looked about as comfortable saying that as she might have been chewing gravel. She sat back down, her movements stiff.

Velina smiled. She had won. “Then let us discuss just that, so that we may know what to bring up when the other huntresses arrive…”

Thankfully, neither Macadamia nor Skilla had to endure anything further for the rest of the meeting, but nor were they returned to their tent afterwards. The fire was fed for a while, but as the night grew deeper the commotion died down alongside the flames.

Dinner was brought for Velina and eaten. The two captives were forced to watch with gurgling stomachs, and eventually two more pole-bearers came in with bowls of slop.

Velina nodded. “Very good, you may feed the children.”

Refusing to untie their captives’ hands, the women impatiently fed them one spoonful at a time before callously pouring water down their throats, making Macadamia sputter and cough.

Then Velina and her last attendants left, as the fire died down to glowing embers. Apparently being a huntress entitled her to a private tent as well.

The next day passed with the captives still tied up. Velina continued to conduct business as if the two of them were not there. At some point during the day Macadamia found she could no longer hold back, and interrupted a meeting of some kind by wetting herself. The huntress paid it no mind, but the guests paused in awkward silence until the steady hiss from Macadamia died down.

At some point in the evening, with no one in the tent but the two prisoners, Velina, and one of her pole-bearers, Macadamia felt an awful knot forming in her stomach. No doubt, she decided, the fault of the vile slop they were passing off to her as food. She tried to hide it, unwilling to give Velina further satisfaction from seeing her discomfort, but it became increasingly difficult. She knew the battle was lost when her body started writhing mostly of its own accord.

She let go, but only succeeded in peeing herself again. Her squirming intensified, and she forced herself off of her knees, at first standing, then squatting, then squirming while squatting. The process of moving her joints turned out to be excruciating after dangling from her arms all night as she slept, and she let loose a series of grunts and gasps. How many were from moving her impossibly stiff muscles, and how many from her attempts to loosen her bowels, she did not know.

“Oh, for pity’s sake!” Velina blurted suddenly, snapping her fingers.

Macadamia finally found relief just as the same two pole-bearers who had tortured them the day before returned. Her body began unloading its thick, ropey contents into her diaper while the two women stood over her with stern expressions. She felt her eyes widen in horror as she anticipated another whipping, but could not stop her body from shoving more and more into her diaper. It came out hard at first, then increasingly squishy, as her bulging diaper continued to expand.

Upon seeing her relax her body and sigh softly in evident relief, the women set upon her once more. Had she gone too far? Her muscles tensed in fear, but thankfully this time there was no ‘punishment’. They simply forced her to stand, dropped her diaper, and cleaned her while her soiled garment was taken away.

“The other one too,” Velina said absently, waving a hand rather than turning to look at the proceedings.

One of the women pulled back the waistline of Skilla’s diaper to look. “She’s dry.” Skilla remained motionless, just as she had since the day before. She still rested on her knees, her arms strung up in the air. The whole night had passed without the woman so much as nodding to anyone.

“I refuse to endure these constant interruptions. Honestly! It’s like being back on child rearing duties again…” Velina’s hard gaze bored into Skilla, nearly causing Macadamia to cringe too. “You will go. Now. Or I will have you whipped until you do.”

Skilla said nothing, but a moment later a conspicuous hissing could be heard from her diaper as well, which started turning yellow.

“You see,” Velina said, turning away again and closing her eyes. “Even disobedient children can be taught.”

For such a slight person, Skilla proved to have a robust bladder. Her diaper drank up all it could handle, at which point a small stream of yellow pee began forcing itself out and running down her right leg. Still her spray continued, and her diaper surrendered, releasing a steady waterfall down both her legs.

“Drat. Bring some more charcoal,” one of the pole-bearers instructed the other.

Finally the hissing stopped, and for the first time Skilla moved. She turned her head to look up at the pole-bearer standing before her. She looked at her sagging diaper and the puddle beneath her -rapidly diminishing as the ground absorbed it- then resumed glaring at the other woman for all she was worth.

Skilla, Macadamia had to admit, knew how to glare. Her eyes were round pits of dark, dangerous fire. A threatening flame that promised defiance to her last breath. Macadamia had taken the woman’s prolonged silence as defeat. She now saw the depth of her misjudgement.

Still locked on to the pole-bearer with that fierce gaze, Skilla narrowed her eyes, held her breath, and took on a look of intense concentration and effort. There was a loud, squishy explosion in her diaper, which shuddered and deformed as it was aggressively filled. Then Skilla let loose a too gentle, clearly exaggerated, even downright theatrical sigh, never once looking away.

Somewhere inside, in a place that was not yet broken or in two much pain to care, Macadamia found herself cheering for Skilla. A victory against their captors by either of them, no matter how small, now felt like a victory for them both.

“Soon you will learn how to handle children,” Velina gloated from behind closed lids, having witnessed none of Skilla’s quiet defiance.

The pole-bearer fumed for the space of several breaths, her fists opening and closing, her mouth working but no words coming out. “Why must I be assigned this… duty?” She complained, belatedly adding a sheepish “Huntress” to the end.

“It is important for you to learn certain lessons.”

With no elaboration forthcoming, the pole-bearer turned back to Skilla with a fierce gaze of her own. She took one very deliberate step forward, and then performed a backhand slap across Skilla’s face so vicious that left its victim’s whole body rocking and split her lip wide open.

“A fair start,” Velina commented, still resting her eyes. “Children like these do need a lot of discipline. Now, do something about that smell, will you?”

Skilla was changed, somewhat aggressively but still short of a beating. She was yanked to her feet only to be shoved to the ground when they had the diaper off her. They did not ‘wipe’ her so much as claw at her with towels, her body rocking this way and that under the harsh ministrations. She bore it all in silence, with that same quiet, dangerous look on her round face.

Once again their diapers were, as best as Macadamia could gather, rinsed and wrung out, rather than replaced. Each time this happened the lingering smell of old urine was just a little bit stronger. The cloth in the back was hopelessly stained brown by this point. These people did not know how to properly clean a diaper, and she was actually starting to worry it would become a health problem. At the very least the diapers would not last long under this kind of punishment.

Not that diaper lifetime was their real problem at the moment, she had to admit that.

Another night was to be spent hanging from a wooden beam, or so it seemed at first. Then something unexpected happened. It was late at night. The camp was quiet. A robed shape slipped in between the tent flaps. Both captives lurched awake at the intrusion. It was hard to sleep soundly, Macadamia discovered, being suspended vertically by her arms and with basically every part of her body in constant pain.

Whoever it was, they kept their hood up to hide their face in shadow – hardly necessary with the fire reduced to embers. No one said anything as the figure approached. Skilla had seemingly become a mute, Macadamia was too tired, and in too much pain, to care who it was, and the stranger did not seem to understand the appeal of introductions. Not even after she pulled a knife.

Compared to her pain, the events didn’t seem entirely real. More like a dream. If it had been real, she might have just told the stranger to go ahead and slice her neck open. At least the pain would be over. No, she had to live. She had to keep her promise and come back for Elm. She did not want to live, mind you, but she refused to give herself any other option. It was hard. Her mind kept wanting to find excuses to choose the easier path.

Good thing, then, that it was not up to her. The stranger, rather than stab anyone, proceeded to cut the two captives down, then free their arms and legs.

If Macadamia had thought she felt lethargic before, this was a whole new game. The slightest movement of her arms caused her already stiff, burning shoulders to flare up in blinding pain. Her muscles refused to obey any orders unless she really, truly insisted, and she did not want to insist. It was so much easier just to lie there. Finally horizontal, she could close her eyes and get some real sleep. The cold did not seem important by that point. Her body was used to it, and seldom bothered to shiver anymore – although the lower body temperature made her thoughts sluggish and her muscles even more stiff.

“This is not us,” the stranger said at last. It was a vaguely feminine voice, but mellow and soft as the autumn winds blowing through the trees. “I have always aspired to be a huntress, but this is not what we are. We have lost our way. Please, do not judge us by the actions of a few. You must get away from here. I brought clothes, and I can get you out of the camp. Please. Forgive us.”

Skilla, forever refusing to lie down, had already forced her stiff body to its feet. “Oh, I do,” she said in a voice rough from lack of use. “I forgive you.” With a deftness Macadamia could not believe, Skilla’s hand liberated the knife from its owner and buried it into their chest. It must have been a perfect blow into the heart, for the poor woman lost consciousness almost immediately, falling limply to the ground. “I’m going to thoroughly… forgive… each and every one of you,” Skilla promised in a voice so cold it made the winter around them feel balmy.

“No!” Macadamia tried, but her voice was weak and hoarse. “Why did you do that?”

Rather than answer, Skilla pulled the robe from the dead woman’s body, put it on, and slipped out into the night.

For what seemed like an eternity, Macadamia struggled to get her mind to start thinking, and her body to start moving. Getting the will to move was the hardest part, after that it was just about beating her body into submission with sheer persistence.

Somewhere during the process she noticed the world outside the tent getting lighter. Was it morning already? No. The light was wrong somehow. It was less like the shining of the sun, and more like… the flickering of fire. Soon her ears were bombarded with surprised, often terrified shouts.

She looked down at the body of the woman who had died saving her. Her heart cried out for pity and respect for the dead. Her body cried out for the warm clothes the woman was still wearing. Eventually respect one out – but not by much. She moved to the tent flap, still only in her wrap and diaper, took a deep breath and stepped through, hoping desperately the whole time that her muscles would actually obey if she told them to run.

She didn’t have to. Just outside the tent was a large knapsack. Her knapsack, she realized. Just as the dead woman had promised, it held fresh supplies of all kinds. Including clothes. Before she could even think about it her hands were in the pack, desperately pulling things out and throwing them on the ground until she found one of the robes the women wore. She put it on and nearly cried as she hugged herself, rubbing her arms and taking in the glorious feeling of the thick, warm fabric. There was a hooded cloak in there too, and she put that on with equal vigor.

There was a waterskin, and she poured water into her mouth as if trying to drown herself. Then came the food: delicious fire-roasted nuts, sweet dried berries, dried meat that was actually softer than boot leather! She wolfed it all down as fast as she could, only stopping when she nearly threw up.

Then she crumpled to the ground, gasping in between tears of relief, and sobs of joy. Never before had she truly understood the simple joy of existing without pain or hunger, cold or thirst.

Only then, finally, did she look around properly. No one had paid attention to her, she saw, on account of having far, far bigger problems. Not one but several of the largest tents were on fire. In this camp, but also in some of the neighboring camps. Someone somewhere was shrieking. Macadamia looked to see a woman hovering over another dead body. A crowd of robed pole-bearers gathered near one of the tents. They seemed frozen, as if oblivious to the burning camp around them. “The huntress… the huntress is dead!” someone shouted from inside the tent.

There was no sign of Skilla, and she wondered -in her strange state of mental fog- if she would ever see the woman again, wondered if that would make her happy, or sad.

One of the pole-bearers ran up beside her. “Quickly, you must help, Sister! We must get the fires out!”

Macadamia only stared. Something began to come to life inside of her. A sleeping dragon, feeling itself free of the terror under which she had lived for days, free of the constant, crippling cold and pain, awoke. A dragon called rage.

“No,” she spat. She heard her own cold voice and recognized it as not dissimilar from Skilla’s. She did not care. Let it be cold. Cold as these winter-cursed mountains. “Let it burn. Let this whole, wretched place burn in the pits of the mountain’s fiery heart.” She saw the other woman back away from her, but it did not occur to her to do anything about it. She did not care what that woman did or where she went. “Let it all… just… burn…”

She almost left right then and there, but found herself back in the tent, kneeling before the dead woman instead. “I won’t forget,” she said quietly, not even sure what that meant but wanting to say it. Then she was outside again, slinging her arms through her pack’s straps. She noticed another pack on the other side of the door. It was Elm’s.

Her arms wrapped around it before she had time to think, and she hugged it as if it was the young man himself. “I’m coming.” She bundled the second pack into her arms and got her bearings. The sky above was a huge field of little shining, white flowers. Incomprehensibly large – larger than the endless mountains! How was it that she never before stopped to look at the sky and think, ‘how magnificent’? How was it that no one ever truly appreciated beauty until they believed they would never see it again? Mortality painted the world with a vibrancy unequaled.

It took a while for her sluggish mind to come up with the information she needed, like which direction was which, but finally she set off back down the mountainside. Back to a home that was most likely destroyed. To a man she had promised to rescue, who could easily be dead by now, or moved on without her. To a world she had turned her back on. Towards nothing, and everything.

She no longer felt the pain of loss when she thought about home, only a numb sort of regret. Had it not been for Elm, she might well have turned around with a shrug and headed deeper into the mountains. Let it all burn. No, not yet. One thing left to do. She would find Elm, and she would take him away from this awful, foul world of monsters – be they the human variety, or something else.