“You haven’t gone hunting?” the woman named Khatru, Andres still couldn’t believe he was speaking to his homeland’s namesake, said casually leaning her bow against a log.

“I never learned. Only learned to catch and clean fish,” Thyrth’s traveler confessed, gesturing to a flat stump he’d been using to fillet his dinner.

“And here I thought there were no rabbits in these woods,” Khatru said, smiling coyly and removed her quiver to sit by the cookfire. “You’ve subsisted on fish alone? Tell me you at least know what’s well to eat in the forest?” Andres chuckled at that.

“Barely, you should’ve seen me. I picked some red caps to roast, I peed out of my ass for a week,” he jested, and Khatru slipped into laughter.

“You’re disgusting Canus!” She was holding her hands to her stomach.

They worked to make a meal for two while the clouds ran overhead.

“Where did you get the kettle?” Khatru asked, sipping from a crude ceramic cup. It was after the meal and “Canus” had prepared spearmint and rosemary tea. He knew those were edible.  

“I mugged someone on the road,” the nomad artificer said dryly.

“I don’t believe you for a second,” she said smiling at him. Nighttime was closing in around their campfire.

“I traded some gold I had on me for it and the cups, I can’t get up in the morning without something hot to drink,” he poured himself one.

While Canus halved more logs for the fire, Khatru excused herself to the privacy of the woods. When she returned, she joined him on his side of the fire.

“What’s your home like?” She intoned. She’d accurately placed him as a foreigner.

“I’m from the desert. Apparently a nomadic tribe wandered the drylands for years until they ran into Daedalus, they built my village around his Workshop,” Canus made a popping sound as if to say: and there we were.

“Did you know Daedalus?”

“I did, he built these giants out of stone that rebelled against him. I helped him destroy them, and he taught me his artificer knowledge.”

“I’m not surprised, that sounds like him,”

“What’s your home like?” Canus asked. Khatru was leaning against him.

“My home was destroyed by witches,” the huntress replied, looked up at him for his reaction.

“Were you there for the… witching,” Canus chose to speak lightly. In the firelight he saw her subtle smile.

“No, barely. I was a child and unconscious, my father toted me out of Thetasaatva. Though, not before we were cursed for being survivors.” She raised a hand in a spooky gesture, and she felt Canus’s diaphragm move as he chuckled.

“Curses come and go,” he said.

The fire snapped, spent logs fell into the coals.

“What are you here to do, Canus?” She asked.

“A job, I’m cursed until its done,” he answered. She hummed in acknowledgement, she told him she was heading north in the morning, another “job” needing done.

“Canus is an odd name,” she said, bringing her legs in.

“Its not mine. It’s a… name I was given to use during my time here. My real name…” he told her his real name. Her eyes reflected sparks.

“That one is even stranger,” she said. She looked at him intently. His face and hands were scrubbed clean with a rag he slung over a branch, was he returning her stare?

“I head east in the morning,” the nomad artificer said. He noticed her watching his lips as he spoke. Her left palm was pressed to the ground, her fingers drew in a clump of dirt, thenreleased it.

“Do you want to… share each other, Andres?” There was sheepish courage in the words. Andres’s heart thumped. Her tunic was partially unlaced, her throat rippled.

Nervous?

“I…”

“Is there someone back home? Waiting?” The question was timid. Her skin was golden in the firelight.

“I don’t think so, I think she’s still figuring out what she thinks of me,” before he could get the last of the words out, Khatru’s mouth found his.

The night went still.

Their kiss held until it was parted by the two smiling in unison. They laughed softy.

“You’ve convinced me,” he said.  

They shared in each other’s bodies.

Andres unlaced and removed his shirt, they continued kissing while Khatru’s nails drew down his chest. He helped her with her boots. The forest heard their joyfulness.

He worked his tongue in her, clutching her thighs as she hummed through firmly pressed lips, in tune with his movement. She ran fingers through his hair and grasped at the back of his head as he had her.

Khatru revealed herself to him, her bronze complexion glittered as she sat atop him. They rocked, held each other tight, tumbled in their bedrolls as the ecstasy took them. Andres’s low growls echoed in the nighttime stillness.

In a moment of rest they lay tangled, Khatru was giggling while Andres repeated himself.

“No no, when you’re blessing yourself it’s Tengao Suerte. When you bless another, you say Tiana Suerte,” He explained with half-held rumbles of humor. She traced the markings on his body. Her dark hair pooled around her bodice; she was stunning.

“If you were trained by Daedalus, does that make you a bad man?” Khatru’s namesake asked, there was no judgement in it.

“I don’t know, you tell me witch-girl,” at that Khatru pinched Andres’s thigh with a toe.

“Ow!”

“Come here, artificer.”

/ / /

The morning was unexpected and bright. Andres’s eyes opened, and for a breath he observed the canopy of trees above him, swaying. He sat up. The fire was dashed, the kettle was re-set on the iron stove.

Khatru was gone.

He rubbed his eyes and took in other observations. Her bedroll and other possessions were collected. Reighleif still lay impacted in a stump a few paces away from camp. Nothing of his seemed to be missing.

Ha.

He hiked on his trousers and laced his shirtsleeves. Scrubbing his mouth with baking soda he discovered his writing pack was open. The brush hanging out of the corner of his mouth, Andres rotated the pack to see something new was written:

Andres “Canus” of Buena Suerte

I go now to the north; I’m meeting some allies to end a conflict that’s gone on for long enough.

You shared your fire, your company, and your affection with me, I can only bless for your journey east to go well, as well. Ha!

Enjoy something hot to drink this morning,

Tiana Suerte,

Khatru of Hemish.

Andres took the brush out of his mouth and reread the letter again and again.

“Hot to drink?” Andres intoned and turned to the kettle. He opened the lid precariously, inside lay an amount of dark brown powder.

Kava.

“Oh my god, Khatru you lovely woman.”

Andres, Canus once more, resolved to see the cursed huntress’s exploits survived the churn of time.