I woke up alone in the warmth of the furs spread over our sleeping shelf which was roughly two feet above the floor of the cavern. It was simply a large flat slab of stone which had sheared away from somewhere within the cavern itself during the last great upheaval of the mountains, It was smooth and spacious, it well suited Melete and I for she was...troublesome...most nights. She kicked and clawed, hissed and spat, and cursed, and bit; all of these things she did nearly as well in slumber, as she did during her waking hours. More than once I had retired to the furs, clean and fresh, filled with a good meal, and exhausted from my day; only to wake up very suddenly, with a very angry woman sitting atop my chest with her own razor like claws at my throat, shrieking in a language I didn't understand. Those nights always went one of two ways; good or bad. A good night was waking up peacefully, with her tucked under my arm and held close against my side; with my fingers firmly wrapped into her hair; as a precaution. A bad night, was a bad night; those usually ended with both of us torn, and bleeding, and sore; on different sides of the stream washing ourselves and cursing each other in languages that neither of us understood from the other. One thing I did have to admit though, nights with Melete were NEVER dull.
Melete is a rather exotic creature, sleek and lithe, tawny and dark; a thing of natural beauty which was also naturally dangerous, even at the best of times. Those claws of hers could be lethal, I had witnessed her rip the throat out of a thrall with them. I had seen it, with my own eyes; in an instant she had seized the slave's throat, and in the next, with a vicious yank, most of it was gone; simply torn away. I watched her watch him bleed out at her feet while gasping for air. It was a lesson I did not forget; I remembered very well that she was always well armed with those natural razors of hers. Even though I was well aware of this, nonetheless my flesh bore many of their marks. Her fangs were no less dangerous, only more hidden. She had great teeth, they were clean and sharp, and well she knew how to use them. These too, more than once, had been at my throat. locked savagely onto my windpipe. She was simply a beautiful, and terrifying, bitch.
To say that she had her moments was not a true statement; all moments were her moments; she just simply owned every moment of her life, She wore herself like a warm dry fur around her own shoulders. Stars danced within her eyes. To say Melete was a creature affected by the Moons, would be a gross understatement of the facts. The Moons owned Melete would be a more accurate way to describe it. In her Forest, under those Moons, she was magnificent; she was beautiful; she was sensual; and she was lethal. Often we hunted together, although just as often we hunted separately. I had learned from experience that the best time for me to hunt alone was during that certain phase of the Moons when I was most tempted to kill the woman. Once each Moon cycle, it was just for the best to be elsewhere, out of sight, out of mind, and out of her way. That became my Hunting hand. More than once while creeping away quietly into the darkness before she awoke, I considered rolling a large stone in front of the cavern's mouth and piling slightly smaller stones behind it. The problem with that plan, was returning from the Hunt, to have to move the stones and let her out again. Some things Melete found particularly unfunny, I did not want to be the one looking her in the eyes during her unfunny moments; she owned them too.
To be completely honest about things I should say I enjoyed her most when the three Moons were full; it was at such times that she was her most dangerous, which is exactly what made my blood boil. She was wild and unpredictable, she was in a furious heat, a terrifying frenzy to behold; and more so to take part in with her. Melete was no tamed beast, she was wild and free and magnificent and deadly. That's how I preferred her, she was my mate, and I allowed it; but in all things, great and small, my word was final; mate or not, collar or not, my word was her law; and she knew this. That is why I allowed her to remain free to be Melete, instead of becoming my "sugarplum." I knew she could hurt a man, badly; if not outright killing him. This was part of what I treasured about her, I liked being THAT man. It's fair to say that I got off on the pain and Melete was an endless supply of my favorite addiction. I tormented the woman ceaselessly and rejoiced in the pains she so casually inflicted upon my flesh in her unbridled moments of furious passion. She wrecked my body, my mind and soul. She often left me bleeding and gasping where I lay, more than once her small form had crouched upon the balls of her feet atop my chest, wiggling with satisfaction and confidently licking my blood from her claws. More than once she had crouched at my feet, mewling and licking her own blood from the back of my hand in a most pleasing display of affection.
Some days, her affection knew no bounds. It was after a week of such nights, torn, bloodied, mauled; that I had conceived the notion of what I have come to call Melete's Waterfall; a wicked invention which I devised to torture the girl when her demands for attention well exceeded my supply of energy to provide them. It was on such a day, exhausted and weak, I had lain among the cool green rushes of the stream, hiding from her, trying to sleep; when I had the chance to observe her bathing. It was a glorious sight to behold and a moment of epiphany, the cool flowing water seemed to both excite and soothe her as she washed the tenderness of her intimate secrets. This inspired me to construct for her use a bathing pool of stones formed by stacking them in a ring to contain a slightly deeper reservoir for submerging herself in. The water poured into this ring from a shelf of stone which sat about two feet above it and crossed the entire width of the stream. Here, I stacked more stone to create a dam which would empty powerfully into her pool from a sluice about six inches in width. On both sides of this sluice which formed the outlet of a now thundering current which gushed and swirled as it fell, I placed two larger, heavier stones with strong cordage.
It was here, on her most affectionate days, when sleep was impossible, that I would bind her ankles, and leave her spread eagle upon her back with the delicate petals of her flower positioned beneath the torrential waterfall. I liked to sit with her for ahns at a time in this way, folded upon my knees with her head supported by my thighs as my rough fingers spread her swollen blossom, exposing her trembling pearl to the savagery of the cold lashing tongue of water. I took great pleasure in tormenting her so mercilessly; her wailing was musical upon my ears.
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