The three moons of Gor hung above the forest that night, pale and watchful through the breaks in the canopy, their light silvering the tops of the ancient trees and laying long shadows across the ground before the cave. Outside the mouth of the cavern, a smaller fire burned low beneath the crude iron pot, its heat slowly rendering the animal fat she had collected for tallow candles. The scent of melting fat mingled with woodsmoke and the deeper, green scent of the forest. The tallow would need to simmer for a couple more ahns before it was ready, and there was little left for her to do but watch it. She stood beside the fire, barefoot upon the earth, then glanced toward the cave.
Scar was there.
He sat within the cavern near its own fire, his large form partly illuminated by the flames and partly swallowed by shadow. He neither called to her nor moved toward her. He simply remained there, and somehow the knowledge of his presence made the warmth of the night seem to settle more deeply against her skin.
She looked away and began to dance. At first, her movements were slow, almost languid. One delicate ankle crossed before the other, her bare foot turning gracefully upon the earth as her supple thigh shifted beneath the dark material of her clothing. She lowered herself toward the ground, then rose in one smooth motion, her body following the rhythm of the flames. Her long dark hair swept around her as she turned, revealing and concealing her face by turns. The firelight played across the generous curves of her figure, tracing the fullness of her breasts as she moved, the graceful narrowing of her waist, and the rounded fullness of her hips and rump.
It was not the dance of a city slave trained for the amusement of men. It was the dance of a Panther Girl beneath the open sky. There was something wild in it, something that belonged to the forest rather than civilization. She moved with the instinctive grace of the predator, crouching low before rising again, her supple thighs flexing beneath her as she shifted her weight. Her hips rolled subtly with each step, her rounded hips following the movement naturally, while her arms swept outward and then drew inward against her body. She seemed to become part of the fire itself—warm, restless, beautiful, and impossible to hold still.
And all the while, she remained aware of the cave. Of him.
She did not look directly toward Scar at first. Instead, she allowed herself only fleeting glimpses, catching his silhouette between turns. Each time she saw him there, something tightened low within her, and the next movement became just a little slower. Just a little more deliberate. Her shoulders rolled gently as she turned, her breasts rising and falling with the deeper rhythm of her breathing. She sank into another crouch, her thighs taut beneath her, then rose slowly, letting the movement travel through her hips and along the length of her body.
Perhaps he was watching.
Perhaps he was not.
She would not know.
That uncertainty made the dance strangely sweeter.
She spun again, her hair flying outward, then stopped with one foot poised lightly against the earth. For a heartbeat she stood perfectly still, her chest rising beneath the exertion, before beginning another slow circle around the fire. Her movements had become less like a dance she had chosen and more like something the forest itself had coaxed from her. She was Panther Girl, hunter, woman of the wild places, and yet there was a softness in her now that had not been there before Scar had entered the deepest places of her thoughts.
She danced until the fire seemed to pulse with her, until the three moons had climbed higher above the trees and her breathing had grown heavy. Finally, she slowed. One last turn brought her facing the cave, her hair falling around her shoulders, her body warm from the dance and gleaming faintly in the firelight. She stood there for a couple of ehn, panting softly, her chest rising and falling as she tried to regain her breath. Her gaze lingered upon the dark mouth of the cave where Scar remained beside his fire.
She said nothing.
Then her eyes dropped toward the tallow. It still simmered quietly over the flames, the golden liquid moving slowly beneath the surface, needing a couple more ahns yet.
Melete watched it for a moment, then lifted her eyes toward the cave once more. Her breathing was still uneven, and the heat of the dance lingered upon her skin. She knew Scar was there, and the knowledge sent a final shiver through her. She held his distant silhouette in her gaze for one lingering heartbeat, then turned from the fire. Slowly, deliberately, she began walking toward the cave, each unhurried step carrying her closer to the firelight where he sat, leaving the simmering tallow glowing behind her beneath the three moons.
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