"San!" The man's voice growled out in a rough and ragged tone, more like a snarl than anything else. Given the speaker's identity, that description seemed fitting. "Where the hell are you, woman?"
"Down he-e-ere, Ustal," San sang out, her gaze fixed on her work. "Where else would I be?" The underground dwelling, dubbed her "lair," was damp and dimly lit. The surroundings suited her better than being out in the sunlight. It was nestled within a natural hollow beneath the roots of a sogut tree, with thick earth walls, dark and weighty, crisscrossed by gnarled tree roots that sometimes stretched overhead from wall to wall. Clay bowls filled with bioluminescent lichen hung from convenient spots, casting a soft blue-green glow throughout the earthen chamber.
Accessing the underground sanctuary required navigating hanging vines and descending a set of partially buried boulders resembling steps. Ustal, a massive brute of a man, rarely ventured into her workspace. She could hear grunts and the strain of vines as he made his way down, followed by a heavy thud as he landed on the earthen floor. "You've been down here all night," he growled, his every word a growl.
San didn't turn around. She stood by a flat stone against the dark earthen wall, focused on her task, cutting away with a knife fashioned from black flint. "You made it abundantly clear that you needed more soldiers, so I've been working," she replied, her hands wet as she absentmindedly scratched an itch on her nose with her bicep. Glancing over her shoulder, she greeted him with a welcoming smile and a playful shake of her exposed rear. "Did you miss me?"
Ustal grunted in affirmation. He wasn't a handsome man, with his wide, flat nose and prominent brow. His beady eyes gleamed in the shadows. He was as wide as he was tall, his stocky frame extending from his broad neck down to his flat, bare feet. Coarse black hair covered his body, and his flaccid manhood hung heavily between his legs. "I also came to check on your progress."
"How kind of you," San replied before returning to her cutting. Her work was nearing completion, but sawing with the jagged edge of her knife demanded considerable effort. Crimson stained her fingertips up to her elbows, and splatters adorned her breasts and collarbone. Aside from her bloodied hands, she glistened with sweat, her hair sticking to her face, neck, and back. Her kollik, made of polished black stones, finger bones, and a sharpened flint, swung back and forth against her tanned chest.
She felt, rather than heard, Ustal's heavy footsteps approaching from behind. He loomed over her, a massive, imposing figure, his presence enough to make her knees tremble. He bent down, observing her work, his warm breath caressing her hair. She sensed the weight of his body, the possessive way he pressed against her. "Looks like you're almost finished."
"With three more for the cooking fires," she replied, nodding toward the shadows near the rocks where three lifeless forms lay, awaiting retrieval by Ustal's warriors. "This one..." San grimaced, hacking away at the final resistance. "...is nearly..." A sharp, meaty crack echoed through the air. "...done!" The witch grinned triumphantly, setting her knife aside and lifting her precious prize from the opening she had painstakingly created with sweat, toil, and a considerable amount of blood.
A human heart rested in the cradle of her hands, dripping with the lifeblood its previous owner no longer needed. It filled her small palms, and San could sense the lingering warmth and vitality of its former host—his identity and name were inconsequential to her. "Isn't it exquisite?" she whispered, her words overshadowed by the buzzing of flies in the air.
Ustal grunted once more, his grip tightening on her aching shoulders. He pressed his body against hers, lowering his head, his lips lingering near her ear like a predator taunting its prey. "Impressive work, my dear," he remarked.
"Well, thank you, Papa Bear." Despite being three times her age and considered an elder among the beast tribes of the Wood, Ustal had risen to power and maintained his position through sheer strength and cunning. Some of the bear tribe questioned his decision to mate with an outsider, and San knew she had to keep Ustal completely captivated, regardless of the sacrifices required. Appealing to his vanity and his protective, possessive nature came naturally to her, and she did enjoy his company, to some extent.
Turning around, San carefully placed the heart into a larger bowl, joining three others already immersed in a mixture of fluid and congealed blood. "Once I complete the ritual, we'll have four more invincible warriors for the tribe, bringing us closer to victory, won't we?" She gently freed herself from his grasp, leaving both her lover and the lifeless body behind as she washed herself in a basin of murky water—it had been clear when she began her work.
"Do you need anything else aside from the removal of the bodies?" Ustal had limited knowledge of magic and how it functioned. All he cared about were the results, evident in the gleaming eyes of his soldiers—once enchanted, they became unstoppable, possessing the strength of two or three bear-men combined, and obeying their chieftain's every command. The bear-man chieftain kept the young witch with him because she brought him victories. San harbored no illusions about her worth beyond that, although...perhaps she held some additional value to him.
Turning, allowing him to observe in the pale green light, she cupped handfuls of warm water and poured them over her sleek, naked body. The coolness refreshed her, and Ustal watched intently as the rivulets glided over her breasts, down her abdomen and hips, trickling into the dirt between her toes. Holding up the single horse-tail of hair she had tied behind her back, San displayed it while gently caressing her blood-stained skin, making sure he witnessed every tender touch and stroke, bathing for him without being asked. "I missed you last night," she murmured, lowering her voice to a softer, more vulnerable tone that she knew he preferred. "Will I find you in our den later when I return?"
Ustal's reaction was immediate, unfolding right before her eyes. His breathing hastened, his fingers twitched, and he straightened his posture. The hunger in his gaze was palpable—an unmistakable predator's stare; she suspected his pupils were dilating. His manhood stirred, as if it had a life of its own.
Predictability was Ustal's weakness.
"I missed you too. Rest assured, I'll be waiting for you," he responded, his words laden with anticipation.