Shadow’s Perspective
It is soft, almost disgustingly weak hands whose hesitant touches pull Shadow from her deep, peaceful sleep.
She immediately senses that these are not the hands of her Savior. No, his touches had been strong, his fingers demanding and exploring.
No one had ever touched her the way he did.
Another wave of lust crashes over her as she remembers the feeling of his thrusts - how he had taken her with brutal passion and shattered every last spark of resistance inside her with his rock-hard manhood.
She never would have thought that defeat could feel so wonderful.
And then…
Only once before had Shadow felt anything even remotely similar.
It was back then, on the snow-covered summit of Mount Kualathau, where the air was so thin that every single icy breath felt like the tip of a spear slicing open her throat.
The pain had been so intense that Shadow had roared. But it is not that pain that reminds her of her Savior.
It is the avalanche that followed her roar. The way she was swept away by the masses of snow and lost all control. The thrill in the face of that overwhelming force of nature.
That was exactly how it had felt to be taken by her Savior. In that moment, where time had no meaning, there was no before and no after. Only their bodies, completely one with each other.
As she writhes in ecstasy, she feels a small gush of his seed spilling from her womanhood.
Her eyes snap open and she finds herself staring into the face of a vixen with colorful hair, who is looking at her nervously.
Shadow is instantly wide awake.
She leaps to her feet and leans forward, ready to pounce on the strange fox. But then she remembers that this creature belongs to her Savior and holds herself back.
He probably wouldn’t want Shadow to hurt her, even though she feels she should finish the vixen off right here and now, before she ever becomes a problem.
Still, she forces herself to relax and takes a step back.
Only now does she notice the several armed figures standing near the vixen.
Shadow grins widely.
Pathetic!
She knows these city-dwellers in their flashy camouflage clothes - creatures with too little honor to hunt with honest weapons, yet always so hesitant when it comes to actually using their pitiful shooting sticks.
Shadow decides to ignore them.
The vixen, however, needs to learn her place.
“He belongs to me!” Shadow makes clear, searching for words the other will understand. “He is my… my man! He lies with me!”
To emphasize her point, she points at her exhausted pussy, still wet with his seed and her own juices.
The vixen looks uncertain.
“Is Adam okay?” she asks carefully. “You didn’t eat him, did you?”
Her words make Shadow burst out laughing.
She laughs so loudly and heartily that the soldiers visibly tense up.
Every further word to these weaklings is wasted time.
Without any further delay, Shadow sprints off.
The soldiers shout something after her, but she ignores them. If these fools want to tell her anything, they should use their weapons instead their empty words, which bounce off her like annoying flies.
Even though Shadow’s hips still feel numb from the passion of her Savior, she runs faster than she ever has in her life. She crashes through bushes and undergrowth like the massive machines of the city-dwellers that flatten her forests to build roads on which they transport their fat bodies in other machines that do all their work for them.
Soon she reaches the place of the clan gathering.
“Where are the drums?” she wonders as she slowly steps toward the warm firelight cast by the torches illuminating the festival square.
As she emerges from the bushes, the absence of music becomes apparent. All across the festival square, the naked and sweaty bodies of the various clan members are writhing. The place looks like one giant anthill.
Carelessly she takes a step forward and stumbles against a whole bundle of women. Only then does Shadow realize that all these bodies are forming a pattern. They have united into one enormous circle, where they are all licking each other.
In the middle of this circle of moaning and sighing bodies, Shadow spots her Savior.
“Adam,” she whispers reverently. Just the sound of his name sends a pleasant shiver through her body.
Naked, firm, and strong, he stands in the center of this spectacle of lust.
He has his back to her, and as she looks past him, she can see the bound milk-givers, their upper bodies trapped in the grid cage that Shadow herself had helped build.
Lined up tightly side by side, only their lower bodies protrude from the cage structure, ready to be impregnated by the seed of her Savior.
Shadow grins.
Ever since she can remember, the milk-givers have stood at the very bottom of the clan hierarchy. They, who have been unable to fulfill their duty for decades, do not deserve to look their Savior in the eyes while he blesses them.
Undoubtedly that will change soon, but for now they are still Chankwa, the useless ones who must be fed by huntresses like Shadow and her kind.
With growing lust, Shadow watches as Adam positions himself in front of the milk-givers while the moaning of the gathered women around them swells into a deafening noise.
Excitedly she circles her Savior, eager to catch a glimpse of his magnificent cock.
What she sees, however, makes her blood run cold.
She growls furiously and bares her teeth.
Of course the false Chosen One, Mina, does not allow her Savior to waste his mighty rod on the inferior holes of the milk-givers.
It is Mina herself who kneels before him, greedily bobbing her head as she sucks the precious seed from the Savior’s cock.
Just as Shadow watches, she has to witness him arch his back and pump his wonderful load into the mouth of the slender cat.
Jealously she watches as the false Chosen One pulls off his cock with a blissful smile and looks up at him with love, her cheeks puffed out.
Boiling rage rises inside Shadow.
What is that look in his eyes?
Affection?
Love?!
Never! Where does this tenderness come from - the way he looks at the cat?
She had felt it herself! The Savior is not gentle! He is hard, wild, and untamed!
He is the jungle. He is life itself!
Under Shadow’s watchful gaze, Mina rises and solemnly steps toward one of the milk-givers, pressing her lips firmly between the legs of the Chankwa.
Now Shadow understands what she is doing. She is spitting the Savior’s seed into the unworthy genitals of the milk-givers to impregnate them without her beloved soiling his rod on them.
A reasonable decision. Shadow would have done the same.
Mina fertilizes about half a dozen of them this way. Only a few, considering how many milk-givers are gathered.
Already Shadow sees Mina kneeling again, happily sucking on her Savior’s cock, which - despite its blessed release - is already proudly rising toward the sky once more.
Shadow will not allow this. The sight makes her own juices boil. Between her legs, that wonderful wetness spreads once more - the wetness that prepares the way only for his magnificent shaft.
Trembling, she steps toward the two of them ...
... and is brutally yanked to the ground in the next moment.
Suddenly a massive tumult erupts. Countless snakes burst hissing from the bushes and overwhelm Shadow, who had been careless, with sheer numbers.
The torches illuminating the square are knocked over, shatter, and fall to the ground, quickly going out. The other clan members, who had been writhing on the ground moments before, now leap up and scatter in all directions.
When the dust settles and Shadow regains her bearings, Adam, her Savior, is gone.
The snakes have taken him.
A terrible, wailing scream tears through the night.
Mina.
The Chosen One kneels over one of the snakes lying motionless on the ground. A bloody dagger glints in her hand, and as Shadow approaches, she can see that the cat’s face is also smeared with dark blood.
In this moment, Shadow feels respect for the graceful beauty for the first time.
She reaches out her hand.
“Tomorrow we will be enemies again,” Shadow says as she helps her to her feet. “But right now, we are hunting companions.”
The Chosen One nods grimly.
Before they set off, Shadow bends down and dips her fingers into the torn throat of the snake lying on the ground.
Then she smears the blood across her forehead and over her breasts.
She nods to the Chosen One, who now does the same, spreading the blood of the slain across her own breasts.
“The hunt calls.”
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