faded blue jeans which were a couple of sizes too big, held to his waist by an old yellow belt, and a creased, candy striped shirt. Hans had laughed heartily when Devon had asked for an iron.
Even in the Kirslar mountains the weather was warm and Devon buttoned his shirt down a couple of notches. He looked around. Hans was right, it was beautiful there. Purple mountains disappeared into bands of soft white cloud above and below they melted into a carpet of long, lush green grass sprinkled with tiny alpine flowers. In the distance, he could see a body of water, the Gowan Sea, and a thick peppering of glossy white hotel buildings.
Since Hans had not lied to him thus far, Devon approached the mouth of the cave which had been pointed out. As he got closer, he heard the click of a bevy of rifles and saw they were all trained upon his person. He put up his hands, not sure if that was the right thing to do, but he had seen a couple of movies. Several men with long, straggly hair and unkempt beards ordered him inside and prodded him with their weapons. Inside the cave, it was much cooler and something dripped on him from a stalactite. Devon had hoped to be spending the night somewhere warm, preferably with a Jacuzzi, but decided he was probably not going to get it that night at least.
However, after squeezing through a maze of dank, awkward, rocky passages, the space opened up and things improved. Torches made from bulrushes crackled welcomingly and more people crowded round, making way for the entrance of an extremely tall, blond, tremendously handsome male with piercing blue eyes which practically lit up the cave.
Devon put forward his hand. “My name is Devon. I’ve been sent by Hans and Brandana. They said you were a friend.”
The attractive man studied Devon for a moment before returning the handshake with his warm grasp. “Dylan Thorn. Good to meet you. What do you want here in Kirslar?”
“A new life would do pretty nicely.”
“Elucidate,” Thorn wanted a quick explanation.
“I escaped from Irella with Brandana. Now her and Hans have gone off to somewhere on Jendo in a cruiser he took from a Ratt Pirate to continue their crusade. He said I would be better off somewhere else.”
Thorn began to laugh “Sounds perfectly feasible knowing their history. Well, Devon, let us break some bread together and we can be friends. Follow me.”
Devon followed Thorn into another cave where a long stone table carved upwards from the floor was set for a feast. About twenty people sat around it on cushions fashioned from scraps of hide, roughly stitched and stuffed with springy, dried grass and soft feathers. Upon the table were two spit roasted antelope, now laid low upon the stone, from which the diners cut or pulled their portions by eager hands. Several red hot stone platters cooked fish upon them, fish with fearsome looks, needle sharp teeth and dead eyes. Char-grilled vegetables were loaded into stone containers, blackened where they had sat upon the hot coals. Plates, bowls and cutlery, roughly hewn from wood, were available to use all around the table, creating a friendly atmosphere of sharing.
* * * *
Dylan Thorn’s entrance caused a respectful hush but he was a modest man and simply smiled, offering Devon a cushion next to him. As he ripped off slices of succulent, pink antelope meat, he could not help but examine Devon. For many years, he had been straight, excepting a one off night at a post school party, but the new stranger was awakening long suppressed feelings. He could not help but imagine feeding the meat to Devon, pushing it into his mouth past his pretty lips the way he would like to slide his own intimate parts in there.
“Meat?” Thorn asked and put a few slices gently onto Devon’s plate. “Help yourself to anything else. So, Devon, how are Hans and Brandana? I haven’t seen them for a while, especially Brandana of course. It’s good to know she’s back around.”
“Well. They
Even in the Kirslar mountains the weather was warm and Devon buttoned his shirt down a couple of notches. He looked around. Hans was right, it was beautiful there. Purple mountains disappeared into bands of soft white cloud above and below they melted into a carpet of long, lush green grass sprinkled with tiny alpine flowers. In the distance, he could see a body of water, the Gowan Sea, and a thick peppering of glossy white hotel buildings.
Since Hans had not lied to him thus far, Devon approached the mouth of the cave which had been pointed out. As he got closer, he heard the click of a bevy of rifles and saw they were all trained upon his person. He put up his hands, not sure if that was the right thing to do, but he had seen a couple of movies. Several men with long, straggly hair and unkempt beards ordered him inside and prodded him with their weapons. Inside the cave, it was much cooler and something dripped on him from a stalactite. Devon had hoped to be spending the night somewhere warm, preferably with a Jacuzzi, but decided he was probably not going to get it that night at least.
However, after squeezing through a maze of dank, awkward, rocky passages, the space opened up and things improved. Torches made from bulrushes crackled welcomingly and more people crowded round, making way for the entrance of an extremely tall, blond, tremendously handsome male with piercing blue eyes which practically lit up the cave.
Devon put forward his hand. “My name is Devon. I’ve been sent by Hans and Brandana. They said you were a friend.”
The attractive man studied Devon for a moment before returning the handshake with his warm grasp. “Dylan Thorn. Good to meet you. What do you want here in Kirslar?”
“A new life would do pretty nicely.”
“Elucidate,” Thorn wanted a quick explanation.
“I escaped from Irella with Brandana. Now her and Hans have gone off to somewhere on Jendo in a cruiser he took from a Ratt Pirate to continue their crusade. He said I would be better off somewhere else.”
Thorn began to laugh “Sounds perfectly feasible knowing their history. Well, Devon, let us break some bread together and we can be friends. Follow me.”
Devon followed Thorn into another cave where a long stone table carved upwards from the floor was set for a feast. About twenty people sat around it on cushions fashioned from scraps of hide, roughly stitched and stuffed with springy, dried grass and soft feathers. Upon the table were two spit roasted antelope, now laid low upon the stone, from which the diners cut or pulled their portions by eager hands. Several red hot stone platters cooked fish upon them, fish with fearsome looks, needle sharp teeth and dead eyes. Char-grilled vegetables were loaded into stone containers, blackened where they had sat upon the hot coals. Plates, bowls and cutlery, roughly hewn from wood, were available to use all around the table, creating a friendly atmosphere of sharing.
* * * *
Dylan Thorn’s entrance caused a respectful hush but he was a modest man and simply smiled, offering Devon a cushion next to him. As he ripped off slices of succulent, pink antelope meat, he could not help but examine Devon. For many years, he had been straight, excepting a one off night at a post school party, but the new stranger was awakening long suppressed feelings. He could not help but imagine feeding the meat to Devon, pushing it into his mouth past his pretty lips the way he would like to slide his own intimate parts in there.
“Meat?” Thorn asked and put a few slices gently onto Devon’s plate. “Help yourself to anything else. So, Devon, how are Hans and Brandana? I haven’t seen them for a while, especially Brandana of course. It’s good to know she’s back around.”
“Well. They
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