Thread: The Exile (muscularguy4F X Saezra)

A pair of young men from the village had found him by the side of the road, just toward the local wood. He was badly wounded, as far as they could see, and completely unconscious. They had brought him right to her. She had been sitting in a chair on the veranda at the time, sewing. When she heard them shouting, she knew something had happened. Her healing skills had been in demand recently, after all. She rose from her seat, ushering the men and their cargo inside. Ever since the Great Betrayer had seized the capitol, things like this seemed to be happening with worrying regularity. Still, she tried not to think about that. The capitol was far away, and there was plenty more immediate things to worry about. The man's wounds were severe, she worked on him for hours on the night she received him, going to bed herself only when he was stabilised. Not that she resented such effort of course. She was a priestess of Mercy, the goddess of healing, kindness and purity. This was the work she'd been born to do. A few days had passed since then, with no sign of her guest stirring. Even if he wasn't responsive, however, she was happy for the company, it got lonely in her small chapel. She'd been sent here when she was sixteen, her temple-academy training complete. Her role now was to maintain a small chapel on her own, a life of quiet contemplation. It had been three years since then, and the four rooms of her modest shrine often seemed unbearably small. It wasn't often, as such, that she got visitors. Particularly men. And even rarer men like this. He seemed older to the priestess, perhaps as much as twice her age. He was solid, rugged, handsome. She felt a little flutter in her chest when she leant down to tend to his wounds, or listened to the powerful, rythmic thump of his heartbeat. It wasn't long before she had impure thoughts. She of course tried all the temple doctrine. Cold water, rest, prayer, a slap on the back of her hand every time such a thought arose. If anything the last one only made it worse. Quite subconsciously, she found herself putting more of an effort into her appearance. She had always kept herself free of body hair of course, that was doctrine, but now, when she went for groceries in the village, she picked up a little bit of lip rouge. The grocer had offered her a cheeky smile Aiming for a man, are we good sister? she'd winked I thought you priestesses weren't supposed to do such things?. The priestess had gone bright red at that, and hurriedly garbled an excuse about needing the make-up for medicine. The grocer just laughed and winked again, and the girl fled back to her chapel, red faced and embarrassed. Things had only gotten worse from there. She knew she'd have to wash him some how, for the purposes of hygiene, otherwise infection was far more likely. She'd held off though, worrying about what it might lead her to do. After four days though, she knew it could wait no longer. She brought a wet sponge to the bed, and undressed what clothes she had not already had to remove. Her hands trembled as she did so, her cheeks flushed, and she could feel her timid heart thundering in her chest, in her ears even. She ran her small hands across his broad torso and felt a thrill shuddering through her. She has paused a long moment, before steeling herself. Then, she gently began to scrub him clean, starting with the shoulders, and then tending to every part she could, other than the groin. When it came to this place, she hesitated, but the desire was overwhelming. Besides...it was for the sake of his hygiene. She removed a towel she had quickly placed over him there, then stared for a long moment. She had seen such things before, in some anatomical books, and once when a young man from the village had hurt his upper thigh. She did not know they could get quite so big however. Her cheeks felt holt again. She quickly covered him up and fled, moving from the infirmary to her own room. She brought herself to release three times that night. The High Priestess had warned her of such times. Self pleasure was a sin, she had said, but sometimes a lesser sin is required to prevent a greater one. It was morning now. A pale winter light spilled through the frosted windows of the small shrine. The young priestess stood in front of the infirmaries door, holding some fresh bandages and some water. She did her best to surpress her nerves, and the butterflies in her stomach, before gently, cautiously, pushing the door open. When she entered, she screamed in surprise, and dropped what she was carrying. After all, she has not been expecting the figure in the bed to be sitting up.