RedDeeDee
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Jan 5, 2016
- Posts
- 1,590
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If you didn't know where to look, you would never see her. Of course, even if you knew where to look, you still wouldn't see her. Not in her own world, at least.
Her world was the boreal forests of the North, woods that were covered in snow well into late spring, with the snows returning in the middle of autumn. These particularly woods were inhabited by a race that had many names, but called itself Janarn which translated literally as "The People."
The Janarn were an attractive people, sleek of form, with their soft pelt usually white with spots during all but the short summer months, when it became tawny. Their clothing tended to be simple tunics and trousers, modified to accommodate their tails. They were masters of everything that the forest could provide, including the dyes needed to color their clothes, whether it was to aid them in camouflage when they moved about in the forest, or to help them celebrate their holidays with bright festive colors.
For the most part, the Janarn kept to themselves, though they were known to come to the edge of the forest to trade with ambitious merchants. However, it was a well known truism that anyone who entered the forests of the Janarn without invitation or permission never returned from those dark woods.
At the edge of the forest, one young Janarn maiden was wistfully looking at an empty road that ran along the forest's edge. She was perched in a limb of a tree, looking down on the empty road. And even if someone pointed out where she was perching, chances are that, unless you were another Janarn, you still wouldn't spot her, not in her winter pelt and striped black and white tunic and trouser.
Her name was Nannal, and she was thinking of the last time the merchants had come. For two pelts that were easy to come by (for the Janarn at least), she had received a silver necklace and a box of something sweet called chocolate. She closed her eyes and smiled at the memory of the chocolate. Unfortunately, the first touch of winter had come to her forests, and the merchants would not return until the snows had begun to melt.
Still, Nannal decided, she could dream of spring and everything it meant. With a dreamy smile, she stared down at the empty road from her hiding place, thinking of what she might gain if and when the merchants returned.
If you didn't know where to look, you would never see her. Of course, even if you knew where to look, you still wouldn't see her. Not in her own world, at least.
Her world was the boreal forests of the North, woods that were covered in snow well into late spring, with the snows returning in the middle of autumn. These particularly woods were inhabited by a race that had many names, but called itself Janarn which translated literally as "The People."
The Janarn were an attractive people, sleek of form, with their soft pelt usually white with spots during all but the short summer months, when it became tawny. Their clothing tended to be simple tunics and trousers, modified to accommodate their tails. They were masters of everything that the forest could provide, including the dyes needed to color their clothes, whether it was to aid them in camouflage when they moved about in the forest, or to help them celebrate their holidays with bright festive colors.
For the most part, the Janarn kept to themselves, though they were known to come to the edge of the forest to trade with ambitious merchants. However, it was a well known truism that anyone who entered the forests of the Janarn without invitation or permission never returned from those dark woods.
At the edge of the forest, one young Janarn maiden was wistfully looking at an empty road that ran along the forest's edge. She was perched in a limb of a tree, looking down on the empty road. And even if someone pointed out where she was perching, chances are that, unless you were another Janarn, you still wouldn't spot her, not in her winter pelt and striped black and white tunic and trouser.
Her name was Nannal, and she was thinking of the last time the merchants had come. For two pelts that were easy to come by (for the Janarn at least), she had received a silver necklace and a box of something sweet called chocolate. She closed her eyes and smiled at the memory of the chocolate. Unfortunately, the first touch of winter had come to her forests, and the merchants would not return until the snows had begun to melt.
Still, Nannal decided, she could dream of spring and everything it meant. With a dreamy smile, she stared down at the empty road from her hiding place, thinking of what she might gain if and when the merchants returned.
THE END
