Where Wine Runs (Closed to Sinister)

[Obuzeti]

The town of Sibenik, on the Adriatic coast; a sleepy harbor town shielded from the wrath of the ocean by an archipelago of small islands, each a tiny world unto its own. Here, soft salt winds brushed across the vinyards, planted deep in old volcanic soil, as families tended the small farms they had lived upon for generations.

It is that time of year again: the Satyr's March.

Heard from a considerable distance, it is a jangling tune of woodwinds and chimes. They come every year as the grapes grow fat on the vine, lured by the scent of ripe wine and berry, bearing their own gifts of trade in delicate wooden instruments, herbs for folk remedies and tinctures, and the softest furs imaginable. Always coming in an even dozen, the satyrs also bear similar looks - tall, broad men with inky black hair and teeth white as fresh snow, wreathed in ivy.

This time a true giant strides among them, an olive-skinned monolith with a booming, ready laugh and rare crinkling blue eyes. A white woolen vest and snug pants lies atop a brawny body, but he bothers not with other clothing, heated from within by spring; he sits among the trade stand and trades stories with whoever comes.

"Obuzeti!" he answers, his rolling baritone echoing about the marketplace, bowing grandly to a brave farmsman inquiring after his name, his teeth flickering like a sliver of moonlight in the darkness of his hair tumbling down his face. "It is what I am called, whether it be early morning or too late in the evening. Scoundrel, sometimes too, but enough of family, da?"

 

[SinisterSpiders]

Sanja sighed as she stepped outside the bustling taverna. The tangy ocean breeze danced past her, flirting with her tawny blonde hair as her feet padded along the well trodden path to the road.

It was so nice to be away from the rush of the tavern. It was only early in the day but the large main room of her parent's business was already buzzing with patrons. There was a reason of course, and it had nothing to do with Sanja's sudden need to go to town and get some more spices. Her trip could have waited until the morning, but with the sky clear blue and the smell of spring in the air she couldn't resist.

It was all about the spices. The Satyr's March had nothing to do with it.

Or so Sanja told herself.

She took her time on her walk, her eyes running lovingly over the greens and reds of her family's vinyard. The estate had been in her family for generations. Her uncle and his wife had taken possession of the vinyard and farm, and her father and mother opted to work the taverna that was on the border of the estate that sidled along the town. It wasn't an ideal position so far as normal business went; the true drunkards and revelers would bury themselves in one of the tavernas by the market, but her parents provided something different. Genuinely good food, quality ale and wine from the family's very own estate.

Sanja's eyes widened as she rounded the corner that led to the marketplace. She looked around, taking in the sights before her, familiar yet oddly not so. She knew all the townsfolk by heart now, so as they walked past exchanging hushed gossip she felt right at home. The change that was drawing her attention though, was the Satyrs. Now there was something she hadn't seen before. It was the first time her parents had let her out of their sight on the day of the March, and she figured it had to do with the fact that their kitchen hand Sara had gone home ill. They were too busy to check her claim that she needed more herbs, and they wanted her gone and back before they had to begin preparations for the evening rush.

Stopping at the spice trader's stall, Sanja gave the elderly man a bright smile as she explained what she needed. He listened as patiently as always and went about preparing her order. As he did her eyes were drawn to the line of Satyr. Twelve in all, wrapped in ivy and vests, wearing smiles of spring and speaking in voices full of merriment. They had their own wares displayed before them as they conversed with the townsfolk and spread their cheer and spritely enthusiasm. One of them caught her eye, tall and bronzed, with a laugh that shook her very soul.

"You'd best be wary of them," warned the spice merchant, Sanja turned back to him, her eyebrows raised in question. "They have a reputation you know."

Sanja knew.

"Yes, so I've heard," she said with a vague flip of her hand. "Business slow today?" She asked, looking at the full table before him.

"Of course, though it is to be expected. Even I can't compete with the patrons of spring," he grumbled under his breath. Sanja laughed and patted his hand as he held out her parcel to her. She took it and gave him some coin in return.

"They won't be here for long, soon you will once more be the king of all that is exotic," she said before turning.

She was going to go home them, her responsibilities tugging at her like an invisible string... but that laughter, that jovial voice. She turned back one more time to look at the Satyr, at the creatures that embodied new life, fertility, the warmth after the freezing bite of winter.

 

[Obuzeti]

The tallest Satyr catches her eye for but a moment, those wellsprings crinkling bright. He smiles at her, the confident curl of his lips telling a private joke between them for just a moment. Then he turns to another trader and hefts a long gunjac in one hand, unbothered by the awkward weight of it.

"I know you are no fool, yes?" He says, inclining his head towards the other man. "Saraman, we have done business before. We have done business now - three barrels of your finest wines yet. You have been an honorable man. And so I bring you this."

He sets the stringed instrument across his lap and strokes one thread reverently with a finger. The resulting basso hum reverberates through the air as it echoes inside the wooden body, multiplying upon itself. The faint murmur of conversation dies momentarily at the note, though it soon picks back up afterwards; art is art, but business is always business.

"Usually, we make these from cedar, maple, or oak. Common woods; good, but common. But an honorable man should have better, yes? He is not a common man." Obuzeti says, lifting the gunjac in both hands, then offering it to Saraman. "This is oskoruša wood, taken without steel by moonlight. It could sing stars from the sky in the hands of a master."

His smile is both fond and slightly cheeky. "You are no master. Not yet. But I expect to see a shooting star someday soon. Take it with pride, Saraman."

Saraman exhales a harsh breath, the spell breaking between them, as he recieves the instrument from his Satyr friend. "It's - uh. An honor. I wish I had better words to say. I wish I knew what to say, to thank you properly."

"Don't!" Obuzeti laughs, waving out at the marketplace with an arm. "Play! Music is for everyone!"

Saraman chuckles too, his eyes warming, and he sets to playing the fine instrument, weaving a giddy, meandering tune that pipes and plays with the wind. The Satyr nods approvingly and stands, his duty evidently done, before he meanders out across the marketplace. His simple size marks him out among the crowd, standing a full head above them, and broader besides; thus, his path to the young maiden is cleared for him easily.

He stops three steps away, the polite distance of a Croat gentleman, but his jovial smile is far more intimate. "Dobro večer, young miss. Do I, perhaps, meet your approval?"

The wind rustles across his cloth vest, fluttering it against his skin in the cool evening air. This close, the faint drops of sweat sliding down his rippled, rugged bare skin are visible from their incredible body temperature, lit from within.

 

[SinisterSpiders]

Sanja had been about to turn away, start her journey home, but then the largest of the Satyr's turned his face to hers. His eyes, deep and glistening with merriment, caught hers and she was trapped, the breath knocked from her as her cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. It was but a moment, a shared snatch of a smile, before he returned to his business.

But it was enough to keep Sanja transfixed.

She knew it was rude to stare, she knew that people were grunting in annoyance that she had stopped still in the main thoroughfare. She knew, but she dared not move. The satyr had her full attention. She watched as he handed Saraman a gunjac. After a merry conversation and a profuse gush of gratitude, Saraman strummed it. The sound set Sanja's body a tingle and she smiled dreamily, listening to the tune and the very clarity of the instrument. She had heard Saraman play before, but she had never thought him capable of such enchanting strains. Her eyes roved over the fine surface of the gunjac, appreciating the masterful creation, wishing she had even a shred of musical talent.

Then he stood. That satyr, the largest, the one that was the very embodiment of the all of the tales she had heard of his kind. He moved through the crowd, the people parting like a stream before him, and it wasn't until he was a few steps from Sanja that she realised he had come for her.

And then he spoke.

His voice roused something deep within her, something primal. Her skin tingled as her face flushed. It took her a moment to truly hear his words and when she did she had to stop herself from spluttering her response. So Sanja took a quick steadying breath, gave a little curtsy and dipped her head. She looked up at him through her lashes, unable to concentrate when her full view took in his radiant skin, beaded with sweat. She could feel the warmth coming from him and was drawn to it like a moth to flame.

"Drago mi je, kind sir," She said, raising from her curtsy. She lifted her chin, and looked at him, into his eyes, ignoring the way the wind played with his vest, tempting her to lower her gaze. "I did not mean to be rude, to stare." She added with a small apologetic smile.

 

[Obuzeti]

"I did not think it rude." Obuzeti replies, and brushes the apology with the genial wave of one hand. This close, the rings and calluses of his skin are visible; unlike humans, satyr hands are inlaid like scrollwork, the whorls and indents deeper and more defined. Like stained glass, each body tells a story, and from the complicated and spiraling patterns, this one bears an impressive story indeed. "I found it a compliment. I come to thank you, little miss, because your curiosity is honest, and not tempered by fear."

The massive satyr taps his fingers against his chest - producing a thumming tok - and gestures out and about the marketplace, at all the people still moving in wide circles about him, even as he stands still in the busiest part and the busiest time of the market. "This; this distance, this is not what I wish. The maenads play their mad games, and the fauns have their festivals deep in the cowled woods. Satyrs, though, ever have we been closer to men, and I would not see us seperated by suspicion and distrust."

Obuzeti's head tilts, offering a shaded, sly tilt of a smile. "Closer to women, too. Which may, I understand, be part of the problem."

He does not laugh this time, but the warm rumbling of his voice surely states it.

"You have questions." he says, and strides past the young woman, gesturing her to follow as he begins to walk the market circuit, past each stall in turn. His pace is slow and ambling, easy for her to follow. "And I will answer. Ask, and satisfy your curiosity, good maiden. I am Obuzeti, and I am many things, but none of them are not your friend this day."

 

[SinisterSpiders]

Obuzeti's voice ran through Sanja's body like mulled wine; sweet, smooth and potent. She was relieved that he wasn't offended by her staring, and now that he was closer she found even more that she wanted to look at. Every part of him held some sort of wonder to her, and she had to make a very conscious effort to keep her attention on his words.

His insinuation about the Satyr's closeness to women made her blush and she knew what he said was true. Her people loved the Satyr for the exotic wares they brought, as well as the mixing up of their boring repetitive lives. Though the one thing they didn't like was having the beings show interest in their women. It was the exact reason that Sanja's parents hadn't wanted her in town when the Satyr's March occurred.

Sanja fell into step beside Obuzeti, wanting to listen to him speak for as long as humanly possible. He offered her answers, but she simply couldn't sift through the mass of questions in her mind to pick just one.

She looked back over her shoulder at the other Satyr's that were still conducting their business in the marketplace. All male.

"Why is it that only your males venture on the March?" She asked.

 

[Obuzeti]

"We are sons of Dionysius, or Dion, or sometimes Denis, depending on the land in which he is spoken of." Obuzeti says, slowing to take an apple from a farmer's stand. The apple looks tiny and delicate in his enormous hands, not even covering the breadth of his palm, but his care with the fruit prevents it from bruising as he checks for signs of spoilage. "There are no female satyrs. The male aspect is bound to the sun, to growth, music, and protection, which is why we all share a similar visage."

The satyr reaches into his pocket, and places a banovac on the counter with a faint clink, thanking the farmer for his produce as he takes another apple. The currency, although somewhat antiquidated, is still minted of good silver. The farmer accepts it with nothing more than a curious look.

Offering the other apple to his companion, Obuzeti takes a bite out of his out. A muted crunch and a pleased hum herald his approval. "Women who serve Dionysius take on the aspect of the moon, follow Artemis's path, and frequently become maenads. Their province is knowledge and madness, and terrible strength. They do not share their secret rites, and do not venture from their mountains."

He shrugs, a movement like a mountain range collapsing. "Truth be told, the only time a satyr sees a woman is when a trade caravan comes to see us, or we go on the March. They often argue about who should go." A flickering smile crosses Obuzeti's mouth, like heat lightning, of a good memory he recalls.

 

[SinisterSpiders]

No female Satyrs? That was news to Sanja. Even though so many of the townsfolk were superstitious and had an almost instinctive knowledge of their folk lore, Sanja's family were of a more practical ilk. She listened with unabashed interest as Obuzeti spoke, going into details about the maenads and the rare conditions in which his kind got to see females. She understood then, how they came to have their reputation.

Sanja took the apple with a smile of thanks, catching his eye as he explained how the Satyrs often argued about who would be allowed to go. Considering that it may well be their only chance to see women folk, and that they were very much associated with the wild and fertile aspects of nature and humanity, she imagined it would be a very competitive time for them.

"So how do you decide?" She asked, taking a bite of the apple he had given her and humming in appreciation, just as he had. It was sweet, juicy and ripe. She looked back at the others in the pile he had taken it from, and none looked near as appealing as the one she had. She held it a little more firmly as she eyed him. She wondered if everything took on a more natural sweetness when he touched it.

 

[Obuzeti]

"Some make instruments, others songs." Obuzeti says with another Gallic shrug. He seems very nearly disinterested in the process. "Some venture into the deepest valleys and caves in search of herbs of ancient power. Some wrestle for it, and then brag of their prowess when they reach the town. I've heard that one spot is even gambled upon. Truth be told, I know little of how they decide the other eleven spots."

He glances at the other satyrs, almost fondly. "It is not a struggle I face, anymore. If we go to man's realm, so do I. I am their ambassador in this matter."

 

[SinisterSpiders]

So the bright, alluring satyr beside her was the ambassador? Sanja could understand that, though she felt truly sorry for anyone who had to treat with him; she knew she wouldn't be able to say no to his charm.

"It sounds like you hold a very coveted position," Sanja said. She looked up at him but stumbled on an uneven cobble, the packet of herbs she had been holding fell to the ground, the fabric they were wrapped in coming unraveled and spilling her purchases.

"Oh my!" She gasped, stooping over to sweep them up immediately, but before she could a pair of running feet trampled them. "No!" She cried, eyes following the retreating back and then returning to the herbs. With a frown she scooped the crushed things back into the fabric and got to her feet. Her parents would be so angry. She looked up at Obuzeti, cheeks flushed and eyes full of embarrassment at her clumsiness. She quickly shoved the crushed herbs into her apron pocket.

"I'm sorry Sir, I should probably go. I've dallied too long..." Her words trailed off as she wiped her palms against her skirt. She didn't want to go, not really, she felt as though she could spend the whole day strolling and talking with him.

 

[Obuzeti]

Obuzeti smiles, a certain wryness in his eyes. "Were all men and women so easy to treat with as you, that would likely be so."

Then she trips, and her produce and purchases ruined; when she stashes the ruined plants in her pockets, the larger satyr merely shakes his head amusedly, and reaches in to pick them back out, his large fingers unbelievably deft in contrast to their size. He wraps the herb parce lin both of his palms, and blows between them, the air shimmering with heat and water and something else undefinable; and when he opens them again, the plant is hale and hearty once more.

"This much is nothing of import, young miss." he says, tilting his head in kind bemusent as he hands the parcel back. "But neither should I hold a young maiden from her duties. If you should wish to talk to me, plant my gift, and I will arrive on the morrow."

His gift, only freshly noticed, is an acorn hidden within the parcel, and it beats with a faint heartbeat.

 

[SinisterSpiders]

Sanja let Obuzeti take the wrapped herbs from her and watched with unabashed wonder as he took them in his hands. In her own they had looked to be a good size, but his palms dwarfed them. Despite the size of his hands he held the herbs with a tenderness that one would approach a wounded baby animal. Obuzeti then blew into his cupped hands and opened them to reveal the herbs looking better than they had when she bought them. Sanja's eyes widened and her step faltered. She took the parcel with obvious gratitude pulling her lips into a smile.

"Thank you," She said, awe sparkling in her eyes. She hesitated then, knowing that she had to go but not wanting to leave. "If you find yourself needing food this night, please stop by my parent's inn. It is on the edge of town, attached to my family vinyard..." She flushed as she held the parcel up. "Thank you again, Obuzeti."

Sanja tucked the parcel into her apron pocket with great care and turned to leave. She took a few steps and stopped before turning back to the Satyr, her mind reeling as she looked at him.

"My name is Sanja... Sanja Markovic. It is a pleasure to have met you." She gave him a little curtsy and a respectful bob of her head before turning and making her way out of the market place.

 

[Obuzeti]

Evening has well and truly fallen when Obuzeti decides to take the young woman up on her invitation; though the satyrs usually camp under their own tent overnight, he does not care to turn down hospitality so freely offered, particularly from such a comely maiden.

The red rays of sundown draw a yawn from him as he knocks twice, politely, on the inn door before he enters the common room - it is public space, but he is bound by courtesy to give notice before entering any domicile. He glances about the inn curiously, noting the presence of a handful of drinking regulars, no doubt the lifeblood of the establishment.

"Dobro večer, gentlemen." he says, voice soft, so as not to startle. Satyrs in the street are fantastical and wonderous, but one in the privacy of your favorite tavern is strange, and Obuzeti knows that his size is not suited to appearing docile. "Is the innkeep about? I should like to impose upon his hospitality."

 

[SinisterSpiders]

When Sanja had returned home her parents were too busy to question how long she had been gone. They had taken the herbs from her, commenting on what good stock the spice merchant had for early spring time. Sanja merely nodded before excusing herself to go and ready the dining area of the tavern for the afternoon and evening customers.

The rest of the day passed with the comfortable (yet sometimes boring) routine that was Sanja's life. Sweep the floors, mop the floors, wash the dishes, help in the kitchen. Serve at the bar until the food was mostly done, then return to the back and let her mother and father take over the front of house for the evening. Her mother was the better cook, they all knew it, but she insisted on serving at the bar. Sanja recently discovered the reason for this when her mother it had been sick; she had reached the age where men had started paying attention to her. In between taking orders and serving them she had to fend of the flirtations and wandering hands of some of the more drunk or rowdy patrons. It got to the point where her father left his post behind the bar to take over for her. Ever since then she had been restricted to the kitchen.

One evening, she had heard her mother talking to her aunt after they had closed. Let her serve, Anja,/ her aunt had said, 'it will be good for business!'. 'Osjecaju sram!' her mother had replied, feel shame! Her aunt hadn't pushed the topic further. At least not in that moment.

So it was pure luck then, that Obuzeti had entered the taverna when her mother had needed to add some finishing touches to the sauce she was preparing for the meat. She had given Sanya the platter of fruit to serve to some of their more subdued regulars, obviously deeming this a safe task. But, as Sanja pushed through the swinging doors and into the main room beyond, she immediately noticed the odd silence there.

And she also noticed the cause of the odd silence.

"Obuzeti-" His name tumbled from her lips in awe as her eyes widened and her cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink. Her father shot her a questioning glare from behind the bar, but she ignored it.

Sanja made her way over to the men Obuzeti had engaged with, giving them their fruit with a demure bow before turning to the satyr. Her eyes danced over his strong and imposing figure and she offered him a curtsey.

"Welcome, sir," She said, barely able to believe he had called on them. She had offered, but she had not thought he would actually come. She was pleased to see him, pleased beyond all reason. "Please, let me introduce you to my father. He is the innkeep of this establishment."

Sanja turned and led the striking satyr over to the bar, ignoring the curious eyes and scandalous whispers that followed her.

"Tata, this is Obuzeti, Ambassador of the Satyr. Obuzeti, this is my father," Sanja said, voice soft as she introduced to two males. Her father's eyes ran over the imposing form of the Satyr, and his face set, hard, as he then turned to his daughter. Sanja gave her father her best 'be polite' face.

"Welcome Obuzeti," Her father grunted out, "How can we serve you this evening?"

Sanja took a deep breath, the flush in her cheeks now one of embarrassment rather than pleasure. She shot Obuzeti a look of apology.

 

[Obuzeti]

"Mala gospođica." Obuzeti replies, pleased by Sanja's presence if his smile is any judge. His body loosens into a casual stance that had not precisely been obvious in its absence before; there had been a stillness to his form, now fading into memory, like a tree, or a preying mantis. "It is a pleasure to see you again. I hope I do not intrude overmuch upon you, but I was curious."

Returning her curtsey with his own grandiose bow, he follows her to the bar, and completely ignores her father's snubbing; he has yet to meet parents who approve of his presence even in the slightest. In any case, he hardly expects the man to understand xenia. "I find myself in need of lodgings this night, gospodine, and I would impose myself here, if it is no trial. I am no shiftless wanderer, though, and I do not expect charity."

The satyr reaches - somewhere - a motion that is not precisely seen, more felt, and then sets a good-sized glass jar on the table. That alone would be worthwhile - fired glass is a rarity, this far from the glassblowers at the capital - but the golden hue of its contents is the final touch. It is wild honey, useful for a variety of things, from flavoring to dressing wounds and burns. The amount in the jar would easily fill two hives.

"I hope you take no offense to barter, gospodine." Obuzeti says, politely, and touches Sanja's shoulder in the slightest movement to both acknowledge and dismiss her apology. He is careful to not touch bare skin - that would be needlessly provocative, and the man is on edge enough as it stands.

 

[SinisterSpiders]

Sanja watched as her father eyed Obuzeti suspiciously, despite his courtesy and geniality. His eyes widened though, when Obuzeti pulled out a large and shining jar of wild honey. Sanja felt the surprise on her own face. The contents of that jar alone were worth more than one night of food and lodging, but the jar was another matter entirely. Sanja watched as her father thought, clearly running through the trade in his mind. His gaze flickered to her and she did the best to appear neutral. Though when her father saw Obuzeti's hand gently touch her shoulder his expression hardened, lips pursing together. Sanja felt it hard to concentrate on her father when Obuzeti's hand was hot on top of the fabric on her shoulder. It sent a warm thrill through her and she felt her cheeks flare at the thought of him touching her more.

"Hvala ti, Obuzeti," Her father said with a stiff nod, "I do not mind the barter, but I would caution that what you offer is for food, drink and lodging-" Sanja's father looked from the Satyr to her pointedly, "Food, drink and lodging only."

Sanja could not hold the smile back from her face. She was astounded; her father had agreed to have a Satyr stay at their inn. And not just a Satyr. It was Obuzeti; charming, mysterious and entrancing Obuzeti.

"Sanja, you have work to do," Her father grunted, "ANJA!" He turned towards the kitchen door, "COME OUT! There is work out here for you!"

Sanja's father ushered her out of the room just as her mother came in. Sanja cast a longing glance over her shoulder, wishing she could spend more time with Obuzeti. Though from that moment on Sanja found every moment she could to come into the main tavern. She would slip out and serve meals instead of calling her mother, clear dishes away before her father could get to them, all the while aching to talk to Obuzeti, but sating herself with stolen glances.

It wouldn't be until late in the evening that Sanja finally had some unobserved time in the tavern. Her mother had called her father back to gather more wood for the fire, and her mother had then be called upstairs by a boarder requesting some assistance in their room. So, Sanja stepped out of the kitchen and behind the bar, her eyes scanning the room and falling on the now familiar for of Obuzeti. With a look around to make sure no one was watching she grabbed a cup and filled it with their finest wine before making her way over to the satyr.

"For you, Obuzeti," She said, voice low so the other patrons would not hear her or notice the favour. "For brightening my otherwise dull week."

 

[Obuzeti]

"I would not think to purchase anything else," Obuzeti replies, and this is simple truth. If he manages to persuade Sanja to share anything else with him, it will be of her own free will, not because of monetary compensation. He prefers willing partners.

He does not begrudge the suspicions, and takes pains to not encourage them either; he sips his wine, trades stories with those who ask him his, and relaxes. He catches Sanja's eye and smiles whenever she offers it, but is otherwise patient - there will be time, later. Instead he begins to sing, the first klapa line ringing out strong in his rolling baritone, provoking laughter from the other regulars. The traditional song form of Croatia is a call-and-response song, and this one is a classic, about love and wine and women.

"Misečina prosula se kalom," Obuzeti calls, laughter ringing in his voice, and the reply comes, "dragi dragoj piva pod balkunom."

His eyes catch Sanja's again, teasingly, and he winks as he continues to sing.

Afterwards, when the first taverngoers have begun to go home, he gladly takes the cup from the young woman, his broad fingers lacing over hers for a moment before he took the drink. "Hvala ti, Sanja. Your word is true: I feel most welcome here. At least, once I started singing. No one may resist the call of music for long, da?"

The satyr smiles at her, still as tall as her, even seated. There is a gentle joke in his gaze, a private laughter that comes out when he lures someone from hostility into merrymaking. "Do not begrudge your parents overmuch their suspicion. Against men, it is a fine measure. It is merely that I am not so much of one."

 

[SinisterSpiders]

"No," Sanja agreed, thinking back to the way his deep, rich voice had warmed her to the call, "I have seen in this place that music can unite those from all different walks of life." She brushed her hands on her apron and smiled at him, pleased that he didn't hold her parents silly superstitions against them. "Though I must say that if you were singing beneath my balcony you would not be alone for long," she said, the words tumbling out of her mind and through her lips before she could catch them. Sanja bit her lip then, wondering if she had been too forward.

Sanja felt oddly drawn to Obuzeti. She didn't know whether it was his kindness, his charisma, the open mindedness of him or that constant sense of warmth and life that radiated out of him.

The sound of the back door opening and slamming shut filtered through the low buzz of conversation in the room. Sanja let out a heavy sigh and turned back to Obuzeti.

"I should return to the kitchen before my parents see me over here," she said with a polite dip of her head, "Though I should very much like to see you some more. When is it that you will be leaving our humble town?"

 

[Obuzeti]

Obuzeti's bellowing laugh was shockingly loud, but the unabashed laughter was joyous. He drained his glass in one thunderous gulp, set it down, and set gentle hands onto either of Sanja's shoulders and lifted her briefly into the air, half-twirling her once before he set her back down and swept past, a bronzed avalanche that tickled with the breeze of its passing as it wove between chairs and tables with a ram's grace, enormous and serene and controlled. "Would that every girl had your spirit, Ane!" he calls back, as he sets his emptied glass on the counter.

He sets his glass on the counter and turns to cock a black-wool eyebrow back at Sanja, the satyr's smile a dangerous, inviting thing. "We are here for three days, as is the custom. I do not run from pretty women, mala gospođica. You need not fear my absence. I will find my way to you."

His smile flickers at her like heat lightning in the summer night, white teeth in olive skin and black hair, and then he sways behind the barrier of the door to the kitchen as it opens, revealing the young woman's father. When it swings closed, he is gone but for the scent of honeysuckle and a warm breeze from outside.

But there is still his glass, sitting perfect and clean on the counter, and at the bottom of the glass, a thick, perfect acorn.

 

[SinisterSpiders]

Three more days! Sanja was flooded with an odd mixture of relief and excitement at the thought. Then she was puzzled, how on earth would she be able to trick her parents into letting her visit the satyrs in town again? It would take some creative thinking on her part. Her mind started whirring as Obuzeti's warm and flattering words ran threw her, dizzy from when he spun her about. His smile knocked the breath from her, but when he waltzed over to the bar, set his glass down and then disappeared[/] she was truly breathless.

"Sanja! What are you doing out-" Her father calls, mouth setting in anger as he looked around. His brows rose and then he focused on her, noticing that Obuzeti was gone. "Back to the kitchen, daughter, there is still work to be done."

Her father was puzzled when Sanja walked towards him. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a nice bulbous brown acorn sitting in the glass Obuzeti had left behind. She snatched it from the bar, cradling it in her palms as she dashed past her father.

The acorn was strangely warm to the touch, sending thrills of life and spring buzzing through her veins. Sanja tucked it into the pocket of her apron where it knocked merrily against the first one she had received from the satyr. She was saddened by his leaving, thinking that her early morning serving breakfast would be brightened by him, but she couldn't find it within herself to be truly disappointed. There would still be more time to see him.

~*~

The following morning Sanja woke before the sun. After a late night cleaning up in the inn she hadn't had much sleep, but it was due to excitement as much as her duties. In her dreams she had heard his voice again, singing that song. Only this time it was for her and her alone. The memories of the dream were sweet even upon waking, and she eagerly rose to greet the day.

Much to Sanja's disappointment her parents denied her every excuse to go to the town. There was so little happening in their small pocket of the world that missing out on the March of the Satyr was a heavy blow. Missing out on Obuzeti's smile and charm doubly so.

So, when she went to the garden to retrieve some fresh greens for their lunch time rush, she took an acorn with her. It seemed like a silly, superstitious trifle to her, but after seeing Obuzeti disappear right before her very eyes she was willing to risk it.

Sanja withdrew the acorn from her apron pocket, handling it with all the care and reverence she would give to a freshly hatched bird. She worked a hole into the soil of their vegetable patch and gently nudged the acorn in before covering it up.

"Dodi meni," she whispered, pressing her fingertips to the freshly turned soil. "Molim..."

Come to me, please...

She gave herself a moment of childish, gleeful hope before returning to her duties. The dull routine of them setting her patience on edge for the first time in her life.

 

[Obuzeti]

The acorn cracks. Then it unspools, yellow and green heartroot seeking sunlight and soil, burning bright with life. It flames out in a mere second to will-o-wisp flickers of light, and when the spots clear, there are instead footsteps from the corner of the garden, from the direction of the vineyards, as Obuzeti brushes leaves from his night-black curls and smiles at Sanja. In the heat of midday he wears even less: the vest is gone, revealing a sun-dappled olive barrel-chest without hair or blemish, except for faint traces of earth on his thick forearms and broad legs.

"You called." he says, the words soft and pleased, as he comes to a stop before Sanja and offers that strange, elaborate bow, one hand cupped at waist and the other atop his hip. "I have the pleasure of answering, Ane. Bravery always compels me."

The satyr cocks his head as he comes beside her, glancing across the garden. "Dobar." he notes, taking in the steady rows of vegetables and fruits. "This is your duty, yes? Or does all your family tend to this? I can feel more than one touch in the roots, at least."

He shifts in the soil, bare toes digging deep in the turned earth with a deep humming sound. Inherently hedonistic, he is; seeking sensations for nothing more than the pleasure and enjoyment of them. The heat of his body is warm like sunlight on Sanja's closest shoulder, like a well-banked fire in winter.

 

[SinisterSpiders]

Sanja stopped in her tracks, with a clutch of greens in her hand. Behind her she hears a crack and turns just in time to see roots heartroots rising just above the soil, seeking the warmth of the spring sun. When it fizzes out, for a heartbeat, she thought that she might have imagined it.

But then he is there.

Obuzeti.

He approached her, this time forgoing a shirt all together. His chest bronzed and muscled is level with her face, and it takes her a moment to remember her manners and look up at his handsome face, to get lost in that knowing smile. She flushes with pleasure at his acknowledgement of her garden, at all the work she has put in.

"My parents are out here occasionally," Sanja answers with a polite dip of her head, "But it is mostly my responsibility. Or perhaps I should say passion." Her eye graze over the garden, twinkling with love for the plants she had happily raised.

Sanja looked up at Obuzeti once more, watching as his pleasure etches into his features. The heat radiating off him is almost too much in the midday sun, but there is something about her that pulls her closer. She felt like a moth then, his light and warmth drawing her closer even though she knew she might just start to burn with desire.

Sanja looked over her shoulder for a moment, suddenly remembering her other duties.

"I wasn't sure it would work... how long it would take..." She explains with an apologetic shrug, not wanting to offend him by making him think she didn't believe him. "I need to take these back to my parents, but I could return in a moment- perhaps we could take a walk?" Sanja held the greens closer to her, "My parents said I couldn't go to the market... but perhaps a stroll through the vinyard?"

 

[Obuzeti]

"If there is to be produce of it, then passion it must be." Obuzeti confirms, gesturing at the breadth of the garden. For a single-woman operation, it is expansive, surely enough to feed their family in all seasons. "To quench hunger is one thing, but wine requires a talented touch."

He leans forward enough to catch a trellis in his shadow, and there is a faint crinkling as the leaves bend towards him rather than the sun, seeking kith and kin. He inhales the aroma and straightens again, smiling.

"Go, and return soon." He says, with an amused glance over at Sanja, rolling broad shoulders idly. "I am at home, here. Anywhere the fruit of the vine hangs low, I am content. And thus, I would be grateful for a chance to more delicately explore your charms, be they arboreal or otherwise."

Without waiting for an answer, he strides forwards into the trellis rows and slips between them, a callused and warm finger drawing a hot line up Sanja's neck and over her cheek as he passes. A chuckle rumbles out from the vines, but nothing else, and the satyr is gone again into the foliage.

 

[SinisterSpiders]

It takes Sanja a moment to process Obuzeti's words, to allow herself to believe that he would wait. She was sure there was much to be done in town, but he was happy to walk with her instead. With a light bounce of excitement she turned and all but skipped back to the inn. She caught herself as she made her way through the back door, toning down the smile that was starting to make her cheeks ache, and calming her excited energy so that her parents wouldn't be suspicious.

"Here Mama," Sanja said, doing her best to keep her voice neutral. She placed the greens onto the counter and her mother thanked her. "The weather looks good Mama, I think I will take a walk in the vinyards and gather some grapes for tonight."

Sanja's mother looked up from the bread she was kneading and frowned.

"But Sanja, it is so hot out there. Picking grapes in the middle of the day!" She shook her head in disbelief but didn't bother to tell her not to go.

"There is work to be done Sanja!" Her father called from the stove, turning and frowning.

"I know Tata, but it has to be done some time! We can't be the only inn in town next to a vinyard and not have fresh grapes." Sanja said with a shrug. She walked over to the table and picked up a roll and some cheese. "I will take my luncheon while I am out there. Spring is finally here and I want nothing more than to sit in the sun!"

Her father rolled his eyes, muttering something about spring and satyr and silly women, but he handed her a water skin anyway.

"Off with you girl, make sure you bring back a full basket this time!" He said with an exasperated laugh.

When Sanja turned she slipped an extra loaf of bread and some more cheese into her basket, as well as some sweet pastries her mother had baked the day before. When she got back into the yard she looked over her shoulder, wondering if her parents were watching her. Through the unshuttered windows she could see them going about their business as normal and she breathed a sigh of relief.

With a bright smile and a giddy sense of lightness Sanja made her way to the fence between her garden and the vineyards beyond. For a moment she wondered where Obuzeti had gone, but then she noticed a trend in the vines. A row of them had turned, their leaves facing away from the mid-day sun, as though looking deeper down the line of their furrow. They were drawn to something down there, and so was Sanja. So she walked between the vines then, fingers running along the trellis line and the vines, palm brushing the bulging grapes. The further she moved, the headier the scent of warm spring and life became.

 

[Obuzeti]

He finds Sanja first - presence heralded by the baritone hum of his voice, singing underbreath to some other unrecognizable melody, this one low and melodious. Obuzeti brushes by the girl with a faint smile, his giant hand trailing along her bared arm again in a familiar warm touch. But rather than speak, he merely gestures her to follow, and moves onwards into the vines.

There is a trick of the sunlight as they move deeper into the vinyard - the trellises grow taller, and the sunlight dimmer, though it filters through the vines enough to see. The heat grows lazy and the soil turns from tilled to wild. There is a brush of fresh air, not the busy scent of town life, and a sudden blink of blackness and the taste of wine -

- and then they stand on lush grass, in a slanted, broken circle of trellises, each overgrown with wild vine with grapes far fatter and riper than any she has seen. The scent of salt still hangs on the air, but no animal musk, and the blue gleam of the ocean is visible in the wrong direction through the gaps in the trellis.

They are not where they were, and Obuzeti's smile is both secretive and sharing. "I thought you might like to see my vinyard as well." he says, by way of explanation. "It seemed an appropriate surprise."

He gestures to a low marble bench nearby, and seats himself on it, extending a hand to Sanja with an inviting eyebrow. His skin is dark, spotted with beams of sunlight though the trellises, and still those white teeth gleam in the dimness.