By the Banks of the Tisa

[wheatencrown]

The river is quiet as is the land around them, hidden under the quiet of Winter as Demeter brings Attila through holding a picnic basket,

"Welcome home."

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[453-died-angry.livejournal.com]

He ate quietly, keeping an eye on her food intake so he could offer more, but not talking. Times past he had eaten in the saddle more often than not and had never understood the fascination Roman's had with food and the rituals with which they had surrounded its intake.

The host also brought jugs with beer and wine and horn cups. Attila smiled and nodded and then inspected the brew.

[wheatencrown]

Its a fine one brewed in the area and Demeter does not stint in her eating, she appreciates the work and care that goes into all that's before them.

In time she is licking her fingers and whispering to the lady of the house who soon returns with a wonderful dessert full of honey and lovely fruits.

[453-died-angry.livejournal.com]

Attila loves a woman with a good appetite. Those Roman dollies who either picked at their food or who gorged then took a trip to the vomitarium outraged him during his stays in Rome and lesser cities.

He tastes the beer and nods approvingly at the depth of taste, Then his nostrils twitch as he scents the sweetness of the next dish.

[wheatencrown]

Demeter laughs and offers him a piece of the honey dessert from her fingers.

[453-died-angry.livejournal.com]

Attila smirks and brushes his hair back out of the way before ducking his head to bite the piece of sweetness carefully from between her fingers. His lips caressed them and he glanced up at her before he began to chew.

Then he took another piece and raised it to her lips.

[wheatencrown]

Demeter slowly eats it off his fingers before giving him a gentle kiss on the lips,

"You look happy."

[453-died-angry.livejournal.com]

"I am happy," he said, his voice low. "I'm warm, I have good food and good beer, nobody's trying to kill me, which makes me content."

He smiled, teeth white in the darkness of his beard. "But it's being with you that makes me happy. You soothe my soul, lady."

[wheatencrown]

"I'm glad that I can but you have such a warmth in your heart that soothing your soul is a joy."

She takes her time finishing dessert and praises the cook with a smile that lights the room.

[453-died-angry.livejournal.com]

Attila adds his praise, causing the other people in the room to tilt their heads and smile - a little puzzled - as though half hearing something they half understand. Then while Demeter talks to her subjects he finishes his beer and watches her with gladness and affection.

[wheatencrown]

Demeter stands as she says her goodbyes, picking the basket up again though now a few bottles of beer and various goodies have been added to it,

"Let's find a place to plant your tree."

[453-died-angry.livejournal.com]

Attila got up as well, swinging his cloak back around his shoulders and fastening it, then loosening his sword in its sheathe.

He gave the room one watchful sweep of the eyes then stood back to let his lady precede him to the door.

"Tree planting," he said, the merest trace of excitement in his voice. "It's nice to learn a new skill."

[wheatencrown]

"One that I think you will be glad to know. Its good to know how to create life."

Outside, her feet naturally follow the river's path as she holds his hand.

[453-died-angry.livejournal.com]

That she took his hand was a surprise and a pleasure and Attila strolled at her side with a smile hidden in his beard. His thumb stroked her knuckles as he walked tall, automatically keeping an eye open for enemies.

[wheatencrown]

The banks of the river are much safer than they were in Attila's time and Demeter walks towards a small grove,

"Do you see those trees, I think a new one will be welcomed there?"

[453-died-angry.livejournal.com]

Attila looks around - no stock grazing to nibble off the top of a sapling, shelter from the frosty wind. "That sounds like a plan," he says with a smile and when they reach the grove he reaches ahead to pull branches aside to she can step to the open hollow at the heart of it, where an old tree has fallen. There the soil is rich and the sky above clear. A little tree would grow well there.

[wheatencrown]

She steps lightly over the trees and plunges her hands into the soil,

"Bring the tree over, you should place it in the ground."

[453-died-angry.livejournal.com]

Attila reaches into the basket and scoops up the little tree. It strikes him that is seems unkind to leave its small leafy tenderness in this cold snowswept place - but has faith that Demeter will make all right.

He goes to one knee and moves aside frosty leaves and a broken twig then settles the rootball in the hole she has prepared for it.

[wheatencrown]

She helps him cover it over and speaks quietly in Greek to the tree, a blessing and a protection before she leans over to kiss him,

"It will grow well here."

[453-died-angry.livejournal.com]

This time he gives in to impulse and turn his head that scant inch to catch his lips.

She tastes sweeter than the honey.

[wheatencrown]

Demeter smiles into the kiss and pulls him to the ground already undoing all of his leather.

[453-died-angry.livejournal.com]

Practically minded - and old enough for his mind not to be completely clouded with lust - Attila twists as they fall so they land on his cloak.

He has taken good care they are nowhere near the plant.

Then he moves cooperatively so she can reach a strap end here, a hook there, several buckles. He unpins the cloak himself and moves his hands gently over her back.

[wheatencrown]

While Demeter just has centuries of practice thus her dress is a simple shift and takes her time as each new piece of skin is shown.

[453-died-angry.livejournal.com]

It doesn't take long to shed what they need to shed. Weapons are laid close to hand and God knows Attila has stripped off in winter often enough to know how to ignore the cold on his back in favour of concentrating on the warmth of his companion.

Time to take stock. He props himself on one elbow and trails calloused fingers in a long delicate sweep from her shoulder to her thigh.

[wheatencrown]

That receives a happy sound from Demeter as she arches into his hand, she will let him take the lead for the moment.

[453-died-angry.livejournal.com]

An old hand like Attila doesn't need to look what he's doing. Instead he looks at her face, gauging from her expression how the trail of his hand, the shift to press his fullness against her hip, is pleasing her.

No need to rush.