Story for the Day: Chune and Aoidhe -- Part 1
Aoidhe might be considered the most vulgar of the Gods, but Chune, the Goddess of Plenty, his mate, is most certainly his equal in that quarter, if not worse...
No one could be better suited to please so meretricious and insatiable God than the Goddessof Plenty, and while Brudha deemed Aoidhe’s offer a passing dalliance, he could not but think of seriously considering whence the offer had come. “A proposition from a God,” said Brudha, laughing in disbelief, and he turned into the kitchen, to deliciate in the notion over a cup of tea and own himself blessed for his first proposition being a divine one.
“May I pour you a celebratory cup?” said Cgnita, reaching up from the pit and taking down the tea trey. “I don’t know whether you like tea on such a warm day, but it is a rather special day, and we have no ale to celebrate with. Milk and sugar?”
“Just milk, please,” said Eilen, smiling. “It is a bit of luck that there is tea and no ale, for I love the former and could do very well without the latter.”
“I agree with you there. Most of us at the monastery delight in tea at the end of the day. Well, Miss Eilen,” giving her a cup and taking one for himself, “to new discoveries, for both of us.”
Eilen raised her cup. “To new discoveries,” and when Cgnita had raised his cup to his lips, she added, “And to new relationships.”
Cgnita nearly spilled his tea on his robes. “Yes,” he proclaimed, fumbling with his cup, and when he had recovered, he added with fondness, “to new relationships.”
An endearing look was exchanged, and after a short delibation, each was content to sit beside each other and eye one another for a while. Intermittent conversation endured, lodgings were discussed, facilities and assistants were suggested, and all the pleasantries and peculiarities of partiality evincing were gone through while cups ornamented hands and tea grew cold. Inundated by all the sweets of first affection, Cgnita had forgot to think of Aoidhe; he had spilled his tea twice on his robe through out the whole of their conversation, and not once did he attribute it to a certain Gods’ tendency to japes.
Only just got him a bheann, and he’s in a way to be growin’ up, Aoidhe sighed, standing near the pit and seemingly speaking to no one.
A lutescent light shimmered beside him, and the figure of a small woman began to take form, her plaits long and trailing, her frame plump and panduriform, her hips wide, her large breasts pressing dangerously against her bodice. Well,said the woman, in a plaintive voice, he’s entitled to his happiness.
Aoidhe sighed and glanced over at the deep vale pressing against his arm. Seein’ the lad happy with his bheann and all is makin’ me wanna give you a right hashiff.
She glanced up at Aoidhe’s grinning aspect and followed the line from his neck down to his broad shoulders, wide chest, and immense arms. You always want to do that, Aoidhe.
Aye, Chune, he breathed, moving behind her. He took his pipe from his mouth, put it in his pocket, and leaning forward, he thrust his hand into the front of her dress, grabbing her heavy breasts and pressing them together. Could do this do you all day, girl, he growled, pressing his hips forward, pushing his length into her lower back. Oughtta give you what in front o’ the lad, said he, in a venerial wrawl, his mouth browsing her neck. Show him how to do it. He don’t know.
You might frighten the boy, Aoidhe, Chune laughed, leaning back, glorying in her mate’s aggressive motions. He is only just beginning. He deserves time to discover what is right for himself.
His usual salaciousness overpowering him, Aoidhe reached down and lifted her skirts, forcing his hand between her thighs. Should give what to you in his infirmary, he purred. Wait till he walks in and let him see how we like copulatin’.
Did he teach you that word?
Says he don’t like hashiff so much. Know you like it though. He moved his hand to the crease at the top of her thigh and fondled her crevice. ’Mon, I’ll give it to you how you want on his patient bed.
Chune cackled and craned her neck to receive Aoidhe’s osculation. As delightful a sight that would be, Aoidhe, leave the boy be. I know you are friends, but you must leave him to pursue her as he will.
Aye, his clercin’ romanced her when I said to leave it by. Still wanna bend you over the seat they’re sittin’ on though. Just how we used to when we had our celebrations.
I remember, said Chune, in a reverie of fond reminiscence. Come, Aoidhe, taking his hand, let’s leave them to themselves.
But I’m watchin’.
You can watch from the fields in Westren.
Aoidhe’s lips wreathed in a fiendish grin. Goin’ to make the crops grow?
Of course, said she, smiling. The farmers have prayed for a good bean crop. Who else will ensure it?
Aoidhe’s grin broadened, the glint in his eye dancing about in iniquitous glee. He gripped Chune’s braids and pulled her head back, leaning down and tracing her vale with his mouth. ‘Mon, bheann, he rumbled, let’s bless the fields, and in a glimmer of erubescent light, the two figures were gone, off to encourage germination for the coming year, leaving Cgnita and Eilen in the churchyard pit, sitting together on the Gods’ stone, talking of healing practices through the ages, of ancient settlements, of kist burials and cremations, of operations and medicinal concoctions, without any regard for time or daylight fading. Neither could remember when they had been happier, whe company had been more splendid, when innovation had been this enlivening.
Their letters had been sent to their respective destinations, gloaming had come and gone in a gradient of raging hues, the murrey of night decorated with a loom of defining stars, and the operations of time were all suspended while Cgnita and Eilen sat together, spending time rather than being governed by it, their minutes expatiating beyond the realm of confinement, hours depreciating into seconds, and there was only easy fluency and conversation, only the ceaseless clink of cups and the soom of continuous delibations, only the invigorating constancy of companionship, only the recognition and approval of one another’s agreeable company, one so eager to talk, the other delighted to listen, the whole canopied by the appearance of constellations, the luminaries rejoicing in their congregation, hovering discreetly, awning over them in a fulmination of glittering lights, their mantle the approbation of the ages. Their tea was refreshed several times, how many, however, they could not distinguish. Biscuits and buns were laid down, salted butter and jams, and curds and creams were brought them, and though they gave their thanks to the one who secured their wellbeing, their attention was only on one another, felicity reigned and spirits danced about in joyous revelation, each becoming more attached to the other, but a sprained ankle, a burn from the brickmaker, and a few cuts from the ploughman brought Cgnita back to the infirmary. He excused himself, hoped he should not be long, and went to tend to his patients, while Eilen remained behind in the pit, to exhume the remainder of the seat until Cgnita return, or until responses to their letters arrive to interrupt them.