It had been a dark day from the offset. Sharn had left her village before dawn and when the sun had arisen, it had been a bloodied red, colouring the clouds with its malevolent stain. A chill in the air accompanied the birth of the morning, a low white mist clinging to the dew-wet grass that grew tall and long at this time of year. Pushing her way through the undergrowth, she approached the forest; the gaps between the trees still as dark as the night just spent.
Pausing at the boundary to the wood Sharn reached to her back and withdrew her bow. It was stoutly made, handed down through her family through the ages, repaired on many an occasion. She was proud to do its lineage justice. At the tender age of eighteen, she was the village archery champion, a proud huntswoman granted the title of ‘Triltrist’ meaning ‘True Shot’. Not yet bedded by any man, the only sex she had known was inside the fond embraces of her slightly older stepsister, Keldeharn.
They shared a small bed in their family hut, the long dark nights of winter made pleasurable by probing exploratory digits as they fingered one another to climax. Sharn loved the sensation of kissing her sister's clit, licking her way around the fleshy protuberance before tracing her way downwards, flicking her tongue deeper and deeper into the warm wetness of her vagina. Eventually, they would both exhaust their sexual needs before falling into a deep and peaceful slumber.
The two girls would often bathe together in the large bath made from stone and deer hide. The water came from the local spring and was warmed in pots over the fire beforehand. Whenever the temperature of the bath water started to cool, then the girls would use their own special means of heating it up, parting their pussy lips and pissing into the water around their thighs.
This would always set the girls off giggling if their mother was in the room as she would always be oblivious to the naughty goings-on in the bath. However, if the girls were alone then they might often take it in turns to pee into the water whilst the other watched, perching their nude bum on the rim before letting loose with their hot stream.
Just thinking about bathing with her stepsister was making Sharn desperate to go. Taking a quick look around to make sure she was unobserved, she then hiked up the material of her skirt to reveal the dark brown haired triangle of pubic hair nestled between her legs. With her skirt out of harm's way, Sharn wasted no more time and started to let out a steaming hot stream of yellow piss, spraying out of her pussy lips and splattering down over the cold earth below.
Steam rose from the impact point whilst the hissing sound of her toilet sounded unnaturally loud in the still morning air. Deciding she best finish her piss as quickly as possible, she squeezed harder watching as the stream of yellow urine flowing out of her body increased in size and distance. With her bare bum cheeks exposed to the cold air, she played her pee stream over the stems of the nearby grass shoots enjoying the sensation of covering them with her urine.
After several more moments of gorgeous relief, Sharn finished her morning pee. Allowing her short leather skirt to fall back into place around her muff and bum cheeks, she set off again, pushing past the piss stained grass patch. Within seconds, she had plunged into the darkness of the wood.
It took several moments for her eyes to adapt to the gloom. Once she had regained her vision, she pressed on. Up ahead, barely two hundred paces was an open glade in which a small spring bubbled up from the rocks and fed into a marshy pool where the local game would drink. Stealthily, she made her way through the undergrowth. Beneath her feet came no sound, a lifetime of hunting making her a deadly stalker. She could see the glade now up ahead, shafts of sunlight piercing the gloom of the wood into the open space.
‘There, just between those trees on the right,’ she told herself as she spotted the large stag. The animal was grazing, its head lowered to the floor. She was now thirty paces away, an easy shot. Slowly and without a sound, she released the bow from her back along with an arrow. Notching her hunting tool, she straightened to her full height, raising the bow as she moved.
Pulling back, she revealed the muscular grace of her slender frame; lithe and powerful with strong arms created from yielding her bow since an early child. Sighting along the arrow, she slowed her breathing knowing that the shot must come between breaths for the arrow’s flight to be true. The killing moment approached, her concentration locked.
Suddenly, from the distance, there came the urgent clamour of the village alarm, a metal plate beaten by a hammer. Startled by the sound, Sharn released her hold. The arrow shot forth but leapt skyward as her concentration faltered. Cursing the waste, she turned and dashed back through the woods, all thoughts of stealth abandoned. As she burst from the tree line, she plunged through the tall grass stems and undergrowth not even noticing the damp splashes on her clothes and legs as she moved straight through the patch where she had earlier pissed.
Her feet flew over the ground, her heart pounding in her chest, her mind consumed by what the alarm entailed. She had been but a small girl the last time she had heard its metallic clang. At that time, a small raiding party of bandits had come up from the coast where they had landed in their small ramshackle war boat. The villages had fought them off, the wooden barricade encircling the dwellings defence enough against the badly organised bandits.
The village was coming into sight now just over the rise of the hill which led down to the main cattle track that passed through the village gates. A thick pall of dark black smoke was rising upwards. As Sharn came to a halt on the hillcrest she saw that the defensive barricade on fire. Her heart lurched. She could easily tell that the attacking force was well organised.
Near the gates, a mounted party of eight were circling, occasionally shooting arrows of flame in the direction of the main gate that was already on fire. Behind this party waited another group possibly thirty strong, stood shoulder to shoulder in a box formation obviously waiting for the gates to fall. Sharn dropped to the ground desperately trying to become one with the earth. She stared intently at the figures below.
‘These are not men,’ she thought as she took in their measure. Each one was indeed a woman down to the very last member of the infantry. They seemed to be wearing a strange mix of armour, their chests and backs covered in steel and their legs encased in dark leather yet it was the final detail that puzzled Sharn. A sudden gasp followed as she realised the extent of what she was seeing.
Each woman’s groin was exposed, both buttocks and pussy on show to the watching world. Even having realised the truth at this strange mixture of armour and nudity, Sharn struggled with the concept. She had never heard of such warrior women who covered their breasts with steel yet who willingly exposed their womanhood for all to see. This raised the obvious question as to who were these attackers and why had they come to her village?’
From out of the clamour rising up from below and over the clang of the alarm and the shouts of the villagers, there came a loud war cry from the lead rider. The party of horse-mounted warrior women reeled around and formed a rough wedge that bolted forwards towards the wall of smoke belching from the village gates.
They vanished from sight as they plunged into the smoke before a loud crack announced the fall of the village’s defences. Sharn saw the warriors again, bursting forth from the reeling folds of smoke and galloping at full pelt into the village grounds. A new cry arose as the infantry set off at a quick pace that turned to a run as they neared the broken opening.
Sharn marvelled at the women, sunlight reflecting off their steel chests, flashes of black, brown and blond pubic triangles of the women’s muffs as they moved forth. Their formation stayed intact, each woman in perfect line with the woman beside her. This spoke of strict martial discipline and once again Sharn could but ponder at the identity of the attackers.
The sound of battle coming from the village brought her from her thoughts. She could hear the screams of people dying, women wailing as the invaders cut their way further into the village. Sharn tried to rise but fear kept her pinned. She had never been so scared. Between her legs, a warm damp stain started to spread over the inside of her leather skirt as hot pee leaked from her pussy. Shame washed over Sharn as she lay there, pissing herself whilst her friends and family were being slaughtered. The warmth of her escaping pee trickled down her legs shaming her more.
Should she ever arise from her coward’s viewpoint, then what would she look like rushing to the aid of her village with urine streaks running down her legs?
A sudden noise from behind caught her attention; the snort of a horse. She twisted over in the grass moving onto her back, bow and arrow quill digging deep into her flesh. Two mounted Amazon women appeared in her vision. How they had approached so close without a sound before was miraculous. Sharn’s gaze settled on the first woman.