Jen's Legacy.

They awoke into another cold morning.

Royce had been up already and had started the fire again to get water heating for a warm drink, putting their clothes close to the fire to get warm, then bringing her shirt into the sleeping bag with them as he got her dressed, kissing her to wake her up from lying over him.

She didn’t want to move so soon, and complained gently.

“Do we have to?”

He kissed her upon her eyes and all over her face, before moving down to her breasts, setting her squirming, complaining more and then giggling at what he continued to do to her. She’d better wake up and move, before he became even more adventurous, although that would be welcome too.

“Yes, my love, we do.”

She stopped struggling. “We could make love again first, Royce.”

He sighed, hoping she would suggest something like that, so took her shirt off again as he pulled her over him, reaching down to pull her up onto his body as he pushed her legs apart and helped her direct him into her as she relaxed upon him.

Neither of them wanted to move any more energetically than that at first, but once begun down this road, there was no possibility of retreat.

They would be here for another ten or twenty minutes anyway, and then they could get dressed and think about eating and going on.

By the fire, later, staring dreamily into it, still able to feel where he had been in her body and what he had done, she had her shirt and his jacket over her, but still wouldn’t bother with those shorts, though they would never be far out of reach. You never knew when you might bump into anyone after they’d learned, the night before, that search parties were already out looking for them, and it might take some time to call them all off.

She was wary, attentive, constantly looking around, only able to relax when the fire had died down to a bed of hot ashes and was unlikely to attract any attention. Then, she leaned back into him, his arms around her, hands pushed into her shirt, holding her breasts. They could soon sip at the hot tea –with the last of the milk— before they had to move on.

Once their fire was out and before they were ready to leave, they could make love again, confident that with no wood-smoke to lead to them, they would be safe from being discovered for another few hours anyway.

With the sun another hour higher into the sky, they walked, remaining silent, listening. She often looked back nervously, never sure from which direction anyone might be coming.

With the day getting warm again, the birds and chirping insects were in full voice. Squirrels, and some birds gave warning of their approach, reassuring them that they were alone in this part of the woods, and that there was no one else close by.

They were always ready to move off the track to one side so that she could complete her inadequate wardrobe if they detected anyone. Only then would they make a decision about whether or not to approach them.

“How are your feet?”

He wasn’t just asking; he wanted to be sure and to see for himself as he usually did. She sat on a log or a nearby rock as he took his jacket from the top of his pack where he’d put it when she’d got too warm, and put it around her shoulders.

His first concern was still her feet, but once he was reassured about her ability to continue, she knew what his next predictable consideration would always be, the way he looked at her. He was like a little child let loose in the candy store.

He slid his hands under her shirt, moving it back from her, and then moved up into it to touch her breasts as she sat back for him. putting her legs apart for him to move closer to her, and to kiss her.

If he wanted to….

Stupid thought. He would always want to; was already started on it as he moved closer to her, discovering again where he had just been, barely an hour earlier.

She pulled him more decisively to her, helping him find her—though he needed no help now—amazed that he would still want to do this to her so often, as though the novelty of this for him, after such a long absence, would never wear off. She knew that it would never wear off for either of them. She didn’t want it to stop either.

Before they went on, he scuffed some pine needles and dead leaves, over what they were leaving behind of them both, smiling at her like the cat that had got the cream, which he had, until the next time. More evidence of what they were doing to each other, for a good tracker to find. They no longer cared.

Once they dropped out of the trees and warily entered the track leading to the river at Marsden, Royce could see that there had been at least one vehicle recently there, but it had gone.

Someone had camped here the previous night. There were remains of a doused fire in a stone fireplace also used by the rafters. The rocks were cool, and they—at least two persons—had cleaned up after themselves.

It was just as well they hadn’t pushed on to Marsden themselves on that previous night, or they might have bumped into them.

The deserted area had been a trading post at least a hundred years earlier. It was in ruins now. Only the rocks of the fireplace and chimney stood like a sentinel, leaning, waiting for the next storm to push it over.

She and Royce crossed that area cautiously after being sure no one had been left behind, and entered the woods on the far side, careful not to leave tracks of their own, deliberately evading any possible rescuers.

It was almost fun, being devious like this, playing hooky or hide and seek; a cat and mouse game, not wanting to be found too soon, to bring their exhilarating freedom with each other to a sudden end.

“We have about a two-hour walk to Witches Cauldron, but we’ll stop and have lunch before then. I won’t make a fire and risk being discovered. We can finish off that fruit and open a can of meat and some beans.”

As usual, they would sit close together, facing each other, and share, back and forth with his one spoon and fork as they sat with their legs over each other, much as he and Jen had done under that poncho near Castleton.

Just as he and Jen had done, it would also become a more heated romantic interlude between them before they moved on. She no longer wondered where he got the energy or the desire to make love to her. Her body; her… she was the energy source, the spark for it all. She wasn’t sure she fully understood it, but this strange power that was inherent in her femininity was all the aphrodisiac; the catalyst that he needed to bring him to life again, to always want to make love to her.

They didn’t have far to go now, so they would relax, walk slowly, and even talk, though there was usually more kissing and touching than talking until after they’d made love again. Their entire progress over the last two days had been punctuated by the times they had paused or stopped to make love. She would mark them on his map when they got home.

Claire was at a loss, trying to grapple with what her life had been like before she’d met Royce. It now seemed hazy, as though it hadn’t been real.

She’d had no idea… and could never have known… what was in store for her before she’d gone on that rafting trip, and nor could her grandmother, but she was glad that it had changed as it had, even suffering that near-death experience in the river to find it out and to meet Royce. Now, this man, this stranger-no-longer, had taken over her life and her body, just as she had taken over his.

Before they knew it... strolling, talking, laughing; their concerns about being discovered receding as Marsden fell farther behind them... they were walking into an open rocky space, devoid of all vegetation.

The river, its noise deadened by the trees and their own distraction with each other, rumbled noisily to their left, with a rainbow directly ahead of them, poised almost permanently above the spray kicked up by the churning, boiling water, where it thundered into that deep hole called Witches Cauldron.

The ground seemed to shake under their feet at the noise. The low-frequency pounding of thousands of tons of water cascading through that narrow gap every second, almost hurt their ears.

Witches Cauldron was a place of wizardry and folklore; a place where a legendary Shaman, from some time before historical consciousness, had struck the ground with his staff and opened it up so that the water could begin to flow; where lives could be changed, and either were found again, or could be released back into the ether; the other spirit-world.

It was said to be an entry point into heaven itself for the faithful, depending upon whatever one’s view of heaven was, if the signs were with you.

Mostly, those who came here for help or guidance were disappointed. They came for the wrong reasons, asking the wrong questions of themselves.

It was like any faith, if you didn’t hear what you needed to hear from the gods, then the fault was in you not believing, or not trusting the gods to work in their mysterious ways from within you.