The Ravening

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He gave me a disgruntled look. Clearly unsure why he felt more comfortable with them on, as well. He crouched next to me. “You need to slow down and look around. Why are you building your trap here to begin with?”

I toyed with the scrap of string. Bouncing it thoughtfully. “Close to my fire and I can see it.”

“Being fearful will get you no rewards. Look around. Look for disturbed shrubs or tracks.”

Together we were quiet as we gazed around. Once I slowed enough to look, I could see that a few feet further in there was a low trail carved by small animals through the tall grass and low shrubbery.

“There!” I said excitedly.

He gave me an approving quirk of his lips as I scampered that way, nearly on all fours in my excitement.

He strode behind me and crouched again. “Now when you set the trap...” He frowned as he lifted the twig I’d been intent on using. “You need a more pliable stick.”

He tossed the one I had over his shoulder and shifted to both sides until spotting one he liked. Retrieving it he brought it back over. “See this. How it bends here. It’s both soft and strong.”

Which reminded me of parts of him. I chewed my lip as I tried not to think about how that particular part of his body became both iron hard and softly smooth at the same time.

He paused what he was saying and his head whipped to me. “Thinking like that will get me aroused again.”

I grimaced. “Sorry. I can’t help it.”

“I’m fine with it. You won’t be if I’m desperate to be back inside you again already.” His voice hardened with warning.

“I know.” I tucked my neck. “I’m listening.”

I refocused on what he was saying.

He clucked in his cheek and ripped his gaze from me back to the string tied to the stick he was holding. “You take this here and fold it around here.”

He pointed out where to show me. “Then you use this rock for weight and adjust it here.”

By the time he was done the trap seemed perfectly constructed.

I leaned around to inspect it from different angles.

“You got it?” He asked me in a voice that was more kind then harsh.

“How do you prop the rock’s weight?” He lifted it to show me the flatter bottom and told me how.

Once that was done, we returned to the fire to patiently weight. He said we’d hear the sound of the rock tipping.

He was staring at me thoughtfully as he took a bit of branch and a rock and began meticulously sharpening one end to a fierce point.

I watched his long-fingered hands working the bit of wood so expertly.

“You used to do this, didn’t you?”

He gave me a lopsided grin and peered at me from under dark lashes. “Women weren’t always the only thing I hunted.”

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