‘Damn, the gods were showing off when they made you,’ she teased.
‘Want to see how much more ludicrous I can be?’
Without waiting for a response, he blurred into motion.
He transformed into a streak of shadow and gold light, carrying her across a series of treacherous ravines at a lightning pace.
She gasped, her heart hammering against his chest as she grinned into the wind.
When he set her down, one hand lingered on her waist, the other moved to her neck, fingertips playing with the hair at the base of her neck.
He captured her mouth in a series of unhurried, devastatingly sweet kisses before pulling back with a dark smirk that suggested he knew how much he was ruining her composure.
Sheba found herself spiraling into a new kind of addiction. It wasn’t just him; it was the entire ambiance.
From the crisp mountain air to the golden-washed beauty of the day, and the possessiveness of his arm wrapped around her.
He kept her tucked against his side, dipping his head to steal another kiss, his lips a constant, electric reminder of the scorching passion they shared.
For a few hours, the world appeared curated just for them, a sanctuary of pine, melting snow drafts, and the pale yellow shards of winter sunlight.
It was, in every sense of the word, holy.
The illusion shattered when the first signs of civilization crested the horizon.
Lattaya Village emerged in the distance, a cluster of modest stone huts and weather-beaten timber longhouses huddled against the valley floor.
The freeze still held on here, with roofs covered in thick blankets of white drifts and heavy, glass-like icicles hanging from the eaves like frozen daggers in the fading light.
The domestic smoke rising from the chimneys signaled the end of their private paradise.
Instinctively, they pulled apart, the easy intimacy of their touch fading in the need of propriety.
With their eyes scanning the treeline, they began the final leg down toward the hamlet.
As the ancient trees thinned near a rushing river, a woman washing clothes on the bank glanced up.
Her eyes widened, and she let out a piercing, melodic ululation of pure joy that rippled through the valley behind her.
She then leaped to her feet and ran to Idan and Sheba, hugging them, before breathlessly taking off to warn the settlement.
By the time they reached the village center, a riot of color and sound rose to greet them.
Children swarmed Idan’s path, their hugs swarming the couple.
Young girls ran forward, draping heavy, fragrant garlands of violet blossoms over his neck until the scent of crushed petals and nectar filled the air.
‘We missed you, Idan!’ a woman called out, as she and her friends threw petals on him.
He waved them off, flushing at the unexpected welcome.
Chief Xian appeared from a large hut, his face a map of joy and visible relief.
He grasped Idan’s forearm in a warrior’s greeting, and the two men moved aside for an intense, hushed discussion.
Sheba sat on a sun-warmed stone wall, allowing the local children to braid emerald blades of grass and florets into her dark curls.
Her eyes lingered on Idan’s profile, loving the way his presence seemed to lift the entire village’s spirits.
