25. Approach Them

Well, it's not like they can make things any worse, you rationalise as you struggle towards them. Fortunately, or unfortunately, the figure is so distracted with heaving great lungfuls of air that you're able to get within a few feet before they see you, allowing you to finally get a good look at them.

You were right about her, at least I think it's a her, general proportions – she look to be around six and a half foot tall, with twisted hide the blackened grey of burnt wood. Each time she moved, small windings of flame burst to life around her joints. Branch like protrusions around her joints gave her the impression of armour. A total lack of hair made her only feminine features the slight swell suggesting breasts on her chest. A head like a deer's skull rose and fell in time with the heavy breathing. Hands that ended in claws like thorns and digitigrade legs ending in hooves capped her limbs.

You've never seen her like before, you must admit. And you've toured these woods for as long as the game has existed. But then, you'd never seen a mosquito like that either.

The glow that the being gave off began to dim as her breathing evened out and slowed down, although she still didn't move. You push a little closer, enough to look up into the empty eye sockets of the deer skull helm. Deep within, you can see much more normal looking eyes. Eyes currently closed.

A harsh cracking noise causes you to jump backwards and then whimper as your injuries make their displeasure at the sudden movement known. Several more echoing noises are coupled with a small puff of ash form the figure in front of you, and then her skin peeled open like an insect's exoskeleton, falling away in chunks as it toppled forwards. Bursting from the back of the apparently separate suit of armour was a decidedly different form. One which, despite your pain, you were unable to look at without appreciating.

Skin the colour of new growth, a pale green that should have looked sickly on any living creature, was one of the only things that marked her out form any human woman. Thin horns that swept from her brow acted as a tiara, keeping long white hair from her hauntingly beautiful face. High cheekbones and a thin nose give her a somewhat severe cast. She is totally nude beneath her shedding armour, more and more impossibly smooth skin becoming visible as burnt wood flakes away. She seems to be blemishless, no spots not wrinkles, bar several long scratches that leak clear blood like sap. She lets out a soft sigh as her arms are freed and sensuously traces her fingertips over her body, pausing for a little longer on her breasts, before delicately using them to slice her way free of more of the wooden suit. Her eyes still closed, she gives a short moan of appreciation as her fingers glide between her legs. The armour further down is ignored in favour of further pleasure for a few moments, until one swift movement frees her totally. Her legs are revealed to be far more human than they first appeared, the suit having been holding her onto her tiptoes. As it loses contact with her the wooden remains quickly crumble to coal, leaving the woman kneeling in the middle of a circle of ash, eyes closed, one hand kneading her breast as the other returns to between her legs.

You're entranced to see her wounds knitting closed before your eyes as her apparently literally magic fingers move over her flesh. As much as you'd love to keep watching, powers like that might be just what you need, and a good impression could help.

You spend another few moments drinking in the sights of the beauty pleasuring herself before theatrically covering your eyes with your working wing and coughing, loudly.

You are immediately answered with a shriek; a scrabbling, crunching noise; something damp impacting your wing with little force and a rapidly spreading numbing sensation.

As you lose control of your good wing and have it slide from your face, you see the woman, no longer nude but in a skimpy outfit of bark that covered her privates and provided truly marvellous lift to her breasts, small though they were. She stares at you with shock and fear. The numbing sensation is still spreading up your wing and your forelimb is no longer supporting your weight.

You meet her eyes and say, with as much offence as you can muster. “Well that was uncalled for.”

A second later, the numbing poison reaches your heart and you collapse into unconsciousness.