The hand around his wet, rigid cock made his hips jerk, a virgin boy's. "In my culture, when one wants to learn, one must submit oneself to being taught. The bond between teacher and student is one of our most sacred. You may guide me. I recognize my own inexperience. These are treacherous paths my horse cannot walk without your hand." It was a direct translation of a proverb said commonly in Xishanese, which proved how much Taiga had lost his head, even to the point of misspeaking Dusanian.<br/><br/>He leaned back, looking into Eras' eyes. They were different than a Xishanese person's, fascinatingly so. So too was Eras' height. Taiga was overwhelmed, and still a boy. He broke apart, their hips and legs entwined, everything sleek and slipping against flesh in the water. Taiga was stunning. His beautiful body, marred only by the sickly bruising, was open and shining under Eras' eyes. His black hair was tangled into curls.<br/><br/>His fingers trailed down Eras' neck, across the nape, his eyes following his caressing fingers.<br/><br/>"Sir, you are going to make me convert religions, I think," Taiga said, voice low with emotions and desire. "But we are who we have become because we do not have ease and plenty. We cannot farm as you can, so existence has become borrowed through war and nomadry. We have our own grace, our own beauty. A traveler who came to live with us for a time said to me once that there is great beauty and terror in any race, and I think this is so."<br/><br/>"But I do not want to talk about my home," he said softly, gently. "No, in fact, I think it's safe to say I'd like to forget the names of all my forbears today, and even my own."