Something triggered what Galla said next. It was perhaps the promise of lasting freedom, or the assurance that her sister had also suffered the great loss. Or maybe, somehow, Galla felt the scent that seemed to flow around her sister. The wonderful womanly perfume that seemed to seep from her skin, from her muscles, from somewhere higher, an area concealed by a piece of material. And Galla found herself inhaling the scent, keeping it in her lungs, thinking about its origin, and hungering for more. She climbed on the furs and lay her head in Myrine's lap, needing to be close to her. She closed her eyes and spoke:<br/><br/>"Myrine, I have been untouched. While I fought alongside you. While I was in slavery. I struggled to keep men off me. I swore that no man would touch me. Sister, I resisted and hoped I would not be as the women before me. Raped and enslaved to future rapists. And here, here, I succumbed to a satyr." She lifted her gaze and tears fell down her cheeks. "Do not be mistaken, I do not suffer because he was a satyr. I admit I was drawn to him, to his-" She paused, thinking, "to his natural form, to his passion, to his scent." Again, the scent had been important. The scent of sex. "Myrine, I wanted him to enter me. And I-" She paused, she was blushing and trembling now. She could not say it.