The cimmerian seethed at Mira as she gleefuly taunted him with the eye of Ibis.  His stony features were cold as the winter wind in the lands of the red haired vikings whose scalps adorned his bardiche.<br/><br/>He spoke not a word to the slip of a girl with whom he'd shared so much delightful passion, giving as he took.  He fixed her face in this moment in his mind, even as her sweet body was burned into his mind, every curve, every silken soft inch of her skin, even the sounds she made in eccstacy and the scent of her arousal.  Her hooks were in him even now, he knew, and he would never be free of the lust for her, but that was her greatest mistake, for she was the one who would never be free of him.  His lust for her would endure 'til the day her beauty was worn out, but the cheer, the gentle-spirited passion, the attentive sharing.  She would never taste that again.  She was a receptacle for his seed, however badly desired of one, now and forever.<br/><br/>The stony faced Cimmerian did not immediately turn to the taunting cavalrymen.  Only when the last sight of the Brythunian's honey blond hair vanished over the hill did calmly turn to those who thought him a dead man, out manned, unarmored, on foot.<br/><br/>He ignored the others at first to eye the tawny haired Maris, shapely and powerful body unable to be concealed beneath the armor.  Only when the charge began did he his eyes wander to the on rushing foe.<br/><br/>The Cimmerian was a mountain with a face of frosted bronze, quickly assesing the swordsman, then returning his eyes to the prize.<br/><br/>To the shieldmaiden.<br/><br/>Hooves nearer.<br/><br/>Kael smiled.<br/><br/>