Chapter 15: Old friends
Jaenor stepped out of Natina’s house; the cool air of the mountains stuck his face, making him hiss. The cold would double down right after the sun in these mountains, and as it was evening and the sun was no longer on the horizon, the weather would only get colder.
Jaenor walked to the street in front of Natina’s house, his blood still running hot from their encounter.
The memory of her curves and the pleasure of her touch distracted him from the chilly wind. He wanted to spend the rest of the night with her and savour the moment, but he needed to go to his mother. It had been a day since he touched her, and he was longing for it.
No matter how many women came, he would never forget his mother.
As he was making his way towards his home, a sound of familiar laughter echoed through the evening air and drew his attention.
He saw Baren and Taeryn were making their unsteady way up the path, arms slung around each other’s shoulders in the manner of men who had discovered the bottom of more than one tankard. Their voices carried on the still air, raised in a drinking song that was only marginally in tune and considerably less than appropriate for mixed company.
The sight of them brought a grin to Jaenor’s face.
Seeing his two friends staggering their way around the street, made him remember his old days.
Baren caught sight of Jaenor, and his face split in a wide smile that revealed teeth. He was the oldest of them all and worked as a blacksmith, inheriting his smithy from his father.
His dark hair was prematurely streaked with silver—a consequence, he claimed, of dealing with difficult customers and stubborn iron in equal measure.
"Jaenor!" he called out, his voice carrying the careful precision of a man trying not to slur his words.
"Jaenor, you sneaky woolhead!" Taeryn’s voice slurred, heavy with ale.