Broodmare

Days unfold into weeks, each one a seamless blend of fighting, feasting, and fervour. Argon and Brolan spar each morning, the damp, dew-kissed earth of the clearing outside the village serving as their training ground. They practice the moves taught by Garrick tirelessly, each swing of their weapons a testament to their dedication.

The rest of their time is divided between hunting and aiding the village's recovery. They hunt deer, boars, and the occasional menacing beasts from the forest, their combined efforts managing to provide a steady flow of meat and cores. The villagers, though initially wary, begin to warm up to their presence. Their generosity and assistance in restoring the village earn them grudging respect if not outright admiration.

In between training and hunts, Argon takes pleasure with Mira. Their intimacy grows with each passing day, as does Mira's health. Well-fed and cared for, her body flourishes, regaining its once-lost vitality. Her bust fills out, her cheeks gain a hint of colour, and her eyes sparkle with a zest that was absent before. Each time they come together, their connection deepens, a bond forged in shared pleasure and companionship.

Evenings are spent in camaraderie with Brolan and Dolan, their conversations a mixture of jovial banter and insightful discussions. Some nights, Argon finds himself gazing at the moonlit sky, wondering about their future and the changes it might bring.

As the month draws to a close, Argon looks around at the life they've carved out for themselves in this little village. Despite the initial struggle and hardships, they've managed to create a semblance of normalcy. He can't help but feel a sense of accomplishment.

In the early morning light one day, five silhouettes emerge on the horizon. The village lookout, perched high on the tower, spots them first. A sharp, shrill whistle slices through the crisp air, a prearranged signal that sends villagers scurrying.

The five figures are uniformed in the livery of the Baron's soldiers. Steel armour glints under the sun, the burnished metal standing in stark contrast to the green of the landscape. Their arrival stirs a flurry of activity within the village. Children stop their games to gawk at the visitors, their eyes wide with curiosity. The village elders gather in groups, whispering amongst themselves, their faces marked with a mixture of anxiety and hope.

Each soldier sits tall in their saddle, a formidable figure atop their well-bred warhorses. They carry themselves with the authoritative air of men who are used to being obeyed. A banner displaying the crest of the Baron flutters in the breeze.

Argon, Brolan, and Dolan emerge from the house, their eyes fixed on the approaching soldiers. Argon's gaze is steely, his face a stoic mask. Brolan appears calm, but a careful observer might notice his hand twitching slightly, ready to draw his weapon at a moment's notice. Dolan, on the other hand, seems the most at ease, perhaps due to his familiarity with the Baron's men.

As the soldiers approach the village, their leader, a stern-looking man with a grizzled beard, raises his hand, signalling his men to halt. They draw rein, their horses snorting and tossing their heads.

The village falls silent, all eyes on the soldiers and the trio from the house. This is a pivotal moment, one that could dictate the future of the village. Argon takes a deep breath, stepping forward to meet the soldiers.

"Finally decided to show up, huh?" Argon strides over to them, his voice gruff with annoyance. "Took your sweet time, didn't you? What the hell were you all up to? Picking daisies?"

The leader of the soldiers, still atop his horse, looks a bit taken aback. He hurriedly offers an apology. "I'm sorry, my lord. Villages have been revolting, causing quite the chaos. The Baron had no one to spare..."

Argon gives the nod, understanding the predicament. "Well, everything's fine here now. We've got enough food stored to keep us going for half a year at least."

The soldier lets out a laugh, incredulous. "Did you make food fall from the sky or something?"

Argon's face hardens, his patience wearing thin. In one swift move, he grabs the soldier by his tunic and yanks him off his horse. The man lands hard on the ground, gasping for breath as the wind is knocked out of him. Argon's boots thud against the dirt as he steps over to the fallen soldier. He bends down and gives the man's helmet a good smack.

"And while you were jerking off somewhere, I've been working my ass off here," Argon growls, his words dripping with disdain. The village looks on in silent shock as their lord chastises the Baron's soldier, reminding everyone present who the true leader is.

With an air of finality, Argon tells the soldiers, "Find yourselves a vacant house to crash in. We're leaving at first light." They nod in understanding, not daring to argue with the clearly irritable lord.

Argon then turns to Brolan, instructing him to start packing their belongings. They'd gathered quite a bit during their stay here, and it's a tedious task to stuff everything into the saddle bags. Argon, meanwhile, lounges around, simply observing the buzz of activity.

"Dolan," Argon calls out. The man turns to him, looking a bit uneasy at the unexpected attention. "You're in charge now. Even you shouldn't be able to screw this up."

Dolan offers a quick nod of understanding, thanking Argon and Brolan for everything they've done. Despite his previously strained relationship with the man, Argon can't help but feel a slight pang of something akin to regret. Not for leaving Dolan in charge - he's confident the man can handle it - but rather for leaving the village. As much as he complained about the place, he'd come to enjoy the simple, straightforward life he'd led here. He'd miss it in its own peculiar way.

As the evening draws in, Mira and Joren arrive at Argon's place, their faces reflecting their upset at the imminent departure. The boy, Joren, can't hold back his tears and breaks into open crying. His wails pierce the quiet evening, causing Argon to grimace in irritation.

Argon rolls his eyes, responding with his usual harshness. "Enough of that shit, Joren. Listen here, once I become a knight, you can be my squire, alright?"

He glances at Mira, who's standing next to her little brother. His eyes soften a bit, although his words are still brash. "It's the least I can do, considering I've been breeding your sister like a goddamn broodmare."

Turning to Mira, Argon doesn't soften his tone. "And as for you," he says, looking her over. "Knowing the potency of my seed, you're probably carrying my child right now."

He withdraws a pouch of gold coins from his pocket - ten pieces in total - a small fortune in a place like this. He tosses it to her, and she catches it in surprise, her eyes widening at the weight of it. "Use this to stay alive," he orders her. "I'll be back."

He leans in closer to her, his eyes cold and serious. "And listen here, if you ever let another man touch you while I'm away, I swear I'll gut you like that troll." His words hang in the air, an ominous promise.

Once the kid and his sister had scampered off, Argon turns to see Brolan done with the packing. He tosses another pouch containing five gold pieces towards him. "Give this to your little wench, just in case she's carrying your whelp." Brolan catches the pouch and thanks him, his face a little flushed at Argon's crude phrasing.

With everything set and the day's tasks done, Argon spends his last night in the village in the company of Mira. His hands roam over her body, pulling her close. Despite the harsh words he had just given her, his actions betray his hunger, and he spends the entire night claiming her in a way that leaves no room for doubt about his possession. He falls asleep tangled with her, ready to leave the village come morning.