Last Wish

Garth knew this would end with his death, and not long from now.
Tamra's cooling body lay draped across his, as he clung for both of them to the Heatrock cliff edge. An arrow deep in his thigh weakened him, and he realized this would be the place.

# # #

"Take me, Garth," Tamra sighed. "Take me away from here, away from the Keepers."

He caressed her back idly, his expression still. She reached up, and tugged his attention her way, smiling. Such thick hair. His gaze warmed, and he pulled her over until her body lay along his, hip to hip, and chest to chest. Garth held her against him as the heat between them began to rise. Again. Tamra grinned, devilish in her glee, and slid down a bit.

"We don't have much time, love," her eyes glinted. "But we have enough, I think."

And she continued her descent down his muscular form, pausing to nibble at the edge of his loincloth, and chuckled at his reflexive twitch. "Oh, I think I know what we have enough time for."

Garth's vision dimmed, the last image before mindless climax the love in her eyes, that night.

# # #

Had it been only ten days?

# # #

The clanging on the bars woke them the next morning, the growls from the Keepers coming closer as they worked their way down the long row of cages. Another day.

Garth rose, stretched, and splashed gray water from the trough over his face and shoulders. Tamra yawned and dressed. They touched hands briefly, revelling in the last moment of privacy they had for the day. Neither had slept much, the night before.

We should have been planning, instead of loving. But Goddess, she is beautiful.

The Keeper Trog shambled over, unlocked their gate, and swung it open. He propped it with his foot, leisurely sliding his gaze along Tamra's curves as she squeezed past. She avoided looking into his face.

Garth didn't. His face and posture hardened, as he noted the guard's interest. He crouched, hands fisted.

As Trog shifted back in, distracted by Tamra's receding form, Garth leapt upon him, one hand on his throat, one aiming for his crotch. He was silent in his attack, teeth bared, and several seconds passed before the other guards noticed the two grappling on the dusty floor of the cave. Both of Trog's claws gripped Garth's lower hand, as he worried less about dying than being castrated. He gasped for breath, reptilian jaws widening, green spittle spraying as he gagged and choked. Garth's greater weight won out, or would have, if the six other Keepers hadn't raced over to the rescue.

As it was, Garth spent the next eight days in the medic's tent, recuperating from the beating he received. With each day, he worried more for her safety. He'd heard what happened to the workers who caught the attention of the guard. When he could sit up on his own, he sent word to Tamra. Tonight, my love.

# # #

They'd escaped, barely, taking advantage of the arrogance of their captors and the belief Garth wasn't capable of any trouble, so soon after his last infraction. Time didn't allow for preparation, beyond a single water pouch, although the night helped shield their run for a solid lead.

Morning came, though, and with it the heat. Dusty rock and pounding waves of sunlight sapped their energy. Tamra and Garth had spent their lives toiling for the Keepers, and they understood sacrifice and struggle intimately. The meager water supply was long emptied. As the temperature topped 120 degrees Fahrenheit, the lack of shelter and water took their toll. They became as intimate with suffering as they were with each other.

When the sun reached its highest point in the sky, the Fliers came. They carried Searchers, Keepers trained to track in the desert, to hunt down those few who managed to escape, and survive longer than a few hours in the open desert. The dozen Fliers swooped and glided, their screeches sounding more of indignance than victory, but closer they came. So close, once, Tamra's hair lifted from the draft caused by a Flier's wings. The two clasped hands and took to sprinting outright, skidding and sliding as they twisted fruitlessly around the dry, hostile flora.

Scratched, dizzy, and exhausted, they turned to take their stand at the edge of a cliff. Their chests heaved, but Tamra and Garth stood, calm in the face of oncoming death.

The Flier careened by, the Searcher on its back leaning close to hurl a short spear at Garth. Too close, as Garth loosed Tamra's hand and leaped up to snag the winged beast's harness. Losing balance, the Flier shrieked and slammed into the side of the cliff, the Searcher on its back babbled and attempted a mad launch for the Heatrock, himself. His spear made it, but he dropped, his body breaking as he scraped and jounced his way to the bottom of the canyon. Garth's eyes blazed, and he knelt to draw up the spear.

His war cry sounded through the canyon, Tamra huddled but stood beside him. The Fliers approached for another pass. This time, they used arrows.

Tamra held a rock in her hand, but her eyes were empty, her face slack. Dust caked around her open mouth, her breathing harsh. A Flier glided past, the Searcher drew and released an arrow.

"Drop, Tamra," Garth shouted, though he was only feet from her. The arrow struck home, deep in her chest, and she did drop. She slid to the hot earth, her face as empty as a moment before, but her breathing was wet, now. Garth shot to her, cradled her against him as she rattled her last breath. He took her hand, loosening her fingers so the rock could roll harmlessly away.

"Ah, love. We made it, you know. For a little while, we were free, together."

He held her, as he turned to face his own end, and find his own freedom.