10-12-2020, 08:01 PM
The drive northwest into Siberia was breathtaking. The forests like a lush verdant carpet, the road they traveled a scar cut into it. At times, it almost felt like a tunnel, the trees were so high. They stopped frequently so he and the women could get out and walk. The smell of pine and spruce cut sharply into the nose. The Taiga, as the boreal forest was called, was a unique biome unlike any on the planet, stretching across the northern quarter of the planet across Eurasia and North America. It was idyllic, almost as if they had entered a Russian folktale. He half expected Ivan the Fool or Baba Yaga to burst out of the trees at times.
Podkamennaya River was only spotted once they got close to it but it was beautiful, an artery of water that branched off into veins and capillaries to feed the forest. Villages and small cities dotted the region, smoke or steam from the wood processing that was the life blood of area rising obscenely from the ground and hovering around trapped by the nearby trees.
He enjoyed the women's reactions to the Taiga, especially Valeriya. Her scrawlings on the rock face had come to life in a way she could not have imagined. She seemed to have fallen in love with the world. Rowan felt the ancient majesty and magik of the forest. He was no stranger to the world but being with them gave him new Eyes to see it, new ways to experience it. Their energy and excitement during the day came out during their nights in the camper as they explored each other, got to know each other's bodies in new and novel ways, hungers stoked and teased and fired and fed. Radyeni writ large. Valeriya and Rowan as enamored and lustful for each other as for him. He felt 30 years old again, his energy never flagging. Waking, of course, was a burden, but one he gladly bore, the feel of their silky smooth skin, their taut hard bodies against his.
Finally, they arrived and he could not help but feel a sense of sorrow and the end of their journey. But they were here for a reason. He had pored over the map, endlessly questioning Valeriya about specific words and their meaning. Sadly, her knowledge of the ancient language was primarily ceremonial and limited. In the end, he knew little more than he had at the beginning of their trip.
The demarcation between the forest and the epicenter of the Tunguska event was sharp, as if someone had leveled a massive area of trees. Nothing seemed to grow, at least nothing large. They stood at the age, studying the terrain, not yet ready to head out into it. They were not yet complete anyway.
As if a summons, noises drew their attention. He couldn't help but smile at the burst of red and white from the forest line. Patricus loved his Papal regalia. He looked at Rowan and Valeriya with a tight smile and one raised eyebrow, before turning back to the Pope. He stepped forward and held out his hand. "Greetings, Holy Father. We are glad you made it." He didn't mind the honorific, this time. But he had no inclination to kneel or kiss his ring. He gestured. "This is Valeriya, the Black Eye of the Khylsty. And Rowan, the White Voodoo Queen of the Bottom of the Cup." He smiled at the titles.
Podkamennaya River was only spotted once they got close to it but it was beautiful, an artery of water that branched off into veins and capillaries to feed the forest. Villages and small cities dotted the region, smoke or steam from the wood processing that was the life blood of area rising obscenely from the ground and hovering around trapped by the nearby trees.
He enjoyed the women's reactions to the Taiga, especially Valeriya. Her scrawlings on the rock face had come to life in a way she could not have imagined. She seemed to have fallen in love with the world. Rowan felt the ancient majesty and magik of the forest. He was no stranger to the world but being with them gave him new Eyes to see it, new ways to experience it. Their energy and excitement during the day came out during their nights in the camper as they explored each other, got to know each other's bodies in new and novel ways, hungers stoked and teased and fired and fed. Radyeni writ large. Valeriya and Rowan as enamored and lustful for each other as for him. He felt 30 years old again, his energy never flagging. Waking, of course, was a burden, but one he gladly bore, the feel of their silky smooth skin, their taut hard bodies against his.
Finally, they arrived and he could not help but feel a sense of sorrow and the end of their journey. But they were here for a reason. He had pored over the map, endlessly questioning Valeriya about specific words and their meaning. Sadly, her knowledge of the ancient language was primarily ceremonial and limited. In the end, he knew little more than he had at the beginning of their trip.
The demarcation between the forest and the epicenter of the Tunguska event was sharp, as if someone had leveled a massive area of trees. Nothing seemed to grow, at least nothing large. They stood at the age, studying the terrain, not yet ready to head out into it. They were not yet complete anyway.
As if a summons, noises drew their attention. He couldn't help but smile at the burst of red and white from the forest line. Patricus loved his Papal regalia. He looked at Rowan and Valeriya with a tight smile and one raised eyebrow, before turning back to the Pope. He stepped forward and held out his hand. "Greetings, Holy Father. We are glad you made it." He didn't mind the honorific, this time. But he had no inclination to kneel or kiss his ring. He gestured. "This is Valeriya, the Black Eye of the Khylsty. And Rowan, the White Voodoo Queen of the Bottom of the Cup." He smiled at the titles.