Suddenly, the Tree of Life appeared strong and hale before him. And oddly, an unfrozen stream bubbled and snaked around it. Gararic blinked, and the scenery changed again.
A woman now stood in the middle of the stream, winter's icy blanket thrown about her like a shawl. Crystals reflected like shards of diamonds and spread about the landscape, as if specifically designed for her. The daylight surrendered to darkness and the night grew silent as moon-glow filled the creek with illustrious light.
Her long black hair hung about her shoulder like a midnight cape and fell past her waist to her knees. Beneath her raven mane the lush curves of her naked body were a sculpture of majestic beauty, and Gararic knew he had never seen such a beautiful creature before.
She had eyes as violet and perfect as an amethyst stone. Her lips--a perfect pout of cherry red that begged to be kissed. Her womanhood--a black thatch of darkness against her pale skin and Gararic yearned to reach out and run his hands up her body.
He felt the strong desire to caress the soft planes of her thighs. To run his hands ever so slowly up the curve of her hip and gently skim over her high, supple breasts. The image of burying himself deep within her burned across his mind. The need to touch her, possess her was almost more than he could bear.
Gararic woke with a start, sweat beading his entire body; his cock rigid with a want. He couldn't remember feeling such an immense desire for a woman--not since he was an untried youth.
"Sweet Freja," he swore throwing off his blankets as he reached for his sword. Standing in a rush he began to pace the small enclosure of his campsite as his anger beat down on him. It infused each step as he stomped back and forth like a trapped lion in a cage. Despite the lust coursing through him he tried to digest the meaning of the dream. But he could not shake the discomfort of the images of death, nor the lingering desire for the woman.
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