Helena 's incubus




Helena slept heavily, her retentive blonde tresses dangling over the sharpness of the bed as she sprawled across the two-base hit mattress.

A groan escaped from her rim as she woke uncomfortably, the feeling of a system of weights pressing down on her belly and rib disturbing her.
As her eyes flickered undefended it seemed, in the sombreness of her bed-chamber, that a humble creature was perched on her torso, its oculus glinting.

heart suddenly wide candid, she shot upright. The imagination of the fauna disappeared. She blinked and rubbed her eyes, groaning yet again.

exterior, the Equus caballus whinnied and neighed in their stalls. Concerned, Helena pushed back the linen bedsheet and the heavy twill mantle, then rose from her bed and padded quietly to the window, carefully easing the dark red velvet mantle apart and peering out into the stable yard.

In the moonlight capital of Montana could see nothing, but nevertheless the horses continued to protest, their noises now more clamant. Disturbed, she decided to investigate.

In the darkness she slid her feet into her slippers, picked up a shawl from the back of her the chair by her dressing table, wrapped it around herself and, crossing the bare parquet floor boards of the cold room, stepped out onto the landing place which led to the staircase.
From a shelf beside the doorway she struck a guard compeer then lit the candle housed in a pocket-sized alloy and glass lamp hanging below it.

Carefully removing the lamp from its hook she made her way downstairs, the apparition cast by the lamp swinging crazily around the walls of the staircase, and across the hallway to the dresser opposite.

Removing a small key from the chain around her neck Helena opened the ignition lock of the top draftsman of the dresser and slid it open air.
She lifted out the Beaumont-Adams .44 quality handgun it contained, and hefted it experimentally up to shoulder tiptop. The gun felt expectant, perhaps five pounds in free weight, which she knew meant it was fully-loaded, with all five shots in place.

Helena was relieved by the protection she felt the gun afforded, and was glad James I had left it there for her. He had privately purchased one of the newer American Smith And Wesson exemplar 3 shooting iron, as he preferred it to the standard British Army officer issue Beaumont, describing it as quicker and more reliable.
He had left it behind for her personal auspices whilst he was away - their remote smallholding, nestling at the substructure of Buckinghamshire 's Chiltern Hill was picturesque but apart, and within a day 's drive of capital of the United Kingdom, with the newer, faster steam-trains such as The flight Scotsman also bringing the occasional footpad, robber or ne'er-do-well into the normally tranquillise county.

She glanced up at the ferrotype hanging on the wall above the bureau, the picture taken on their wedding day, with James II, resplendent in his army maitre d' 's uniform seated, and Helena in her beautiful attire standing behind him, clutching his arm.

How she wished he was here now, he had been away for most of the yr in that tremendous war in KwaZulu-Natal. The newspaper had all speculated that after the victory in the Battle Of Ulundi, and the subsequent capture of King Cetiswayo the war was won, and that the troop would be home soon.
It seemed otherwise though, in his go letter James had written that they were expecting to remain in the nation for some time, to supervise its partition.

Holding the pistol in her right on hand she picked up the lamp and made her way to the figurehead threshold, passing the reproductive memory of that spooky painting which James liked so much, the scarey one with the sleeping womanhood, the implike Prince of Darkness sitting on her dresser and a horse cavalry poking its forefront through the curtains.

A portrait of the Queen wall hanging at the end of the hall looked solemly down at her, her rotund brass and stout soundbox making her seem every inch the matriarchal crowned head and empress.
Helena smiled to herself as she recalled the day she and James River had visited capital of the United Kingdom, to see the Queen ride through the city in an unresolved carriage en path to the Royal Horticultural display at Kensington.

The well-chosen retentivity quickly faded, and Helena carefully set the lamp down beside the door, turned the doorkey in its lock chamber, and flipped the taking into custody up.
Picking the lamp back up she tugged the door open with her foot, then made her way out into the K, holding the lamp up in her left hand, whilst her decent arm hung by her side, carrying the weight of the pistol.
Behind her the wooden door hung, invitingly half open.

A chill autumnal breeze blew thick Strand of an Erie mist through the yard, seeming to almost glow in the visible light of the full lunar month. The cold from the slabs laid across the yard chilled her feet through her thin slipper, and she shivered as she walked, the rough hem of her cotton plant nightgown flapping around her ankles.

She looked towards the stable mental block, bordering the ripe side of the yard outside the farmhouse, and stepped towards it, her stomach tight with nerves.
broncobuster, her own buck, stuck his head out of his booth and neighed a greeting to her as he always did, but somehow even he seemed spooky. She paused by his room access and scratched him gently on the olfactory organ, using her right elbow.

'' Easy, boy. '' she said softly to the equine, `` zero to worry about, silly pony. '' although she doubted her own word. Something had spooked them and no mistake, she could see them stamping and shuffling in their somebody cubicle.
At the sound of her voice a mates to a greater extent gymnastic horse poked their chief out and whinny disturbingly.

Helena crossed the yard, towards the candid barn opposition. To her left the ace level edifice which housed the tack room and workshop was in shadow, its doors shut and seemingly undisturbed.

She stepped into the barn, holding the lamp as high as she could to attempt to befuddle as lots light as possible around the stacked sheaf of straw and the collection of pitchforks, rakes, heather and bucket it contained.

Suddenly, the sound of hooves walking slowly in the yard behind her get capital of Montana to spin round. She gave a gasp of terror as she saw a boastfully black sawhorse, at least eighteen deal high, with a man dressed solely in black upon it.

The horse lifted its headspring towards her, and Helena 's blood felt as if it would immobilise in her venous blood vessel as she saw that its optic seemed to beam with an unholy Edward D. White light.
Her own middle stretched wide in horror.

The Equus caballus halted at the incoming to the barn, then the man dismounted and slowly began to border on her.
As he neared the spark capital of Montana could see him more clearly. Tall, handsome, with finely chiselled cheekbones and piercing blueing centre. His comely fuzz was cropped short at the slope, but left a little longer on top. Although he wore a overcoat, it was out-of-doors and his body was obviously muscular, the mean sweater he wore displaying a well-built chest and a straight stomach.

His public square jaw was set in determination, and his center glinted as he regarded Helena coldly. She took a dance step backwards, and raised the pistol.

'' S-S-STOP ! '' she shouted, `` W-who are you, and w-what are you doing here ? '' she continued. Hastily she placed the lamp on the ground and cocked the shooting iron, shaking helping hand struggling to pull back the hammer, ready for firing.

Wordlessly he continued forward. Helena took another step back and screamed `` GET AWAY FROM ME OR I 'LL SHOOT ! '' Her work force continued to agitate as she grasped the butt of the shooting iron with both hands and aimed it towards the man 's torso.

He took another footstep forward, and she pulled the trigger.

The tacky composition of the gun echoed almost deafeningly around the b. The repercussion jolted her backwards, her blazonry flying up. She staggered back a tone, one of her slider flying off and her foot landing in the wet, cold mud of the barn floor.

The man halted, but his expression did not alter. He took another gradation forward.

brat exploded through every nerve in capital of Montana 's body. tinker's dam, she had missed ! As James had taught her to do, she lifted the shooting iron and pointed the gun muzzle upwards as she re-cocked the gun.
Her ovolo slipped off the power hammer on the showtime attempt, although on the second she pulled it down and it locked into place.

rubble from the shot she had just fired fell from the vacuous chamber and sizzled briefly as it landed in the deaden mud. A small particle landed on Helena 's nightdress, burning a tiny kettle of fish in the cloth.

The man took another step, now he was only a few feet away from her. Helena aimed the gun directly at the nerve centre of the man 's chest and pulled the initiation again.

This time she was ready for the recoil, and her arms hardly moved. The flash from the muzzle spat forward directly towards the unknown 's chest.

The man took another footstep forward, as if the bullet had passed harmlessly through him. Helena was petrified, unable to locomote, her trembling coat of arms still holding the side arm.

With one stopping point step he was before her. With a single brutal sweep oar of a fist he knocked the gun from capital of Montana 's outstretched manus. It bounced on the floor and disappeared into the gloomy shadows of the barn 's recesses.

She stood, paralysed with reverence. The man 's gaze pierced hypnotically into her center, as he grasped her, drawing her last to him and planting his backtalk across hers, forcing his clapper into her mouth.
She tried to dissent, but could manage only a muffled squeal.

The man continued to have her tightly against his own body, and his tongue continued to explore her mouth.
He continued to stare directly into her eyes. She felt herself spellbind, ineffectual to reject or even await away, as if under some sort of enchantment.

To her astonishment, capital of Montana found herself becoming aroused by the rough treatment, perhaps as a reaction to the veneration and repugnance she had just undergone, perhaps due to the wants and needs of a Brigham Young womanhood left alone for too long, perhaps due to some unconcious desire to be treated that way, but nevertheless she could palpate the fellow warmth within the lower ambit of her paunch that she always felt when St. James the Apostle pleasured her in their bed, the rising damp inside her.

Her tense body relaxed a little, and the man moved his hands to her articulatio humeri, pushing off the shawl, which crumpled in a heap around her bounder, exposing her bare cervix, which he kissed.
His hands then grasped the sleeves of her nightdress, pulling them downwards and forcefully dragging her wearable down. As it reached her hips he let go, and the stuff slid down her legs, pooling around her feet.

The man held her arms and took a step backwards, his middle steadily travelling down the length of her now naked organic structure, regarding carefully her neck opening, pert breasts, flat abdomen, her pubic bone, then her thighs, calves and articulatio talocruralis.

His stare travelled back up to her groyne, pausing for a moment, then returning his regard to see capital of Montana 's own center.
Finally he spoke, his words calm and storey. `` You will be mine, and I will be yours. I will fuse your body and soul to my own, I will teem my spirit, breath and metier into you, you will have me and I will consume you. And have you I will ... ''

His speech pattern was mysterious, Continental, loaded with the tones of Central Europe, and the parole filled Helena with a discombobulation of concern, dread and lust.
She suddenly realised that not only would she allow this man to do anything he desired to her, she wanted him to do so, she wanted to be taken, her trunk was there for his satisfaction, and his alone.

The man placed his workforce on her berm and pushed down. Hypnotically, she responded by slowly supplicating before him, the cold mud of the b 's base dirtying her knees.

He placed one hand firmly on top of her head and with the other pushed down the waistband of his jodphurs.
His member sprung out, erect and proud.

Instinctively, Helena opened her mouth, and the man pushed the throbbing penis towards it, the bulbous head forcing her lips wider then pressing upwards to the roof of her mouth.

Slowly he eased it back out, then returned it in, a little deeper this time. Sliding it out and in once more, he began a decelerate radiation diagram of introduction and withdrawal, his hands gently rocking Helena 's promontory forward and back, each gentle thrust going a fraction further back into her sass until finally reaching the spinal column of her mouth. Helena began to cash in one's chips a slight, but the man simply moved one hand to her shoulder and pushed downwards, whilst the other script tilted her head backwards, aligning her sass and throat as one.

He bent his knee joint, pushed his hips forward, and he found what he sought - deep throat insight. Helena was powerless to balk as he slid the cock to and fro, from her sassing to deep within her.

Wordlessly he thrust, faster and faster. She could sense the dripping moistness of her vagina and the hotness in her belly contrasting with the cold night air on her skin.

Suddenly he stopped and withdrew completely. capital of Montana, gasping for air, fell forward onto all fours, her hands now also in the mud.

Still panting, she was mindful of him stepping over her, the leather of his riding flush pressing her flanks, and the boisterous grip of his hands seizing her around the rib.
He manhandled her around, turning her the polar way.

Suddenly the blackguard of his kick jabbed her buttock, propelling her violently forward onto a bale of straw, the penetrating prongs of dry supergrass stabbing into her erect nipples.

On her muddy up knee, bent forward over the bale she was unable to be active as she felt the leather of the boot once more, this clock time between her thighs. His understructure forced her legs apart then he too knelt, using her discarded night-robe to prevent his own clothes becoming soiled.

His helping hand grabbed her around the waistline, and she felt the end of his cock begin to probe the lips of her moist vagina, before sliding deeply in.

He began a pattern of alternating jab, varying the astuteness of each - sometimes lightly, gently inside her, sometimes powerfully jabbing deep within, building a steadfast rhythm.
She struggled her elbows up onto the Basle to free her nipples from the scratching weed as her trunk rocked to and fro, but they still throbbed, the pain contrasting sharply with the pleasure the knockout cock inside her was bringing.

capital of Montana felt her pleasure Begin to rise. Her breather began to come in short, sharp, draws. She began to gift out a series of loud gasp as her orgasm neared when, suddenly, the man withdrew completely.

With a final gasp, she sank beside the bale, her haunches now in the mud. Panting heavily, she spluttered `` More ... please, more ! I beg you, sir ... ? ``
Her vagina ached for the loss of sexual climax as she sat amid the damp and the slime.

The man simply looked down at her, his cold, commanding heart fixing her once again. His gaze burned into her soul.

He stepped over her and, grabbing her arm, tried to extract her to her feet. Helena 's trembling legs were like jelly and she was unable to stand, so the man simply dragged her along, through the mud, her pegleg and position now coated with filth.

The hard stone of the slabs in the pace shocked capital of Montana as she was pulled across them, jolting her to her senses. She scrambled to her ft but was powerless to dissent as the man pulled her towards the tack room. He paused by the threshold, lifting one booted leg and, with a single right boot, smashed the doorway open, towing the resistless woman in behind him.

The conversant smells of the tack hit Helena 's nostrils, the copious scent of the leather of the saddles, the faint stink of equine and human exertion, the warming menthol of linaments, the light scent of mud and excrement all mixing to cater a heady fragrance, but somehow now all in much acuate direction, the fragrant in acute demarcation to the malodorus.

In the shadowy gloom the man grabbed a head-collar from its hook and, drawing Helena 's arm together behind her back wound it roughly around her radiocarpal joint, finally using the lead rope to insure her wrists together.

He pulled a playscript of matches from his pocket and struck one, the sudden puff of air of phosphorous and sulphur briefly joining the melee of perfume in the air, then lit an oil-lamp on the paries.
The bright yellow glow of the lamp threw the dark Mrs. Henry Wood of the sparse furnishings and the brown leathers of the saddles and tack into acute relief.

In the inwardness of the room was the familar saddle stand, with Helena 's own saddle draped across it.

The man pushed her unwaveringly towards it and bent her side-saddle across the seat, pushing her forward so that her heels left the flooring, only her tip-toes touching the ground and her bare rump pointing upwards, unresolved, exposed.
Her stomach twitched at the tone of the moth-eaten leather and her breasts dangled down, her hardened nipples touching the flaps at the side.

capital of Montana waited in anxious expectation, wondering what the man intended to do next. Seconds seemed to hang up in the air, as if mo were passing, the expectation heightening her excitement

Suddenly she found out. He grasped the choker wound around her bounce wrists to hold her becalm, then brought down his other hand in a stinging slap across her buttock.

She shrieked, the shock and the pain making her body tug. A 2nd blow fell on her other buttock.

The man gently caressed her bottom with the back of his manus, the smoothness of the touch the pure counter to the sting of the chassis, before he raised his handwriting once more and rained down a sequence of slaps alternately to each cheek.

To her own astonishment Helena began to enjoy each crack of the man 's deal on her skin, and when he stopped she let out a small groan of disapproval. Her vagina ached inside, longing for fulfilment.

'' More ? '' the man intoned.

'' YES ! '' she begged `` Yes, Sir Thomas More, More please sir, more, I implore you ! ``

She heard the man shuffle his foundation then there was a brief whistling strait before a sudden quip - the intenseness of the sharp pain in her stern causing Helena to yell loudly.
She realised he was using a riding harvest as the second blow tore into her buttock. She screamed again, but this time with pleasure as the combustion pangs only served to increase her arousal.

When the setback ceased she felt a cool down air as the man gently tout across her behind, then he stooped and carefully planted a succession of fire up kisses across the throbbing welts on her rump, the unmanliness of the motion in opposition to the sullen strokes he had just administered only serving to increase her delight.

He released his clench on her leaping wrists then grasped her firmly on the hips with both hands.
She felt the hump of his penis against her moist pussy sassing then he thrust abstruse inside her, causing her to groan in ecstacy, then he began to pump her once more, each poking bringing her to in high spirits pleasure.

Once more he varied the depth and frequency of the thrusts, once more building a steady rhythm method.

The leather of the saddleback, now warmed by her body heat and the detrition of her writhing began to find greasy from her exertion as she neared orgasm and, as she came, she screamed out - first for God, but then simply a ecological succession of meaningless noises and snarls as she lost ascendancy totally, succus gushing from inside her.

Still the man continued to thrust into her, his solidus now becoming quicker and more habitue, until he too cried out and released a watercourse of hot cum inside her.
Helena felt the downpour within her, and she came again, her second orgasm even more intense than the first.

He continued to nurse her, his erection softening only a short as their trunk remained joined. Helena panted, soft moan of pleasure still emanating from her mouth.

Eventually the man released his grasp and withdrew from her. Her heels returned to the primer coat as her body moved backwards, squashing one of her knocker uncomfortably against the knob.
She stood, aching ramification unfirm and turned to front the man.

interior her, her belly still tingled with the joy of her Holocene epoch sexual climax whilst on the outside her rear stung from the thrashing and whipping it had received, her teat ached from the straw that had spiked them, and the hot clash of rubbing on the leather.

She looked up gratefully into his center, the foreign joy of the eccentric experience still overwelming her.

Smiling flatly, the man spoke, his words echoing his early mantra `` You are mine now, and I am yours. Forever ''

Helena stuttered a reply `` B-but ... n-no ... m-my my my husband- ''

The expression on the man 's face changed suddenly, his brow furrowing with displeasure `` Husband ? husband ? '' he suddenly roared `` No, no-one can have you now, we have fused our consistency and souls together. For soul else to deliver you now would be a crime, would be adultery, would be incest. None shall get you now ! ``

With that he suddenly grabbed her forcefully around the throat, his hands tightening, restricting her breathing, shaking, choking her.

Her hands still bound behind her vertebral column Helena desperately tried to strap out with her bare feet, kicking at the man 's shins but his thick riding kick rendered her attempts useless.
She brought up her knee, to try to contact his mole but his heavily overcoat hung around him, cushioning the blow.

Terrified, capital of Montana began to finger the aliveness gaffe from her.




Helena woke with a start, sweating and breathing heavily.

In the swarthiness of her sleeping room she glanced at the alarm clock clock on her bed-side table. The red LED numbers glowed softly. 5:46.

She struggled with the crease of the continental quilt which had somehow become snarl around her, wrapping itself around her neck. As she did so her hangover kicked in.

Her head fell back to the pillow and she groaned. Her Einstein began to patch the events of the previous night together for her.

It had seemed like a good estimation at the meter ; with both their husbands away on active voice service capital of Montana had invited her sister-in-law Anne around for the evening. Helena 's husband King James was away with the King 's Royal Hussars tank regiment in Afghanistan, whilst his sister 's husband Darren was serving with RAF 617 Squadron flying Tornados.

As both women would be alone on Hallowe'en it made sensation for them to get together, especially as Anne 's house was not too far from a large housing estate of the realm notorious for its uncontrollable and occasionally criminal element.
In order to obviate any problems with trick-or-treaters Helena had driven over there, picked her up and the two women had enjoyed a girlie night in together.

Helena 's home was a country star sign and also a working stable several nautical mile out of township, and up a farsighted lane off the independent road so it made sense for the two of them to spend the eventide there as it was unlikely to experience any visitor, but Helena had wanted to be on bridge player as sometimes the Equus caballus were spooked by the auditory sensation of pyrotechnic if any should be set off in the vicinity.

The span of them had spent the evening imbibition vino and communication channel hopping on artificial satellite television, first a Halloween special of The Simpsons, then a moving picture interlingual rendition of Jane Eyre and finally some creepy old American appearance that neither of the women had seen before, presented by that chap who had also done The Twlight Zone.

The span had started off with a bottle of needlelike, sharp, bone dry Confederate States African Chenin Blanc, then when Helena served up dinner they 'd gone onto a big heavy fruity Shiraz, also from South Africa.
The night richness of the red wine had been the perfect accompaniment to the repast, Helena had cooked thick whirl of alimentary paste coil with chopped steak in a tasty tomato, chilli and herb sauce.

Before they knew it, the two had drunk a entirely feeding bottle of the red and opened a second, causing Anne to remark that `` With drunkenness all this African stuff we should be watching that old photographic film, Zulu ! '' she laughed `` Rear rank, firing ! rise ! Reload ! '' she 'd bellowed. The pair had giggled, but a sudden actualisation that both their men were also away upon a alien continent, and in constant hazard, had subdued their laughter briefly.

Nevertheless, the giggling and drinking had quickly resumed. Helena had bought in a selection of cheeses, biscuit, grapes and relish which they 'd consumed with gusto.

Helena had begun to register out loud selection from the Bible she had recently purchased, whilst both she and Anne had screamed with the hilarity,
'' sanctum Crap ! I rip the bundle undetermined and the rubbery safe is all tacky in my fingers ! '' squeals of laughter had rung out
'' Laters, child ! ''
'' My inside goddess pole-vaults over the fifteen-foot bar ! ``

The yoke were still laughing when Anne 's cab had arrived shortly after midnight. capital of Montana had waved her off, then stumbled drunkenly up to bed.

Now, she clicked on the electric igniter beside her bed and swung her feet onto the full-bodied shag-pile carpet, standing up and smoothing down the satin-soft polyester of her shortie gown. The central heating was already on so the room was warm and prosperous as Helena headed for the en-suite to grab a mouthful of water from the tap to forestall her arid and dry mouth.

She shook her head at the computer memory of the strange and disturbing dreaming she had just woken from, and went out to the landing, flicking the lightswitch.

A pendant holding an regalia of electric candles illuminated the stairwell as she went down the steps, passing the display cabinets holding Epistle of James'assembling of antique pistol, and past the Victorian actor's assistant in the hall which, tucked into a small compartment, lie hidden the key to the cupboard under the stairs which held the gun case, which in good turn housed a pair of pristine Purdys - although they were rarely used James had taught her how to accurately fire the shotgun, in the event of George Fox bothering their poulet coops while he was away.

Entering the kitchen and switching the coffee motorcar on, Helena poured herself a methamphetamine of orange succus, which she used to wash down a brace of paracetamols.
Two slices of toast and a smutty coffee later, her hangover had begun to subside and she went back upstairs for a shower.

As the hot flow of water played across her naked consistence, capital of Montana began to reckon about the odd dream. Although it had been terrifyingly horrific at the end, the persuasion of the kinky sex had been deliciously naughty - all that slapping and whipping, all that mud, all that unsmooth sex.

As she washed herself capital of Montana found her hands beginning to digress across her organic structure, finger's breadth manipulated her nipples, and her paw slipped down her smarmy wet body to the crease of her twat.
Sliding a finger into herself she began to stroke her clit, first-class honours degree slowly, then faster.

With her complimentary hand Helena inserted two fingers as deep as she could into her vagina whilst in her psyche she replayed the strange perversions of that Nox 's dream.

Stimulating herself ever faster, her breathing shortened until finally she gasped an orgasm.

Breathing heavily, she stood for a while enjoying the jets of hot H2O caressing her eubstance, then she finished soaping herself.

When she eventually exited the exhibitioner, capital of Montana dried herself and dressed. She picked up her peregrine speech sound and thumbed a text message to Anne : `` Red wine holdover this morn, hatred you atm. Will like you again later lol Great Night but too often cheese b4 bed not good, weird dreaming ! Laters baby lmao x : ) ''

Returning downstairs Helena went down the hallway to the movement door, passing the photo of herself and James IV taken on their nuptials day, she sat on a hot seat, the skirts of her beautiful Patrick Victor Martindale White dress to the forefront, and James, in his Captain 's unvarying behind her.

It pained her to think of all the boys who were out there in Afghanistan. Why were they still there, she pondered. Saddam was dead, Bin Laden was dead, the Taliban had been overthrown - why could n't all of them come home now, a job well done and all that kind of thing ?
Helena had a constant apprehension of receiving a sojourn from the Casualty Notifying police officer, she knew that a single roast of the door could mean a sojourn from a couple of CNO 's.
Four hundred and thirty such visits had already been made to the kin of troops stationed in that faraway land.

She walked along the corridor towards the door, passing the framed print of Fuseli 's Nightmare on the wall. capital of Montana shuddered at the macabre picture, depicting a sleeping woman being visited by an incubus, with a horses head thrust through the curtains in the setting, the sexual overtones of the horse 's read/write head penetrating the gap of the pall seeming to act a penis entering a vagina. Strong material, for the Eighteenth Century when it had been originally painted.

As she pulled on her capital of New Zealand boots she glanced up at the portrait of Princess Princess Diana that hung there by the front doorway.
Helena smiled wistfully, remembering the clip when as a seven-year-old, she had been given the purity of presenting the Princess with a posy, when she had visited capital of Montana 's shoal on a royal stag trip.

Opening the door, Helena went out into the cold Nov morning. She liked to be in the yard working before the ostler and stable little girl arrived for work, to set a good representative as their boss.

Her horse cavalry, Buster, neighed a greeting to her, and she walked to the stable block, petting him on the nose.

Crossing the yard towards the barn she glanced sideways at the low construction that housed the workshops. As she passed the sheet room she smiled, and she could sense her face redden as she blushed with the memory of the dream.

Entering the barn capital of Montana switched on the aging cassette histrion which sat on a ledge. One of James'old prog stone tape measure began to represent.
Helena sighed, one of the danger of having a husband ten long time older than one'self was having to listen to all that old music.

It was somehow strangely comforting when he was away though. It felt like having a niggling small-arm of him there.
capital of Montana struggled to think the public figure of the group who 's tape was playing - their name was something to do with Tolkien, she remembered James I telling her.

She sang happily along with the words `` I, the mote in your eye, I, I, I, I, the molecule in your eye, a lose reaction ... ''

So engrossed in her work and the music was she that Helena completely failed to detect a large black buck, at least eighteen manpower high, taunt by a tall man dressed solely in black, walk into the one thousand behind her.

As the horse lifted its head, its eyes glowed with an unholy light ... ..









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