Chapter 26 - The Cave of the Gray Stone People part 6

The floor of the cavern was littered with fallen bodies when I awoke. It looked like we had been massacred during the night, and in a way we had. Do not the French call orgasm "la petit mort", the little death? Well, I had died several times that night, and rousing from sleep the next morning was very much like rising from the dead. The Stohle were nowhere to be seen, having departed before dawn. The men lay where they had dropped, some atop one another, naked, filthy, still smeared in animal grease. The orgy had continued after the Keepers, sore and exhausted, took their leave of us, and the cavern stank of all the essence that had been splashed so liberally around.

The chamber echoed with our snores and groans and rumbling farts. It took me three attempts to get to my feet. I stumbled to the entrance, holding my thumping skull in one hand and my aching penis in the other. I pushed through the hangings, squinting into the dim light. I felt as if I were covered in sticky honey. I slipped and skidded halfway down the cliff to the springs below. I meant to bathe myself. I wasn't going to be able to think clearly, to sober up, until I had cleansed that animal grease from my skin. Not only that, I stank. And I had a horrible taste in my mouth.

Steam rolled up from the burbling pools at the base of the ravine. The foliage and rocks were patterned with frost. With a grimace, I sat on one of the limestone slabs that projected out over the water. Bracing myself for the shock, I slid into the churning liquid. So cold! Shivering uncontrollably, I scooped some sand from the bed of the stream and scrubbed my flesh. I dipped my head and washed my hair clean. I sucked in a mouthful of water, gargled and spat it out.

Brulde and Strom staggered down the slope a few minutes later. Strom, I saw, was walking a little bowlegged. Poor kid. Last night was the young warrior's first Stohle-Et-Strochte, and he'd done very well in the challenges. He'd fared very well after the Stohle-Et-Strochte, too, when it was just the men. He was handsome and very fit.

Brulde's eyes were still swollen and red from the smoke and his blond hair was matted on one side, but he looked more relaxed than he had the past few weeks. He had gotten his "essence preserved" several times. Come next winter, there would probably be a couple of girls with blond haired, blue-eyed children on their hips.

"Strom. Brulde," I greeted them.

Brulde hopped from foot to foot beside the pool, shivering and cupping his genitals in both hands. "Is it cold?" he asked, teeth chattering.

"No, it's actually pretty nice," I said slyly. "Almost feels warm, once you get in."

Lying about how cold the water is... that is also an ancient tradition.

He plunged in and howled.