In a land far away and long. long ago there in a small village close by the great wood there lived a girl called Elaine. She lived with her step mother who was surprisingly, and against all the odds in a fairy tale, not wicked.
Elaine, and many of the local woodcutters did notice however that her step mother had a wicked grin and equally wicked curves which often meant that any woodcutters she met were soon encumbered with two sizeable choppers instead of just the one with which they cut down trees.
For her part, Elaine was quite happy living in the woods and this being long, long ago the local economy was fairly robust with a mixture of free market capitalism and socialist accommodation thriving between the different and distinct local groupings of basically anarcho-syndicalist communes.
The siting of this wooden economy was rather fortuitous, in that if Elaine had traveled no more than about eleven kilometers in any direction she would come upon either the mountainous regions of the south whose weekly markets were abundant with goat, sheep and the occasional dairy product and to the north where the ecology was, quite frankly, non-existent and there were only buildings, roads and media types.
Neither the wood folk nor the mountain folk ever visited and rarely spoke of the northern land.
Elaine was that rare thing amongst a 'noble peasantry' in that she was an inventor of sorts and a skilled wood turner to boot. The sound of Elaine's wood lathe could be heard echoing for miles through the sleepy forest and was a source of great satisfaction, not only for the local economy but also for the ladies and not a few men of the forest. Elaine's wooden 'articles' were known far and wide throughout the land of far away and long ago.
Every day before the cock-crow Elaine would rise from her bed and very often puzzle over the fact that there was no smutty innuendo written in that sentence. Then she would wonder through the door of her closet-like, cloister-close bedroom and marvel at the sophisticated imagery and word usage of this sentence.
As she passed her step-mother's bedroom she would remember that she was completely naked and ought to go back and get dressed in case one of her step-mother's 'visitors' should come unexpected and unbidden through the door. Then she would think "Oh fuck it." And go outside in her nuddy to collect a pail of pale water from the gushing stream which ran past her wooden home.
On this particular day, in the clearing betwixt and between the towering trees of the forest of the land of long ago and far away Elaine was stepping from the water of the clear stream, rivulets of cool water created their own creeks and becks as they coursed down the slopes and valleys of her pale skin, pausing sometimes in their gravity driven flow to join or separate as they met rising flesh or indented creases along her unblemished skin.
Elaine stood spellbound by the early morning sun reflecting diamonds and flashing satin sheets from her still wet, dry-wet body unknowing and uncaring of the eyes hidden amongst the brush on the opposite side of the gurgling rivulet from which she had stepped. Then, all too quickly, her morning dalliance of private sun-worship and meditation was broken by the odd description of the stream. Her richly proud brow furrowed in concentration as she considered how desperate and amateurish was the phrase 'gurgling rivulet'.
* * *
Wolf Canidae was a man of a certain style. Raffish, some would say, others; rogue. Wolf had been conceived some twenty six years previously (which makes him 25, 26 next birthday. April. The twenty second.) and was a man of intellect yet knowing of woodcraft, the earth and her pleasures. He was the bastard and shunned offspring of a certain woodland girl and a top level executive from the grim northern lands. (You can see where this is leading can't you?)
As he stood in the cool morning mist (incidentally ruining his velvet waistcoat) with his mane of lustrous dark hair swiffling in the very slight breeze rising from the evaporating stream by which he stood, he drank in the sweet heady sight of the naked ginger lady wading from the waters on the opposite bank. Though his mind was awhirl with predacious and conflictingly loving thoughts he concentrated on only two things (no, not her tits. Far too obvious) The main thrust of his musing diverged on two questions. Why use the phrase 'knowing of woodcraft' in the previous paragraph, which is a bit effete and unnecessarily faux romantic usage and also the word 'swiffling'. Evocative and even possibly descriptive in a wildly poetic licencey way but surely completely invented and therefore snapping the reader from their suspension of disbelief.
Wolf shook his head to dislodge the thoughts of the author and felt his heart skip a beat as the vision of loveliness disappeared behind a suspiciously convenient tree.
Being a major character Wolf realised that he must have this girl, this fantasy, this phantasm or any other synonym for vision which didn't bear repeating in a consecutive paragraph. Having convinced himself and drunk with beauty Wolf stumbled forward on tipsy shoes borrowing poetic terminology from an earlier work.
* * *
Elaine, still naked, strode boldly through the doorway of her shared home intent on making a nice pot of tea and a bit of breakfast only to find her step-mother languishing on a carven chair at the kitchen table.
"Why step-mother, whatever can be wrong?" Elaine said as she laid a gentle and gently warming bare arm around her step-parent's creamy, satin skinned shoulder.
Her step-mother turned her face towards her kindly step-daughter and essayed a smile that crinkled her reddening eyes. "'Tis nought that you should worry your own fair head about girl." She said archaicly
As soon as her step-mother uttered those words Elaine knew that there was something deeply and abidingly cruel that must be tearing her very soul for her to speak in such an obviously invented dialect. Elaine leaned closer to comfort her and unconsciously, but perhaps not unintentionally, pressing her full, still naked, rose tipped bosom against her step-mother's shoulder.
The step-mother's shoulders shook in silent misery creating waves of sympathetic flesh and not wholly unwonted sensuous ripples across Elaine's pearly bosom.
"Please step-mother" Elaine cried "You're breaking my heart, please tell me what is wrong."
Elaine's step-mother tried to stifle her sobbing to ease Elaine's pain, for she loved her step-daughter very much and at the moment she was absolutely fascinated by her ginger minge which was on full view to her downcast, tear-filled eyes.
"'Tis nought really." She said tearing her eyes away from her step-daughter's lustrous, shining crotch to look into her face. "But... why oh why can I not have a name?" she wailed anew as the tears fell once more speckling her step-daughter's freckled arm.
Elaine didn't know how to answer her step-mother's question. She realised that typing out 'step-mother' rather than 'Helen' or 'Joan' or even something as ridiculous as 'Hildegard' must be something of a strain for the author whose typing skills had so obviously not progressed to the top row of keys on the keyboard and make him look down every time he typed step-mother in order to fit in the hyphen but she was at a loss how to explain her step-mother's lack of character name.