The smile on Needlepin's freckled face widened slowly until it became a grin, her fingers curling into the tousled mane of raven hair that bobbed between her thighs.
"Mo! That feels amazing!" she said dreamily, her eyelids fluttering.
"I told you it would," came the muffled reply from her crotch.
Needlepin closed her eyes and pressed her head deeper into the pillow. To her ears came the faint sound of soft slurping and slavering, and every nerve in her body tingled in response.
"Let me see it, Mo," she whispered. "Show me the bangle."
Between her thighs a pale face slowly appeared and a pair of gleaming green eyes peered along her naked belly. Long white fingers reached up to sweep raven tresses off the white face, brushing stray hair behind ears that were delicately pointed.
"Show me the bangle, Tricky Mo," Needlepin repeated, as she lifted her head from the pillow to open her eyes.
A mouth opened in the pale face and a slender tongue slithered out, its tip collared by a narrow silver chain that bore a small emerald at the centre. Needlepin smiled, her copper-coloured hair framing her head as she snuggled back into the pillow.
"The jewel feels amazing when your tongue presses it against my clit," she whispered. "I would not have suspected the Wood Elves of inventing such a wonderful device."
"In truth, it is an invention of the Dark Elves," replied Tricky Mo. "We thought of the idea two thousand years ago, but the Wood Elves stole it from us, claiming it as their own. Such are the ways of that treacherous race."
Needlepin chuckled. "So, the ancient rivalry between the elf kindreds extends even to ownership of a tongue-bangle? Well, I care not who claims the origin, for it is a marvellous thing and my clit gives thanks to the maker."
"Only a Dark Elf knows how to use it properly," added Mo. "It requires great skill with the tongue to move the emerald to the right place. If I was a clumsy Wood Elf your sweet cunt would now be sliced like raw mutton."
She lowered her head again and was about to resume her task when something suddenly drummed on the outside of the tent, and heavy footsteps thudded on the ground near the entrance-flap.
"Tricky Mo!" yelled a gruff female voice. "Khit Lano calls for you immediately. She says you must come to her pavilion at once."
Mo sat up, startled and breathless, her white skin gleaming in the tent's yellow candlelight.
"I'll be there in half a minute!" she yelled back, reaching for her clothes.
Needlepin gave a groan and a heavy sigh. "Damnation! What does the General want at this late hour?"
Mo buttoned a blue waistcoat under her breasts and squirmed into a short matching skirt, her mouth muttering voiceless curses as she hurriedly dressed.
"I don't know," she replied. "But it had better be important!"
* * * * * * *
The General's pavilion was a large grey tent in the centre of the Legion's sprawling camp. Still adjusting her clothes, Tricky Mo darted past a spearwoman who guarded the door and plunged into the mellow lamplight within. Her eyes narrowed when she saw two figures standing near the General's richly-cushioned bed. One was the General herself, the renowned Khit Lano, a woman with short grey hair whose skin was deeply tanned. The other figure was so similar to Mo that at first she felt as though she was staring at a mirror, until she noticed that the figure was male.
"Good evening, comrade!" said the General. "We have a surprise guest in our midst tonight."
"So I see," Mo replied, slowing her pace as she approached the bed. "But is it not forbidden for males to enter the Legion's encampment?"
The General smiled, shaking her head and running a finger through her close-cropped hair.
"Where is your courtesy, Tricky Mo?" she inquired. "Is this how you welcome one of your own kin?"
Mo responded by spitting at the feet of the newcomer, making him flinch. Her eyes glared at him, but he mastered himself and returned the venomous stare with a salute, placing his right hand over his heart. Mo saw that the hand wore a fingerless glove of black mesh, and that the middle finger bore a silver ring in the shape of a coiling snake.
"Do not salute me, Ru-Kal!" she rasped. "I have not forgotten the arrow that you shot at me when I fled from the caves of our people."
Ru-Kal shrugged, tossing his shaggy head to flick straggly locks of raven hair from his face. His right hand reached inside his black leather tunic to produce a barbed iron arrowhead, wrapped in a thin ribbon of red silk.
"Nor have I forgotten it, Tar-Mosa," he answered, undaunted by her glaring eyes. "See? I have kept it, in memory of the great warrior whom I loved and lost."
A smile flickered at the corners of Mo's mouth and her eyes softened. "You kept the arrow? But that was five hundred years ago!"
Ru-Kal nodded, returning the arrowhead to its hidden pocket. "I have not forgotten you, Tar-Mosa. Nor have many others among our people. You were the best of us, before you chose exile among these renegades. The best warrior and the best hunter."
"And she still is the best!" the General interrupted. "Without Mo's scouting skills, this Legion that I command would long ago have perished in an ambush or been swallowed by a hidden swamp. But tell her, Ru-Kal. Tell Mo what you told me when you arrived here an hour ago."
Ru-Kal saluted the General, bowing courteously to her. "I thank you for giving me sanctuary, most noble lady. I had heard that the Kelet Legion gives no welcome to strangers, but I am grateful that you have made an exception in my case."
"Sanctuary?" said Mo, her brow furrowing. "Sanctuary from what?"
"From his own people," the General explained. "From the Dark Elves, from the same clan who sent you into exile five centuries ago. Ru-Kal is now a renegade, like yourself. But he knows that the sanctuary I offer is temporary, for the Legion is no refuge for males. Go on, Ru-Kal."
He answered with a smile. "You have spoken on my behalf, General. What more need I say to Tar-Mosa?"
Tricky Mo gave a long sigh and her shoulders relaxed. "Stop calling me by that name," she murmured. "It belongs to a life that is now forgotten."