T’irla is an avid reader and a good sport. She gave me one of my first reviews of Dragon Moon, and we’ve been fast friends ever since. Getting to know T’irla has been an adventure. So much so, I’ve decided to write a series of shorts based on her unique personality and predilections. I hope you enjoy them!
T’irla slowed her horse as she neared the edge of the forest. She heard a voice, making her both wary a curious.
“I need help! Please!” It was barely a whisper, but it sounded close.
She dismounted and gripped the dagger at her waist. “Who’s there?”
Her horse neighed and stamped its hooves in the leaf litter. Something spooked him, making T’irla slow her steps.
She pushed through thick sections of underbrush, coming to a stop at the hollow of a tree.
Her breath caught in her throat. Deep in the tree, beneath the leaves was an eye, staring back at her. She stumbled backward, falling flat on her butt. She scrambled away, too terrified to make herself stand.
“Please, don’t be afraid. I need your help.”
She swallowed hard and crawled back toward the tree. She brushed away the leaves, revealing the head of a man. “Y-you… you’re–”
“Bodyless, yes. That’s why I need your help.”
T’irla stared at the talking head, wondering if she’d had one too many ales in the last town, or that morning with breakfast. “You’re a head. Not too much anyone can do for ya buddy.”
“Help me find my body. If you do this, I will serve you for life.”
She raised an eyebrow, staring at his face with renewed interest. He was average looking, which was a positive, considering he was a talking head. Tawny curls hung loose around his face. Hazel eyes stared up at her. His lips were thin, beneath a medium sized nose. T’irla thought about the potential of a traveling partner, bringing a salacious smile to her lips. “What’s your body look like?”
“It has two arms, two legs, two hands–”
“Look here stumpy, don’t get cute. I can leave you here and go about my business.” She started to stand, ready to head back to her horse.
“Wait! Don’t leave me here. I don’t know how else to describe my body. It should be easy to spot. It’s the one without a head.” He looked serious, his jaw tight.
She wanted details. Was he hot? Did he have nice pecs, arms, abs, legs? What about his butt? He wasn’t giving her any insight to help her decide if helping him would be worthwhile. She wanted him to be sculpted and well formed, and most importantly, well endowed.
Waves of warmth moved through her muscles as she though about the vision of him. In her mind, he was like a statue, wrapping strong arms around her, dragging her to his bed for countless hours at a time.
“Hello? What are you doing?” He trained his eyes on her, looking her up and down. “Are you ill? Your face is red.”
“Be quiet!” She turned her back to him and took a few deep breaths. It had been so long since she last had the company of a man. The promise of a beholden beau could be just what she needed.
She faced him, again and squatting down.
“Are we agreed?” There was a hopefulness in his eyes. It would have been endearing if she wasn’t so turned on by the idea of his wayward body.
“We’re agreed.” She placed her hands on the sides of his head and lifted him from the ground. “What’s your name?”
She shook the head from side to side. “Shush. I don’t want your life history. When’s the last time you saw yourself?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t remember how long I was under those leaves. Shaking my head like that doesn’t help.” He paused, rolling his eyes. “It may have been–”
The sound of hoof beats thundered through the trees, ending his speech. T’irla whirled around, dropping Maelan’s head to the ground.
“Jesus, woman! Don’t you know heads are fragile?”
“Shut up! Something’s coming.” She hid behind a tree, dagger in hand. The rider galloped through the trees, slowing when Maelan called out.
“Finally, there you are! I’m down here. Get off the horse.”
The rider slowed and dismounted. He wore black leather breeches and vest. An ebony cloak was draped over his back, the hood resting at his shoulder. There he was, the headless man. She stepped out from her hiding place, brandishing the knife. “Stop!”
Maelan’s body stilled.
“It listens to what I say?” She raised her eyebrows and glanced at Maelan’s head.
“Yes, I made a promise, remember? Now help me up. Put my head back on my body.”
She moved closer, placing a hand on Maelan’s chest. The hardness of the muscles below was evident, even through the leather. She dragged her fingers to his waist, detecting the hint of the developed muscles below. Her mouth watered when she noticed the bulge of his biceps, while imagining the potential strength in his thick thighs.
She took his hand in hers and led him back to his horse. “Let’s go.”
“What are you doing? I need to rejoin my body.”
She ignored the head and squeezed Maelan’s butt when he turned to mount his horse. “Not bad.”
“You can’t be serious! It’s just my body. If you’re going to do this, at least put my head back on.”
She laughed and shook her head. “Everything I need is already attached.”
“Are you certain? I can’t eat without my head.”
She paused, turned on her heel, and picked up Maelan’s head.
What inspired this tale? T’irla has a thing for pictures of hot guys. She loves to see their bodies, and prefers it when the heads are cut off in the picture.
Well, what did you think of the Headless Horseman? I plan to alter more tales to accommodate T’irla’s tastes. Any suggestions?