Chapter 4

Idid not expect how fearful I’d feel watching this tiny slip of a human climb her way up the wall of sheer ice. She could fall at any time. If one of her picks gave way, she would tumble down to her death far below.

And yet still she ascends, one step at a time, high above me. From here, her heavy winter coat no longer covers her small, pert rear. Each time she moves her legs, it flexes one strong, rounded cheek. Her hide pants are tight, too, leaving very little to the imagination.

To my absolute horror, the clear view shoots a bolt of lightning from my throat down into my groin. After a decade of somber sleep, my cock lifts its head, curious about this new development. I smother it with my hand, absolutely enraged that it would decide at this moment to make itself known.

To be honest, I thought my desire had fully vanished when Pa’zi and I chose to go our separate ways. My cock hadn’t hungered for her in some time anyway, and rarely does it even call for my attention. Occasionally when I can’t sleep, I take it in hand and hurriedly pump out a release, but even the need for that has faded over time. I expected that would be the case until the day I died.

Which could be today. And still, looking death in the face, my traitorous dick has decided this tiny human is rather appealing.

Her perfect ass curls as her strong thighs reach for the next foothold. I wonder what that ass would feel like against my hand if it were bare.

Up above I hear a gasp as one of Simka’s feet slips on the ice. I imagine her tumbling to her death, and a warning rises in my throat… but she doesn’t fall. Still, I find my arms are held out already, ready to catch her, as if there’s any sense in that. There’s not a chance I could cushion her landing.

But the higher she climbs, the greater my anxiety grows. It would be a shame if her life ended here. She’s young and hardy, and her heart is set firmly on rescuing her sister, which I have to admit I find admirable.

At long last, Simka crests the peak and climbs up onto stable ground. A relieved breath escapes my lips. She crows loudly from the top, and the shock of sound takes me by surprise. When she glances down at me and waves, I find myself waving back. She made it alive.

“Now send up the packs,” Simka shouts. She ties a rope around a solid rock at her feet, then tosses down the other end to me. Obeying her instructions—she is the expert here, after all, and even I can acknowledge that—I tie the rope around both our packs and tug on it to let her know they’re ready. She gathers the rope, pulling it up one stroke at a time. I thought I’d have to carry everything up with us, but this clever little human had a plan all along.

When she’s finally retrieved our bags, Simka tosses the rope down to me once again. “You’re too big for me to pull up,” she calls from her high perch. “Step back. I’m throwing the picks down.”

What? She expects me to climb up the ice the way she did? I have no experience whatsoever. I thought she was going to haul me up like the luggage.

“Don’t worry,” she hastily adds. “Tie the rope around your waist. If you slip, I won’t let you die. Or I’ll try my best. Okay?”

I can’t believe this. But I have a purpose here, so when the pick axes come tumbling down, I fish them out of the snow and test them out in the ice. It takes me a few attempts, but I manage to sink the points deeply enough that they’ll support my weight.

“Take it slow,” Simka calls. “One foot at a time.”

Grumbling, I do what she says. I bury the tip of one pick in the ice, test it to make sure it’s firmly planted, and then repeat with the other pick. I make my way slowly, probably only a fraction of Simka’s speed, up the sheer wall. I’m holding myself up with just my arms and my feet braced against the surface, and I’m only halfway to the top when my muscles start to grow tired.

Then I make the mistake of looking down. The sheet of ice is bottomless, the ground so far below me that it’s a sin against nature.

“No, Jar’kel!” Simka shouts. “Keep going! Don’t stop for a second.” Her voice is so commanding that my military training makes me obey without thinking twice. I continue my way up, one ice pick at a time, trying not to ponder the terrible, empty distance between me and the snowpack far below. My heart is pounding and my arms are screaming for relief as I near the top, where Simka clutches the rope tight. She won’t let me fall, I’m sure of it.

No one has ever made me feel sure I wouldn’t fall.

Then, at last, I’m at the top. I crawl over the cliff’s edge, collapsing to my knees as I take huge breaths to refill my lungs. Simka stands over me with her hands on her hips, smiling widely.

“Well, you did it, mister troll.” She offers me a hand to help me up, and I take it without thinking. “Good job.”

My blood warms, but whether it’s due to her praise, or relief that I made it up here alive, I’m not sure.

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