Consuming Passion (IC)

Nidge Darkfold wakes on the furs on the floor of the room. He feels the chill of the night air upon his skin as goosebumps break out across his body and the hairs stand on end. He has slept well; mostly due to the sleeping draught that he took to ensure he would. The wandering physician lies shivering for a few ehn, his head groggy. He rises from the fur and dresses quickly in the darkness. No sounds reach his ears. As always, he is alone.

Scuffling in the darkness, he lights a lamp and a warm glow fills the room. He feels a comfort in the soft light, as if it softens his mood and his thoughts as much as it softens the contents of the room. The fabric at the window and door openings stirs in the cool, night air. Nidge paces the room a while, stretching his limbs before settling down on the cushion in the corner. From his bag he takes out the pen, ink pot and journal that he records his thoughts and adventures. There is little to write, but the oasis is quiet so he determines to spend a few moments in recorded reflection. He opens the ink pot and dips the pen in it. His words are entered on to a clean page within the journal.

"No great adventures have occurred since my last entry. I have wandered several islands with only my tarn for company. On a river delta I rested at an abandoned encampment and was eventually greeted by a fellow wanderer. He spoke of places I knew. He spoke of places I love. His words encouraged me to make the journey to Tharnock, where I was pleased to see some familiar faces. Things are different there now than when I resided there. The place is in the hands of outlaws. I was treated well on my visit. They may be outside of the law but they still seem to respect those of my caste. I am still unsure as to whether I could return there permanently, even if they wanted me to. When I first went there, it was because there was something there for me. That thing is now gone and I do not know if I would find it again in the same place. Or even if I will find it again ever."

"As I wandered the many lonely places, beautiful but desolate, I felt a need deep inside me. It is a need I have always had and one I have admitted to privately. How I long to submit myself totally to a man! A strong man. A kind man. A passionate man. A truly dominant man. I do not write these thoughts of submission as a yearning to submit to a collar, but more as the desire to yield to the mind and body of someone who understands what it really means to be a master. I have met so many who are referred to as master. Indeed as a free man, I am addressed as such. Few, I suspect, understand the true relationship between dominant and submissive. The bond of trust. The intimacy. The consensual giving away and acceptance of power. I seek someone who will care for me and appreciate the attentions I can offer him when he desires me to. Someone I can cling to in the cold, dark nights and feel safe by his side."

Nidge slams the journal shut and throws it in to his bag with the pen. He seals the ink and adds it to the bag. Suddenly he feels more alone than ever. He rises from the cushion and slips out in to the darkness as a solitary tear slips down his cheek.