Romietta and Julio - a Wild Love Story.
In the happy times before the Town…
Romietta lived a happy ranger life
in the Greenwood. She ran laughing through the rides. She swam naked in the deep
pools. She honoured noble Brother Deer as she ate his raw pulsing heart. She
could hardly believe her sharp hunter’s eyes when she espied Julio one fine
spring day.
Nothing she had experienced in her
few short years had prepared her for this. In a sunlit clearing, a lithe young
man sat cross-legged. He appeared
to be praying, or asleep, or both. He wore nothing but a loincloth, not an ounce
of fat covered his sinewy muscles. Ornate tattoos of peonies and dragons adorned
his tanned skin, quite unlike the rough, bestial clan images of power she was
used to. At first she thought a low humming, barely audible over the pounding of
her heart, came from the insects but in fact it was coming from the man.
It was unheard of that a ranger
should be surprised, so she felt more than a little embarrassed when a
shaven-headed boy stepped out of the green shadows into the clearing. Like the
first man, he was hardly clothed. With a reasonable attempt to move quietly, the
boy walked towards the monk. Raising a stout wooden beam briefly, he proceeded
to smash the monk across the back
of his shining cranium.
A sharp crack sent birds screaming
into the air, and the end of the plank wheeled away into the tree. Before the
wood hit the ground Romietta had loosed a half-dozen arrows. How was she to know
that the assailant was an initiate? Ranger skills were gained through intimate,
life-long exposure to the dangers and trials of the Forest, not by
apprenticeships. The boy slumped lifeless to the ground and the crack-eyed
ranger lass ran into the clearing. With lightning-fast reactions the monk
snapped his head around towards his fallen comrade. Romietta barely had time to
realise he had leapt to his feet and was cart-wheeling toward her, before she
was floored.
Stars flashed before her eyes. The
monk landed on top of her, a steel grip about her neck. Silhouetted against the
bright sky, Romietta saw him raise a fist, and she was sure it was her end.
Fortunately, the monk had never experienced anything that would prepare him for
this, in all his celibate rice-paper-walking, red-hot-cauldron-lifting,
blind-fighting, abstinence-filled days.
For the lovely Romietta was a true
child of nature. Her body was firm and athletic, her face beautiful and defiant,
and her wild soul flashed angrily in her eyes, daring the monk finish her.
Sensing the momentary indecision, the ranger flung her assailant off, and
pounced on top of him. Suffice to say that she did what comes naturally to any
untamed creature, and he had a serious crisis of faith. Leaving him there in the
sunlight, the rangeress slipped away into the woods, knowing that all those
stories the other women told of townies was true. The ‘birds and bees’ held
no taboo in woodland society, and Romietta was confused. How could the cities
she had heard of contain so many people if they were so… mediocre?
Weeks passed, but Julio could find
no sign of the bewitching young girl. He had almost given up hope of finding her
in the unmapped tracks and bridleways. A lesser man would have been killed by
the deadfall trap, but not Julio. A better man wouldn’t have back-flipped out
of the way and fallen into a spiked pit...
Julio was shaken back to
consciousness, a huge hairy hand clamped about his throat. Romietta’s father
was NOT a happy bear-clanner. Standing behind him looking VERY meek was Romietta,
her belly showing the first signs of the new life inside. Julio realised what
was happening, and made a brave attempt to escape. However, the karate-chop had
little effect besides making the hairy ranger chuckle politely.
Julio was told that he would be an
honorary member of the guild. After all, despite being townie scum, he HAD got
the chief’s daughter pregnant, and so must be expected to look after her and
the child. As always, the initiation would have to be performed. The monk paled
when it was explained he had to capture a Drakenwood grizzly. It was a simple
test – pass or die.
That night he regained his
composure. How hard could it be? Surely these rustics weren’t the better of a
trained monk. However, it was not so straightforward. Weeks passed as he tried
in vain to catch the bear totem. All the while Romietta grew larger, and her
father grew angrier. The escapades of the monk are still told around the
campfires. Everyone laughs raucously at the story of the Monk and the skunk.
They cheer loudly at the Great Kettle Run. They weep with mirth at the Bear Chow
Monk saga. It is from this that we get the expressions ‘monkeying about’ and
‘mucking around’.
But the bear chief didn’t laugh,
and after several moons of fruitless pursuit, it became clear that the monk
would make a poor father for his grandchild. The druid proclaimed that Romietta
would give birth on the morrow – surely it would be an evil omen not to have a
fresh bearskin birthing-rug. Romietta’s father took the monk to one side, and
explained patiently that the monk had been going about it all the wrong way.
What was needed was the right type of bait...
The shrill cries of Romietta’s
child, fresh into the wonderous world of the forest, echoed around the Womens’
Glade. Everyone doted on the child, and commented on his good looks and strong
body. Romietta sat beaming with joy on the bearskin rug, and smiled at her child
as he lay wrapped up in monk-hide swaddling cloths.