Serenith settles onto the riverbank, bare feet dipped into the cool water, and watches the little boat drift lazily across the current, Brina's head popping up every so often, flushed, hair a wreck, eyes wild, before vanishing back down into the hull.
She giggles as faint moans and grunts start rolling across the water. The whole scene is almost absurdly peaceful otherwise, morning sunlight dancing gold across the ripples, butterflies drifting lazy loops over the reeds, a pair of birds chasing each other through the low branches overhead, a light breeze carrying the smell of woodsmoke and frying fish up from the village behind her. Serene, beautiful, gently punctuated by the increasingly delighted sounds of a woman being very thoroughly pleasured.
Then a small, hitching howl breaks loose across the water.
Serenith flinches, then dissolves into giggles of her own.
Another follows. Louder. Rougher.
