Something about the man makes you distrust him. You loose another arrow, thudding into the ground at his feet. Panicking, he drops his purse (hoping, you assume, to delay you) and begins to run, frantically shedding pieces of his armour as he goes to lighten his load.
Before he can get far, one of the harpies gives a cry of anger and scorn. It rises into the air and dives after him. As it strikes him, he falls to the ground and lays still.
As she spirals round to return, you pick up the purse. It contains several gold coins, so you pocket them. Then you turn, somewhat apprehensively, to the harpies.
Before you can say anything, they leap at you. You shriek as your vision is filled with sharp talons and feathers, but they don't kill you. Instead they grab you, their claws digging in tight enough to tear cloth but not to break skin. Before you can struggle, they lifted you off the ground.
The feeling of flying is exhilarating, but you are worried about their attentions as they carry you above the mountain valleys. Your apprehension is not helped as one of the harpies darts in and uses a free claw to grope your breast with surprising gentleness.
Soon, a great cliff comes in sight, riddled with caves and ledges. Harpies flock around it or sun themselves on the rocks. Some of them are dexterously pleasuring themselves with their delicate talons, or licking each other in wanton displays that might have shocked you to the core a month ago.
The harpies deposit you on a ledge before the yawning mouth of a cave. Climbing down is clearly not an option, and you realize with a chill that you are basically at the mercy of these savage bird women. |