Meet Me in Montenegro

Oleksandr wandered through the ancient woods, the trees standing like silent, watchful giants, their branches intertwined to form a canopy that barely allowed the moonlight to touch the ground. The trunks were thick and gnarled, twisted by time, their bark rough and scarred, yet brimming with a quiet strength. The air around him was cool, crisp, and alive, filled with the scent of earth and leaves. A gentle breeze whispered through the foliage, making the leaves shiver and dance, creating a soft, rustling lullaby.

In his hand, he held a torch. The flame was small, its light flickering and casting long, wavering shadows on the path before him. The fire didn’t blaze with the ferocity of battle; instead, it glowed like a warm, welcoming beacon, guiding him deeper into the forest. Its light kissed the mossy ground, revealing a soft, emerald carpet beneath his bare feet. The sensation was pleasant, like walking on a bed of feathers, each step sinking gently into the plush greenery. He felt a profound sense of peace, as if the forest had wrapped him in its embrace, whispering forgotten secrets in the language of the wind. The trees seemed to hum with an ancient, primordial energy, a slow, rhythmic pulse that matched the beat of his heart. It was as though the forest itself was alive, not just with the usual creatures of the night but with something far older, more mystical.

The path ahead called to him, not with urgency, but with a gentle allure, a soft invitation to venture further into the heart of this enchanted world. He moved forward, the torchlight guiding his way, but his steps were slow and deliberate, savoring the moment, as if each step took him further away from the harshness of reality and deeper into a dream. His breath was steady, his body light, his mind clear of the usual turmoil that plagued him. The trees whispered to him as he passed, their voices soft and melodious, like the murmuring of a distant stream. He couldn’t understand their words, but he didn’t need to. The sound alone was enough to fill him with a sense of belonging, a feeling that he was meant to be here, in this place, at this moment.

The forest floor was cool underfoot, a perfect contrast to the warmth of the torch in his hand. Every step seemed to take him further away from the world he knew, and deeper into a realm where time didn’t exist, where past and future blurred into one eternal present. The path wound its way through the trees, leading him onward, deeper, until he was surrounded by the forest on all sides, the outside world nothing more than a distant memory. Here, in this ancient wood, with the torch in his hand and the cool breeze on his skin, Oleksandr felt a sense of serenity that had eluded him for so long. It was as if the forest had granted him a reprieve, a moment of stillness in the midst of the storm that was his life.

The forest was a sanctuary, a place where the burdens of the world couldn’t touch him, where he could simply be, without fear or pain. And so he walked, deeper into the heart of the forest, his steps soft on the mossy ground, the torchlight flickering gently in the night. The trees watched over him, their ancient forms towering above, silent guardians of this dreamy realm.

As Oleksandr continues walking, the forest around him begins to thin, the once towering trees giving way to more open spaces, their dense canopy now scattered and broken. The air grows lighter, and through the gaps in the trees, he catches sight of a soft, cool glow in the distance, its ethereal light gently piercing the night. A surge of curiosity wells up within him, urging his feet to move faster, the torchlight in his hand flickering more urgently as he quickens his pace. The glow seems to beckon him, and he pushes through the thinning trees, the branches parting easily as he draws nearer, his heart quickening with each step.

As Oleksandr draws closer, he steps to the edge of a wide clearing, bathed in a silvery glow. The source of the light becomes clear: the full moon, high above, reflects off hundreds of tiny white flowers blanketing the ground like a delicate snowfall. The air is cool and crisp, filled with the soft fragrance of blossoms. In the center of the clearing, he sees her—a girl, ethereal and beautiful, dancing in the moonlight. Her flowing white dress billows around her like a cloud, her pale skin almost glowing, as pure and radiant as the flowers beneath her feet. Her eyes are large and closed in blissful contentment as she twirls and frolics, lost in the rhythm of her dance. Her hair, as black as the night sky above them, cascades down her back like a river of obsidian, reaching nearly to her knees. She moves with a grace that seems otherworldly, a personification of the moon itself, a vision of beauty so serene and perfect that Oleksandr can scarcely believe she’s real.

Oleksandr stands in the shadows, watching the woman dance in the clearing. He is entranced, her movements fluid and effortless, like she is a part of the very air she moves through. The sight of her is almost otherworldly, and he cannot look away. He watches as she spins and twirls, the hem of her dress swirling in the cool light. It's like watching a fairy, dancing alone in the heart of the forest...

Oleksandr finds himself unable to resist, stepping forward out of the tree line. The woman in the clearing does not stop dancing, her eyes still blissfully closed as if she doesn't even notice him. He walks slowly towards her, his heart beating in his chest. The air seems charged with something magical, like the clearing is filled with ancient secrets. Oleksandr reaches out and catches the woman as she twirls towards him, pulling her into his arms and dipping her gently. She lets out a small gasp, her eyes fluttering open. As she gazes up at him, he is met with a pair of golden eyes. The moonlight catches her face, illuminating her delicate features and framing her lips, which turn up in a small, demure smile. She closes her eyes again, leaning her head back with a relaxed sigh.

Oleksandr cannot resist leaning in, his lips pressing against the soft, delicate skin of her milky-white neck. The girl lets out a soft gasp, her fingers digging into his arms as she hangs her head back, exposing more of her neck to him. As he kisses her neck, he can feel the pulse of her heart beating against his lips, a steady, gentle rhythm that matches the beating of his own heart. She smells faintly of flowers, of the forest, and something almost divine.

He dips the woman down lower, laying her gently on the forest floor, the soft flowers and cool moss cushioning her back. He hovers over her, his eyes locked on hers for a moment before he leans down to kiss her lips, gently and tenderly. Her lips are soft and warm against his, and she responds to the kiss, her arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer… The kiss deepens, the desire between them growing. Oleksandr can feel his heart pounding in his chest, as he kisses her again and again, his hands wandering over her body, exploring every curve and contour as if trying to commit her to memory. The woman beneath him leans into his touch, her body arching up towards him, her fingers curling into his hair with just enough strength to tug gently.

They make love there under the cool glow of the moonlight, surrounded by the soft white flowers and the gentle rustle of the leaves. It's a bewitching scene, almost unreal, as they come together in the most intimate of ways. The air is heavy with the sweet scent of the blossoms, and the atmosphere is charged with an almost magical energy. Oleksandr is caught up in a whirlwind of sensation, his entire world narrowed down to her, the woman beneath him, her small, supple body fitting against his like they were made for each other. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word is filled with a kind of passion and tenderness that transcends anything he's ever experienced. It's a feeling almost of worship, of complete devotion, as he worships her body as he worships nothing else in the world. There are no words spoken, only sighs and soft moans, the sound of his name on her lips like a prayer. It's almost like he's been possessed, consumed by this unknown woman, this being of the moon, the forest, the night… He pulls his lips away from her neck, looking down at her face, her cheeks and chest flushed, her amber eyes half-lidded and sparkling with starlight. She pulls him back close to her, and he kisses her face as she whispers, “meet me in Montenegro…”

Oleksandr stirs, opening his eyes as the first rays of dawn hit his face. He sits up, rubbing his eyes, still half in a daze. He looks around, and he sees that he’s laying under a large birch tree, close to Barnat’s house. The previous night's events flood back to him, the woman, the dance, the kiss, the passion that followed, and the familiar words she whispered… He shakes his head, trying to snap out of it. Was she real? Did I just dream that whole encounter? Oleksandr shakes the thoughts away as he gets up. He has a long and treacherous day ahead of him, but the woman's sweet kisses still linger on his mind...

He approaches Barnat's house, and opens the door to find him and his eight sons in various states of waking up. Some of them groggily rub their eyes, while others stretch and yawn, shaking off the remnants of sleep. Barnat glances up at Oleksandr, a smirk on his lips.

"Ah, look who finally decided to join us," he says, a hint of mirth in his voice. "Sleep well, did you?"

"Aye, I did.” He pauses, forcing himself to focus on the situation at hand, rather than his dream-lover. “You and Mikail, help me load the cart with the weapon." Barnat nods, understanding that Oleksandr is all business this morning. The other men in the room straighten up as those two go to load the cart, seeing that Oleksandr is ready to go through with the plan. A sense of anticipation and seriousness fills the air.

“The rest of you, collect your horses. Double up if you need to.” The other men nod, understanding Oleksandr's command.

"Right," one of them says, scrambling to his feet. "We'll get some horses ready to go." Barnat helps Mikail to load the boxes into the cart, grunting with effort.

"Damn, these things are heavy," he mutters, a hint of a grin on his face. Meanwhile, the other men race out to the field where the horses are kept, saddling up five strong steeds, their hooves stomping and kicking in excitement. They lead the horses back to the cart, where Oleksandr awaits them.

"Alright, lads," Oleksandr says as he covers the cart with a sheet. "This will be a dangerous mission. You understand that, yes?" The men all nod, expressions of determination on their faces. They know the mission is dangerous, but they're ready to face it head on. Mikail smirks, leaning against the cart.

"We ain't shy of danger, not one of us," he says, his voice rough but confident. Oleksandr nods, looking the brothers over.

"I'd hate for any of you to lose a brother, but that’s far too common in these times. That being said, your actions will contribute to sparing your country from a devastating battle." The sons listen intensely, their faces growing serious and grim at that comment, the thought of losing each other sobering them up quickly. Gavrielle, the oldest of the brothers after Mikail, steps forward. His face is serious, a stark contrast to his usual lighthearted demeanor.

"We understand the risks. But we'll be damned if we don't do our best to help smite those oppressive bastards from these lands." Oleksandr nods, looking at Gavrielle with pride.

"You are strong men. Just like your father." He mounts his horse that pulls the cart, motioning for the others to join. The sons all climb into their saddles, their steeds stomping and snickering impatiently. Mikail looks over at Oleksandr, a grin on his face.

"You know how to flatter a man, don't you, Sasha?" He chuckles, giving Oleksandr a small salute. "Lead the way, then." As the sons and Oleksandr leave, Barant stands outside his house, watching them go. Despite his stoic expression, his eyes are heavy with concern, the worry for his sons etched on his features. Mikail looks back over his shoulder, throwing Barant a wink as they head deeper into the countryside.