She was at the river.
Her ruined gown and undergarments were crumpled in a heap next to her. She made these strange, muffled sounds, and it was a few minutes before I realized she wept.
Her shoulders shook hard and that betrayed her emotion.
The river water must have been freezing, but she bathed herself vigorously, her hands rubbing the water over her face and down her chest.
Eventually, her suppressed sobbing stopped and her shoulders grew still. She curled herself into a ball with her arms wrapped around her knees and her head tucked; then she rocked back and forth and her breathing grew labored.
When she unwrapped herself, she still held her face in her hands. Finally, she leaned back and the tension in her back released as she rested at the river’s edge.
I had no idea what to do.
The depth of her grief made my heart ache, and I could feel her pain. I wanted to comfort her, but this was a private moment and she had no clothes on.
I tried to will myself to look away, but I simply couldn’t do it.
She was so beautiful in the moonlight.
The lines of her back were exquisite. Her shoulders and arms were graceful, the subtle curve of her sides turning in at her waist and veering gently into hips, and the column in the middle holding it all together. I’ve always remembered the rolling bumps of her spine from her neck to the triangle resting at the base.
She seemed both fragile and resilient at once, and there was strength and suppleness in her form.
I could hardly breathe looking at her.
In that moment, I understood why so many artists savored the beauty of the female body, and the creation of music and poetry born from the feminine mystique.
The memories of that first night were so vivid I made several drawings of that time. I’ve always been the most proud of the picture I sketched of her lovely back as she sat at the river.
Here it is.
Take another look if you like, Adrianna, for these drawings stir my memories and help me tell you this story. The next drawing was right after she caught me staring at her.
Her posture shifted subtly.
She must have sensed me watching her when her back straightened and became more rigid.
Finally, she turned.
Tears stained her face, but she didn’t brush them off. Rather than turning back, she held my gaze. Her expression was impassive, which I found rather odd.
After what seemed many minutes, the stranger girl turned back to the river and splashed her head a few times. Then she folded her knees to the right, leaned on one hand, and came upright in an elegant swoop.
The maneuver was harmonious, and she was even lovelier when she stood up. Her long legs were lean and shaped from muscle, rather than flesh.
She brushed the earth off her rump with a few casual swipes before she turned around.
Then the stranger girl walked towards me, without a trace of shame or embarrassment.
I had never seen a naked woman before that night.
I had also never witnessed a murder.
But any lingering memory from that scene in the Ancient Grove couldn’t have been further from my mind as this stranger girl came to me.
Washed clean of the blood on her face and hands, I finally got a good look at her.
Years later, when I would hear Ella Bandita described as the ugly seductress no man could resist, I couldn’t fully believe that this legendary destroyer could have been my Woman.
On that night, the stranger girl was the loveliest being I had ever seen, and I couldn’t ever imagine anybody perceiving her as ugly.
She certainly wasn’t conventional with her blunt, primitive features. Nor was she fluffily voluptuous with her long waist, sinewy belly, and small breasts that stood high on her chest.
But I loved the muscular strength of her underneath the feminine silhouette, and she moved with a devastating, animal grace that I’d never seen in girls before.
With her head high and shoulders back, her long stride gait showed she was more at ease naked than I was with clothes on. I almost passed out before she stopped a few paces away.
“Do you have anything I can wear, Shepherd?”
“What? I don’t have any lady’s clothes.”
“I don’t care. Anything will do.”
“I have another pair of pants and two shirts, but they’ll be too big for you.”
“I’ll make it work,” she muttered, and held out a hand. “Please.”
