The tunnel opened into a vast cavern, easily a hundred feet across and nearly as high. Stalactites hung from the ceiling like stone teeth, and an underground stream trickled along one wall, filling the space with the soft sound of running water. The vital earth essence was powerful here. In the center of the cavern, a massive fire pit had been dug into the stone floor, filled with widow maker logs the size of small houses. Gorath gestured, and the logs burst into flame, illuminating the space with warm, flickering light.
The cavern was surprisingly homey, in a giant sort of way. Animal furs covered the floor in places, forming crude rugs. A massive bed of piled hides and moss occupied one corner. Shelves carved into the walls held various objects—bones, stones, and what appeared to be crude sculptures carved from wood and rock.
"Sit," Gorath said, gesturing to a fur-covered boulder near the fire. "Rest. You have traveled far."
Six sat, grateful to be off her feet. The warmth of the fire seeped into her bones, chasing away the mountain chill.
Gorath produced a haunch of meat from somewhere—some massive animal that Six couldn't identify—and began to roast it over the fire. The smell was surprisingly appetizing.
"Now," the giant said, settling onto his own seat—a boulder the size of a small house. "Tell me of the world below, Six the Witch. What news from the lands of men?"
And so Six talked.
She told him of the trading post, of the merchants and farmers and adventurers who passed through. She told him of the Black Forest and its creatures, of the underground markets and their forbidden wares. She told him of the political struggles between the kingdoms, of the Hero's Guild and their endless quests, of the rise and fall of various powers.
Gorath listened with rapt attention, asking questions, laughing at the absurdities, shaking his head at the tragedies. He was, Six realized, genuinely starved for conversation—for connection. Fifty-three years alone had left him hungry for any scrap of interaction.
As the night wore on and meat and wine was consumed, Six found herself relaxing in the giant's company, and opening up even more. Gorath was intelligent, thoughtful, and surprisingly gentle for a creature who could crush her with one finger. He told her stories of his own—tales of his clan, of the old days when giants walked freely through the mountains, of loves lost and battles won and the slow, painful process of watching everything he knew fade away.
"Why did you stay?" Six asked at one point. "When your clan scattered, why didn't you go with them?"
Gorath was silent for a long moment. "This mountain is my home," he said finally. "I was born in this cave. My parents are buried in the stone above us. My children..." He paused, his blue eyes growing distant. "My children left long ago, seeking new lands, new opportunities. They did not want to stay in a dying place with a dying old giant."
"Do you regret staying?"
"Sometimes," Gorath admitted. "On the long nights, when the wind howls and the cold seeps into my bones, I wonder if I made a mistake. But then the sun rises, and I see my mountain, and I remember why I stayed." He smiled sadly. "This is where I belong, Six the Witch. This is where I will die. And that is not such a terrible thing."
Six didn't know what to say to that, so she said nothing.
The fire crackled between them, casting dancing shadows on the cavern walls. Gorath's eyes, those deep pools of tired blue, settled on Six with an expectant weight.
"You have fulfilled the first part of our bargain," he rumbled, his voice echoing softly off the stone. "Your stories have warmed this old heart. But there is still the matter of the dance."
Six had known this moment would come. She rose from her seat, brushing off her traveling clothes, and moved to a clear space near the fire where the fur rugs formed a natural stage. The flames painted her in shades of gold and amber, and she was acutely aware of Gorath's gaze upon her—not predatory, but curious. Longing, even.
"I should warn you," Six said, her fingers moving to the clasps of her vest, "I am no trained dancer. But I walk the path of lust and temptation. What I offer is... something more primal."
Gorath leaned forward, his massive hands resting on his knees. "I have seen the dances of giant-maidens in my youth. Powerful. Thunderous. But I have never seen a human woman dance. Show me your kind of beauty, Six the Witch."
Six let her vest fall to the ground.
She began slowly, swaying her hips in a gentle rhythm that matched the crackling of the fire. Her hands traced up her sides, fingers working at the buttons of her blouse one by one. The fabric parted to reveal the pale curve of her breasts, the toned plane of her stomach, the subtle definition of muscles earned through years of physical cultivation.
The blouse joined the vest on the ground.
Six closed her eyes, letting the warmth of the fire wash over her bare skin. She had performed for many audiences before—captive creatures, fellow witches, the occasional human who wandered too close to her cabin. But there was something different about dancing for Gorath. Something almost... sacred.
She rolled her body in a wave, starting from her shoulders and rippling down through her hips. Her hands moved to her trousers, hooking into the waistband and sliding them down over the curve of her ass, down her toned thighs, until she could step out of them entirely.
Now clad only in her smallclothes—a simple band across her chest and a triangle of dark fabric between her legs—Six began to dance in earnest.
She moved like smoke, like shadow, like the flickering flames themselves. Her body undulated and twisted, each movement flowing seamlessly into the next. She dropped low, her thighs spreading as she rose again in a slow, sensuous climb. She turned, presenting the round fullness of her ass to Gorath's gaze, then looked back over her shoulder with half-lidded eyes.
The giant's breathing had deepened. His massive chest rose and fell with each breath, and Six could see the effect her dance was having on him—a stirring beneath his hide trousers that spoke to needs long denied.
Six reached behind her back and unclasped the band across her chest, letting it fall away. Her breasts, full and firm, bounced gently as she moved. Her nipples, hardened by the cool cave air and her own arousal, stood proud and pink against her pale skin.
She cupped her breasts, lifting them, squeezing them together as she continued to sway. Her thumbs brushed across her nipples, and she let out a soft moan—partly for show, partly genuine. There was power in this, she realized. Power in being desired. Power in controlling the desires of others.
This was her path. This was her cultivation.
She hooked her fingers into the waistband of her smallclothes and began to slide them down, slowly, teasingly. The fabric caught on the curve of her hips, then slipped lower to reveal the smooth mound of her sex, completely bare and glistening slightly in the firelight.
Six stepped out of the last of her clothing and stood naked before the giant, her body painted in fire and shadow. She continued to dance, her movements becoming more explicit now—hands sliding between her thighs, fingers parting her folds to give Gorath a glimpse of her pink interior, hips thrusting in a rhythm that mimicked the most primal of acts.
She dropped to her knees on the fur rug, arching her back until her shoulders touched the ground, her breasts pointing toward the ceiling and her legs spread wide. She touched herself openly, fingers circling her clit as she writhed and moaned.
"Is this what you wanted, Gorath?" she breathed, her voice husky with arousal. "Is this what you've been missing all these long, lonely years?"
The giant's response was a low groan that seemed to shake the very stones of the cavern. His hand had moved to the bulge in his trousers, pressing against it through the thick hide.
Six smiled and rose to her feet, approaching the giant with swaying hips. She was tiny compared to him—a doll, a plaything—but in this moment, she held all the power.
She danced closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his massive body. She ran her hands along his leg, feeling the granite-like texture of his skin, the coarse hair that covered his calves. She looked up at him, meeting those tired blue eyes with her own hazel gaze.
"Thank you," Gorath rumbled, his voice thick with emotion. "Thank you, Six the Witch. You have given an old giant a gift beyond measure."
Six inclined her head, stepping back to retrieve her clothes. "The pleasure was mine, Gorath. Truly."
She dressed slowly, aware of his eyes still upon her, savoring the lingering warmth of the fire and the satisfaction of a bargain well-kept. When she was clothed once more, she returned to her seat by the fire.
"You are remarkable," Gorath said softly. "In all my years, I have never met a human quite like you."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"It is meant as one." The giant shifted, adjusting himself with a grunt. "You have given me much to remember on the long nights ahead. Stories for my mind, and..." He chuckled, a deep rumbling sound. "And images for my other needs."
Six laughed—a genuine, unguarded laugh that surprised even herself. "I'm glad I could be of service."
They sat in companionable silence for a while, the fire burning low between them. Eventually, weariness claimed them both. Gorath offered Six a pile of furs near the fire, and she accepted gratefully. The giant retreated to his massive bed, and soon his snores—like distant thunder—filled the cavern.
Six lay awake for a while, staring at the dying embers. She thought about loneliness, about isolation, about the price of power. She thought about Lemmy, alone in her golden cage. She thought about herself, alone in her gingerbread cabin with only enchanted toys for company.
Was she so different from Gorath, really?
She pushed the thought aside and let sleep claim her.
Morning came grey and cold, light filtering into the cavern from the distant cave mouth. Six rose, stretching muscles stiff from sleeping on stone, and found Gorath already awake.
The giant was seated near the dead fire pit, and in his massive hands he held something small—a cup, human-sized, carved from stone.
"Your payment," Gorath said, holding it out to her. "One cup of toenail shavings, as promised."
Six approached and took the cup. Inside, filling it to the brim, were yellowish-white shavings—keratin from a giant's nails, exactly what she needed. She tucked the cup carefully into her satchel.
"Thank you," she said, and meant it.
Gorath nodded slowly. "Thank you, Six the Witch. For your company. For your stories. For your dance." His blue eyes held a warmth that hadn't been there when they first met. "For reminding an old giant that beauty still exists in this world."
Six inclined her head. "You're not so bad yourself, Gorath. For a giant."
He laughed, that booming sound that echoed off the mountains. "You are welcome here, should you ever wish to return. My fire will always be open to you."
"I may take you up on that offer someday."
"I hope you do."
They walked together to the cave mouth, Six and the giant, an unlikely pair silhouetted against the morning light. The mountains stretched out before them, beautiful and terrible and eternal.
"Safe travels, Six the Witch," Gorath said. "May your path be clear and your enemies few."
"Farewell, Gorath," Six replied. "May your loneliness be eased, and your days be peaceful."
She turned and began the long journey home, the cup of toenail shavings secure in her satchel and an unexpected warmth in her chest.
Three days back to the Black Forest. Three days back to her cabin, her toys, and her prize.
The hunt for Gorath was complete.