Basil pulled a leg from the bird carcass which had been cooking on a spit over the smouldering camp fire, blew on his fingers before biting into the flesh, juice running down his chin and into his beard as he slowly masticated, watching Circe mount a driftwood horse.
He paused for a moment, letting his eyes follow the supple curve of her calves and thighs, then up over the thin fabric of the shift which clung to her firm body, up yet further to glimpse the side of a naked breast, a tantalising peak at a dark nipple as she leaned forward over the equine sculpture, whispering arcane words into its ear.
Not for the first time, he thought about how he’d like to mount her.
Suddenly he was startled from his reverie and jumped to his feet as his mistress approached, riding the horse, now transformed into a flesh and blood animal.
“Basil! Come! We have work to do!”