Part 6 (2/2)
He studied her solemnly and then said, ”Your eyes are the color of polished walnut.”
”Is that good?”
This dream Windwolf looked at her with gentleness that she wasn't accustomed to from him. ”Your eyes are warm and earthy and yet strong enough to face any adversity.”
”Oh, wow, you like my eyes?”
”I like all of you. You are pleasing to look at.”
Now she knew she was dreaming. ”Yeah, right, with my hair and my nose.” She tw.a.n.ged her nose a couple of times. It was numb, just like when she was drunk. Windwolf's nose, of course, was perfect; she traced her fingers over the bridge of his nose. Just right.
”I find your hair appealing,” perfectly dreamy Windwolf said.
”You do?”
”It is very pure.”
”I thought elves liked long hair.” She tugged on a short lock to ill.u.s.trate that hers was anything but long.
”There is beauty in functionality that makes fas.h.i.+onable seem jaded. In our case, fas.h.i.+onable has pa.s.sed traditional and become something nearly geological.”
She pondered this for several minutes before realizing that he meant that the length of hair in elves was set in stone. ”Sounds boring.”
”I am not sure if it is lack of courage or lack of creativity that dictates the length of elfin hair; unlike you, there is a notable shortage of both in our women.”
”Me?”
”You are the bravest woman I have ever met, as well as the most intelligent.”
”I'm brave?” When? When?
”Fearless.”
Tinker blew a raspberry. ”h.e.l.l, no, I was scared a lot in the past”-how long had it been since Windwolf came over the fence, disrupting her well-ordered life?-”days.” At least it seemed like days. She could remember at least two nights, but the number of meals and periods of sleeping didn't add to anything reasonable. ”I only did what had to be done.”
”And that is true courage. As you pointed out, without you, I would have died many times over. Indeed, I hazard a guess that of all the people of Pittsburgh, humans and elves, you alone had the intelligence and fort.i.tude to keep me safe.”
It was such a weird dream. The edges of the room slipped in and out of focus, and she felt too light and bold. It was like she was drunk, only usually then her limbs felt huge and needed effort to move them about. Her hands now kept adventuring off on their own, exploring Windwolf.
His fingers proved to be long and slender, with the cleanest fingernails she'd ever seen. Of course, everyone she knew spent a good amount of time with their hands in dirt or engine grease. Under a loose silk s.h.i.+rt of moss green, only faint silvery scars remained where the Foo dogs mauled him.
”Why did the wargs attack you? Who wanted you dead?”
”I do not know. I have many enemies. Other clans are envious of the Wind Clan's monopoly on the Westernlands, and within my own clan, many consider me a dangerous radical. This, though, was not a simple political a.s.sa.s.sination. This was pure madness, to loose monsters that kill everything in their path. I can not imagine any of my enemies attacking me in such a cowardly method.”
”Someone has.”
”Yes. Who remains a mystery.”
There seemed to be some barrier that she had breached. Normally she would not think of touching someone, nor did she need to rebuff most people. A quick hug. A handshake. A pat on the shoulder. It was like they all walked around with invisible s.h.i.+elds, deflecting even thoughts of reaching out to another person. She had never noticed before, but now, snuggling against Windwolf, she noticed the lack of them. Like antimatter and matter meeting, their protection s.h.i.+elds had collided and annihilated one another.
Windwolf allowed her to explore his scarred shoulder. She found herself nuzzling into his neck, once again tracing the outline of his ear. She drew back slightly in surprise of herself.
”I'm sorry.”
”Why?”
She tried to form an answer and lapsed into confused silence until she forgot what she had been thinking about. He took her hand from his ear tip again.
”Does it hurt?” she asked as he lifted her hand away.
”It feels far too good to let you continue.” He nibbled on her wrist, delighting her. ”You are too pure to follow that course. You are not yourself right now.”
”Who am I?”
”You are Tinker without her normal defenses. You are on the edge of sleep, still full of saijin saijin.”
”I'm drugged?”
”Very much so.”
She considered her body. Yup. That would explain things. ”Why?”
”I did not want you to lose your hand.”
She peered at her right hand. Windwolf took hold of her left, opening it to expose a network of pink scars, and anti-infection spells inked onto both the palm and the back. She flexed the hand, discovering it hurt faintly, deep inside. Thinking back now, she vaguely remembered he had carried her into the hospice.
”Oh. Thank you.” She kissed him. She meant it to be a chaste kiss, but it became something more. Suddenly it dawned on her that she was half drugged, half naked, and alone with a male in a bed. Her heart started to hammer in her chest like an engine about to throw a rod.
”Do you think you can sleep now?” he asked, stroking her cheek lightly.
What did he mean by that? ”Sleep sleep” or ”sleep?” Luckily, the Elvish was a much more concise language. ”Saijiata?” The act of sleeping?
He nodded, looking inquiringly at her, as if the other possibilities had never occurred to him.
Interestingly, the moment of panic had burned out all thoughts of monsters. ”Yes. I think I can.”
Tinker woke with a start. Her head seemed big, and full of air. The pain in her left hand had deepened into a constant dull ache. Turning her head, she saw the empty chair beside the bed. Windwolf.
A vase of flowers sat on the nightstand next to the pitcher of water. The vase was elfin, a deceptively simple twist of gla.s.s, a thick base sweeping up to an impossibly thin rim, elegant beyond words. The flowers were black-eyed Susans. She guessed that the flowers were from her cousin and that the hospice staff had provided the vase. As usual, the bright wildflowers made her smile. A note card leaned against the vase, printed in Oilcan's neat, over-careful hand and smudged with engine grease.
When I got back with the gas, they told me that your hand was going septic and that you were in surgery. I'm sorry I didn't check it before I left. I looked in just now, but you were still sleeping. If we want food and fuel for the next thirty days, I've got to go make sure to get it now. I hate leaving you alone. I'll be back as soon as I can. Get well soon. Love, Orville.
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