Chapter 9
**
The berries plunk one by one into the wicker basket I'm carrying, and every once in a while, one manages to make it to my mouth, too. Wild blackberries, the biggest I've ever seen up on these hills, and delicious, too. I'll make some tarts when I get back home, I think, as I pause to stir the brush at my feet with my walking stick. Don't really want to make the acquaintance of Mr. Rattler, now, or Ms. Copperhead. They love berries, too, as much as any human or bird.
"Save some for the picnic, darlin’," Gwen says, stroking her long fingers through my hair. Her hand trails down my back, and pats me somewhere else. I jump, squeaking, and throw a berry at her. Moving impossibly fast, she catches the blackberry in her mouth, and grins at me. "Throw some more, why don’t you?"
"Grrrr…." I mock-snarl, and toss another her way. It disappears like its predecessor. We walk through the woods, listening to birdcalls, squirrels chattering from treelimbs, the sound of the wind in the trees. It's nice just to walk, hand in hand, with her, I think, even if she does have to shorten that long, graceful stride of hers in order not to leave me in the dust…
"This is nice, Muhmis…" I murmur, watching our shadows ahead of us, their shapes patterned by alternating brightness and leafy-green darkness as the sun dapples the forest floor. The smell of the woods greets my nose--it's leafy, a little dusty, maybe… a clean aroma, sort of earthy, too, I think. I wonder what Gwen smells with that Draka nose of hers?
"Yes, it is, sweetlin’…yes, it is," she agrees, thoughtfully. She squeezes my hand slightly, and we turn off the path to a clearing. It’s one of my favorite spots; the spring in the middle of the rocks is a great place to just sit and listen, to think… also a great place to catch and hold fire salamanders, I remember. I wonder if we'll find any today?
**
We’re rambling quietly through the woods, amid tall second growth of shagbark hickory and white oak; it smells intensely green here, the crushed ferns under our feet overriding fainter scents. The undergrowth is starred with wildflowers, and upslope is a thicket of rhododendron bushes. Deer-scat, I think. Sign of black bear, as well; there aren’t many humans in the uplands these days, and this property borders on the enlarged Appalachian Wilderness Preserve. It’s beginning to live again, and I feel at home in it.
"You know, you have a lovely scent," I say to Erin.
She grins up at, mouth a little stained with wild blackberry juice. "Not too smelly, I hope, Muhmis."
"No," I say. "Sort of salty and musky – mild, appetizing. Link for a second."
She does, and wrinkles her nose at the ghost of the sensation. "Eeeuuu – that smells good?"
"Well, I’m used to getting more information through my nose," I laugh. "And I’m conscious of more of it. Yes, very good."
We come to an open glade, with a pile of limestone boulders in the center. A spring bubbles up at their feet, winding away through the long tawny grass. Erin spreads the blanket in its shade, and unpacks the picnic basket; bread, fried chicken, ham, pickles, potato salad. We lie on our sides and eat, talking or listening to the chuckle of the spring-water as it trickles down the rocks.
"I’ll be glad to get back to the estate," Erin says. "Even though this has been a lot of fun."
"Tired you out, have I?" I chuckle, narrowing my eyes at her. My pheromones have been swelling upwards of their own accord; I give the internal process a push.
"As Jenny says, oy vey! Why did your Ancestors make you so damned horny?"
"It was more or less a side effect," I say, flicking the bones and crusts out for the scavengers to enjoy. "They anticipated that the work on the hormonal system would have some effect, but genetics wasn’t an exact science then. And as it turned out, nobody wanted to change it once it was done. Why not? More the merrier."
I move the picnic basket aside and move onto her. Erin mock-whimpers, then smiles and strokes my arms as I laugh and begin to unsnap her jeans and tug at her t-shirt. She looks up in surprise as I stop with my hand on the tag of her zipper.
"Quiet," I say, very softly.
She follows my eyes. The wind is from my back towards the top of the rock-pile, and the cougar’s paws must have been near-soundless on the bare stone; I still curse my carelessness, the more so as I have no weapon with me. It’s a big male, tawny and sleek, its paws looking huge as they splay to grip the rock. In an instant I take in the way it’s carrying its ears, the intent stare, twitch at the end of its tail, the settling motion of its haunches.
Painter, Erin subvocalizes.
It’s going to attack, I say. Get ready to get out of the way, I can’t be distracted.
She nods fractionally, scenting of fear as her heart speeds up still more. I move slowly into a crouch, just as the big cat’s muscles flow like molten steel under its hide. It leaps.
I come upright, screaming the same shriek of challenge as the other predator. It strikes at me while still in mid-air, and a white wash of pain strikes my left shoulder. My right fist slams into its body below the ribs, and it yowls and hunches as it flies by me to land in the meadow. It’s good and angry now, spinning around to attack again, screeching harsh and shrill with all its fangs showing.
There’s just time to snatch up a rock and throw; not even enough time for a windup, but I break one hind leg. The forepaws slash at me, each tipped with ten hooked knives, moving blurring-fast even to Draka senses. I leap upward my own height and come down with both heels on its back.
Uuuuhhhfff. Breath wheezes out of the cougar for an instant, and I drop flat on its back. My left arm is weakened, but I sink fingers into the ruff of fur and skin at its throat. My legs go around its waist, squeezing, and I raise my right fist and slam at the back of its neck.
The cat spins like a dervish, trying to dislodge me and get the claws on its hind legs into action, battering me against the rocky ground; I can feel the unbroken leg pumping, savaging the air. Something crunches at my third strike, and the motion slows. I squeeze savagely with my legs, reach across to grab under the jaw, wrench.
There is a crackling sound like green branches snapping. The cat convulses and dies as I rise from it and stamp-kick down on its neck to make sure – I’ve a healthy respect for this one’s grip on life.
"God, Gwen, are you all right?" Erin’s voice is shrill with concern.
I grin at her, fighting down the adreniline-rush of sudden violent combat, working my shoulders. The shirt is torn to tatters, and there are four long grooves nocked from the deltoid down over my shoulderblade. Blood is already clotting.
"Nothing serious," I say. "The subdermal armor stopped most of it – superficial damage, stings a bit."
"Bandages –" she begins.
"Not necessary. It’ll clot naturally, and I can’t get infected. Come, wash it off for me."
I strip off the remains of the shirt, sparing a glance for the dead cougar; flies are already walking on the eyeballs and tongue. Good pelt, I think.
Erin’s fingers are gentle on the wound; she’s a little alarmed when my skin twitches under her hands.
"You were so fast," she says.
Yes, I think. I don’t think she’s ever seen me in combat mode before.
"What’s the matter?" she goes on. "You’re sweating…"
Her breath catches as I turn. "Combat overload," I say huskily. "My system dumped booster-hormones into my blood because of the danger. Now I need to work them off." My grin is a little like the cougar’s. "Guess how?"
**
Her gaze arrows into me; I look down at the patterns formed by ruby droplets on the leaves carpeting the clearing. "Erin… Race Spirit, what’s wrong?"
I know she wants me, is hungry for me, and it makes me shiver, even though I’m standing in a patch of warm sunlight. "I…I saw the fight, and it was so fast… and then I thought you were… you were…" My voice shakes uncontrollably. "I thought you were hurt, or… You’re all bloody, my god… I mean…"
Muhmis winces a bit as she flexes her left arm. There are four huge scratches on it, and a few more near where her neck flows smoothly into her chest. I watch as the blood spurting from her wounds there and elsewhere slows to a stop. Her skin moves, twitches, under my hands as I pat the area clean with a handtowel from the picnic basket, and it feels… odd. I shiver a bit more. She shakes her head, rubbing one side with a fist. "Erin, I’m fine, really. No reason to get so upset… it’s all over now, and you’re safe."
She kicks the cat over onto its back; its head rolls loosely on a broken neck, and there’s a crimson stream of blood coming from its wide-open mouth. "Damn good fighter, this one," she muses, looking it over carefully. "One of the best cat fights I’ve ever had, barehanded."
I watch her, waiting for the hardness to drop from her voice before speaking. A Draka hunting is one that's living on combat hormones for the moment, and it's definitely not wise to annoy one at that particular time. Not that it's wise to annoy a Draka at all, I inwardly chuckle. Ever. Gwen turns to me, leaf green eyes direct and large. Her pupils are huge; they almost swallow all the green. She walks over to me, and holds out her hand.
"You all right now?"
I shrug, my heart's still pounding away, and I feel sort of nauseous. "Muhmis?"
She tilts her head to one side, listening, and I go on as she towels her hair and wipes her face clear of redness. "Muhmis, I’m sorry--didn’t mean to interfere. I just got scared for you… and then when you and the cat were rolling around, and screaming…oh, god, I really got scared. I didn’t know what to think."
"It’s not as though that animal could actually kill me, my silly wench," Gwen grins down at me. She’s not got much of a shirt left; it hangs in ragged tatters from her shoulders. Her hiking jeans and low-cut boots still remain, though. I watch as her muscles ripple scarlet in the sunlight, and shiver.
"But… you were…dammit, Gwen, don’t ever scare me like that again!" I clench my fists, a wild, unreasoning anger sweeping through me. Her eyes widen a bit, and then she comes close to me, her right hand clamping on my shoulder with an incredible strength.
"Listen to me, darlin’…"
"No, I mean it…I worked so long and hard to be able to say this stuff to you, and talk with you, and then you go and wrassle a panter like that, and it makes me really ma—"
Her hand shifts from my shoulder to my mouth, shutting it firmly in a vise-like grip. "I said listen to me. I meant it. Hush."
I feel my stomach turn over, and my legs quiver at the sound of her voice. She's not fooling around, I think silently to myself, so shut the hell up while you still can, girlfriend. I nod, as much as I can against the steel-strong fingers holding my mouth shut.
"Erin, you need to calm down. First off, you don’t ever tell me what I can, or can’t, do. No matter how close we are, how close we become, there are some lines, some boundaries, you will not cross. Is that very clear? You need to understand that."
"Mmmh-hmm."
Gwen takes a deep breath, holds it for a long moment, and then exhales softly. "Erin, I know you were frightened, but there wasn't a lot I could do at the moment, except fight off the animal. I was planning on hunting for it later in the week, perhaps, before we left, but now… that’s unnecessary. I fought it because it attacked us; if you’d been alone, it would have mauled and killed you."
I shiver violently, remembering the fluid movement of muscle under skin as the big cat attacked Muhmis. "Mmhh-hmm."
"You can't restrict me on fighting, honey. That’s hard-wired into me. I didn’t do it to scare you."
Well, I forgot about that, honest, Muhmis, I say using the device implanted in behind my right ear. I'm so sorry, really… I was just so scared…
"I know. I know you were, and that’s a pity. I had no intention of frightening you, or even hunting anywhere near you. But the cat came at us, and I knew I had to finish it off. Which I managed to do," she says, looking back over her shoulder with a broad smile on her face. A hunter's smile, I think, full of blood lust. I tremble again, and Gwen looks back at me.
"No reason to be afraid, darlin’. But don’t ever make the mistake of telling me what to do, now, ever again. Hear me?" Muhmis takes her hand down, her eyes holding mine in a direct green stare.
"Yes. Yes, Muhmis, I’ll never do that again… I’m sorry," I manage, tears beginning to fall. My voice shakes and I cuss myself out for being such a wimp. Muhmis sighs again and touches the tear that’s rolling down my right cheek.
"Ssssaa, don’t cry, now… My sweet, don’t… we’ll talk about this later, though. Here, I’ll tell you what we’ll do," Gwen says. "Go back to the cabin, fetch me some towels, some shampoo… and that hunting knife of your grandfather’s…that Bowie knife? Bring those things down to the river. I’ll be washing this mess off a bit; then when I’m not quite so sticky, I’ll skin this beast. Good fur to keep as a memento… a reminder not to take something less seriously since it’s 'just a hunt’." Muhmis glances down at her arm and shoulder, smiling wryly. "Meet me at the river, now, and be careful with that knife. You don’t know how to use it, and I like all your appendages attached. Run along, now…"
She kisses my cheek; I bow my head to her and jog off toward the cabin. I return shortly with an armful of towels, soap and shampoo, and some clothes for Gwen. The Bowie knife’s carefully sandwiched between two thick terry cloth towels. I've no intention of drawing the dang thing; I'd probably cut my hand off trying, I think dryly to myself. I’m a swabbie, not a Green Beret. Gwen’s waded waist deep into the rushing, bitterly cold mountain river, scrubbing at her arms. I yell her name and she turns, smiling, as the sun plays across her body in reflective patterns from the glistening water.
"Gwen! Here, Muhmis… here’s some soap, and a washcloth, and some of your shampoo…" I wave them at her, and her grin widens.
"Bring them to me, my pretty-girl."
"Aw… please? Do I have to? That water’s cold, Muhmis…" I beg, eyeing the river with goosebumps already forming.
"Yes. Bring it to me, or I’ll come get it. And you… You wouldn’t enjoy that, much, I don’t think." A chuckle, then: "Come on, be a good wench." Her smile’s still there, but there’s an edge to it, and I know better than to argue. Sighing, I step out of my shorts and strip off my new tshirt and bra. I look silly in briefs and sneakers, but I don’t plan on walking on those rocks barefoot. I hesitate, and then strip off the cotton panties, too, dropping them in the pile behind me. I hear Gwen’s laughter as she enjoys my embarassment and chill, both quite obviously displayed by my body.
I daintily step into the cold, cold water and an involuntary gasp is wrung from me. "Gahhhh!"
Gwen reaches out and steadies me as I get closer to her, and I’m amazed to see the edges of the cuts’ve already sealed. They’re deep red against her tan, and the bleeding has long since stopped. My legs are going numb, and I try not to shiver too violently. The sun's nice and warm, but I'd really rather not be skinny-dipping right now. I hand her the soap and washcloth and let her scrub harder than I can. The blood skims off her, and she sighs with contentment.
When she’s done all the hard scrubbing, she hands me the washrag and the soap, and I wash her as she’s taught me how to do, so many years ago. It’s become quite routine, although my heart still thuds loudly when I stroke the cloth over her body, feeling her strength beneath my hands. I rinse her off, and then she ducks her head under for a long moment, using her fingers to get most of the mess out of her long red hair. She pops back up, and kisses me, hard, startling me.
"Muhmis!"
"Hmmm… yes. That feels nice, doesn’t it?" Her lips on mine, she begins to stroke me, touch me. I shiver, both with delight and with cold. She goes on: "I still have some energy to work off, with the overdrive hormones that were pumped into my system… what better way?"
"Uh, don’t you want me to wash your hair for you? If you keep doing… ah, that… um, it’s going to be impossible for me to concentrate on much else. On top of that… hey, oh, mmhh… I’m freezing, Gwen!" I laugh, and she joins me. Tossing the washrag and soap easily to the shore, she turns around, her back to me, and sits on a convenient rock. I lean her head back against my stomach and soap her hair gently, rubbing my fingers hard along her scalp. Gwen groans in pleasure.
I take handfuls of water and rinse away the biodegradable soap, slowly, relishing the feel of her thick hair in my hands, and she purrs loudly against me. When her thick red hair is squeaky clean, I kiss her on the top of her head and sit her up. "All done, Muhmis…"
"Almost…" she grins, picking me up in a fireman’s carry, over her right shoulder. I squeal, at first in surprise, then in excitement as the fingers of her left hand probe my openings. I'm not completely numb from that damn cold river, I think to myself, in the moment that thought is still possible. Muhmis easily strides to shore, and lays me down on the pile of towels, first removing the sheathed Bowie knife, laying it aside. She smoothly mounts me, sitting astride my shoulders, her long thumbs running across my lips. I stare up at her, my pulse thundering in my ears. All I can think about is Gwen… her body, her scent… her. "Almost done, my pretty pony. Almost…"
**
I’m enjoying the early evening breeze on the porch; the rocking chair squeaks companionably beneath me on the pine boards. It's been a long day, I think to myself, and run both hands through my hair. I've let it grow to shoulder-length now, and I like it. There are some streaks of grey showing up, but I think it makes me look more distinguished. Jennifer says it makes me look old, and that I should color it, or get Muhmis to do some Draka medical wonder on it. Nah--I like it the way it is. I like me the way I am, too, I muse, mostly.
The attack of the mountain lion, or painter, as Papaw would've called it, scared the you-know-what out of me, too, I think. I thought there for a minute that Gwen… the mere idea frightens me, more than I've ever really admitted. All the people I love have this alarming tendency to die on me, you know? It just makes a body wonder… But Gwen said it would've been highly unlikely that the critter could've killed her. Still, in the heat of the moment, I was afraid. Cold, alone and afraid. Have to work on that, old girl. It's just so complicated with Muhmis, though. I didn't mean to fuss at her; that's silly. As silly as being jealous of other people serving her sexual needs.
At that thought, I shift somewhat sorely in the rocking chair. I hope I don't hang around Muhmis much after she has those combat hormones or whatever dumped into her bloodstream… she was positively voracious; it was like being mauled by a big ole Draka cat or something. Man, I'm tired, and more than a bit sore. She did stuff with me we don't usually do… or at least I don't usually do, I blush. Jeezie petes, Peter would've been laughing his head off at me. I must have made a pretty massively startled face, too, when she… well, when she did what she did, I chuckle softly, remembering her strength, her scent, the fingers touching me, entering me where I wasn't expecting them to… and then her peal of bell-like laughter, when she looked at my face. That was kinda embarassing, and then the way I yelled…
She has a way of bringing that out in me, shore nuff, I grin. I ease my feet up onto the railing of the porch and watch as the night shadows settle across the yard. The breeze is cooler now than it was during the day, and I'm enjoying the warmth of my flannel shirt, too. Muhmis comes up the trail from where the cat was, holding a shovel over one shoulder. The dying rays of the sun catch her eyes for a moment, and they glint like a cat’s; I shiver a little and then wave at her. She waves back, a casual toss of her hand, and walks up the path.
"Dinner ready, my sweet?"
"Yes, Muhmis… steaks, salad, homemade soup, dessert… it’s all ready for you," I answer, smiling back at her grin. "Been ready for a few minutes now…"
"I wanted to get the carcass taken care of before nightfall. There are quite a few bear around here, and they'd make a mess, not to mention making this area somewhat more dangerous. I’ll be right in…" Gwen saunters past the porch, winking broadly at me, enjoying my blush and slight squirm, and goes on back toward the toolshed. I hear the door open and close, and I get up and go into the kitchen, to get everything out on the table.
"Pretty candles, darlin’," Gwen says, as she washes her hands at the kitchen sink, looking over at the set dinner table. Drying her hands on one of Mamaw's handmade towels, she leans against the sink, watching me fuss around the table. She’s wearing a different sort of grin than she was just a minute ago, I muse, when I stop and look up at her. Our eyes meet, and she tosses the towel down, holding out her arms to me.
I go to her, snuggling against the hard-muscled, warm body of my owner. She strokes my hair, my back, down a little further, and then back up as I groan, sotto voce. "Tired you out this afternoon, didn’t I, ma mignonne?"
"Yes, Muhmis." I look up into her clear, leaf-green eyes and see affection mixed with amusement. "You shorely did! I’m amazed I was able to cook dinner…" I lean into her, enjoying the warmth. She smells nice and woodsy, I think. And the clean, sharp scent of a Draka has gotten much less alien over the past fifteen years, hasn’t it, says the little voice inside my head. I stiffen, a bit, a tiny amount, but Gwen notices immediately.
"What, my pretty-girl?"
"Um… nothing, really." I blush deeply, clear my throat, thinking of a way to answer her nicely. "I was just thinking how nice it felt, and how good you smell… even though I don’t have the same olfactory powers you have, Muhmis."
"Is that all you were thinking? I know you well enough to know differently…"
"Aw, jeezie petes, Muhmis… Gwen, um…" I look down at my feet, truly embarassed. It’s true, though, over the years, I’ve noticed we’re very good at reading each other. There’ve been times when a look was the only communication needed, and we knew exactly what the other person meant. That's hard enough to learn with another human being, like Alice or Jennifer, I think, but I've managed, somehow, to do that with Gwen. Alexandra and Ariadne seem more able to make that instantaneous connection with me, more than their mother, though. I wonder why?
"Muhmis, it’s just that stupid ole voice in the back of my head… I know, you think that’s quaint and silly… but it’s there, and it made some comment about how the scent of a Draka has gotten more familiar over the years to me. I guess it’s true, too-- I am more used to you than I was, and we’re able to talk without talking, sometimes. Especially when we…well… when we…um," I stutter to a halt, my face turning a lovely shade of crimson. I’m sure it is, since Gwen’s smile grows wider and I feel the heat of blood rising in my cheeks. I wish, I wish I didn't blush so openly, I growl to myself, and Gwen’s smile opens into a full laugh, as she overhears my subvocalization. She hugs me tightly, kissing me long and deep, and then releases me.
"Hmmm… you’re such a sweet young wench. Let’s eat dinner--I’m famished!" I nod, and we walk to the table, where bee’s-wax candles glow warmly. The steaks disappear; Muhmis devours two, and some of mine, when I get full. We laugh and talk, remembering things past that we’ve shared, meals and times. She tells me some hilarious stories of her schooldays, and some of the hijinks she and her pals got up to. Knowing how energetic Alexa and Ariadne are, I can certainly imagine a whole school of young Draka women, bursting with knowledge, skill, and self-confidence… wreaking havoc on the surrounding countryside.
Dessert, a chocolate mousse I whipped up, waiting for Muhmis to come back from disposing of the mountain cat’s body, is a big hit, too; Gwen tackles her share with gusto. I’m slowing down, the big dinner having filled me up, and end up pushing my plate away, mousse half-eaten. "God, I can’t eat another bite. Want this, too?"
"Well, maybe in a few minutes you’ll feel like eating it. I don’t want to deprive you of it. It’s really very good, Erin. Been taking some lessons, or is this a skill you’ve hidden from me all these years?" Muhmis touches the corners of her mouth with the napkin, and then sips her coffee.
"I learned a lot from Mamaw, but I have been hanging out in the kitchen with Mavis. I like spending time with her, and the guys down at the barn, too. Bret and them," I conclude, knowing my grammar’s slipping but not really caring very much. Gwen grins at me over the rim of her coffee cup, and then nods, setting it down.
"I've noticed. Feels more like home to you, doesn’t it?"
"Yes, Muhmis, it does. I love being near Alice, of course, but sometimes we need space from each other, too. We’re very different in some ways. Same with Jenny, too. She’s really a wonderful friend—none better—but I like to hear the stories Mavis tells, or the tall tales down at the barn. I was so relieved when the boys down there finally accepted me."
"We all have our needs, Erin. Our comfort zones, or things we do to feel comfortable. I paint. It relaxes me, and people seem to enjoy the results, too… you certainly claim to," she says, reaching out and holding my hand on the table. The candlelight flickers in the deepening darkness; the sun's set and gone to bed, I remember Mamaw’s saying, and so should you…
"I am sorry for bothering you this afternoon, about the paintner—the mountain lion—Muhmis. I didn’t mean to step over my boundaries."
"Come on, sweet girl, let’s go talk in the den. It’s more comfortable," Gwen says, leading me there. The room’s pitch dark, but she walks through it like all the lights are on, carefully guiding me to the couch. She kneels by the fireplace, and a cheery little blaze is soon crackling away, the scent of cedar filling the room. Gwen sits down next to me on the couch, an arm around my shoulders, and I wait for her to begin.
**
"First, I know you were concerned about me, and I’m not in the least annoyed with that," I say, smiling down at the head on my shoulder. "I know the way you… grizzled at me is a sign of how concerned you were."
"But it set you off, somehow, didn’t it?" Erin says.
She knows me very well. "Yes – I kept it very firmly under control, because I knew I was misreading you."
I think for a moment, watching the crackling fire. "You see," I go on, "a drakensis can only perceive an order as a challenge – except in certain, strictly limited circumstances. When we’re children, for instance… but you’ve probably picked up on how Alexa, and now sometimes Ari, push at me, at my authority as a parent."
"Yeah," Erin says. "Like Pat does with me or Alice, or May does… only it’s more focused."
"Very perceptive," I reply, delighted with her quick wits. "I always knew you were more than a pretty –" I run my hand over her playfully, and she squirms in mock-rebellion. More seriously, I go on:
"As an adult, a drakensis can accept another’s leadership, but it’s always uneasy – we’re just not as social or gregarious among our own kind as you humans are. It’s very hard for us not to take a non-drakensis attempt to… order, or compel… us as a death-challenge. It feels… unnatural. Upsetting… like nails on a blackboard, very loud."
"Ouch," Erin says.
"Sometimes it’s a pain in the ass," I say. "Instincts are like that, for a sapient creature. It’s not that I don’t value your… input," I go on. "You’re intelligent, and you’re sometimes more… ingenious than I am. But to avoid pushing my buttons, use the approach you usually do – suggest, advise."
"Flirt, wheedle?" Erin says, chuckling a little.
"Or ask, or persuade," I say. "Just don’t tell me what to do. I can’t help how that feels to me."
"I’ve been sort of ambiguous about it myself, from time to time," she says dryly, nuzzling into my neck.
I pinch her gently. "That’s the point. You can adapt to being dominated by me; I can’t – my species is just inherently less flexible than yours."
"One of us has to be reasonable, and it isn’t going to be you?" Erin says, and relaxes very slightly when I laugh.
"Oh, yes, that’s one way of putting it. The trouble is I’m a literalized metaphor, the Ancestors ideal of a Dominator; and that’s what I have to be – you humans can switch around. In the very long run, that may be an evolutionary handicap for us; human adaptability certainly is a plus in many respects."
We sit quietly for a while…
**
"Can’t you change that, somehow, Muhmis? One of those whole-organism makeovers you talked about having, a long time ago?" I watch the rosy glow of firelight on her tanned, high-cheekboned face, nestled against her side on the couch.
"Like you said earlier in the woods… eeeeuuuu!" She laughs, squeezing my shoulders a little. "Had three of those things, and I swore the last was the last, period. Damn uncomfortable process, darlin', damn uncomfortable… but that is one idea I’ve been thinking about."
"I know you’ve got teams working on the human genome project, and that it’s almost done. Tom, the maven of genetics, now, was updating me the other day, before the Meeting to End All Meetings…"
Gwen looks down at me, a puzzled expression on her face. I grin. "Ooops, sorry, Gwen, local reference. First Gulf War, called Desert Storm. There was a quote from the bad guy, Saddam Hussein, about unleashing the Mother of All Battles…"
Her eyes go blank for a moment, as she calls up information on her transducer, and she nods. "Ah, yes, that little Iraqi man. Pity he tried to resist the Arrival the way he did. But it was a good demonstration, at minimal cost to the surrounding humans, as to the effectiveness of an orbital weapons platform, wasn’t it? Remember?"
"Yeah, Muhmis, I do," I reply, wincing slightly. Even though the Nimitz was sunk during the Second Gulf War, by Iraqi missiles carried on suicide boats… the way he just sort of swelled, puffed, and then steamed into a puddle in his courtyard, leaving nothing but melted rank badges and his boots behind was kind of… gronky, I think, using the kids' word of the day. "I think everyone remembers that."
"The longer they remember, the less likely they’ll be to try to do something similarly stupid."
"I sure hope so." Trying to mustard-gas a cohortarch and her command was kinda dumb, I think.
The fire crackles in the grate, and we sit quietly for a moment again, resting against each other.
"Gwen?"
"Yes, darlin’?"
"Are you planning on having any more children any time soon?"
Her red hair spills down on me as she undoes her braid and shakes her head. Gwen grins whitely down at me, and cups my chin with a gentle hand. "Yes, actually, Erin… I was. I’ve been thinking of having more. Would you be volunteering for another stint as my brooder?"
I blush deeply, and squirm a little. "Yes." It comes out as a whisper, and I hide my face against her chest. One of her hands moves down to rest on my stomach, over my uterus, where she strokes me, softly.
"Ah, Erin… my sweet little one… look at me, sugar, come on… look up here at me…" She tugs my chin back up, and our eyes meet. "Good. I was thinking of you or Alice, anyway… you could bear around the time Jennifer’s due…"
"Who, if you don’t mind me asking, were you thinking of… or were you thinking about cloning again?" My blush slowly fades, but my heart’s thumping in my chest. Her hand, so warm, feels so lovely on me, and she’s being so gentle, so precise…
"No, not cloning, although that is an idea. I was talking with Schalk De Lange, and he brought up the idea of us having a child. It would be a good move politically; cementing his family more or less to the Ingolfsson-Von Shrakenberg clan, and he’s quite a nice youngster. He seems very loyal, and I appreciate that, especially now."
"Oh."
She looks down at me again, smiling gently. " ‘Oh’? You sound, well… frightened a bit. Why?"
"Well, Muhmis… I was just remembering the night with you and uhmis Tamarindus, and how sort of scary it was, but exciting, too… I’m kind of nervous about being with him, I guess, if that’s the way it’s done when a male and female Draka have children…"
"Yes, darlin’, that’s the way it’s done… I'll explain more in more detail tomorrow, but please, you shouldn’t feel intimidated at all, not really. We won’t hurt you, you know that. It may be a little unsettling, or alarming, as it was with Tamar, but no permanent damage done, right?" Her wolf-grin makes little chills or thrills or something run up and down my back. I nod, wordless. "Then, sweetlin’… don’t worry. In fact, since you’re not really used to being with males, I’ll even have a little talk with him beforehand, just to make sure we remember to do things… slowly. More pleasantly for you. How does that sound?"
"That sounds like a good idea, Gwen," I murmur, tightening my arms around her waist. "As long as you’re there, with me… maybe I won’t freeze up or anything."
"You certainly haven’t had freezing problems in the past, when I’ve taken you with Peter or with Tom, now have you?"
I grin and duck my head. "No…"
"Then what’s to worry about, as Jennifer would say? You’ll find it, I promise you, as enjoyable and as memorable an experience as the ceremony with Tamar and yours truly, believe me…" She kisses the top of my head, and then rests her chin there. Purring softly, she goes on: "Erin, my Erin, I’m so glad you volunteered. Very glad indeed. It means a lot to me, since I know how much it matters to you."
"All this talking we’ve done has brought me closer to you, Gwen. And for some reason, I want to have another little bitty wandering around. They’re fun, especially with Marie Claire to help out. I just wanted to…" I pause, not knowing how to say what’s in my heart. "It’s just that…you’re…"
"Ssshhh… I know, darlin’, I know…" Gwen’s lips meet mine, and we stay that way for quite some time, the firelight bathing us in a rosy, red-golden glow. The kiss feels good; her hand on my tummy, stroking, warm; she never takes it down further, which surprises me. Oh, thank god, maybe she's not… but she probably is, I think; I'm so tired, not to mention sore…a yawn pops out of my mouth as soon as we finish kissing, and Muhmis chuckles, her arms sliding around me, cradling me effortlessly. "Time for bed, Erin…"
**
I pick her up. This time I don’t think there’s much faking in her groan. "Muhmis, I’m sore!"
"I realize that," I say, smiling down into her face. "So we’re actually just going to sleep."
I lay her down in the bed and slip into it myself, curling around her, feeling a tender protectiveness.
Besides, there’s that coming-of-age back at Gwendolyn Hall, I think. Have to do the youngsters’ justice.
**