Shadow's Son by Shirley Meier, S.M. Stirling and Karen Wehrstein ...

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Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html "Hi." He looked embarrassed. "What'dhe want?" "Oh… eh… to tell me a thing." "Not my business?" "Ayo… ayo, no. I mean, no, isn'naht yourrh business, meaning, I mean, it is." "Well, then, you've got to tell me." "Ayo, yes. Sure. He say… hesaid he think maybe you ahn' me hahve mis… mis-naht-unde'stahnd. Ing. Of two differ country-el." "Huh? I mean, I beg your pardon? You mean misunderstanding, of two different countries?" "Tat." "Uh huh?" "He say… maybe we both wait forrhotser . I mean…" He ran the hand that wasn't on her shoulder through his hair.You're so beautiful when you're embarrassed , she thought. "See, Sova, whereyou frahm, it, i's tsehmahn who, um, em, you know…ayo , whoahsks . In Yeola-e—i's tsehwoman ." Sova understood. For a long time they gazed at each other, eyes shining, heads proud, in the joy of perfect understanding, as in a two-part song sung flawlessly. "So see," he added. "I thahnk him, cause if he naht say tsaht, we sit hyere ahn' hold hahnds ahn' naht do thing else forrh ayearrrh ." As one they jumped up, arm in arm, and ran into the woods. "You little scarrhy?" he whispered, in the darkness of the thicket. On a patch of soft earth they lay wrapped in each other's arms, and Sova wondered,What should I be doing? Do we take off our clothes now or what? What do I do with my hands? She was sure he wasn't a virgin; he had too sophisticated a look, and besides, she'd heard about Yeolis. Or heard them, in person; right now, in the next thicket over, two people, a man and another whose gender she couldn't tell by the voice, were moaning in rhythm and gibbering Yeoli sacred words as loudly and dramatically as grand show singers. He'll think I'm a gauche child . "Ya, I'm a little scared," she whispered, then had to say it louder, for him to hear over the "Mamaiyana, o mamawana, mahachao ayana, sekahara-a-a-ahh!" from the other thicket. "Ya, I admit I'm a little scared! I'm sorry." "No need sorrhy, Sovee. We…may we kiss away scarrhy?" Part of me thinks this is icky, she thought.His mouth is wet. I guess because we both had the same dinner our mouths taste the same so that's why he doesn't taste different. But we did it under the
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html trees before and it's so nice. I don't want to stop. How can it be both at the same time? Minegott it's the Fehuund. No it isn't. Don't be ridiculous. That's just atavistic Thane-bilge. Mmmmmmm… I should be doing somethingwith my hands to make him feel nice. Like he's running his hands gently over my back, I'll do that to him, too . His back was wide and hard-ridged. "May I…" His whisper was throaty and deep in the darkness. "May I touch yourrh… now you say, you know, um, I nant cahn think—" His words were drowned out by a throaty howl from the next thicket. "—little, drink, you know, two,kyash !" Frustration stopped up his words.Why does he keep asking , she thought.It means I have to keep saying yes, like a slut, sluts don't know how to say no… No! Stop thinkingthat! I'll just make myself miserable for no reason. I want him to touch me wherever he means . So she just whispered "Yes," and felt his fingertips touch, with utter tenderness, one nipple, through the course cotton of her shirt. He wasn't a virgin, she knew with certainty, as feeling speared through her from the breasts downward; his touch was too knowledgeable of sensitivities she'd never dreamed of in her own body. "Don't ask," she whispered, waited a moment until she could be heard again, continued. "You don't need to, Echerry. You may touch me anywhere. Please." She heard her own throatiness, likekhyd-hird's and zhyma-ta's in their darkened room, something she'd never thought to hear out of her own mouth. "I… I… give myself to you, Echerry. Please take me. Please." Please take me away, it meant, and she suddenly knew it meant,from all the fear and pain and anger. From the bleakness. I knew boredom, in the old time, and other bleakness, but now . . . The hard view she'd learned in her new life, truth, they'd call it, intruded with its usual cold thoughts:there is no escape, from the blows, the push-ups, the lung-tearing exhaustion, the aching limbs, the shame; the endless endlessness. But that was wrong: there was. He did take her away, at least for one soaring flight that seemed to last forever, and then another, and told her he would again as many times as she wanted. As he did, even the rising yowls from the other Yeolis were no longer brutish but magical, somehow joining with her own ecstasy to make it all the deeper. Each time was never long enough, so shemade it last longer; there were ways, like fighting, using her mind. Then she was done, she could tell: she felt truly boneless, not just drunkenly so, but sated to the core, as if she had just eaten a full delicious meal with her soul as well as her body, if that were possible; and anything that was wrong in the world, her past or her doubts or even the war, were petty in truth, trivial flaws in the face of a vast peace. He'd left the pain till after; it was nothing to feeling his pleasure, quick and needful and full of strength. Afterwards, as they lay basking in sweet breeze and moonlight, her head on his shoulder and his crystal clenched in her hand, she cried with joy, learned this was possible. "Echerry, I love you" she whispered. He whispered back, "I love you, too." Shkai'ra stretched and looked up at the stars, and an occasional spark from the fires whirling across the night. Both glittered through the limbs and leaves of apricot trees; the fruit glowed faint amber, nearly dropping-ripe. She picked one up from the silky grass, examined it critically and bit into it before offering it to Chevenga.Perfect . SomeAitzas was going to lose the rents from this plot, this year. He lay warm beside her, as relaxed supine as a cat sleeping in summer, his head still arched slightly back. He'd been as passionate a lover as she'd expected, but far more sensitive, marvelously so, with a
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Shadow's Son by Shirley Meier, S.M. Stirling and Karen Wehrstein ...

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