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

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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