responsible.
Yawning, she combed back her disheveled locks as she crossed to the window to gaze out at the lake. The sight before her should have triggered all kinds of spontaneous orgasms because there were now eight incredibly beautiful birds wading in the water. Two of the orange variety she'd already seen, three that were an iridescent teal, and the rest were red with yellow-tipped feathers and looked like they were on fire. "Oh… my… God," she whispered.
Somehow managing to keep a lid on her excite ment, Drusilla crept down the stairs, opening the door at the bottom manually to avoid startling the birds. She took one step and waited. Then another… and another. The birds continued to fish without so much as a glance in her direction, and soon, she was walking barefoot in the warm sand. Klog hadn't smoothed it yet, and her footprints from the evening before were still visible—along with another set of prints much larger than her own.
Her gasp of surprise startled the birds, but only three of them actually flew off. The rest remained, seeming to decide that she posed no threat to them, while Drusilla knelt slowly to examine the prints. Although indistinct, they looked surprisingly human. The Baradans all had flipper-like feet, and though it was possible that some other land animal had feet like a Terran primate, she knew it was unlikely. Still, like the purring and the glowing eyes, there had to be a simple, logical explana tion for it. Drusilla knew very little about the other life forms that inhabited this world, and, for all she knew, these could have been the bird's footprints—after all, she'd never seen their feet.
***
Manx watched from the shelter of the woods and was momentarily delighted that Drusilla hadn't bothered to dress. Then he heard her gasp and, as she knelt down, he realized what she had seen and cursed himself for his carelessness, knowing that he had left a trail of footprints leading to and from the house. He was normally cautious in the extreme and rarely made mistakes that could get him captured or killed, but she had affected him so strongly that habits of half a lifetime had been forgotten.
Manx knew that if Drusilla questioned the Baradans, she would be told that the prints were not those of any indigenous species. She would become suspicious and wary—perhaps not even trusting him if he risked a bare faced introduction. Zef could help with that—he could at least vouch for Manx's character. Though, upon further reflection, Manx decided that having the eltran vouch for him would be akin to having your worst enemy recom mend a good doctor—especially if Drusilla disliked Zef as much as everyone else did.
***
While Manx was puzzling over the question of intro ductions, Drusilla had decided that with footprints like that around, she had no desire to be caught without her clothes. Still moving slowly and deliberately to avoid further startling the birds, she went back inside and yelled for Klog. Sniffing the air, she realized he was already fixing breakfast—without an order of any kind—and, better still, was making waffles.
"Are you making those for someone else?" she asked curiously.
Klog buzzed at her and went on with his cooking.
"How do you do that?" she demanded. "I love waffles with" —she paused, noting what else he had laid out— "butter pecan syrup and baked apples! How could you possibly know?"
Klog ignored this question and, having arranged everything on a plate, topped it with whipped cream, which he squirted out of one of his "fingers."
"Well, that's certainly impressive," Drusilla remarked. "Do you make mixed drinks too?" Since Klog's beehive shaped "body" was large enough to hold any number of different liquids, she had an idea he could whip up a pretty good margarita if she were to hand him a glass.
Klog once again made a chirping sound.
"I believe I'll take that as a yes," she said, then added
Yawning, she combed back her disheveled locks as she crossed to the window to gaze out at the lake. The sight before her should have triggered all kinds of spontaneous orgasms because there were now eight incredibly beautiful birds wading in the water. Two of the orange variety she'd already seen, three that were an iridescent teal, and the rest were red with yellow-tipped feathers and looked like they were on fire. "Oh… my… God," she whispered.
Somehow managing to keep a lid on her excite ment, Drusilla crept down the stairs, opening the door at the bottom manually to avoid startling the birds. She took one step and waited. Then another… and another. The birds continued to fish without so much as a glance in her direction, and soon, she was walking barefoot in the warm sand. Klog hadn't smoothed it yet, and her footprints from the evening before were still visible—along with another set of prints much larger than her own.
Her gasp of surprise startled the birds, but only three of them actually flew off. The rest remained, seeming to decide that she posed no threat to them, while Drusilla knelt slowly to examine the prints. Although indistinct, they looked surprisingly human. The Baradans all had flipper-like feet, and though it was possible that some other land animal had feet like a Terran primate, she knew it was unlikely. Still, like the purring and the glowing eyes, there had to be a simple, logical explana tion for it. Drusilla knew very little about the other life forms that inhabited this world, and, for all she knew, these could have been the bird's footprints—after all, she'd never seen their feet.
***
Manx watched from the shelter of the woods and was momentarily delighted that Drusilla hadn't bothered to dress. Then he heard her gasp and, as she knelt down, he realized what she had seen and cursed himself for his carelessness, knowing that he had left a trail of footprints leading to and from the house. He was normally cautious in the extreme and rarely made mistakes that could get him captured or killed, but she had affected him so strongly that habits of half a lifetime had been forgotten.
Manx knew that if Drusilla questioned the Baradans, she would be told that the prints were not those of any indigenous species. She would become suspicious and wary—perhaps not even trusting him if he risked a bare faced introduction. Zef could help with that—he could at least vouch for Manx's character. Though, upon further reflection, Manx decided that having the eltran vouch for him would be akin to having your worst enemy recom mend a good doctor—especially if Drusilla disliked Zef as much as everyone else did.
***
While Manx was puzzling over the question of intro ductions, Drusilla had decided that with footprints like that around, she had no desire to be caught without her clothes. Still moving slowly and deliberately to avoid further startling the birds, she went back inside and yelled for Klog. Sniffing the air, she realized he was already fixing breakfast—without an order of any kind—and, better still, was making waffles.
"Are you making those for someone else?" she asked curiously.
Klog buzzed at her and went on with his cooking.
"How do you do that?" she demanded. "I love waffles with" —she paused, noting what else he had laid out— "butter pecan syrup and baked apples! How could you possibly know?"
Klog ignored this question and, having arranged everything on a plate, topped it with whipped cream, which he squirted out of one of his "fingers."
"Well, that's certainly impressive," Drusilla remarked. "Do you make mixed drinks too?" Since Klog's beehive shaped "body" was large enough to hold any number of different liquids, she had an idea he could whip up a pretty good margarita if she were to hand him a glass.
Klog once again made a chirping sound.
"I believe I'll take that as a yes," she said, then added
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