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Authors: Daniel Arenson
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want you to be
that person," she whispered. She removed her knee from his
belly, and suddenly instead of pinning him down, she was lying atop
him, holding him in an embrace. "I don't want you to be anything
but a boy."
He sighed and wrapped his arms
around her. She nuzzled his cheek.
"Why?" he asked.
She shrugged and buried her face
against his neck. He felt her warm tears. "Because I don't want
things to change. I don't want you to be some warrior, some . . .
some soldier who loves Koyee, who fights in wars, who doesn't need me
anymore." She raised her head, her eyes red, and cupped his
cheek in her palm. "Because I miss the old times. Do you
remember them? I miss Fairwool-by-Night. I miss you being a scared
little orphan, younger and shorter and slower than me. You were a
precious child and you needed me. And I protected you. You were mine.
Not Koyee's. Not the night's. Not even your own man. You were my
little babyface and nobody else's, and I miss that. That was home to
me."
Torin spoke in a soft voice.
"I've grown."
"I don't want you to grow
up. I don't want anyone to."
He held her in his arms. "I
miss home too. I miss those times. And more than anything, I want us
to return home. I want us to live together again in your grandpapa's
cottage. I want us to climb Old Maple, run through the fields, and
fish in the Sern River. But to do that, we have to fight this war.
And we have to change. We have to grow."
She nodded, eyes damp, still
lying atop him. "I know. I'm sorry, Torin. I'm sorry that I . .
. that I goad you on like this, that I mock you sometimes, that I tug
you and twist your arm. You're the best person I know and I love
you." Tears filled her eyes, and her voice became only a choked
whisper. "I love you so much."
He held her, and she kissed his
cheek, and they lay together in the grass and leaves.
"I love you too," he
whispered, and he meant it, though he didn't know how he loved her.
As a friend? As a foster brother? As a man loves a woman?
As they lay together, he thought
of Koyee: her large lavender eyes, her smile, her hand in his, and
the battles they had fought together. Like this world of Moth, he was
torn . . . torn between a woman of daylight and a daughter of the
night.
Bailey caressed his cheek and
kissed his lips, then sprang off him and rose to her feet. She
adjusted the pack, bow, and quiver that hung across her back, then
reached down her hand.
"See? I'm not tugging now."
She wiped her eyes. "Hold my hand and I'll help you stand, and
we'll keep walking together."
He took her hand. They kept
walking through the rainforest, and she did not release her grip.
CHAPTER SEVEN:
SUNLIGHT
"Aaand . . . the flowers and
the bees and the singers and the trees, and they all went hopping
awayyy . . . Aaand—"
"Linee!"
Cam scowled at her. "Please! For Idar's sake, please stop singing."
She opened her mouth wide,
prepared to sing another verse, then closed it. She tilted her head
and stared at him quizzically. "You don't like my singing?"
Walking along the beach under
the moon, Cam glowered. "I told you a million times, Linee. I
hate your singing. The fish hate your singing. The crabs hate your
singing. The damn stars above hate your singing by now. Please can
you be quiet?"
She thought for a moment,
tapping her cheek. "Let me think. Uhh . . . no." She
cleared her throat, tossed back her head, and sang with new vigor.
"And the puppies and the cats and the birds and the bats, and
they all went hopping awayyy . . . And—"
"Linee!" Cam stopped
walking, turned toward her, and grabbed her arms. "Please. I'm
begging you. We've been traveling for almost a month, and you're
still singing the same song. I can't take it. Can you at least sing
another song?"
"But I don't know any other
songs!" Tears welled up in her eyes. "And I'm so bored
here. It's so quiet and lonely on this beach, and it's so dark, and
singing makes me happy, and . . . " She sniffled, covered her
eyes, and sat
that person," she whispered. She removed her knee from his
belly, and suddenly instead of pinning him down, she was lying atop
him, holding him in an embrace. "I don't want you to be anything
but a boy."
He sighed and wrapped his arms
around her. She nuzzled his cheek.
"Why?" he asked.
She shrugged and buried her face
against his neck. He felt her warm tears. "Because I don't want
things to change. I don't want you to be some warrior, some . . .
some soldier who loves Koyee, who fights in wars, who doesn't need me
anymore." She raised her head, her eyes red, and cupped his
cheek in her palm. "Because I miss the old times. Do you
remember them? I miss Fairwool-by-Night. I miss you being a scared
little orphan, younger and shorter and slower than me. You were a
precious child and you needed me. And I protected you. You were mine.
Not Koyee's. Not the night's. Not even your own man. You were my
little babyface and nobody else's, and I miss that. That was home to
me."
Torin spoke in a soft voice.
"I've grown."
"I don't want you to grow
up. I don't want anyone to."
He held her in his arms. "I
miss home too. I miss those times. And more than anything, I want us
to return home. I want us to live together again in your grandpapa's
cottage. I want us to climb Old Maple, run through the fields, and
fish in the Sern River. But to do that, we have to fight this war.
And we have to change. We have to grow."
She nodded, eyes damp, still
lying atop him. "I know. I'm sorry, Torin. I'm sorry that I . .
. that I goad you on like this, that I mock you sometimes, that I tug
you and twist your arm. You're the best person I know and I love
you." Tears filled her eyes, and her voice became only a choked
whisper. "I love you so much."
He held her, and she kissed his
cheek, and they lay together in the grass and leaves.
"I love you too," he
whispered, and he meant it, though he didn't know how he loved her.
As a friend? As a foster brother? As a man loves a woman?
As they lay together, he thought
of Koyee: her large lavender eyes, her smile, her hand in his, and
the battles they had fought together. Like this world of Moth, he was
torn . . . torn between a woman of daylight and a daughter of the
night.
Bailey caressed his cheek and
kissed his lips, then sprang off him and rose to her feet. She
adjusted the pack, bow, and quiver that hung across her back, then
reached down her hand.
"See? I'm not tugging now."
She wiped her eyes. "Hold my hand and I'll help you stand, and
we'll keep walking together."
He took her hand. They kept
walking through the rainforest, and she did not release her grip.
CHAPTER SEVEN:
SUNLIGHT
"Aaand . . . the flowers and
the bees and the singers and the trees, and they all went hopping
awayyy . . . Aaand—"
"Linee!"
Cam scowled at her. "Please! For Idar's sake, please stop singing."
She opened her mouth wide,
prepared to sing another verse, then closed it. She tilted her head
and stared at him quizzically. "You don't like my singing?"
Walking along the beach under
the moon, Cam glowered. "I told you a million times, Linee. I
hate your singing. The fish hate your singing. The crabs hate your
singing. The damn stars above hate your singing by now. Please can
you be quiet?"
She thought for a moment,
tapping her cheek. "Let me think. Uhh . . . no." She
cleared her throat, tossed back her head, and sang with new vigor.
"And the puppies and the cats and the birds and the bats, and
they all went hopping awayyy . . . And—"
"Linee!" Cam stopped
walking, turned toward her, and grabbed her arms. "Please. I'm
begging you. We've been traveling for almost a month, and you're
still singing the same song. I can't take it. Can you at least sing
another song?"
"But I don't know any other
songs!" Tears welled up in her eyes. "And I'm so bored
here. It's so quiet and lonely on this beach, and it's so dark, and
singing makes me happy, and . . . " She sniffled, covered her
eyes, and sat
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