In The Lair of the Draca (Book 2)

In The Lair of the Draca (Book 2) Chapter 32: Walk the Line

Waru sat across from Dijaq on one of his father's best tea-mats and smiled graciously at him from over the rim of her mug.

Albeit awkwardly, Dijaq smiled back.

"It-- it was quite nice of you to take me up on the offer of having brunch with you," began Waru shyly. "After the way I have been acting these past few days, I would have understood completely if you'd decided-- well, not to--"

"Please, it really isn't a big deal," Dijaq pressed quickly, rushing to pick up the tea-kettle-- it had cooled somewhat-- so that he could pour her another serving. Behind him, Father was sitting up on his sleeping bench the way he had been accustomed to as of late, and he rocked back and forth while humming an odd monotone. He looked like a skeleton draped with a thin, leathery hide, but his eyes were as large as dinner plates. Dijaq found himself wondering: is my father really in that body somewhere? How much can he see, know, smell, understand? Can he even comprehend what is going on around him? ...And what would he say if, the Twin Moons forbid, he knew that the Star-Child had cajoled me into touching the water-dragon?

...Would he still love me?

"Oh, my!" Waru set her tea-cup on the mat beside her and rushed to her feet. "I think he might be cold. Dijaq, have you any extra bed-sheets?"

"Why, yes. In those baskets near the back of the lodge where the kindling is. But--"

Waru sprang into a whirlwind of activity, whisking two thin sleeping blankets from an open basket and draping them lovingly over Father's shoulders while she crooned maternal comforts, smoothing out the wrinkles and offering him a ladle-full of clear water from the drinking gourd. Father accepted the water eagerly and slurped it down, though most of it dribbled down the front of his old tunic. She stroked his bald head, rearranged the cushions on his bench, and then made a bee-line for the half-moon window, whose drapes she shoved aside to allow more light to filter into the lodge. Lovely patterns of gold-and-white lattice marks stained the floor where Dijaq was sitting.

"Really, Waru," he protested, "you do not need to do all of these things! I have been taking care of Father for years, and while the effort is much appreciated--"

"Bah!" Waru waved a hand at him. "How could I not treat my future father-in-law with the utmost respect?"

Dijaq's trachea felt as though its radius had halved. While it was true that Waru had become very hospitable- managing a near 180-degree turn from her old, mean-spirited self-- Dijaq was still not sure of what to make of this new and improved Warumachek.

She was magnificent, her beauty ethereal, her grace and poise more refined than that of some of Looks Thrice's best women dancers...and that hair! Dijaq felt himself flush and quickly used his tea-mug to cover the area where his man-parts were. They had started to stir, and he was both embarrassed and ashamed. Waru's hair had once been an attribute of hers that he had most liked; Dee remembered lying with her in the grass as giggling children and touching that hair, running his fingers through the blonde-white curls, watching the gale toy with the ends and carry them upward in the direction of the breeze until her smooth locks surrounded her pretty face like a halo.

How beautiful she had been then. How radiant, angelic-- untainted. Dijaq thought briefly of Amiechek and what would happen if she took a spill into the well...except that wouldn't likely be a good idea. With Amiechek's girth, the well would have to be dismantled brick by brick just to hoist her out.

With Father taken care of, Waru turned and gave Dijaq her most brilliant smile. Something inside of him wilted just then-- the last bit of steely resolve he had been nurturing for Gormaq's adopted daughter, Ziuta, seemed to have melted away, like the remains of a dream that scatter when one is in the fragile state between dreaming and wakefulness.