Rise of the Dawn

Decisions Made

Shanza stared at the door, rooted in place, his arm half-raised and tingling where Ikeda’s had made contact when he’d struck it aside. For what seemed an eternity he could scarcely move, his mind numb and overwhelmed with shock, but as the seconds crept by, his heart thudding too loud and drowning out all else, it slowly began to penetrate through Shanza’s horrified disbelief what exactly had just occurred. Ikeda had… Ikeda had…

He had shut Shanza out. Locked him out. Indicated quite clearly that he didn’t trust him, didn’t want him, certainly didn’t need him or- or… Ikeda was determined to ignore his miseries, and to do so alone. After all they had been through, after all that had been said and done, Ikeda had still closed himself off.

Shock gradually bled into hurt and Shanza wilted, his knees weak beneath him. How could Ikeda have done it? Why couldn’t he see how much love Shanza held for him? How much trust and desire and devotion—why did Ikeda have to be so blind?

Or… perhaps Shanza had failed in some way. He should have been able to coax Ikeda into seeing his own worth and beauty. There must have been something else he could have done or said, something that would have convinced Ikeda. Raising a hand to his brow, the evira’s hard stone cool against the warm flush there, Shanza released a defeated breath and it hissed out around clenched teeth.

No. No, that was wrong.

He was not the one to blame for the situation and so he would not be the one to suffer. He refused to feel rejected, to wallow in sorrow and denial. He had done all he could for Ikeda, had offered his help at every turn, even when his worry and concern had been met with nothing but scorn.

Anger surged through him, raw and itching; his skin prickled with it and restless, infuriated energy snaked through his veins. How dare Ikeda. How dare he push him away. They were married, joined by their own will and choice. They were partners. How dare Ikeda spit in the face of that and walk out on him. Shanza wanted to strangle him.

His fingers curled into fists, the huge onyx stones warm and growing warmer yet against his palms, Shanza seethed for a moment longer, his yellow stare pinned on the doorway, the Gift rising about him and ready to splinter the door into a thousand wooden slivers. But as he always did, Shanza reined in the vengeful, malevolent power and stifled it, thrust and locked it at the back of his mind. He was stronger than that, even if his anger was so overpowering he couldn’t breathe.

Stalking to the door, Shanza gripped the handle and, still cursing Ikeda, flung it open, fully intending to hunt down the maddening Thanobian and tell him exactly what a fool he’d been. He was saved the effort, however, because Ikeda was standing not two feet away, facing him, as if he’d been about to open the door himself.

For a moment Shanza was speechless, shock and bewilderment rendering coherent thought impossible. Gaping at Ikeda, it took Shanza a full five seconds to regain muscle control and close his mouth, which was even more infuriating, because he was supposed to be upbraiding the Dragon, and the more scathing it was the better. He was not supposed to gawk at him.

Ikeda took a hesitant step forward, his pale gaze fixed on Shanza, wary and searching, before he broke the standstill and reached for his partner. But Shanza, so full of hurt and anger, wanted to push him away, to scream and curse and rage at him. Never in his life had he wished to strike someone so badly.

Instead he fell into Ikeda’s chest, tangled his fingers in damp curls, pulled him closer and melded their bodies so tightly it was nearly painful, so tightly it was impossible to draw breath.

“I was wrong.” Ikeda’s arms encircled him, crushing and strong as he whispered, pleaded hoarsely, “Please forgive me, please Shanza.” His words were warm against Shanza’s cheek and neck, warm and vulnerable and humbled.

“You hurt me,” Shanza choked, still shaking with fury. “How could you? I would give anything for you, do anything for you, how dare you--”

Urgent fingers grasped his waist, half-lifted him from the floor, and Shanza was suddenly pinned to the doorframe, Ikeda’s mouth descending upon his own, silencing him. Shanza fought him, kissed him, snarled and sobbed against him, helpless to break the Dragon’s hold. At last Ikeda lifted, but only when the fight had drained out of Shanza, stifled by lack of air and left him gasping, speech and chastising a lost cause.

“I know. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Ikeda murmured against Shanza’s lips, still pressed tightly to his partner, unwilling to let him go even for a moment. “I thought… I thought I could live that way again, but I can’t.” Ikeda crushed Shanza to him, desperate. “I can’t. I need you.”

Ikeda seemed to comprise Shanza’s entire world: tall and broad, he towered over him, surrounded him, overwhelmed and overpowered him. He was as inescapable as he was intoxicating. From his deeply familiar, all-pervading masculine scent to the warmth and feel of his body, Ikeda was everywhere, everything, all at once. And not helping Shanza’s cause at all was the fleeting, hopeful whisper of Ikeda’s fingertips against his cheek. “I need you.”

Pushing at Ikeda, knowing he was incapable of staying angry when the Dragon was so close and even more so when he was touching him, Shanza continued to fight vainly, both hands braced and shoving ineffectually at his partner’s chest. “You don’t trust me!” You don’t love me.

“Yes I do!”

Shanza hadn’t realized until this moment that his right hand was braced against Ikeda’s abdomen, his jeweled palm pressed against the sprawled blemish there. Ikeda’s gaze dropped and followed Shanza’s to the mar smeared across his stomach, the Serpent’s fingers pale and perfect against the withered stretch of his torso. Laying his hand over Shanza’s, Ikeda repeated softly, “Yes I do.”

“You hurt me,” Shanza accused again, nearly too weak to hear, his fury leeching out of him. Wilting against Ikeda, Shanza’s forehead dropped to rest on the Dragon’s shoulder, the steady beat of his partner’s heart a heavy, reassuring rhythm against his skin. Ikeda freed one arm so he could stroke Shanza’s hair, the soft, fine strands smooth beneath the coarseness of his palms and fingertips.

“I was wrong. It was a mistake to—” to walk away from him, to shut him out, to treat Shanza as cold and callously as he would a stranger. “I’m so sorry.” All he could do was apologize, even if he didn’t deserve forgiveness, and if Shanza wouldn’t be placated… then Ikeda didn’t know what he would do. He had meant all he had said; he needed Shanza just as much as he needed food to live and air to breathe.

“Why can’t you trust me?” Why don’t you love me?

“I do! Shanza, I do.”

Huffing wearily against Ikeda’s collar, Shanza straightened and sought out the Dragon’s gaze. “You tried to withdraw. Tried to shut me out.” Sighing, Shanza glanced away, “Ikeda…”

“I know,” Ikeda groaned, real regret etched into his features, and Shanza didn’t want to fight anymore. It wouldn’t help, wouldn’t solve anything, anyway. Arguing would never make him understand, would never compel Ikeda to view himself with the same regard in which Shanza held him. There had to be another way.

“You have always been beautiful to me,” Shanza murmured, abandoning his anger, his fingertips tracing the blistered ridges spanning Ikeda’s chest contemplatively. “I don’t think you’re—” Disfigured. Repulsive. The words knotted in his throat, vile and thick. Shanza paused, and his voice was hoarse when he spoke again, “But how am I supposed to make you believe me? You won’t listen.”

Ikeda frowned at Shanza's words, but didn't flinch from his touch. Gesturing briefly at the scars scrawled across his chest, Ikeda countered, “How can I? Every reaction has been that of revulsion and disgust--”

“What of my reaction?” Shanza countered softly, his hand still pressed against the expansive burn which marred Ikeda’s stomach. “Don’t you remember?” From that moment when he had awoken in the Keftalar’s manor so many months previous and witnessed Ikeda’s scarring, he had never viewed it with aversion. Shanza’s fingers trailed over the hardened skin of his abdomen, an echo of that first touch which now seemed so very long ago.

“You’re my partner,” Ikeda huffed, dismissive.

“What does that matter?” Shanza wondered, and at Ikeda’s silence, persisted sadly, “Do you think I’ve lied to you?” Foolish Ikeda, he knew full well Shanza was incapable of lying to him, a fact which had been proven on more than one occasion.

“Not lied, but-”Grimacing, Ikeda quieted again, and he refused to meet Shanza’s eyes. “Look at me.”

“I am,” Shanza pleaded. “Please believe me.” And at last, Shanza knew how to show him, how to convince Ikeda of his love and admiration. “What you did…” He began, a low, remorseful whisper, “I forgive you. But I want you to do something for me in return.”

Ikeda didn’t have to answer. His expression and entreating gaze alone conveyed that he would have done anything Shanza requested. All that Shanza need do was name his request, and it would be done. Ikeda had made a contemptible mistake; he would do anything to amend it, to be worthy of Shanza's grace and forgiveness.

“I want you to prove that you trust me.” Prove that you love me.

His face contorting in confusion, Ikeda started to protest but only managed, “Shanza-”

“I know how.”

Then Shanza tangled his fingers in Ikeda’s hair once more and kissed him fiercely. Startled at first, not having expected such an action, Ikeda stood stiff in Shanza's embrace, his tired mind scrambling to explain how this could possibly prove his trust. But then Shanza laughed, teasing, softly, against his lips, and Ikeda's resistance crumbled. He wound his arms around Shanza's waist, sheer cloth a flimsy barrier to his skin, and pulled him closer. Shanza kissed him again, and Ikeda could feel his smile in the affectionate curve to his lips as they met his own.

Stepping regretfully away, Shanza led Ikeda further into the room, both his palms flat against the hard, shifting muscles of the warm body beneath. The door swung shut as they moved away from it, and though he was loathe to part even the slightest bit from Ikeda, Shanza loosened enough to snap his fingers, the Gift-laced motion flicking the lock securely into place.

Shanza then slipped back into Ikeda's arms, his bejeweled palms gliding upwards, over the blistered, scar-ridged plane of his partner’s chest. Sliding his hands beneath the loose material of Ikeda’s shirt, Shanza then slowly, so slowly, slid it off the broad shoulders before him. Satisfied only when the barring cloth was freed from strong arms and left to fall, forgotten, to the floor, Shanza leaned in and kissed Ikeda once more. Though this time it was sweeter, as lingering and languorous and gentle as his touch had been while stripping the shirt from his Dragon’s chest.

They were so close that Ikeda’s heart thudded against his own, loud in the quiet solemnity of the room. Around them muted rays of the mellowed sun alighted bared skin and softened the harsh edge to both old and recent wounds as Shanza pulled back, his arms leaving their embrace about Ikeda. Reaching for the tie to his own top, Shanza unfastened it with deft, unhurried fingers. Ikeda watched him but said nothing, half-fearing that if he spoke this dream would shatter, collapsing into a world where the Serpent was still infuriated and hurt, and himself bitterly alone.

He had been such a fool, had committed such a terrible mistake. He knew full well it was only because of Shanza’s grace and forgiveness that he was even permitted back within the room. And he was so grateful he would have complied with anything, would have sought out and tamed the very fires of the sun if Shanza had asked it of him.

To insult Shanza in the manner that he had… to ignore and scorn his offers of help, and then to strike him and storm out-- Ikeda could scarcely breathe for the shame of it. Closing his eyes in an attempt to block out the memory, though it did little good, Ikeda opened them only when Shanza called his name.

Having unknotted the bindings at his other side, which kept the layers of shimmering gold-green cloth in place, Shanza slid the loosened shirt from his shoulders, down his arms, and finally to the floor in much the same manner as he had Ikeda’s. His torso was now completely bare save for his evira and the ever-present necklace, its long chain and dawn emblem nearly seeming to merge with the winding serpent beneath. Both necklace and markings had gained a warm red hue, courtesy of the late afternoon light streaming in to dapple both of them with streaks of diluted scarlet.

His gaze never leaving Ikeda’s face, Shanza pulled his braid over one shoulder and, abandoning the tie, unraveled the impossible wheat-blonde strands of his hair. Silken locks spilled about his torso like rivulets of liquid gold, ever so faintly curled and waved from the constricting braid, and his eyes, fixed on Ikeda’s own, were so clear and tranquil he could have been staring into the endless depths of the sea. The sheer beauty of him made Ikeda’s heart ache and he reached for his partner, his own rough fingertips brushing against smooth, gold-marked skin.

Painfully aware of his own appearance, so grotesque and ruined in comparison, Ikeda withdrew a step purely out of reflex, needing to escape, needing to collect himself and recover, but was held in place.

Shanza’s fingers had closed around the buckle to Ikeda’s belt, their grip as determined as the firm set to the his jaw. It came as no surprise to Shanza, however, when he found his wrist seized in a warningly tight grip.

“Trust me,” Shanza admonished, the words a low reminder breathed against Ikeda’s mouth.

The protesting hold relaxed in agonized, wary stages, and then was finally gone altogether, allowing Shanza to slip the brass buckle from confining leather. Letting the heavy belt drop to the floor, he paused for a moment, his lips pressed to Ikeda’s, and as he pushed free the first, and then second, and then third button to the Dragon’s only cover, he repeated, as much a murmur as it was a kiss, “Trust me.”

Ikeda could do nothing but obey. He could not have opposed Shanza even if he’d wished to, even if he’d not sworn to do all that was requested. Because he loved Shanza with all the strength of his proud and obstinate being. It was a known and established fact that he would fight for him, die for him, live for him. But most of all, now, right now, he would trust him. Or he would lose everything.

His belt long gone and the last of his buttons conquered, Ikeda swallowed with difficulty; Shanza was stroking the line of an old scar which began at the lowest muscle of his abdomen and dipped below the waist of his pants, where it usually remained unseen, and certainly untouched, as it continued further down, towards the juncture between groin and left thigh. Shanza’s thumb was tracing the raised edge of hardened scar tissue, exploring and memorizing it’s shape with infinite gentleness, the caress so tender and overwhelmingly intimate that Ikeda leaned into the Serpent and caught his lips.

Shanza’s mouth parted against Ikeda’s, receptive and slow, and he stroked the old, sensitized wound with the pad of his thumb one last time. His palms then roamed outwards, following the tense, powerful muscles of Ikeda’s flank and thighs; the cool, smooth stones of his evira glided across skin and scars alike, his confident movements finally rendering the Dragon completely rid of all clothing.

Ikeda was naked, bared, stripped of everything. And he was standing this way, so very vulnerable, in front of Shanza. Fully, completely, in front of Shanza. He had never felt so entirely naked in his life.

Shanza had pulled back slightly and was now just out of arm’s reach. It wouldn’t have been hard to step forward and reclaim him, but Ikeda was paralyzed with sudden tendrils of irrational fear, helpless against the arresting power of Shanza’s command.

From that very short distance away, Shanza was staring at him, making no effort to disguise his blatant, appraising inspection. His gaze traveled over Ikeda’s form, brazen and without a hint of embarrassment, viewing the vicious trademarks and imprints the cursed dragons had left. Ikeda’s appearance was a mess of tangled, knotted, and intercrossing scars, his old injuries indistinguishable amid the angry red of the newly acquired.

Ikeda knew this, knew how ruined and ugly he seemed. He longed to retreat, to steal back his clothing and shield the terrible, humiliating proof of his own weakness from Shanza’s eyes. From his own.

Moving silently forward, as if sensing his thoughts, Shanza laid both hands on his chest, reassuring, and his penetrating stare lifted to meet Ikeda’s own. And then Shanza’s fingers were skimming over his body, whispered touches and teased scraping of his nails, his eyes bright and adoring, studying him as if Ikeda was a puzzle, a map, full of hidden textures and unknown landscapes and coded markings he must commit to memory. Ikeda almost wanted to squirm from the attention, but then Shanza was kissing him again.

Kissing and pressed against him, his own half-bared body flush to Ikeda’s, the light material of his slit robe sinfully soft against the Dragon’s ravaged legs. It was so right to be with Shanza, so right to fit like this against him, with him. They were still kissing when Ikeda felt the slinky-silken cloth of Shanza’s own remaining garment brush his thighs as it slipped to the floor.

It took Ikeda a moment to realize what had happened, and when he did his arms jerked forward, latching onto the Serpent’s waist. But warm, smooth, soft skin was all that met his shocked grip.

Shanza was naked. Naked and smothered against him and they were both-

Ikeda’s voice was a hoarse croak, “Shanza.”

Shanza laughed. Laughed. Silvery and fearless, and his naked thighs slid along Ikeda's scarred and sensitized skin, unbearable, unforgettable. His fingers twitched against the supple softness of Shanza's hips and Ikeda swallowed, the thunderous beat of his heart a constricting pulse caught in his throat.

He had dreamt of such a moment. He had longed and craved for such an instance since that first stolen glimpse of Shanza. Yet he dared not look downwards, nor tear his gaze from Shanza's eyes. If he glanced, even for a moment, then--

Ikeda's bones ached with weariness and the dulled, incessant throb of healing pains. It was a trial to remain upright, let alone attempt anything more vigorous, no matter what he wanted or how badly he desired Shanza. It was beyond exasperating, beyond humiliating: he was the Dragon, and to admit that he... that he... But admit it he must.

“Shanza...” Ikeda spoke at last, reluctant and slow. “I can’t-”

“I know.” Shanza saved him from further mortification, smiling tenderly. “It’s all right. This…” His eyes catching the Dragon’s pale ones, Shanza gazed levelly into them, trusting, accepting, adoring. “This is to show you… how I see you. How I think of you. As beautiful as you believe me to be- that is how you are to me. All of you. Every scar, every burn, every mark.”

Shanza stroked Ikeda’s hair, twining his fingers through dark golden curls, playing with them and sending trickles of shivering pleasure down Ikeda’s neck. “You are so beautiful and strong. Your body is made for power, made to impose and impress and inspire awe. Fear, even.”

Nuzzling briefly at Ikeda’s neck before affectionately nipping at the firm line of his jaw, Shanza trailed a hand down Ikeda’s chest, once again tracing jagged slash marks and burns alike. “Look at the trophies of battle, battles you have won, that mark your body. You should never be ashamed.”

Ikeda said nothing, resigned to listen and trust. Smiling fleetingly at this, Shanza pressed, “You were built for fighting and victory. When others view you, it is with respect and admiration, not aversion. You are so strong. All anyone has to do is look at you to see that.” When he had first encountered Ikeda, that was the impression the Thanobian had left upon him, and he remembered it well. He had wondered how he would ever match such a man. Sometimes, he wondered still.

The vehemence in his tone quelling as peered at the familiar, unreadable features of Ikeda’s face, Shanza murmured, less confident and suddenly aware that he was completely, utterly nude, “I will never have the strength that you do, the presence; the Gift is all I have. Except for you.”

Shanza looked at him then, a shy flicker of long lashes, and Ikeda reached for him, his fingers sliding across smooth naked skin that was all his. His to touch and worship like this, and no other's.

“You are so much more than that,” Ikeda refuted, drawing him in. Beautiful and golden and selfless. This was not the Gift. This was all Shanza.

Flexing his hold on Shanza’s bare hips, Ikeda pulled him closer, as if he intended to fuse every part of the Serpent's body to his own, grinning mercilessly when Shanza gasped against his throat. There was nothing between them, not even the thinnest sliver of air, and Ikeda wound one arm more fully around Shanza, keeping it that way. The other lifted upwards, allowing him to cup Shanza’s cheek and stroke his thumb across it before he bent slightly, their noses now a mere whisper apart.

“Ikeda…” Shanza pleaded, not knowing himself whether it was in protest or encouragement.

“I believe you. I trust you.” I love you. Ikeda loved him so dearly it clenched at his heart and thrummed through his veins, hot and prickling, until he thought he would burst from the force of the adoration and affection he felt for Shanza. But he didn’t know how to say it, couldn’t simply blurt it out into the red-hued silence of the room, so he said nothing, and kissed Shanza gently instead.

And as he kissed him, Ikeda loosened their embrace enough that he could reach downwards to Shanza’s forearms and slide the gilded links of the evira free. They hit the rutted flooring with twin clattering bangs, mirroring Shanza’s own muffled humph-sounding protest.

“I only just reclaimed those-” Shanza informed him as soon as Ikeda would let him, and was interrupted by yet another blistering kiss. But Shanza broke away reluctantly, fussing, “If something should happen, Erakil will be very unhappy with me-”

“Don’t worry,” Ikeda rumbled, almost a growl, “Even in this state, I’ll defend us long enough for you to bend over and pick them up.”

Shanza made an admonishing noise low in his throat, though despite it, Ikeda could tell he’d appreciated the tease. Then, as he had wanted, Shanza’s now unadorned hands explored the wounded flesh of Ikeda’s back, his palms warm and textured where only the coolness of hard gems had been before.

There were eight healing gashes stretched across Ikeda’s back, from left shoulder to right hip, criss-crossing his spine and the toned muscles that shifted powerfully beneath the welted, ruined skin. Shanza slipped behind him and traced them all, the delicate brush of his fingertips so light they invoked no pain, only a faint itching awareness that soon faded as the Serpent's exploration traveled lower along each blistered ridge.

Growing still, his hand resting on the firm crook of Ikeda’s hip, Shanza leaned in and kissed the proud line of his left shoulder, where the terrible scars began. “You are so beautiful, my brave Dragon. Thank the Gods you came back to me, whole as you are.”

“Shanza,” Ikeda answered him, craning his neck in a vain attempt to see anything more than blond hair. But Shanza made no response, and at his silence Ikeda turned, thereby forced to detach himself from his partner. He stopped almost instantaneously as soon as he had faced Shanza, however. For although the Serpent had lost the last of his clothing some while ago, Ikeda had yet to actually view his whole, uncovered partner. As he was now.

Of course Shanza's figure and innumerous unclothed assets were no mystery to Ikeda, but to see him now, bared and streaked with sun-kissed red... Ikeda could scarcely keep from gaping helplessly at the striking vision before him.

Shanza was all pale, slender grace. His limbs were long and lithe, the pearly complexion of his body marked only by the glimmering Serpent which coiled and flowed across his legs, torso, and arms as if it were a live creature. He was beautiful and he was perfect. It was almost too much for Ikeda's exhausted state; there was blood rushing in his veins, pounding and scalding hot. For a moment he couldn’t think or hear or see, he was so overcome. Ikeda stood dumbstruck, staring at Shanza as openly as the Serpent had been gazing upon him minutes earlier.

And while Ikeda stared unbidden, Shanza could do nothing but squirm, knowing it was only fair to return the favor but he was so mortified and anxious. He was flushed from brow to toes and knew his infernal blushing was yet one more feature bared to Ikeda’s inspection.

Certainly it was overdue, but Shanza hadn’t been in nude in front of anyone else since… since… he couldn’t remember when. Owing likely to the nature of his childhood, he’d always been solitary and private, more than anything else, and now Ikeda was looking at him and looking at him and looking at him and he wanted to die of embarrassment. He wished the floor would rise up to swallow him whole like a great gasping fish, and if he’d still been wearing the evira he might have been able to bring that about, but as Ikeda had stripped him of them, he had little choice except to blush and grit his teeth, condemned to wait it out.

But Ikeda spoke, finally, and it was all so much better, so much easier.

“You cannot possibly see me as I see you.”

Softening, his nervousness falling away as easily as the shed clothing, Shanza stepped closer, bringing him back against Ikeda. “I do. And you believed me.”

“I know,” Ikeda sighed, enveloping Shanza in his arms. He did know. The honest, almost reverent way in which Shanza had viewed and touched his scarring had at long last proven that much. Though it was a foreign, difficult truth to accept after years of believing the exact opposite. “I do.”

Smiling, Shanza slid his arms about Ikeda's neck, slow as a stretching feline, and gazed up at his stoic Dragon. Ikeda would have to change how he saw himself, and that was a thing much easier said than done. Considering this, Shanza ran his fingers through Ikeda’s curls before following the curve of his jaw to stubbornly pinched lips, which made no protested when he brushed his thumb across them.

“I'm glad you believe me,” Shanza murmured, “Because I want you to be proud of yourself, and for it not to be a front.”

Silence dominated for a delayed second, and had anyone but Shanza spoken that soft statement, no doubt Ikeda would have been deciding how best to exact revenge for the near offense. But it was Shanza, who would never seek to insult him, and so Ikeda let him wait for a moment before drawling, predatory and incredulous, “Are you trying to tell me that I-- of all people-- lack confidence?”

“I'm trying to tell you that you have a wonderful body,” Shanza smirked, playful, reading the bemusement in Ikeda's eyes, “And I'd like to see more of it, more often.”

At his teasing, Ikeda’s contemplative frown broke and the genuine, indulging smile Shanza knew was reserved solely for himself brightened features which had been drawn and dark for so long. He had the almost overwhelming urge to kiss him again, but Ikeda's pale gaze held his own, arresting and consuming, and then strong fingers flexed against his waist, bringing him nearer as low words whispered against his neck.

“You are so precious to me, my beautiful, perfect Serpent. Whatever did I do to deserve you?”

Ducking his head to obscure yet another flush, determined not to let his pleasure show, Shanza mustered a mirthful, “I don’t know, but flattery must have been involved.”

Ikeda smiled affectionately at him for a moment longer, tucking his hair back and stroking the smooth contours of his shoulder blades and spine, then down to the bare curve of his hips and buttocks and thighs. He loved how Shanza felt, loved the pale softness of his skin and the way he was supple and pliant and all sublime, slender grace. Loved that he was all his.

Bending to nip at Shanza’s neck, he took languorous steps back, leading his adored Serpent towards the bed, the faint jasmine fragrance of his hair mixed with the scent of his skin making Ikeda's blood pound with heat and need. However pain, also, was flaring about his limbs, unrelenting and impossible to ignore.

Ikeda was exhausted beyond belief. His back was beginning to ache with the incessant, reminding throb of healing injuries and his legs were feeling increasingly unsteady as each minute passed by. And yet at the same time he wanted to grasp onto this moment and hold it, to prolong this near perfect instant with Shanza for as long as possible. But the passing seconds slipped through his fingers even as the pain and exhaustion grew.

“You got what you wanted?” Ikeda asked at last, resigned to let the moment end as it must. There would be others; there would be more. Perhaps even better. “This isn’t much of a punishment.” With low, tired laughter, he indicated Shanza’s state of disrobe.

“I got you,” Shanza differed, trailing his fingers along one of the jagged wounds which spanned Ikeda's back. Their eyes met then, Shanza's conveying but not voicing, 'I know it wasn't easy for you,' while instead he said aloud, “It's what I wanted.”

“Hmm,” Ikeda rumbled, pleased.

“Thank you,” Shanza breathed, smiling when Ikeda bent to catch his lips, imparting an apology and gratitude of his own in the tenderness of their kiss. Smoothing his hands down Ikeda's chest, exploring the contours and scarred ridges once more, Shanza sighed and pulled back, advising, “But now you really should rest.”

A smirk twitched at Ikeda's mouth. “Is that so? And who appointed you healer?”

The look Shanza gave him in response to this tease was so laced with choler that Ikeda broke and chuckled at him. Pacing the last few steps to the bed, his abused calves aching, Ikeda stared at it, drained but resistant. He didn't even notice Shanza's approach until pale, gold-marked arms snaked around his midsection. He did note the mirthful grin pressed against his shoulder, however.

“Mmm,” Shanza hummed, a mischievous glint to his eyes. “Dragon, I can see why it is Dragon-”

“Shanza,” Ikeda intervened, swiveling to better glower at him, scandalized.

“What?” Shanza laughed, “Don’t think I didn’t catch you looking--” And for a moment Ikeda was both bemused and a little shocked, but then as Shanza’s face… and body… pinked, he could only snicker while the Serpent hurriedly added, “Besides, we are married.”

“We’ve been married for quite some while,” Ikeda couldn’t help pointing out. “I think this may have been a little overdue.”

Shanza’s blush intensified and he glanced away, mumbling shyly, “It just never seemed like the right time.”

“I know.”

Surprised by the gentleness in Ikeda's voice, Shanza paused, his embarrassed flushing fading away as he contemplated his partner. Ikeda looked extremely wearied, but it was more than that. He'd softened so much since Shanza had first met him, had mellowed even in the course of this one day. Shanza was so proud of him... loved him so very much. Stepping closer, winding his arms about Ikeda once again, he slid his thighs, shins, feet against the Dragon's torn ones and let his eyes fall shut as Ikeda leaned in, bringing their brows together.

“Now here we are,” Ikeda murmured, almost as if sharing a forbidden secret, “alone, bared, embracing...” Exasperation infiltrated his tone as he continued, “and all I have enough energy for is sleep.”

Shanza smiled, enjoying the feel of Ikeda's skin, warm and scarred and solid against his own, his eyes still shut. “It's all right. Tomorrow, and all the following days, I will still be here beside you. We've nothing but time, and time to make up for.”

Ikeda pulled him impossibly closer, sealing his words with one last kiss. “Yes you will.” Feeling out with his foot, Ikeda kicked Shanza's abandoned robe and sash aside. “But without those.”

Dezra was smirking at him, Zethus knew it; he could feel the cursed expression burning through the back of his skull. He turned at last to face her and, sure enough, she was perched atop the quarterdeck, her tanned arms folded over the railing, leering down at him. It was a daunting sight: her fiery hair billowed around her head like a fiendish halo, framing the crooked quirk of her lips.

For the past week Dezra had goaded and taunted and provoked him at every opportunity, choosing Zethus for her partner in matters of wit. Why him, Zethus couldn't fathom a guess, as he wasn't remotely up to the challenge. In his humble opinion, the sharp-tongued lady pirate could have looped mental laps around him whilst steering the ship through a typhoon. Although, that said, she didn't seem to mind his fumbled replies.

Or perhaps she had intended it as a distraction for them both. With this in mind, Zethus gave a final, furtive glance to the schooner anchored a short distance from the Lady, its dark silhouette delineated against the endless expanse of hazy gray sky, and mounted the stairs to sidle up alongside Dezra. She nodded briefly in greeting, her eyes glinting at him from beneath the wide brim of her feathered captain's hat, but said nothing. As the silence stretched, he mulled fleetingly if she was aiming to fluster him.

Zethus gazed sidelong at her. She smiled back, her white teeth bared in a wolf's grin.

It was working.

Clearing his throat, Zethus spoke, hoping to forestall any teasing, "This pirate friend of yours, he's a proper healer?"

"I can't fathom why you just used proper and pirate in the same breath," Dezra drawled, staring bemusedly at him, "But yes, he knows what he's about." Scrutinizing the smaller vessel idling opposite them with a critical eye, as if to hurry the impending meeting with a determined glower alone, Dezra frowned and shifted to fully face Zethus. She had lost all traces of her roguish smirk and, with a solemn mien, vowed lowly, "I would never endanger Kaezik."

"I know," Zethus assured hastily, regretting the unintended implication. "I have no doubt of that. It's just—" They were pirates. And as much as he trusted and respected Dezra, he wasn't certain he was prepared to extend that same regard to the rest of the hoard of thieving ruffians. Besides, he would be placing Kaezik's safety in the hands of this pirate, and would have doubted even the most reputable Healer to undertake such a task.

"This friend of mine is Captain to the Whitefin," Dezra continued, saving them from an awkward silence as she inclined her head towards the other ship. "He's a decent sort, I promise you. Who knows, you may even decide he's worthy of joining your posse of young men. I've noticed you're accumulating something of a collection."

Zethus snorted to disguise his laughter. "You make me sound a polygamist."

Snickering and adjusting her hat so the wide brim kept the morning's searing sunlight from her face, Dezra paused mid-motion and leaned forward, squinting. "Oh, good. Here he comes." A boat had been lowered from the Whitefin and was paddling towards them, its long oars carving through the smooth sea like a practiced swimmer, pulling it quickly closer, though the three occupants were nothing but small, indistinguishable figures to Zethus.

"Why Whitefin?" Zethus wondered at the name as they waited, casting a curious look at the other ship. The schooner in question had been painted an immaculate, gleaming black, from the tips of her towering masts to the spine of her sleek hull. Even the sails were dyed black, following pirate custom, and as Zethus watched they waved and flapped at him, curling with wind in a morbid, mordant salute. He scowled, while beside him, Dezra's smirk had resurfaced in full force.

"There's a bit of a story behind it, my dear Thea." The glint had returned to her eyes and for a moment Zethus almost regretted having asked. "Previous to being known as the Whitefin, her name was the Undefeatable. However, during a raid on a merchant barge some years ago, her former captain was thrown overboard. The poor bugger couldn't swim, and before his crew could fish him out, he'd drowned." Dezra smiled grimly, though there was a thread of rueful amusement in the single arched brow she directed at Zethus. "But that isn't much of a legacy, is it? So his shipmates propagated the myth that he had instead been eaten by a Whitefin shark. His successor—my Healer friend—obligingly renamed the ship to lend the story some legitimacy."

This seemed a big of a macabre commemorative to Zethus, who grimaced and grumbled as much. Dezra only chuckled faintly and shook her head at him, saying, "It's customary for pirates to name their ships in honor of fallen captains. Well, popular captains, I should say. I can only hope for as much."

"Is it customary for pirates to be such poor swimmers?" Zethus replied wryly.

Dezra laughed. "Nearly anything imaginable is customary for pirates." Then considering his question more seriously, she mused, "Many believe there's a simpler method to avoiding death at sea than learning to swim."

"Is that so?" Zethus encouraged, intrigued.

"Mmmhmm," hummed Dezra, "There's an old legend, part of pirate lore, which tells that any man—or woman—who worships the Serpent God above the others, and with ultimate dedication, will be spared from watery death." Scanning the placid sea that stretched all around them, sun glinting off its rippled surface like the flash of light across burnished silver, Dezra sighed and added, "There's something to do with sea-serpents, too, but it's all gone blurry in my memory. I'm a bit of a skeptic on this one."

Zethus could relate. "Sea-serpents?"

Giving a noncommittal shrug, Dezra divulged, "I've heard of them, vast serpents that lurk in the deep, hunting giant squid and sinking lost ships. Never seen one myself, though. And I've seen a fair bit of ocean."

Ruminating over the peculiar folklore for a quiet minute, Zethus had to admit that he'd much sooner rely upon tangible skills than mythical beasts or fickle Gods. Of course he of all people ought not to succumb to dubiety, having seen the things he had witnessed and having met individuals like Shanza and Ikeda. And then there was poor Kaezik and the dragon, and how did one begin to explain that? Obviously seeing did not entail believing, or vice versa. Kaezik, who had been set aflame by that dragon but had survived without a single burn, was proof enough of miracles. Though whether this particular miracle would prove a curse or blessing had yet to be determined…

With a curt shake of his head, as if to rattle the dark thoughts right out his ears, Zethus glanced at Dezra, whose attention had shifted to the rowboat pulling alongside them. As the oarsmen called up to Dezra's crew, Zethus felt a sudden disorienting flicker of déjà vu, recalling a past, happier time, suffused with excited anticipation, when he had first escorted Shanza to Thanobia, before he'd become the Serpent. He remembered vividly the terror Shanza had shown when disembarking; the naked, unchecked horror at the sight of so much surrounding water. How strange, it seemed to him, that the Serpent would choose a representative so ostensibly ill-suited.

"Shanza is a terrible swimmer, you know," Zethus revealed, conspiratorially, to Dezra. "Ikeda had to teach him. He's dreadfully nervous around water."

Dezra's lips curved with mirth, but there was a warm undertone of affection to her reply, "I'm not surprised. He is Gifted, after all, and from that bloody desert wasteland to boot. Although if the legend is true, I suppose he needn't worry about it, eh?"

Then peering down the ship's length, Dezra gestured for him to follow as she descended to the main deck, bidding, "Come, let me introduce you to my friend. I'm certain he'll be quite capable of mending Kaezik's troubles. By this time tomorrow, we'll be standing here with Kaezik beside us, you'll see."

Zethus trailed after her, unable to muster a response, even knowing full well her optimist

reassurances had been mainly for his sake. More than likely she didn't believe it herself; Kaezik's situation went beyond anything either of them had experienced, and they were no greenhorned rookies by any stretch of imagination. It boded very ill.

Pulled from his brooding when Dezra gave him a bluff pat on the arm, Zethus blinked in momentarily disconcertment to find he'd already reached the main deck and was surrounded by Dezra's lounging crew. He wondered briefly if they would stand in salutation as another captain came aboard, but they were a motley, casual bunch, and scarcely batted a collective eye as a young man crowned by a faded tricorne hat climbed over the side.

Zethus had a rude start the second he laid eyes on him: The newly arrived pirate captain was so alike in appearance to the Serpent's Healer guard, Shumba, that they could have been brothers. He had the same black curls and pallid complexion, and even the selfsame equine nose. But he was tall, taller than Zethus himself, and so slender Zethus reckoned he could've bent him over his knee and snapped his spine clear in half. Speculations of this kind were obliterated; however, when the pirate turned to face him fully, his cat-like pupils dark and judicious within tawny, Gift-bright irises.

They stared at each other, unspeaking, and the world seemed to have slowed as they appraised one another.

"Sherak, meet Captain Thea," Dezra intervened, a smirk hovering at the corner of her mouth.

"Captain," Sherak said at last, his voice pitched low, malleable and mellow as warm honey, and inclined his head in a polite bow. Zethus returned the greeting, glad to disguise his rattled composure with a curt nod, and was saved from further awkwardness when Sherak cast his attention on Dezra.

With an inquisitive frown, Sherak asked, "You sent for me?"

"You've heard of Kaezik Keftalar?" Dezra posed in answer.

"Of course."

Zethus was unsurprised to discover that Sherak knew of Kaezik; he was, after all, the pirate Queen Kaezra's only child, and brother to Ikeda Keftalar, the Dragon. Such a connected individual would never have escaped the notice of any self respecting privateer.

Smiling tightly, Dezra confided, "Good. Because he's in my quarters, and I'd be much obliged if you'd mend him for us."

"He's-" Sherak paused, incredulity painted across his pale features. "Kaezik Keftalar is here?" Then regaining command of himself with effort, he glanced between the two captains and solicited softly, "He's injured?"

Dezra sought out Zethus' gaze, and they shared a look of mutual hesitancy before she decided, "Let's not speak of it here." Waving Zethus and Sherak after her, she led them to her cabin without another word. Shutting the door firmly behind her quests, she shucked off her hat, tossing it atop the broad table which dominated the enclosed space, and motioned for Sherak to do the same. When his shabby tricorne had joined her plumed one, Dezra rounded on Zethus. He felt heat rise in his neck as she caught his arm to divert his attention from its scrutiny of the side-door opposite him, beyond which lied her personal bedchamber. "Zethus, why don't you tell him what's happened?"

Rubbing at his brow, feeling a grimace forming there, Zethus obliged, "Two weeks ago my own ship was destroyed by a dragon. Fortunately, Dezra happened across us not long after, and has been kind enough to berth myself and my crew." Zethus's eyes flicked to Dezra's and held them for a fleeting heartbeat. "During the dragon's attack, Kaezik was…" Trailing mutely into helpless gesticulating, Zethus found he was unable to conjure a tenable explanation. Kaezik had been aflame but unscathed. And now he was blind.

"A dragon?" Sherak echoed, and Zethus was tempted to congratulate him on managing to keep any trace of skepticism from infiltrating the even cadence of his voice. He had to be doubting the validity of Zethus' tale. Dezra's fantastical myth about sea-serpents rescuing drowned pirates seemed no less likely to happen than Zethus' report of sea-bound dragons attack at whim.

"Yes," Zethus sighed, "Only the Gods know what it was doing in the middle of the ocean."

Sherak glanced askance at Dezra, but received only a solemn, confirming nod. Considering her dismissal of his suspicions, Sherak was quiet at first, a thoughtful expression overtaking the closed set to his features, and he guessed, "Kaezik was wounded by the dragon? Has he been burned?"

Zethus hesitated once more. He didn't relish the thought of stumbling through an explanation of the most bizarre aspect to Kaezik's predicament. "No," he admitted at length, "He's—"

"It's complicated," Dezra rescued him, "And there's no point dillydallying over it out here. You might as well have a look for yourself."

With a vehement scowl that was directed at no one in particular, Dezra stalked towards the side-door, built into the solid teak of the surrounding wall, and unlatched the lantern hanging adjacent. Extracting a match from a pouch along her belt, she lit the candle within and nudged the door open with her foot, the sharp tang of sulfur from the struck match cloying in the cabin's deadened air, lingering like a ghost behind them.

Moving into the blackness beyond the doorway, Dezra disappeared for a split second as her body blocked the light, but then she was back again, silhouetted and shrouded, as she hooked the lantern to a trammel two inches above her head. Sherak slipped in after her and Zethus brought up the rear, shutting the door with a muffled click behind himself.

Dezra's sleeping chamber was a glorified closet; small and cramped, it scarcely fit the three of them standing. The flickering glow of the candlelight, swaying overhead like a will-o'-the-wisp in the night, illuminated the confined space, sending flitting shadows across the only furniture, a low chair and table, bolted to the floor. The bed itself was ensconced, nook-like, in the wall. On it, skin sallow and sunken in the dim light, was Kaezik.

Sherak took a step towards him, then halted abruptly, stiffing. The candle's flame had reflected off the phoenix earring, tangled amongst the mussed, wheat-blond mane of hair, and it glinted molten gold in the darkness, unmistakable.

"What—"

"Kaezik is very important to Riga," Dezra said, firmly.

Zethus looked on in confusion while Sherak stared down at Kaezik , an indecipherable expression masking his thoughts. But this was a new development for Zethus: Sherak knew Riga?

"We escaped the Purging together," Sherak spoke quietly to Zethus, as if he'd sifted through the Thanobian's mind and plucked out the unvoiced question, though his eyes never left Kaezik. "Riga has been as a brother to me."

Then, with a slight shake of his head, Sherak leaned over Kaezik's unconscious form, one pale hand, long-fingered and scarred, hovering above the strip of black cloth bound across Kaezik's eyes. Lowering to sit beside him, Sherak gently brushed several wayward strands of fluffy blond from Kaezik's sweat-flecked forehead. Kaezik didn't stir at the whisper of a touch, nor did he give any indication that their entrance had disturbed his near-catatonic state; indeed, only the shallow, struggling rise and fall of his chest reassured that he still lived.

"Has he been fevered since the attack?" Sherak murmured.

"Yes," sighed Zethus, so weary it seemed as if the world had shifted off its axis and settled itself upon his shoulders.

"And his eyes?"

"He's blind," Dezra answered, brusque save for the rough catch deep in her throat. "Light hurts them."

Sherak gazed upon Kaezik's pallid face, contemplative. Then bending forward to reach behind Kaezik's head, threading his fingers through the mass of wild hair and lifting carefully, he unknotted the band of soft cloth and set it aside. Kaezik's eyes were closed, deceivingly peaceful, and below them stark bruises spread to his cheekbones, swarthy purple ringed by mottled yellow and brown, as if the sockets had been smeared with war paint.

Frowning, Sherak grazed a thumb over Kaezik's cheek. "The dragon did this to him?"

"If we could explain it, we would," Dezra huffed, a little barbed, and gave Zethus a commiserating look. "Can you heal him?"

"I never met a hurt I couldn't heal," Sherak replied placidly. Without another word, he slipped a hand into the pocket stitched along the inside of his faded vest, which looked as if it had once been an overcoat but had since been bereaved of its sleeves, and pulled his webbed rings free.

It was stifling in the cramped cabin, a fact Zethus only began to notice when Sherak tugged his neckcloth loose before sliding his Healer rings onto his fingers. Zethus started and blinked, realizing that what he had thought a shadow caught beneath Sherak's chin was instead a thumb-sized diamond mark, burnt into the hollow of his throat, a match to the one on Riga's cheek. The Gifted brand.

"Do you need anything?" Dezra wondered, peering anxiously over Sherak's shoulder at Kaezik's passive, sleeping face.

Sherak shook his head, "No."

Then he leaned in and stretched his hands over Kaezik's eyes, his forehead furrowed in concentration. Zethus scarcely dared breathe as he waited, watching.

But the moment Sherak's fingertips made contact with Kaezik's temples a sonorous crack of energy lashed through the cabin like a peel of deafening thunder, raw power slamming through the small space like a riptide. Sherak was hurled into the opposite wall and Kaezik came to, screaming, spine arched, eyes open and unseeing, bleeding.

It was a hellish sight and Zethus made to reach for him but staggered back instead, knocked away by a hot burst of backlash from the blow that had downed Sherak. He narrowly avoided clipping Dezra, who had caught the lantern as it was flung free of the trammel, scalding wax spilling over her fingers, and then everything disappeared into velvet blackness and silence as the candle flickered out.

There was the sound of fumbling, then the hiss of a lit match and a flare of light, chasing the shadows and consuming darkness back into the corners of the room. Zethus stumbled forward, desperately seeking out a glimpse of Kaezik. He was on the bed, eyes closed once more, unmoving and pale as a corpse.

Fear throbbing through him, Zethus croaked, "Is he—"

"Unconscious," Dezra gasped, gripping the wall for support as she peered down at Kaezik, dangling the lantern next to the bed to illuminate his still form. They said nothing to each other for a moment, relief sweeping through them, flushing out any strength that remained after the bewildering assault and leaving them in a mute, numbed state.

Then the light almost snuffed out again as Dezra's hand wobbled and she called sharply, "Sherak?"

"I'm all right," His voice came, muttered into the strained quiet, from where he was slumped on the floor, though there was a tight hoarseness to his words that hadn't been present before.

"What," Zethus demanded, managing to untangle his tongue, "What was that?"

No one had an answer, and so they offered none. But Zethus was utterly at a loss as to what action he ought to take next—if a Healer couldn't help Kaezik, by the Gods, who could? So Zethus tried again, "What's to be done now?"

Dezra skirted his eyes, refusing to meet them, and instead turned to Sherak, as if to say, you're the Healer, you decide.

Sherak met her desperate glare and held it, unflinching, and when the frustrated hostility had drooped from her shoulders, he shifted his exacting stare to Zethus, his tawny irises Gift-bright and solemn. Then he raised his hands into the glow of the candle; his rings glittered gold and slick red in the dim light, smattered with blood from the gaping slits in his torn knuckles.

"I think you'd best take him to Nera," Sherak said, at last.

Shumba woke to the rolling, dulcet murmur of indistinguishable Methrian beyond the open window, drifting in past the curtains on a balmy breeze from the courtyard below. Sunlight dappled the room, streaking the furniture and rutted floor with strips of soft, golden brilliance. All was right in the world, especially with the pliant body cuddled against his side, and particularly with the warm, bare thigh draped over his groin.

Wait—

Shumba nearly started upright in a moment of shocked instinct; all that kept him from doing just that and thus sending his bedmate tumbling from the mattress was the disciplined muscle control built from years of honing viper-quick reflexes. So instead of leaping from the bed, he forced himself to lie still, stiff as the wooden boards that supported the pallet beneath him.

Scarcely daring to breathe, Shumba cast a reluctant glance downwards, across his body, confirming what he had already known and dreaded. It was Ryunne pressed against him, face nuzzled against his neck, and it was certainly, without question, Ryunne's cinnamon-hued thigh, toned and silken smooth, curled atop his nether regions.

Good Gods. He'd done his share of mischief over the years, but Shumba didn't think he'd ever done anything truly ignoble enough to deserve this.

Because not only was Ryunne not wearing any pants, he was also dressed solely in the customary skimpy Methrian undergarment and one of Shumba's shirts. And as the shirt was several sizes too large, the crisp white cotton had slipped off his raised shoulder and hiked up about his waist. He was actually covered by very little, now that Shumba had a good glimpse of him, and –

A frisson of heat that decidedly wasn't desire jangled through his nerves and Shumba almost bit through his lip with the effort it took to remain silent. He could feel the warmth of Ryunne's body through the thinness of his nightclothes, flush against his hip; could smell the lingering olive fragrance of the soap Ryunne had used to wash his hair, tickling pleasantly at his nostrils; could hear the soft exhalations of Ryunne's breath as it feathered across the sensitized skin of his neck.

This was torture. The only worse situation Shumba could imagine than being snuggled in bed with a mostly nude Ryunne was being snuggled in bed with a mostly nude, conscious Ryunne. Or an entirely nude Ryunne, which just didn't bear thinking about. At all.

Thankfully, the thought of Ryunne rousing and witnessing their current compromising position was as repressive to Shumba's growing interest as being doused in glacier-run off, and so with a very, very quietly uttered curse, he reached down, slid his fingers beneath Ryunne's thigh, and lifted with painstaking caution. Swift as a fleeing cat, Shumba then slipped to the floor and rolled to his feet, his heart throbbing in his throat as he stared at the bed, waiting for Ryunne to wake.

His fingers tingled where they'd made contact with Ryunne's leg, as if a lingering echo of the touch had embedded itself into the whorls of his fingertips, and Shumba feared that Ryunne would stir and feel Shumba's fingerprints, burned into the underside of his thigh. But Ryunne only lolled into the warm depression Shumba's body had left behind and curled up around the abandoned pillow, continuing to sleep without a hiccup in the slow cant of his breaths to show there'd been any interruption.

It was the most adorable thing Shumba had ever seen. He was also the most off-limits adorable thing Shumba had ever seen. So with an abated sigh of mingled relief and longing, Shumba tucked the quilt over Ryunne and retreated to the other side of the room.

If he was perfectly honest with himself, considering his actions the night before, he probably deserved the shock and moral strife the morning had wrought: The day previous, after returning to their quarters, Ryunne had bathed to wash off the sludge and stink from his sewer escapades, while Shumba had sent his fouled clothes off to be burned; there'd been no saving the soiled garments, and if Shumba had slipped Ryunne's spare pair of potato sacks in with the rest, well, they had looked rather threadbare.

Ryunne hadn't even fussed when Shumba had thrust the fine cotton shirt on him, though he had refused to budge on those strange gloves of his. In the end Shumba had been forced to chop the fingers off his own pair and offer them in trade. Why Ryunne had demanded gloves before pants, Shumba didn't know, but he was wearing them now, his fingers fisted possessively around the red leather covering his palms.

What really baffled Shumba, though, was how Ryunne had wound up in his bed, nestled beside him. They certainly hadn't started out that way the previous evening. Shumba surely would have remembered. Which meant that sometime during the night Ryunne must have climbed into bed with him, and that was a dangerous thought. It had to have been mistake; Ryunne must have been exhausted and disoriented and shaken after his heroics during the day. Or maybe he'd been cold—the temperature certainly dropped beyond comfort in the night—and had sought out a warm place. Whatever it was, it didn't mean anything, and Shumba wasn't giving it anymore thought. Not one more.

Determinedly directing his attention elsewhere, Shumba bent to rifle through his pack, withdrawing a pair of light, airy pants, a matching shirt, and the teal sash Ryunne had protested against receiving so vehemently during their shopping trip in Penira. With a triumphant smirk, Shumba folded the clothes and set them on the windowsill, placing the bright sash atop the pile, all the better for Ryunne to see it first. He'd have no choice but to accept the gift now.

Still smirking, Shumba reached for his bag again, but as he stepped away from the window his foot nudged Ryunne's satchel and a corked vial spilled out, tumbling over the pitted rock of the floor until it came to a tinny stop between Shumba's toes. Plucking it from the ground, the glass cool and smooth and clear as sheet ice, Shumba frowned at the vibrant orangey-pink grains within, half-filling the little vial. Thumbing the cork free, he gave the contents a careful sniff and immediately recognized the leafy, slightly bitter mint scent of crushed acmella bulbs.

Before he could contemplate his find; however, Ryunne shifted beneath the quilt and mumbled sleepily in Methrian. Feeling like a snooping thief about to be caught in the act, Shumba hastily tucked the vial back in amongst Ryunne's belongings.

No sooner had Shumba straightened than Ryunne stirred awake and pushed himself upright, his weight buttressed by his elbows as he blinked blearily around the sunlit room. When his eyes settled on Shumba he squinted, blinked again, rubbed a gloved hand across his face, and then seemed to accept that Shumba was indeed standing opposite him.

"Good morning," Shumba said in his least lecherous voice, with his least lecherous smile.

Ryunne stared at him. Then he loosened his clutched hold on the quilt long enough to sneak a glance at himself. Flushing red to his hairline, Ryunne tugged the blanket even tighter around his body and mumbled, mortification and drowsiness thickening his accent, "Where are my clothes?"

"By now?" Shumba speculated helpfully, "They're probably ash at the bottom of a firepit. I don't think you'll be getting them back."

Ryunne continued to stare at him, speechless as his sleep-muddled mind struggled to comprehend this alarming piece of information. Shumba watched him, waiting for the instant when the fact that he'd been divested of all his clothes penetrated the lingering fog of sleep. He knew the moment it happened: Pink crept across the bridge of Ryunne's nose and he fought with the blanket until he was sitting stiffly in the bed. Leveling a glower that was only slightly diminished by his mussed hair and disheveled clothing, Ryunne stammered out several intelligible reprimands before stopping, huffing, and beginning anew, "You—"

"Why don't we start afresh when you're awake enough to speak Standard?" Shumba offered, almost choking on the laughter that desperately wanted to escape, and all the while trying to look as repentant as possible. He seriously doubted his success.

"I am awake!" Ryunne erupted, "I- What am I doing in your bed?"

Shumba's hilarity died in a black pit of panic and he scrambled for an explanation that wouldn't have Ryunne flee the room screaming 'pervert!' all the way to Penira. It was a fortunate thing he was a clever man. And so masking the sudden onslaught of hysterics with a teasing smirk, Shumba informed him, "You were so tuckered last night you keeled over onto my bed instead of your own."

"Did I?" Ryunne fretted, aghast and instantly contrite. "I'm sorry."

He was so trusting and gullible. Shumba wanted to scold him, or scoop him up and squeeze him at once. He resisted both urges.

Instead, he said, "You should be. Mine's more comfortable."

A baleful look crept into Ryunne's dark eyes and he met Shumba's gaze with an impervious little sniff. Shumba nearly succumbed to a tendril of suspicion at such a blatant precursor, but he was robbed of intelligent thought when Ryunne failed to catch the quilt as it slipped down his chest and puddled around his waist.

"Of course," Ryunne reconsidered thoughtfully, shifting to pull the quilt up and securing it beneath his arms, "You did burn my clothes."

Shumba had to clear his throat, disguised by a muffled cough, before he could speak again, "But I have new ones."

Then, having gained the advantage once again, Shumba lifted the pile of folded clothes from the windowsill and turned to Ryunne, who'd gone pale in pleasure. Or perhaps it was fury.

"You— I—" Sputtering, Ryunne rebuked, "Now see here—"

"Ryunne," Shumba attempted to pacify, "If you don't take these, your only option is to go naked."

Oh, he shouldn't have said that. So he added hastily, babbling in his horror and perhaps digging himself a bit deeper into the proverbial grave, "You'd get terribly sunburned running around without—"

His tongue was a nasty traitorous snake that didn't listen to his brain.

Then again, if Ryunne did happen to acquire terrible sunburns from heat exposure, Shumba knew a certain Healer who'd be more than happy to relieve his suffering…

His brain was a dirty traitor, too.

"Look," Shumba sighed, "I'm sorry I stole your clothes and had them destroyed." Put like that, it did sound a bit reprehensible, he had to admit. "But there was no saving them after contamination with the rats and filth and Gods know what else down in that cesspool."

Ryunne's vindictive glare lessened a few notches and, although somewhat mollified, he pointed out, "I do seem to recall having a second set of clothes."

Shumba made an interesting garbled noise, as if he's swallowed a duck and it was trying valiantly to flap back up to freedom. "Well—"

"Oh, don't even start," Ryunne grumbled, conceding with a mutinous pout. Repressing a snicker, Shumba strode to the bed and dropped the disputed garments into Ryunne's blanketed lap. And it was a testament to how very much Ryunne liked the color teal, and how very dearly he had wanted the sash to begin with that he didn't put up any more of a fuss over accepting the gift.

"I am sorry," Shumba reiterated, offering Ryunne an honest, slightly depreciating smile. Then reaching a hand out to brush two fingers across the smooth, dusky skin of his shoulder, he told him softly, "That was very brave of you, yesterday."

Ryunne shrugged, as if to say that it wasn't, and clutching the bundled clothes to his chest, he stared fixedly down at them. Without daring to glance up, the back of his neck and shoulders empurpled from a furious blush, he mumbled at last, "Thank you."

Stepping back, Shumba paused a moment, studying him and swallowing a goofy, enamored grin. He was too old for embarrassing lovelorn antics. Especially when they were directed at such a young brother of his charge and benefactor, who had a history of tipping over the brink of sanity when seeking vengeance. Not that he thought the Serpent would shred him to pieces in vengeance for consorting with his very innocent, very trusting, very young brother, but the potential was still there.

"I should wash up," Shumba decided, to relieve the lull that had settled between them, but what he really meant was: I should leave so you can dress. They were past the phase of teasing, and to jest any more about Ryunne's clothing or lack thereof would be inappropriate and incriminating. He had to stop talking about it before Ryunne realized he was an unequivocal pervert.

Ryunne nodded in acknowledgement, his eyes still rooted to the clothes piled atop his lap, absently smoothing the soft cloth of the sash between thumb and fingers, pinching and admiring the fine muslin. With a final pat to his shoulder, Shumba gathered his own clothing and slipped through the doorway, hoping to find a bit of water to wash with; Methron's sweltering heat left him feeling grimy and rank. At the very least he needed to scrub his face, which he was neurotically certain was encrusted with salt and sand and sweat. It was a most discomfiting combination.

When he reentered the room, a bit cleaner and a great deal more refreshed, Haedkel was standing beside a fully-dressed Ryunne. Their backs were turned to him and they were muttering to each other in whispered Methrian, their dark heads bent close as Haedkel held a sealed letter out to Ryunne.

"What is it?" Shumba wondered, snagging a strip of leather and tying his hair up, off his neck, as he strode up to peer over Ryunne's shoulder.

"A letter's come for you," Ryunne answered, frowning, and as he turned to hand it to him their shoulders grazed, soft cotton hissing as it chafed. Shumba could feel the warmth of Ryunne's body through the thin cloth, an echo of the morning's embrace, and a burst of heat spidered down his spine.

Which was immediately deluged in an icy downpour of dread. The letter had Erakil's hawk-crest stamped into the red wax, the curved beak ominous and forbidding. Shumba pealed it open and read with bated breath, muscles tensed in anxiety, bracing himself for news that could only be dire.

"What's wrong?" Ryunne's worried voice broke into his grim perusal and Shumba forced the wooden features of his face into movement,

"The Dragon's been attacked," Shumba said, numbly, his mouth dry. He read on. "He's recovering. The Serpent's taking care of him." Then Shumba lowered the letter and muttered an extremely foul expletive.

Ryunne regarded him with concern, his white teeth biting down, delineated against the dusky, caramel fullness of his lower lip. "What happened?"

"A dragon attacked him," Shumba answered, folding the letter with stiff, crisp movements and shoving it into a pocket stitched into the lining of his loose tunic as Haedkel gave him a sharp look.

"What?"

"A dragon attacked the Dragon," Shumba laughed, humorlessly, "What were the chances of that happening again?" More to the point, what had the chances been of it happening when he had been away? The Dragon could have died, and who knew the extent of his injuries even having survived? And he, Shumba, hadn't been there when he was needed. Again. He was a fool.

He felt just as foolish and useless as when the Serpent had been snatched beneath his sleeping nose by that wench, Amenra. What was the use of a guard who was never there?

"You have done a great thing here," Haedkel gainsaid, seeming to read his thoughts in the tense set of his face, and she laid a strong, steadying hand on his shoulder.

Shumba shook his head, distracted and struggling vainly to quell his distress. He may have purposely pestered and infuriated the Dragon, but they had an understanding—may it even be dared to say a friendship—of sorts. He would never have wished such a horror upon him again. And he would have done anything to spare the Serpent the grief and suffering the attack must have wrought. "I've got to go back."

Haedkel nodded, sensible and stoic as ever. It had a calming effect on Shumba, who willed his thrumming muscles to relax and his fingers slowly unclenched while Ryunne, who had been glancing uncertainly between the two of them, let his troubled stare settle on Shumba. His eyes were dark with inner turmoil that mired their honey-hue, and as they fixated completely on him, Shumba felt an involuntary rush of warmth shiver through his body, from the tips of his toes to the pads of his fingers.

Even now, wretched as he felt, Ryunne could inspire such comfort and desire and affection in him. He couldn't help it; he wasn't even sure if he wanted it, but he was smitten. Indubitably, irrevocably smitten.

"The townspeople will be sorry to see you go," Haedkel mulled, snapping him back to the present as effectively as if she had shaken him, a regretful note to her voice, "I think they had planned to hold a celebration for you, when it was all over. And it nearly is, thanks to you."

Shumba wrenched his attention from Ryunne and shook his head again, arguing, "No. If they owe anyone, it's you."

Haedkel offered him an enigmatic half-smile in reply and said nothing. Instead, she submitted them both to an apprising scrutiny that made Ryunne begin his fidgeting anew.

"I am sorry to see you go. Both of you. But such is fate, to separate," Haedkel mused. Squeezing their nearest shoulders with her broad, ringed hands, she nodded as if having decided something monumental, but said only, "Pack your things and I'll see to your transport. Meet me in the square when you're ready." And then before they could sputter either protest or thanks, Haedkel strode from the room, her coiled, turquoise bracelets jingling and clattering in the wake of her departing footsteps.

"Do you think Ikeda is all right?" Ryunne fretted the moment Haedkel had left, his dark, earnest eyes boring into Shumba's own. "Surely Erakil would have said something if his… his situation was dire?"

Shumba scrubbed at the grimace attempting to permanently etch itself into his brow and sighed, "The Dragon is very strong." It was the most honest an answer he could offer, though hardly encouraging. At Ryunne's bleak look, Shumba added hastily, "Your brother is caring for him—I doubt there's a physician in all the world who'd tend him more attentively. And remember, it's not the first dragon he's fought."

"I suppose," Ryunne agreed, though he sounded doubtful. "Shanza must be terribly upset. He loves Ikeda more than anything."

Shumba started, jarred by the admission. "He spoke about— that to you?"

"No," Ryunne admitted, a hot blush rising in his cheeks. "At least, not in so many words."

Smiling slightly and ignoring the traitorous flush creeping across the bridge of his nose, he continued determinedly, "But it's not always about what's said, is it?" The words were innocent and innocuous, spoken in a light tone, but Ryunne was staring right at him. "I mean… you've seen them together. You've seen how Shanza looks at Ikeda." And how Ikeda looked back, despite his reputation for being arrogant and stone-hearted.

Of course Shumba had seen them together, seen how they looked at one another, and known what it meant. It was what made interrupting and intervening such wickedly amusing fun. But he knew what this meant, too.

And Ryunne was still staring at him and still blushing; his penetrating gaze was unrepentant and fervent. It filled Shumba with such sharp, stinging want that all his carefully constructed restraint almost collapsed.

He nearly climbed under one of the beds to escape. He couldn't confront Ryunne's barefaced candor, so pure and brave and fierce, and so he cleared his throat instead and skirted Ryunne's eyes, mumbling, "We should pack our things."

Coward, a vindictive tendril of disappointment hissed in the back of his mind, but he brushed it aside and bent to retrieve his bags. Ryunne neither moved nor spoke for several agonizing seconds, but then, just as Shumba was about to burst at the seams with remorse and self-incriminations, even knowing he had acted correctly, that it simply couldn't be, Ryunne thawed and swept towards him. His bare feet padded silently across the floor and Shumba was tempted to kiss his dusky toes in relieved gratitude as Ryunne stopped beside him.

"Shumba?"

"Yes?" Shumba answered, too quickly.

"You've just put my sandals in your bag."

"Oh." Shumba glanced down dumbly at the pack in his hands. Sure enough, he'd tucked them in next to his spare clothes. He passed the strapped shoes to Ryunne, who laughed softly and slipped them on. Then they were both standing and facing one another, though neither could meet the other's stare for more than a fleeting heartbeat.

Fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, Ryunne murmured, "We should say our goodbyes. I'll meet you in the town square?"

"Yes," Shumba latched gladly onto the opportunity to flee and collect himself. He didn’t think he'd ever been closer to discarding all sense and caution; he was moments—mere inches—from grabbing Ryunne by the front of his tunic, hauling him close, and kissing him. The worst of it was that such an action seemed to be exactly what Ryunne wanted him to do, indeed was waiting for him to do. Shumba swallowed against the dry tangle of nerves caught in his throat and willed his twitching fingers to still. They desperately wanted to lunge forward and bury themselves in Ryunne's shirt.

But Ryunne was too young, and too much the Serpent's brother.

"Yes," Shumba repeated, hoarsely, "I'll meet you in the square."

They separated then, mercifully. And by the time Shumba had bid his acquaintances and fellow Healers farewell, he felt composed enough to face Ryunnne again. Which was fortunate, because Ryunne had beaten him to the square and was talking quietly with Haedkel when Shumba arrived. Haedkel broke off as he strode towards them and enveloped him in a warm hug.

"It has been a great honor," She said to him, pulling back and smiling fondly. She would hear nothing of his reciprocations or protestations; instead she led him to their camels, where Ryunne gave him a commiserating little grin, and everything really was all right again.

With a last, cryptic and knowing comment from Haedkel about the triviality of age against the ocean of their long lives, he had mounted Bufsa and was ready, at last, to leave. Beside him, Ryunne shifted astride Szubat, fussing with the ties to his saddle and baggage. He looked very fine sitting up on the high humped back, a slender, striking figure in his crisp white tunic and bright teal sash, and had even acquired a thick turquoise bracelet, no doubt given to him by Haedkel.

He caught Shumba staring too long, but only smiled back at him, gazing unabashedly into his eyes, and for once no embarrassed flush dusted his cinnamon skin. Squashing the urge to hastily look elsewhere and pretend he'd been scrutinizing the spitting, stinking Szubat and not his rider, Shumba offered him a wry, rueful smile in return. He understood, Shumba thought, and that was both a relief and crushing disappointment.

"If you should come across tribesmen in your travels," Haedkel called to them as they guided their camels towards Halvaella's gate, which creaked cantankerously open before them like the jaws of a great lion, "Tell them you are the dear friends of Haedkel'lehanar, and they will do anything you ask!" Then they were beyond Halvaella's towering stone battlements, headed back into the capricious heart of the desert, back to Penira, where it had all began.

I am so very sorry for the extreme lateness of this chapter. Thank you for waiting with such patience and grace; I could not dream of more supportive readers. I adore you, and I hope you’re all still enjoying this story.

Abbybyrd: You're right, the beginning does need some work—er, a lot of work. But I've always thought that it's better to finish a story and then edit, than to be constantly editing and never finishing. Goodness knows, I have a hard enough time finishing as is. –laugh- But I hope you enjoyed the rest of the story.

Adara Rigantona: Wow, thank you so much! Your comments were wonderful and inspiring! I’m just very very sorry I took so terribly long to update. I won’t do it again! I only hope that this chapter was at least somewhat worth such a lengthy wait!

Akiru-chan: Thank you very much; I'm so happy to hear that you like the story!

Beej: Flattery DOES always work, and thank you ever so much! And I am terribly sorry to have made you wait ages. I hope the chapter was worth the wait, and I promise not to do it again! Obviously I am not too brilliant at updating.. so sorry! Thank you!

Amindaya: Thank you very much! And I’m terribly sorry to make you wait so long.

Awe: MY DEAR. I'm not going to review-response you because that would be weird at this point, I think. Suffice to say I love you, and you are awesome, and I will talk to you somehow soon. Probably email. I hope you enjoyed? I hope it was not too bad? And LOVE.

Bellum Cruor: I'm so sorry to have taken so long. There were some disasters, and some procrastination, and lots of distractions, but it is done now and you won't have to wait that long again. Thank you for following the story and staying with it. I will finish it, I promise! But I hope your inner bibliophile was satisfied for the moment!

Bo0b: Hahahaha, sooorry to take so long. But it makes me laugh that you took me up on my offer of insulting me. I certainly deserved it… hahaa.

ChibKo: Wow, thank you ever so much for the wonderful review. I'm so happy you enjoyed and liked this story. And I'm extra happy you liked the description and characters—the characters are pretty much the driving force, I think. So thank you again for the lovely review and for your patience!

EllipisAddict: Hahha, you're right about the said-phobia. But I'm slowly getting over it, I think. Though it is looking rather dire for Kaezik and Riga at the moment, isn't it? But perhaps all the angst will make for a very fun reunion…? Hah, and I hadn't really noticed consciously that the couples were balancing each other out—Shanza/Ikeda plotty, Kaezik/Riga- angsty, and Ryunne/Shumba- funny but you're right and it is a nice balance. Also, I'm so happy you think the story is UNDILUTED AWESOME. Hahaha.. THAT is awesome. So I hope this chapter wasn't a disappointment after the long long wait!

Endlessgoat: Hahaha.. this was.. sort of make-up lust? Not quite, I think, but the closest they’re getting for now… anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter!

Firedraygon97: Thank you for the lovely comments, and I agree, the supporting characters are fluffy and fun. I probably shouldn't be so silly about Ryunne/Shumba but it's hard to resist… I'm so glad you're enjoying the story and the characters! And thank you again!

Hikari Elfie: Hahhaa, I'm sorry to keep you up so late reading, but very happy you enjoyed it that much. And thank you very much for reviewing, also, especially if you don't usually do so. –love- Oh dear, and I promise, you won't ever have to wait so long for an update again. Eeek such a long time…

Hikaru Kosuzaku: Why hello there! It feels like ages since I’ve last talked to you (maybe it has been… soo sorry) but you were right about Shanza and Ikeda needing to kiss and make up—it was just the right thing! As for Riga… I know he’s been gone so very long, but –I hope I’m not spoiling— he might have managed to squeeze himself into the next chapter. Unless it becomes to long… but if not the next one, then the one after. So definitely by chapter 29? Hehh. Anyway, thank you thank you for the encouragement! And I hope you’re still enjoying this story!

Holy Trin: Thank you! I'm happy I could make your whole week! You certainly made my day, too. So thank you again, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

I.F.: You are awesome… hahha, so thank you for the equally awesome review. I am so sorry to have taken so long to update. Ack! But you're right, the poor couples. They just can't have any peace… and thank you for the happy birthday wishes, even though I am…. a year… older now. For shame! I can't believe this took over a year. So sorry, and thank you!

Jessica: If you do find this story again, thank you for the review, and so sorry I couldn't email you! FP's formatting is fickle and refuses to show email addresses. And angst/character torture IS fun, isn't it? Thank you again!

Kelseypaige: Thank you ever so much for your review, and I am very sorry to have taken so long. I hope you’re still reading and enjoying, and I wish you the best of luck with college in the Fall!

LadyLeing: It feels so strange to do a review-reply for you!! Usually it is email, which is better! So I will just say that I adore and love you and your beauteous artwork and I hope you liked this chapter and that you are well and I will email you soon again! –lovelovelove-

Leemya: Thank you! And I WILL finish this story, just perhaps not in a timely fashion, I think…

Lilylupin7: You DID add me on lj, and thank you very much! –love- though I have not been very active on there recently, either. I never know what to post… and I have been a very slow writer recently. Oh, I fail at life. But anyway, enough rambling, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

Mademoiselle Rouge: Thank you thank you for your lovely review. It made me beam with happiness! I'm glad you like the characters and the couples and the long chapters, though it does amuse me a bit that Riga and Kaezik seem to be the most popular. The poor sundered lovebirds… their reunion (you know, if they have one) will have to be particularly good, I think. But thank you again! And I hope you enjoyed this chapter after such a long long time!

Merrymowmow: I am so sorry to have taken so long. I only hope it was worth the wait!

Midnights Scream: Well hallo my lj buddy! Hahaha, though I feel bad now because I am terrible at posting on lj as well. But that's okay; I think you're a bit of a quiet ljer too, hmm? Hem. But yes, anyway… thank you muchly for all of your lovely, lovely reviews. You are totally awesome. –love- There really has been so much going on in the story and I have been horrible and negligent to leave it for so long. Though I think this chapter resolved a few things… and wasn't a complete disappointment after so long. I hope it was still a fun read? –love-

NLP: Thank you for the lovely comments! And I'm so happy you're enjoying the story. Though it does make me laugh that the pomegranate bit from last chapter made you think of Persephone. That hadn't even occurred to me before. But now, of course, it does whenever I think about it. Heh. Though I hope this chapter resolved some of the Ikeda/Shanza troubles for you! Silly Ikeda. I will keep writing! Just very slowly… so sorry to take so long, and thank you again!

Ola: I am so sorry to have kept you waiting so long. I hope you're still interested and enjoying the story, and I promise not to take so horrendously long again! But thank you ever so much for the lovely comments; they're so encouraging and inspiring! And I hope this chapter was –somewhat- worth the wait!

: You are so awesome! And that is all I am going to say on the subject because spoilery is bad, but yes, you are awesome! And are not dense at all, but awesome! Hahaha.. sorry… getting carried away… -love-

Potatoe1988: I know I lj messaged you, but thank you again for your lovely comments. I was so encouraged! And I'm very happy you like the characters, as they pretty much drive the story. Ahh, yes, and the terrible stuck together words (likethis) have something to do with fp's formatting; when I upload my chapters the errors appear. Very strange, and I have not found a way to fix it… gah. Oh, and the fanart! Yes, the Shumba one is by me. So no, I guess it's not fanart… Heh. But thank you, I'm glad you like it! I'm not a very skilled artist so it's a bit embarrassing, but oh well. As for publishing… I don't think this story is quite up to snuff to be accepted by a publishing house, and it is SO slash (I mean, every romance is a m/m pairing) but I will definitely heavily edit it when it's finished, and maybe try to self-publish or something… haha, sorry, I'm a terrible rambler! But thank you thank you again. I hope this chapter was worth the wait!

Rialet: Yes, you were totally right. Fights are necessary and even a good thing, sometimes, because then you get to make up! Which can be tons of fun, heh. But thank you for the lovely review, and I hope this chapter was somewhat worth the wait!

Silver Daratraz: I'm so sorry to have taken so long. It is actually pretty embarrassing. But the chapter is up at last, and I hope it was satisfactory? Hahah.. oh dear, it's a good thing I didn't kill Ikeda off, then… though I wonder what would happen to the story without him… hmmm. Hahaha. Thank you for a lovely review, as always!

Sinth: Hahah, it made me laugh to read that you use your cellphone for the internet, so long chapters were a good (and cheaper) thing! I'm glad I could help you save money! Haha.. Seriously, though, criticism is always welcome; I know there are errors and holes and messes (It IS a first draft, after all) and it will help to know what to look for and fix when I edit it eventually. Hmm so thank you for reading, and thank you for commenting, and I hope you enjoyed the latest chapter!

Solecism: Here's an update? Sooo sorry it took so long! I think my cookie is probably pretty stale by now…

Sporkess: Oh of course I have to reply to you! You were one of my first reviewers, I think. Or at least one of the earlier ones. I remember! You're so wonderful! –love- You've been reading the whole time, and again, you are so wonderful for that! Hem. Anyway, onto replying: I agree about big age differences—I think they're hard to make work and they can be a bit squick-worthy, but Shumba and Ryunne… hmmmm maybe they'll be able to manage…? And hey, crazy protective Shumba WOULD be fun… sadly I have a (bit of a) plot to follow. But perhaps there is still some leeway…-ramble- Oh, and you are very intuitive about things to happen, and also about Shanza/Ikeda and their trust/relationship issues. I hope this chapter dealt with a little bit of that, though. Hehh. Thank you for all of your encouragement and comments; I love them! And they're awesome and wonderful! –love-

Squish: I'm so sorry! I promise not to take so long again…

The-Account: Thank you for the awesome review! I'm very happy you did review!  You've noted a lot of good questions—which have answers to come, I promise! And oh, it makes me happy Shanza's your favourite, because he's pretty much my all-time favourite, too. Which I suppose is obvious but oh well. Hahahahah I enjoyed reading your commentary on the last chapter immensely; such awesome comments. Ie Ikeda needing to grovel and poor pedofile-ish Shumba… hehh. So thank you thank you so much and I hope this chapter was worth the wait, though I suppose Ikeda really didn't do as much groveling as he deserved…

…: Wow, thank you very much! I'm so happy you liked the story and characters so much! Er… but yes, I would have to say this has been my longest gap between updates ever. I promise not to do it again!

Warui Warui Neko: LOVE. Just love. And Thank You. And alcohol cake.