A Slow Dance
“LET ME BREATHE!!”
Klipspringer heard the cry from the training yard; he imagined the scouts could hear it from the outer walls. Cholla was usually as soft-spoken as her sire, but when enraged her voice could shatter clearstone.
“Uh-oh,” young Eyrie looked up at him knowingly. He passed her the sling and counselled, “Here, try it by yourself for a while.”
The girl took up the sling without protest. She knew – as did everyone in Oasis – where Klipspringer’s priorities lay.
He ran towards Ekuar’s hut, on the northern side of the central clearing. He arrived just in time to catch sight of a trailing moth-fabric hem, as Cholla disappeared behind a pillar of stone. Jarrah stood in the doorway of the hut, calling vainly to her daughter.
“’Springer,” the farmer’s face registered relief. “Bless you. Could you–”
He gave a curt nod and turned for the sandstone walls. He knew exactly where Cholla was headed. He did not bother to ask about the cause of this latest quarrel. They were all variations on the same theme.
When he had been born, the outer walls of Oasis had been a fractured collection of natural spires and rockshaped slopes. Now, twenty-three years later, they appeared to form a near impenetrable barrier, cupping the settlement inside a great bowl of sandstone. Yet the rock was not as solid as it appeared; tunnels both natural and magic-shaped riddled the sides of the cliffs. And one tunnel in particular had been made just for Ekuar’s headstrong daughter. Nearly invisible unless one walked right past it, the cleft in the rocks lead up to a secret refuge. The glitter-rock forest: they had spent countless hours there as kitlings, taking turns being chiefs of their very own private Holt.
The tunnel had been made for children; now fully grown and favoring his father in height, Klipspringer found it a tight squeeze. Still, he managed to fit his shoulders through the narrow cleft, and followed the sloping tunnel up to their old hiding place.
After a short walk, the tunnel opened into a vaulted chamber, roughly the size of a one-room hut. Seams in the rock let in daylight, while fool’s gold twinkled on the walls.
Cholla sat on the faded mat in the center of the chamber. Legs folded, fists clenched, head bowed; Klipspringer recognized the posture, the struggle to slow her breathing and calm her racing heart.
“Cholla? Do you need –”
“I’m fine!” she wheezed. “I can do it. I don’t need Leetah.” She pushed her shoulders back and sucked in deep breaths as she had been taught to do. But the bluish tinge was steadily rising in her lips.
“Let me help.” He sat down across from her, but she closed her eyes and grit her teeth.
“I don’t need your help!”
“I did not say you did. But let me help you anyway.”
Exhaling her next breath with an exasperated sigh, she met his gaze. Violet eyes locked with golden ones. Klipspringer reached out with his thoughts, and Cholla accepted them. Their minds linked, their breathing synchronized. He felt Cholla’s heartbeat as though it were his own: frantic at first, fluttering unevenly, then slowly... gently… settling back into a healthy rhythm.
“Better?” he asked, withdrawing his sending star.
She nodded. The color was returning to her face.
Gradually, he became aware of Leetah’s sending, brushing the edge of his consciousness. **Klipspringer? Have you found her – where are you?**
**She’s with me. All’s well.**
**Do you need–**
**A little peace and quiet, thank you,** he sent brusquely, ending the link.
Their minds still touched, enough for Cholla to hear his thoughts, if not Leetah’s. “Which fussing hen was that?”
“The healer.”
She giggled. “Wager troll-gold, she has her hands on her hips right now, huffing, ‘That pompous Glider! He’s as high-headed as his father!’”
“And you, pricker-bush, are as stubborn as your brother.”
“Guilty,” Cholla said when a smile. The surest way to earn her approval was to compare her to Rayek. Klipspringer knew better to mention the mother from whom both had surely inherited such stubbornness.
“So… what set off the bonfire this time?”
She blushed. “Does it matter?”
“It does to me.”
She tugged reflexively at the hem of her sleeve. “Ahnshen came over to fit me for the feast. It’s my first formal gown – it’s supposed to be perfect!”
“It looks beautiful,” Klipspringer said honestly. He recognized Ahnshen’s particular style: the shoulder-baring cut, the scalloped sleeves and trailing skirts. The lilac silk set off the sparkle in her eyes, while the sweep of the neckline showed off the delicate lines of her collarbone and flattered her newfound bustline.
“Your mother didn’t approve?” he guessed. In her adult gown, there was no denying that Cholla had left childhood behind. He could imagine that Jarrah would take that hard.
“No, she liked it. But he brought sandals too. Luri made them specially for me, he said. I had to try them on. I tried to keep the skirt down, so Mother wouldn’t see…but… ” Cholla uncrossed her legs and stuck out her bare feet. She made a face as she drew back her skirt, just enough to reveal her swollen, rash-stained ankles.
“Oh, lovemate,” the pained cry escaped him before he could stop himself. Cholla’s scowl deepened.
“It’s not that bad! I’ve had worse. And if Ahnshen had just let me keep my old footwraps on, Mother would never have seen them.”
“And she called for Leetah?” He could well imagine Jarrah’s fright. Swollen feet and ankles were a sure warning that Cholla’s heart was once again failing.
And he could well imagine Cholla’s own fear, for the only remedy was a course of painful flesh-shaping, followed by days of bed rest. At any other time, the regular treatments were a source of dread. And now the timing was particularly bad.
“She said I had to let Leetah see me, or she’d cancel the feast!” Cholla cried. “I told her she can’t do that! I’m two eights now – she can’t force me to see Leetah.”
“She’s worried about you.”
“She’s not cancelling the feast!” Cholla insisted. “Rayek’s brought his whole family over. They’re already cooking the food!”
“The food will keep. If you’re ill–”
“I’m fine. It’s my day – it should be my say! I’ve waited so long for this!” She lowered her gaze glumly. “Not like I’ll be doing anything anyway… just sitting and smiling and drinking squatneedle juice.”
“You say you’ve waited so long for this feast – so, shouldn’t it be everything you hoped? Be reasonable – how much can you enjoy yourself if you’re in pain? And trying to hide it from your family?”
“But I’m not in pain!”
He raised a skeptical eyebrow that said, Don’t lie to me.
“Not much. Anyway, if Mother hadn’t made me so angry, I would have kept my pulse slow as a turtle’s. She said ‘Wait a few days – until you’re better.’”
“Wise counsel.”
She sighed and clucked her tongue in disappointment. “But, ’Springer… I’m not going to get better. Why hasn’t everyone figured that out yet?” Her gaze was wide, imploring. Like Ekuar’s. “This is my life - I’ve made my peace with it, so why can’t everyone else?”
He held himself very still, taking care not to betray how much her words had struck him. First came admiration: when had this little ball of prickle-down learned so much wisdom? Next came sadness: how could she give up all hope at the age of sixteen?
“I’ll make you a deal,” he said. “I’ll see that you’ll have your feast. I’ll go to Lord Haken if I have to. And you will go home and stay in bed until they light the lanterns.”
She pouted. “Three pillows for my head and four for my feet, right? I’m already sitting up to sleep most nights – why not just fold me clean in half and be done with it?”
“I’ll truss you up and hang you from the ceiling if I have to!” he said, trying for a severe tone. But he couldn’t help but chuckle at the image he conjured.
Cholla giggled too. “Be careful. I might like it.”
“You be careful!” he said, wagging a finger at her. “Or I might tell your brother you said that.”
“You would not!”
“Do we have a deal?” He held out his hand, and after a moment, Cholla clasped it. Her fingers were cool.
“All right,” she said, grudgingly.
She let him help her to her feet. He wrapped an arm around her, and his hand settled comfortably on the curve of her hip.
“You called me lovemate,” she murmured shyly, as they walked out of the cave together.
“Well, we are, aren’t we?”
She nibbled on her bottom lip. “I didn’t think we’d… done enough to count as lovemates.”
Klipspringer smiled. “It counts to me.”
Cholla flashed him a giddy grin, then stretched up to kiss his cheek.
They walked back into the village together. As Ekuar’s hut came into view, Klipspringer caught sight of the glowering elf standing vigil outside the door.
“Uh-oh… looks like your mother’s called for reinforcements.”
“Scat!” Cholla swore.
“Follow my lead.” Without further warning, he swept her up into his arms and carried her the rest of the way to the hut.
“No worries, Rayek,” he announced as he set her down at the threshold. “I talked some sense into her. She’s going straight to bed to lie down, aren’t you?”
Cholla nodded obediently. “Need to build up my strength for the feast.”
“Mm, we can discuss the feast later,” Rayek said.
“No need,” Klipspringer said firmly. “The feast and the dance will go ahead as planned. I’ll bring lots of cushions so Cholla can keep her feet up.”
The furrow of Rayek’s brow suggested he might argue the point, but after a stony silence, he merely nodded his head towards the door. Cholla cast a final grateful glance at Klipspringer, then disappeared into the hut.
“Thank you for bringing her back,” Rayek finally said.
Klipspringer nodded.
“She grows more headstrong every day. If such a thing is possible.”
“She’ll be fine, Rayek. She knows her limits – she wasn’t even winded when I found her.”
Rayek arched an eyebrow skeptically. “Mm. Now say that in sending.”
Klipspringer smiled bashfully, knowing he’d been caught out.
He turned to go, but Rayek reached out to stop him. “The way she looks at you,” he murmured. “I remember when my Venka used to look at Zhantee like that: a kitten trying to work up the courage for her first kill.”
Klipspringer felt himself blush. “That’s… apt,” he mumbled, thinking of Cholla’s insistent gaze, torn between desire and fear.
Rayek cleared his throat awkwardly. “You’re a good lad, ’Springer. She could hardly do better. And I do remember – vaguely – what it is to be young. But I trust you won’t forget that she is still very young… and more fragile than either of you would like to admit.”
“I will continue to follow her lead in all matters,” he said solemnly.
But Rayek shook his head. “No, no – don’t do that. I wouldn’t trust Cholla to lead a zwoot to water. No – you set the pace.” His expression turned more and more uncomfortable. “And – and… by Savah’s name, make it a slow one!”
* * *
Rayek wasn’t the only way urging caution. His mother Spar had warned him, in her gentle way, about the dangers of planning one’s life out at the age of two-eights-and-seven. “I’m not saying Cholla isn’t the one for you. Quicksilver had her heart set on Sunstream from the start, and Tass and Cricket have always been stuck together like burrs in a boot, so I hear. I’m only saying… well, if we all ended up with our first loves, I’d be sharing Windkin with Yun, Scouter would still be with Dewshine, and Rayek would still be running after Leetah!”
She was only trying to protect him. No one could say with any certainty how long Cholla had in her skin. And no mother wanted to see her son’s heart broken.
His father had no such reservations. “When I first laid eyes on your mother, I knew. And so did she. She will say it wasn’t Recognition, simply because you took your time in appearing. But it was something. Something closer to what the High Ones must have felt, ages past. Our souls weren’t forced together – they sought each other out. My soul called to hers, and she answered.”
Klipspringer understood what Door meant. He had felt the very same thing when he’d first laid eyes Cholla.
She’d been a mere six days old, but already rumor was spreading throughout Oasis that there was something gravely wrong with her. Leetah was nearly living in Ekuar’s modest hut, and Jarrah had barred their door to almost all visitors.
But Spar could never be denied, and she told her son to fetch his present for the newborn. Later Klipspringer would realize she had been afraid that time was running out.
Klipspringer faltered at the threshold of the hut when he heard the raised voices inside. Was that Jarrah, screaming like screech eagle? He was only seven, and had grown up very sheltered inside Tallest Spire. Children might shout when they lost their tempers, but never elders!
They found Rayek pacing inside the bedchamber, trying to rock a little fussing bundle into stillness. “Now is not a good time, Spar,” he said grimly.
Again Jarrah’s voice echoed from the adjacent room. “ –supposed to be a healer! Healers save lives!”
“–only ask you to consider what sort of life she would have,” Leetah countered, sounding weary.
“The best we can give her!”
“What’s happening?” Klipspringer asked nervously. “Mama?”
“Rayek?”
“Mother and Leetah are discussing options for Taimi’s care,” he growled. “As Ekuar felt my added presence was… fueling the fire, I have been ejected.”
“But is that enough?” Leetah argued. “Is that fair to her?”
“Fair? Fair?!” Jarrah shrieked. “You dare speak of fair, you high-headed, unfeeling–”
Rayek smiled thinly. “But it seems Mother is speaking for both of us.”
Ekuar’s voice came through the curtain thinly, pleading for peace.
“No, Ekuar!” Jarrah snapped. “There’ll be no peace with a healer who would let our baby die!”
Again Klipspringer looked up at his mother for support. But she forced a pleasant expression and urged him forward with a hand to his shoulder. “Go on, love.”
The boy looked up at Rayek’s grave face and swallowed a lump of fear. He had always admired the hunter, ever since Minyah had told a four-year-old Klipspringer, “So serious. You remind me of a second Rayek.” As a child, Rayek had singlehanded provided the Sun Folk with meat and safety from the wild jackals. As an adult, he had harnessed the spirits of the dead to restore the Palace of the High Ones. Klipspringer knew he had inherited little of his father’s magic – he could not aspire to be a Glider lord. But he could aspire to be someone like Rayek – a proud hunter and protector, a guardian of his people.
He’d always hoped for Rayek’s approval, but now his idol was glaring down at him skeptically. Klipspringer struggled to find his voice. “I… brought a blanket for her. It’s ravvit-fur – I – helped Mama tan it. It’s nice and soft – we thought she’d like it.”
Rayek softened. “Thank you. You may lay it in the cradle there.”
Klipspringer carefully lined the wicker basket with his ravvit-fur throw. Rayek lay the swaddled infant down, and Klipspringer took his first look at little Taimi.
He’d only seen one newborn before - Pool had been born just last summer. But he could tell immediately that something was not quite right with the baby. Pool had been a scrawny, red-faced newborn, forever kicking at his swaddling blanket, scrunching his face and wailing for milk. Taimi was plump and listless, her skin tinged with gray about her nose and lips. At first he thought she was sleeping, but then she opened her eyes, squinting as if the light was too strong. She let out a little mewling cry, almost a hiccup. Klipspringer smiled. She reminded him of the tuftcat kittens born last year.
“Hullo,” he murmured. But Taimi did not respond to the sound of his voice.
He looked up at Rayek. “What’s wrong with her?” he asked.
Rayek winced at the child’s bluntness. “Her… heart,” he said at length. “It’s very weak.”
“Can’t Leetah fix her?”
Rayek shook his head.
Puzzled, Klipspringer turned to his mother. Spar’s face was grave. “Babies… are very fragile, ’Springer,” she explained sadly. “They’re a lot harder to heal than full-grown elves.”
The argument had died down next door. But Klipspringer remembered Jarrah’s accusation. “Is she going to die?” he asked, his voice quavering. No, she couldn’t. It wasn’t right. When the runt of the tuftcat litter wouldn’t suckle, Coppersky didn’t just let it die. He’d hand-raised the kitten, feeding it zwoot’s milk in a waterskin. He’d even let Klipspringer help.
“Oh, ’Springer,” Spar began sadly. “We don’t–”
But Rayek cut her off. “No!” he said firmly. He bent down and to meet Klipspringer’s gaze. His golden eyes blazed with fire. “She will not die. I will not allow it!”
His voice held such conviction. Klipspringer found himself nodding. “I won’t either!” he vowed.
Rayek stared long into the child’s eyes. At length he saw something he liked, and he smiled. “Good,” he said, clapping Klipspringer on the shoulder as Chief Grayling might embrace a tribemate.
Spar smiled down at her son. “You won’t be able to play with her like you do with Fennec and Pool,” she warned. “But maybe later you can come help take care of her. Little Taimi will need all our love and protection if she’s to thrive.”
“I will!” Klipspringer insisted. “I’ll protect her.”
And so he had, from that day on. Or tried to. It had been easy enough when she was a babe in cradle, and he needed only watch for symptoms of a faltering heartbeat. Harder when she learned to crawl, then walk, and discovered the giddy thrill of defiance. By the time she turned three, she’d learned how to wrap him tight about her finger. Instead to seeing she followed the rules, he would help her break them: sneaking her the spicy foods she was forbidden to eat, letting her join in the games she was only meant to observe, lying about her symptoms to disapproving elders. Whenever caught, he would play repentance so skillfully he even fooled himself.
But not Cholla. She knew she had only to blink her eyes and murmur “’Springer?” pleadingly, and he could deny her nothing.
“A fool for a sweet face,” Rayek had ruled, more than once. And perhaps he was right. But it seemed to Klipspringer that while everyone else was concerned with keeping Cholla safe, they seldom asked whether she was happy. And even Rayek had to admit that on those rare occasions when Klipspringer put his foot down, Cholla would heed his advice as she would heed no one else’s.
He couldn’t say when he had started looking at her with a lovemate’s eyes – just as he could never pinpoint the moment when she had begun to see him as more than an older brother. The transition had been seamless, as gentle and natural as waking from a dream. But on some level, he was certain he had known from that first moment he saw her in the cradle: she was meant for him, and he for her.
* * *
The feast went ahead, despite all Jarrah’s objections. Multicolored lanterns hung over a dancing ground crowded with revellers. Great roasts turned over the spit, while the cider and honeywine flowed freely. Cholla sat in the place of honor, just below Haken’s dais, propped up amid a sea of cushions. Her long skirt hid her swollen ankles, tightly bound to aid circulation. She kept a bright smile on her face, despite the dusky shade to her lips.
“We are here to honor our young sister, Taimi, called Cholla,” Haken toasted with a cup of honeywine. “A child no longer, now a grown maiden and an equal.” Something approaching a teasing affection crept into the High One’s voice. “You led us all on a merry dance to get to this day. But let your resilience stand as proof that our kind was always meant to conquer the frailties of the flesh.”
Everyone saluted Cholla with their cups of wine. Cholla raised her own cup of water, then regarded it ruefully as everyone else drank deep.
“I don’t see why I can’t have a little cider at least,” she muttered. “Eyrie gets to drink cider.”
“She wouldn’t if she were my daughter,” Jarrah said sharply. Then seeing Cholla’s narrowed eyes, she smiled and said, “How about some nice squatneedle juice, hmm? I’ll fetch you a cup.”
As soon as she left the mat, Klipspringer passed Cholla his cup with a wink. She knocked back the entire cup before Jarrah could return, and her cheeks flamed bright red at the surge of fermented sugars.
“You all right?”
“It… burns,” she laid a hand to her breast. “Is it supposed to do that?”
“Most certainly.”
She giggled, then hiccupped.
**’Springer!** a disapproving locksending pierced Klipspringer’s mind. He looked over at Rayek and shrugged.
**One cup now or a stolen bottle after everyone’s gone to bed? You know she would.**
Rayek sighed and rolled his eyes, but said no more. In sending there was only truth, after all.
Behtia and Vurdah began to sing: “See – the time of Flood and Flower!/Desert gowned in colors bright!”
More voices joined in the gentle chorus. “Rainbow veiled, her sky blue brow!/Her blossoms sweetly scent the night!” But then Sust and a trio of Sun Folk lads began to beat out a furious tattoo on the drums, and cheers of delight went up. The song changed tempo; couples paired up and flocked to the dancing ground. Feet stamped on the dust in time with the drums. Elves leapt and pranced in imitations of the klipspringers and crescent-horns on the rocks. Lads clasped maidens about the waists and lifted them high. Klipspringer watched how Cholla’s eyes lit up at the sight of the acrobatic dancers.
“Drum, drum, blossoms come!” the spectators chanted, clapping their hands then drumming them on the ground like rolling thunder. “Drum, drum, the rains have come!”
“I love the Raindrums,” Cholla said, voice full of longing.
Klipspringer watched the couples throwing each other about, each pair trying to outdo the others in leaps and dips. Maleen danced with Ruffel, Ahnshen with Vurdah, Alekah with Jari. Windkin gamely led his daughter Eyrie onto the floor; too short to dance properly, she used his floating powers to keep her at eye-level with her father. Pool was paired up with his latest lovemate Mahree, while Fennec partnered with Rayek’s granddaughter Tass. In the center of the dancefloor were the premier athletes, Leetah and Coppersky, dancing with abandon. Hunter and healer never socialized off the dance floor, yet whenever the drums beat, they moved together like soulmates – united in their smug pride in their talents.
Spar left her seat on the dais and held out her hand to her son. “Dance with me, love. You know your father’s no good for it.”
“Duty calls,” Klipspringer said to Cholla, then let his mother help him to his feet.
He would have preferred to sit and watch. Still, he led Spar through the steps of the dance gamely enough. As he spun her around after a lift she whispered, “Cholla’s watching you,” and sure enough, the girl had turned all her attention to Klipspringer.
He found his passion for the dance. He leapt as high as Fennec, he strove to lift Spar just as high as Leetah. He stole glances at Cholla to ensure she remained spellbound. By the time the song ended, he was out of breath, and Spar’s intricate hairstyle was hopefully dishevelled.
“Sorry,” he said bashfully, when he saw what he’d done.
“Don’t be. You make me feel young again,” she laughed, swatting his arm lightly. “But don’t you be doing that with her, now!”
His spirits fell at her teasing warning. No, he’d never be able to dance with Cholla like that. Even on good days, she could scarcely make it up a flight of stairs without gasping for breath. No matter how she strengthened herself, she’d never be able to share in a proper dance. Just as she’d never know the joy of bounding up the cliffs or riding a zwoot bareback at full gallop through Bottle Gulch.
He suddenly felt very sad. He started to make his way back to Cholla, but Fennec intercepted him before he could cross the dancing ground. His agemate was equally spent from the vigorous dance, but triumph battled exhaustion on his tanned face. He shook himself like a dog, sweat-dampened dreadlocks nearly slapping Klipspringer in the face.
“Guess – who – got invited – back – to the Palace tonight,” Fennec gasped out in an excited whisper. “With Tass!” When Klipspringer did not look suitably impressed, Fennec laughed and shook his shoulder. “Palace-joining, m’lad! They say it’s like one of Leetah’s parties!”
“Uh-huh.” Klipspringer looked over Fennec’s shoulder to see Tass embracing a silver-haired elf. “You do know she’s going to have Cricket there too?”
Fennec nodded eagerly. “And he’s bringing Laika. It is going to be epic!”
If you don’t mind being nothing but a shiny new toy, Klipspringer nearly said. But he caught himself. Fennec would only accuse him of being a high-headed Glider, and probably counter with some quip about Klipspringer’s less adventurous lifestyle. Instead Klipspringer merely remarked dryly: “And they say youth is wasted on the young.”
Fennec frowned. “Who says that?”
“I don’t know – my father… I think he heard it from humans. Sounds like something they’d say.”
He extracted himself from Fennec’s attention, and returned to Cholla. He found Pool crouched down in his place, speaking to Cholla in a soft whisper. Unbidden, a spark of jealousy prickled the back of his neck. Pool and Cholla had become quite friendly since the lad had come into his healing powers. It was a worrisome change, when Klipspringer was so accustomed to seeing them fight like cats and wolves. Pool was Cholla’s closest agemate, after all. Would the day come when the young healer decided to throw down a challenge wand?
“Eww, Pool!” Cholla exclaimed abruptly, her nose wrinkling in distaste. “Not on your life!”
Nothing could have pleased Klipspringer more than intruding at that particular moment. He took great joy in seizing Pool by the ear and wrenching him to his feet. This was surely what his mother meant when she spoke of ‘the wolf’ taking over.
“Are you bothering my lovemate?” he growled, equal parts good humor and cold suspicion: a dominant jackwolf teaching a rival a lesson.
Pool twisted free with an embarrassed expression. “No, no, ’Springer. Just trying to help.” He looked at Cholla and added, “you just think about it,” before retreating.
“That’s two ‘lovemates’ in three days,” Cholla remarked, as Klipspringer reclaimed his seat. “You’re spoiling me.”
“It’s what I do. What was that about?”
“He was trying to give me… advice!” she stammered out in an offended hiss.
Klipspringer frowned in puzzlement.
**On initiation,** Cholla clarified in locksending.
Klipspringer stared blankly at her, then let out a moan of disgust.
**Says there’s no reason why we can’t… so long as we’re being ‘safe’ about it.** She winced. **He has… suggestions.**
Once again he felt the sudden urge to violence. The insufferable busybody – was there no subject he could resist sticking his beak into? He could imagine Pool discussing the matter with Leetah: the pair of them clucking their tongues and theorizing just what Klipspringer and Cholla did in the glitter-rock forest. And he could well imagine Cholla’s shame, at being reminded once more of her infirmity – and the keen interest everyone else took in it.
Savah’s bones – could they have no secret that was theirs alone?
“Forget about Pool: you know how he is. He plows a couple of fields and he thinks he invented farming.”
Cholla burst out laughing. Her sides shook so hard she had to hug her ribs for support. A moment later Klipspringer realized the implications of his words and couldn’t help but laugh too.
Another dance was beginning. They watched elves form up in two lines, linking arms and trading partners as they wove in between the columns. Klipspringer clapped his hands in time with the drums.
“You can go dance if you want,” Cholla finally said. “You don’t need to sit here all night too.”
“No, I’m fine.”
“I mean it. I don’t… I don’t want to hold you back.”
He heard the sadness in her voice, and he knew she was talking about more than just dancing. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “But I like being held by you,” he said in a low voice.
She smiled, but it did not quite reach her eyes. He could tell his words weren’t enough.
* * *
Haken and Chani withdrew from the feast at moonrise. Eyrie started to fade shortly afterwards, and Windkin and Ahdri carried her off to bed. By midnight Jarrah insisted Cholla retire as well.
Many others were beginning to feel the call of their beds, but a handful of devoted revellers were loath to quit the dancing ground as long as there was still someone left to drum out a beat. Cholla hesitated at the edge of the lantern-light and gazed back longingly at the dancers.
“Come along, little one,” Jarrah said. “You’ve had enough excitement for one night.”
Cholla cast one last lovelorn glance at Klipspringer, then obediently followed her mother back to the hut. In pairs and triads, the other elves slowly abandoned the dancing ground and drifted off in search of privacy. Fennec had long since left for his assignation with Tass; Pool continued to drink with Mahree, but both seemed to be fading. Door had left long ago, and now Spar bade her son goodnight. But Klipspringer stayed up, watching the party slowly break up, reflecting on the events of the night.
He felt sad, and he couldn’t entirely decide why. But the more he thought about it, the more he kept returning to the memory of Cholla watching him dance.
Once a few elves lingered on the cushions about the dancefloor now. Klipspringer went to them one by one and whispered his plan. Obediently they all withdrew, some snickering knowingly, others too inebriated to do much beyond placing one foot in front of the other.
“No, no, leave the lanterns lit,” he told the last elf to leave, when he moved to lower the string of lights.
Mother Moon had disappeared behind the Great Gate when Klipspringer crept up to Ekuar and Jarrah’s hut. He leaned on the wall of Cholla’s bedroom and wrapped on the windowframe with his knuckles.
Cholla was awake and at the window within moments. Clearly, she had not been able to sleep. “’Springer, what…?” she asked. He raised a finger to his lips.
**Come with me.**
She clambered out the window, barefoot but still clad in her party dress. Klipspringer led her back to the deserted dancing grounds.
“What are we doing back here?” she asked.
“I’m going to teach you to dance the Raindrums.”
Cholla looked at him skeptically. “You know I can’t.”
“Sure you can. We’re just going to do it slowly. Here, take my hands.”
He hummed the melody as he showed her the basic steps – side to side, back and forth. But instead of bounding on the balls of their feet, they took the steps at a sedate promenade. He danced her across the width of the grounds, and when the time came to lift her up, he merely hugged her to him, both hands on her waist. Instead of dipping her back and swinging her wide, he pressed her close through the turn and bade her to look up at the stars.
Their steps slowed, until they were not so much dancing as simply swaying back and forth, arms wound about each other. Klipspringer continued to hum a tune against Cholla’s hair, and she replied with a murmur of contentment as she nuzzled his throat.
“’Springer…” she whispered.
Vess, he longed to correct her. My name is Vess.
The words were on the tip of his tongue, but he held them back. He’d promised to keep a slow pace; and he and Cholla had all the time in the world.
“Happy Flood-and-Flower, lovemate,” he murmured instead.
Elfquest copyright 2014 Warp Graphics, Inc. Elfquest, its logos, characters, situations, all related indicia, and their distinctive likenesses are trademarks of Warp Graphics, Inc. All rights reserved. Some dialogue taken from Elfquest comics. All such dialogue copyright 2014 Warp Graphics, Inc. All rights reserved. Alternaverse characters and insanity copyright 2014 Jane Senese and Erin Roberts.