Thursday's Child
Chapter 16
The lift doors opened and Derek came out, stopping dead as soon as he saw a figure in the dim light. Nora, meanwhile, barely resisted the urge to throw her arms around him. Any animosity or distrust she had felt toward Derek before evaporated in the moment of crisis, and when she stepped into the circle of light cast by the open lift doors, she was smiling shakily.
"Did Lily send you to find out what happened to me? I got a bit lost, but I'm fine now. Is everyone alright?"
Derek, recovering from his initial shock, tried to make some sense out of what she had said. A rescue, perhaps? Well, that explained the strange readings. The General, he thought with satisfaction, would be pleased to hear of this.
"Yes," he said after a short pause, "They're all safe."
"What about Lily?" Nora asked, entering the lift after him, "How's she holding up?"
"As well as can be expected," Derek replied, feeling rather proud of himself as Nora nodded thoughtfully. "Were you," he ventured, unable to restrain his curiosity, "Finished down there?"
"Yeah, I..." She turned to him and her blue eyes narrowed in suspicion, "Why are you wearing that?"
Belatedly, Derek realized that the brighter light inside the lift had revealed the Society uniform he had so proudly donned earlier.
Thinking quickly, he began, "We took the uniforms off the bodies of the dead guards to disguise ourselves." The lie seemed reasonable, but would Nora, who had always mistrusted him, believe it?
She seemed to, because she began to apologize, but then shook her head. "No. No, you said dead guards. Lily wouldn't kill anyone, not unless she had to."
Derek was saved from an immediate answer by the opening of the lift doors. Taking Nora's elbow he led her out of the lift and down the corridor, but before they had taken more than half a dozen steps, she stopped and spun around to face him.
"You're lying. Why are you lying to me, Derek Reggan? Where are you taking me?"
"Nora," he said in what he hoped was a soothing tone, resting his hands on her shoulders, "Calm --"
She wrenched out of his grasp. "Where?"
"Nora --"
Her palm struck his face with all the power she could muster, leaving a sharp red imprint.
"Traitor!"
Derek had no more patience for diplomacy. With a quick, practiced movement he kicked her legs out from under her and twisted her arms behind her back with painful force. Nora struggled desperately, but she was helpless against a much stronger opponent. As he pushed her before him down the corridor, she blinked away a few tears of rage, turned her head, and spat in his face.
"That's everyone," Felix pronounced after a quick head count, and tried to keep his sigh of a relief a silent one.
They had stopped at the crest of the hill the horses had been hidden behind.
It provided a clear view of the site of Headquarters, but not of what was
happening within.
"Where are they?" Seamus Alberts whispered urgently, tugging on Felix's sleeve.
"Shouldn't they be here by now?" His voice wavered on the edge of hysteria.
Felix wanted to reassure him, but how could he when he was just as anxious?
"They're fine," Shira said gruffly, "Give ‘em some time, and, for heaven's sake, calm yourself."
"Yes, Seamus," Anya said, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder, "You mustn't worry."
She turned to look down at the dark entrance to Headquarters, wishing that she could see through its walls, and worrying terribly.
Even before she saw Derek dragging Nora forcibly to Belius's office, Lillian was starting to lose hope.
What was she doing here, she asked herself, alone and barely armed? What could she possibly hope to achieve? How could she rescue Alexander, when she was outnumbered and the push of a button could summon all of Headquarters against them? She would be lucky to escape herself, against such odds.
She had been blind, rushing forward to the rescue with never a thought to how she would accomplish it. She had no plan, nothing hid up her sleeve, no secret reserves of power, only a gun and the fleeting element of surprise.
She should go -- she had to go. With any luck, Felix and the rest were safely away, and Derek hadn't found out about their plan. She should follow them while she could, not waste time hiding there when there was nothing she could do.
She thought of doing so, imagined standing by and watching Headquarters go up in a ball of fire, together with everyone inside -- and knew she couldn't do it. Neither reason or logic had any part in it -- she simply knew, with deeply seated certainty, that she would save Alexander or die trying, and not even the increasing probability of the latter could alter her decision.
She had thought of her feelings as a weakness before, and had done her best to suppress them. Now, in the face of her nightmares made reality, they seemed to be her biggest, and only, strength.
His prisoner was still struggling desperately when Derek approached his destination, so desperately, in fact, that it required all of his attention to control her, and he did not spare more than a glance towards a particularly dark shadow at the end of the corridor.
He was not, however, completely blind to the tense atmosphere inside the room he entered. Lyara stopped speaking in midsentence, and Agent Theodore -- Barnaby, was it? -- was clearly forcing himself to appear casual. Discounting the still unconscious Alexander, only Belius appeared completely at ease.
"Mr. Reggan, welcome back," his gaze shifted to Nora, who was glaring at him murderously, "And I see you have brought us a prisoner?"
Derek nodded proudly. "She was prowling around in the lower levels."
Belius's dark eyes narrowed, yet he retained his perfect composure. "Was she? Let's get her settled in then and make some inquiries." He motioned to a reclining seat like the one Alexander was strapped to.
With some effort, panting from exertion and the pressure of being watched, Derek accomplished the task and pulled the straps tight. He then stepped back, expecting reward or commendation, and was unpleasantly surprised when Belius only waved him away.
"Leave us now, Agent Reggan," he said carelessly over his shoulder, approaching Nora.
"But, General --"
"Please, Derek, go," Lyara said, wincing as Barnaby's hand tightened on her arm.
Derek stood firm. "No. I think I deserve to know what happens here, after everything --"
Belius turned and drew his weapon in one fluid motion, and he collapsed in midsentence.
"Oh no," Belius said with no trace of emotion, glancing down at his gun, "I thought it was on a lower setting. Pity."
Lyara started forward, but Barnaby's iron grip restrained her.
"Let go of me," she snapped, "I'm not going to weep over his body."
"Now," said Belius, looking down at Nora and not sparing them a glance, "Let us begin. What were you doing in Headquarters?"
Nora turned her face away, fighting to show only her hatred, and not her equally deep-rooted fear.
"My dear," Belius continued, a keen edge beneath his almost kindly tone, "It's rude not to answer when someone asks you a question." She breathed in sharply as though he had struck her, but said nothing. "But then, you should already know that," he leaned in closer, "Or have you forgotten? I do hate it when people don't remember my lessons --"
"Enough!" Alexander struggled to rise against his bonds, "Is there no limit to how low you'll sink?"
"Hello, my dear boy," Belius said easily, "I rather thought you were awake. Perhaps you can convince your friend to speak. No? Well then, we shall have to resort to drastic measures."
Nora turned pale.
"Torture, you mean?" Alexander said, his voice as mocking as he could make it, "Yes, I remember you always did enjoy it. What better than a helpless victim who can't oppose you? You're only a coward, after all."
"Am I?" asked Belius, his eyebrows rising slightly.
"Yes. Even now you're afraid to face me on equal terms. You'd rather tower above me and feel satisfied with yourself." His words, confident on the surface, were laced with desperation. Nora's arrival may have given him momentary hope for a rescue, but it dimmed with every minute that went by -- he knew that he was running out of options, and tried to seize the least chance that came his way.
Belius shrugged. "Very well. Barnaby, release him."
"But, sir --"
"If he thinks he will gain any advantage, he is mistaken. Not only do we have him outnumbered, but Agent Allain is standing by, ready to call for backup at a moment's notice -- isn't that right, Agent?"
"Yes, sir," Lyara said curtly, her face averted.
Free to stand, Alexander rose to his feet, trying not to wince as he rubbed his chafed wrists.
"What now?" Belius asked.
"I don't know," he answered wearily, "Why don't you tell me? I can say honestly that I know nothing about Nora's plans, but you'll use your ‘drastic measures' on me all the same, I'm sure."
"Oh, no, I don't think that will be necessary. I was meaning to try persuasion instead."
"Persuasion."
"Yes. I never did understand why you chose to turn against me."
Alexander stared at him with something between disbelief and disgust. "You never understood? How could it have been any clearer? You killed innocent people, father." He almost trembled with the effort it took to say the word, injecting it with every bit of the hatred he felt towards this man he had once admired.
"So, you finally decide to acknowledge our relationship," said Belius, completely unfazed. "Surprised, Barnaby?" he asked his bemused subordinate, the only one in the room to show any shock at the revelation.
Outside, Lillian was in turmoil. It exclaimed many things, yet she was still largely in the dark. And what of Nora's role in all this?
No, she wouldn't think of it now. There would be time, later, to get answers -- now she must act, and soon. But how? When?
No clues presented themselves to her in the shadowy corridor.
"So you won't join us?"
"You know the answer to that. Never."
"My, how melodramatic," said Belius mildly. "You leave me with no choice, my boy. I simply can't have your little movement interfering with our work."
"The Resistance will continue without me."
"Without you, perhaps. But without Ms. Allain, Mr. Reggan, and those of your other leaders that I now hold captive? I doubt it."
"You're wasting time, General!" Barnaby cut in. "Kill him and the girl and let us get on with it."
"There's no rush, Agent. The girl I will leave. We must know what she has done -- sabotaged our computers in some way, perhaps? As for my erstwhile son, I agree, there is no use in keeping him alive. With his absurd notions of honor, he would die before telling us a thing."
With a shrug that betrayed nothing but a slight disappointment, Belius stepped forward and drew his gun.
Lillian could wait no longer. Opportunity or not, she had to do something, now.
Thinking with lightening speed, or not at all, she burst through the door.
Events flashed by with dizzying speed, and yet it seemed as though time stood still.
Lillian concluded her explosive entrance with her rifle pointed squarely at Barnaby, who hadn't time to do more than blink in response.
Betraying surprise only fleetingly, though inside feeling fully as grateful as may be expected, Alexander then seized the opportunity to wrench the gun out of Belius hand and tie his hands behind his back.
"What are you waiting for, Agent Allain?" asked Belius, still maintaining a veneer of calm, "Call for help."
Lillian bit down on her lower lip, thinking hard. She couldn't afford to look away from Barnaby -- it would take him no time at all to draw his weapon if her concentration relaxed. Neither could Alexander break his hold on Belius -- the strap tying his hands wouldn't hold long. What to do?
She had just formed a plan of sorts, the entire process taking a second that seemed far longer to her adrenaline-sharpened mind, when Lyara's musical voice interrupted her thoughts.
"No," she said, simply and clearly.
"Agent!" The mask was slipping.
Lyara looked from him to Barnaby with contempt in her eyes, and silently shook her head.
Lily wasted no time in pondering Lyara's motivations, but rushed over to Nora's side and began to undo the bonds that restrained her. Nora's hands, fumbling at the straps and only hindering her progress, were shaking violently.
Meanwhile, her rifle remained aimed at Barnaby, not shifting a fraction. She wasn't taking any chances.
Neither was Alexander, but he was not infallible. Belius broke free of his grasp with a desperate strength no one could have expected from his aging frame, and drew a second gun from his breast pocket.
There is no knowing what made him choose his target -- perhaps he knew he was defeated and wished to take a last bit of revenge before the end. Whatever his reasoning, before Alexander could recapture him, Belius leveled the gun at Lyara and pulled the trigger.
In the last fraction of a second, Alexander's hand came with force on his arm, but too late. Lyara crumpled to the floor with a last vestige of her usual grace, her blue eyes fluttered closed, and she lay still.
Alexander took a single look at her and, reaching for the first thing he could -- a decorative telescope from Belius's desk -- hit the side of his head with one well-aimed blow. Taken by surprise, Belius could do nothing to ward off the hit, and slumped heavily against one of the reclining interrogation chairs. He was breathing, but shallowly, and seemed unlikely to awaken anytime soon.
Alexander stared from him to the telescope he was still holding in chock, and, filled with concern, Lillian started towards him, momentarily forgetting her charge.
A moment was all Barnaby, inspired by his leader's action, needed. He pulled out his own weapon and fired at Lillian, who only barely managed to get out of the way in time. The bullet nicked her arm, and she looked down at the dark stain rapidly spreading over her sleeve with a grimace of pain. Barnaby would have shot again, finishing the job, but he was prevented from doing so. As he fell forward, his last expression was one of shock.
Behind him, the equally surprised witnesses saw Lyara, raising herself up on one elbow with an agonized look, a gun in her hand.
"Goodbye, my love," she whispered with soft bitterness, almost to herself, and leaned back against the computer in exhaustion.
Nora, finally freeing herself, stood up and looked at the tableau dully, as though not fully comprehending it, then shook her head in an attempt to clear it.
"Gods," she said softly, "So much..." Then her eyes flew up to Alexander's and she cried out in alarm. "The bombs! It must have been nearly an hour."
Alexander nodded curtly, understanding enough. Taking Nora's arm, as she didn't seem quite able to support herself, he walked with long strides to the door, determinately turning his back on everything that lay inside.
Lillian remained rooted to her spot.
At the door, the other two turned, and looked back on her, silently calling her to join them.
"We have to go," Alexander said calmly, though there was something shell-shocked in his dark eyes.
"You go ahead," Lillian said, not moving.
"Lily!"
"I'll be right there. Don't worry." Both seemed ready to protest, but she shook her head. "Please."
Left alone, Lillian looked around the room, her gaze resting dispassionately on Barnaby's body and Belius's unconscious form. Then, trying to ignore the pain in her arm, she approached Lyara, who was still breathing in pained little gasps, and knelt down.
"Why don't you go?" Lyara asked, wincing, "It doesn't seem like the building will be here much longer."
"I don't want to leave you here."
Lyara shook her head, almost pityingly. "Touching, but useless. I won't live long, and this is as good a final resting place as any. So many...pleasant memories," she added sardonically.
Lillian was surprised to feel tears prickling in her eyes. "You don't have to die. I'll get you out, medical treatment --"
"And then what?" Lyara laughed harshly, then bit down hard on her lip to smother a cry of pain. "Do you think I'll be accepted back into the fold because of my heroic action? I'm far better off dead."
"Alexander would want you to live," Lillian said desperately, "I know he would."
"Alexander." Her voice took on a faraway quality. "Do you have any idea how horrible it is, to be in love with your bitterest enemy -- the very person you must constantly betray? It was worse that anything Belius could have ever done to me." Then her eyes once again focused on Lillian, shrewdly. "Or maybe you do understand, a little. No, my dear, it's better for Alex if I die here. At least then he might remember me as something more than a traitor." She winced again, but not from a physical pain.
Lily wiped away her tears and looked from Lyara to the door, indecision written on her face.
"Go," she said, "And, tired as it sounds, be good to him."
Still, Lillian hesitated.
"Oh, for God's sake, this is no time for self-sacrifice. Get out of here!"
She went.
She barely remembered the nightmare journey back to the surface, only occasional flashes of light in the darkness, blurred by the tears she didn't realize were flowing down her cheeks. As she ran, relying on her instincts to guide her, she couldn't help but remember a man she now knew was far from a simple trader, telling her where to find the Resistance with his dying breath. The parallel was so near -- Lyara, too, had saved her life, and Lyara, too, would die, and she was just as powerless to prevent it.
Finally, she reached the trapdoor, and scrambled out into the star-filled stillness of the desert.
The night was almost unnaturally silent around her as she made her was to where Nora and Alexander were standing, some distance off. Their shoulders visibly sagged with relief when she joined them, but they asked no questions. All three looked at the dark shadow of Headquarters, and waited.
"Ten years of my life," Lillian said softly, no longer able to keep from voicing some of her grief, "And I'll never be able to replace them."
She turned to Alexander to find him looking at her with an expression she couldn't read.
"I understand," he said, and she believed him.
The solid weight of his hand on her shoulder was all that held her up as they watched Society Headquarters explode.
Lillian gazed into the crackling heart of the campfire, willing herself not to think, not to remember. After a silent day's journey, they were camped in the heart of the grassland, the forest a thin, dark line on the horizon.
The party was much larger returning than it had been upon setting out. Though the destruction of Society Headquarters had appeared total in the huge explosion, once the smoke cleared they saw that the top levels were virtually undamaged, and had spent the next three days rescuing ex-Agents from the wrecked building. Now prisoners, the bedraggled group, some of them no more than children, awaited a trial at the main camp. Lillian suspected that many of them, though still understandably shell-shocked, were glad to be free of the Society's grasp.
So here they all were, thoughtfully sitting around a campfire, with none of the celebratory spirit expected after such a victory. So much had been lost in the battle, so much more nearly so...
A hand touched her shoulder and she started, nearly dropping her cup. But it was only Alexander, his face strangely shadowed in the firelight.
"Come for a walk," he said quietly.
Lillian nodded, rising, and followed him into the darkening twilight.
They climbed up the hill that sheltered the camp, not yet speaking. The air was fresh with the coming autumn around them, full of the sounds of approaching night. Halfway up, when the path became steep, Lillian reached up for purchase and found an extended hand instead, and did not let it go until after they reached the summit.
The world was spread out before them, softly lit by the last rays of the sunlight. It was, without a doubt, the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, and she said so, because it felt right to and she knew that he would agree.
"Yes, it's beautiful. But now that it rests with us to keep it that way, will we be up to the task?"
"I think so. You've already accomplished so much-"
"We've accomplished so much."
"It will be a long time before I'm able to see it that way."
Alexander sighed quietly, and looked out at the horizon, not meeting her eyes.
"You heard what went on in that room, didn't you?" She nodded, and though he could not see her, he continued as though he had gotten his answer, "I suppose you want an explanation."
Lillian shrugged. "Not unless you want to give it."
Alexander turned back to look at her, his face uncommonly open and earnest. "I do want to give it," he said, "I want you to understand. But it's not easy..."
"No. How can it be?"
"For such a long time, I've tried to deny it. I didn't want to face the fact that...that man...was my father. I was afraid that he would continue to affect my thoughts and actions from afar, if I let him. But now...he can't affect me anymore, and the story needs telling."
Lillian nodded silently, wanting to offer comfort but not knowing how, except to listen and try to understand. So she dropped to the grassy ground and sat with her arms about her knees, and did not interrupt him.
"Yes," he went on, looking off into the distance as though he saw the past pictured there, "Belius is my father, and for a long time I had no objection to that fact. Who my mother was, I'll never know -- she died, in all likelihood, an early victim of his cruelty. But I never used to think of that. From two to twenty I was a loyal apprentice and a trusting pawn. I was raised to believe in what my father called ideals, and I never questioned his methods. Until I met Nora Pillahr."
Music was playing at the end of the dirt-paved street, and someone was
laughing. Then their party entered the sunlit square, and the music and
laughter stopped. He regretted that, vaguely. The people gathered, who had been
dancing, singing, and eating, froze as though petrified. A bouquet of flowers,
tossed into the air, fell down in the dust, unheeded. A portly old man in
shabby but festive clothing stepped forward to address them.
"You are welcome to our celebration," he said, arms outstretched, but his
smile was too clearly strained.
His father said something in reply, the cool, smooth voice quiet, but
hinting at steel. It was nothing new, and he did not listen to the words.
Instead, his eyes were drawn to a young woman, hardly older than himself, who
stood still as a statue in the middle of the square.
She had been dancing. One arm was still raised in an aborted motion, the
fingers gracefully curved, and her gauzy skirts were still settling about her
bare ankles. The open, clear-cut face was almost preternaturally composed,
pleasant, though not beautiful. What held his attention were the eyes, wide and
blue, which were holding his with unsettling steadiness.
In them was fading laughter, shock, fear, but, above all, deep, nauseated
revulsion.
Meanwhile, his father had finished speaking. There was no trace of a
smile, strained or otherwise, on the old man's face now.
"It's not true," he entreated, square, callused hands folded together in
supplication. "I swear, I didn't do it! I give you my word!"
His father smiled slowly, savoring the moment, letting dawn just the
tiniest sliver of hope before crushing it beneath his boot heel. "Your word?"
he said. "And what use to me is the word of a traitor?"
The young woman rushed forward then, the unsettling blue eyes blazing.
"My father isn't a traitor! He'd never get involved with dirty, rotten
scum like you, not even to oppose you!"
"Nora!" cried the old man belatedly, catching her arm.
"No, father! Does he think that just because he spends all his pathetic
life in plotting and scheming, that everyone must do so as well?"
"Enough, my dear," said Belius. "You have ceased being amusing. And just for
that little tirade, you will have the honor of watching them all die before
you. Shall your -- father, is it? -- be first, then?" His gun circled casually.
"Or perhaps this nice young man over here? Why, I do believe we've stumbled
onto a wedding -- is this by any chance the bridegroom?"
"No..." the girl breathed, recoiling, and then, more emphatically, "No!
I'll...I'll do whatever you want, if you spare them."
His father laughed, a sound that surprised him by its ugliness. "Foolish
girl! What could you possibly have to offer me?"
She froze, clearly without an answer to satisfy him.
"My dear," said his father very gently, "Don't you know that it's rude
not to answer when someone asks you a question?"
With no warning, the weapon in his hand jerked to the side and struck the
side of her face. As she bit back a cry, the gun swung back to the old man, and
a finger came to rest firmly on the trigger.
The movement did not escape her. She turned and darted forward, startling
him, and grabbed his lapels with her small hands in desperation.
"Will you let that man do this?" she queried anxiously. " Will you be an
accomplice to a massacre?"
"Miss," he said with all the coldness he could muster, though unable to
shake the disconcerting feeling that this wasn't quite what he wished to say,
"'That man's my father, and I am willing to support whatever he decides."
The girl called Nora fell back, furiously wiping her palms on the bright
fabric of her skirt.
"Coward," she flung at him. "Monster."
And a coward he perhaps was, because he was forced to look away and not
watch her face as his father pressed the trigger.
Once. Again.
"Peter! NO!"
"Finish this, Agents," said the chill, cultured voice, and did not change
when it added, "Come, Alexander."
"Father?" He looked up, shaking -- why?
"What is it?" Perhaps a hint of impatience.
"That man, Pillahr, was he truly a traitor?"
"Truly?" His father pantomimed deep thought. "Do you know, I'm not
entirely certain. Well, he will certainly never get the chance now, and neither
will his neighbors."
"You aren't certain?"
"Ah, Alexander." He brushed past him, already laying the matter aside.
"Someday you'll understand."
More shots. The girl was screaming, an unearthly, horrible sound that he
would often hear repeated in his nightmares.
He clung to the nearest doorframe in the most inconspicuous way possible,
and prayed that someday would never come.
It was not hard to make the decision, once provided with such a catalyst.
"Agent," he said to the nearest black-uniformed man, "Leave the blond
girl. I wish her for my..." Oh God... "Private amusement."
"Sir?" The man turned towards him, and he provided what he hoped was a
convincing conspiratorial smirk. "Oh, yes, sir."
She was, by that point, the only one he could have saved. Cold comfort.
The Agents ambled away, lured by the promise of food and plunder, and he was
left alone in the mockingly sunny square.
He needed to get her away from there before his father saw her, so,
talking as soothingly as he could manage, he took her away from the village and
into the woods. She had been silent during the journey, unresisting to the
guiding grip of his arm, her eyes staring ahead blankly. When they reached a
secluded clearing and he chose to stop, she subsided to the ground, shivering violently.
"Miss...Nora?" he began. She looked up and shuddered, backing away. "I
don't mean you any harm," he added desperately.
She crouched like a cornered animal, her face hidden by the disarranged
mass of her hair. For a moment, she said nothing, then a shrill, hysterical
laugh broke the silence and her hands clenched together tightly.
"Don't mean me any harm!? My Gods, how much more could you
possibly harm me?"
"I...I'm sorry."
"Sorry?" She made the word a curse, and flew at him, clawing for his face.
"I could kill you with my bare hands!"
He could only barely hold her off, in spite of all his training, while
screaming, "But it wasn't me! I didn't want to kill your family!"
"I didn't see you stopping them," she snarled.
"How could I? My first loyalty is to my father!"
"Then, perhaps," Nora said with soft devastation, "You ought to
reconsider where your loyalties lie."
And so he had.
It was hard to remember, afterwards, whether he had first found Lyara or
she had found him. She was simply there one day, blazing auburn hair and fiery
eyes, and, above all, burning ambition.
"We'll beat those b*******," she would say, punching the air, "And then
step in to fill the power vacuum. We'll run things better!"
She had been the one to shape their first hazy ideas into a coherent
organization, but after a short while he had joined in eagerly, riding from sea
to sea, quietly recruiting the dissatisfied. Nora had been too traumatized to
do much -- it took time, and much coaxing, before she could speak to him civilly,
still more before she was able to convert her grief and anger into action. But
after that, it had never surfaced again.
He had heard from a freed prisoner one day that, when asked casually
about that promising boy, his son, Belius had denied the existence of any such.
"I have no son," he had said, "that I would acknowledge."
For some time after he finished, Lillian stood silent, worrying her lower lip and gazing at the setting sun with unseen eyes. Then she laid a tentative hand on his arm and said softly,
"Don't blame yourself."
Alexander gave a mirthless laugh. "How can I not? My life is no more than one ignorant blunder after another."
"And whose life isn't? Certainly not mine! But we are here all the same."
His eyes looking down at her held growing wonder. "Yes," he said. "We are here."
He bent his head and kissed her then, a kiss of more promise than passion, which nevertheless served the seal the bond that had been forged between them.
Hands linked, they turned to watch the last of the sunset before going down to rejoin their people, knowing that soon a new day would dawn.
The End
© 2001 Copyright held by the author.