W&W " Dawn On The Plains"

I remember it was not long past dawn; the sky was a clear and singing violet, the sun hidden behind grey strips of clouds edged with blood-red and crisp gold. I remember thinking that I'd never felt more happy or alive in my life.

Me and Carson were out on the Long Plains some fifteen miles from the tribal outpost, riding together. Sometimes racing, though that would usually be my sudden choice, occasional spurts of competition that sent me rocketing to pass him.

He'd kinda gotten over his fear that I couldn't control my motorcycle. For one thing, the low rolling hills were nothing like the concrete and asphalt that had scared him spitless in Berkeley. Even if I *did* fall off, it was unlikely I'd get hurt unless I forgot how to tuck and roll. And I sure wouldn't run into traffic. There were occasional copses of trees, and I mighta run into them if I'd been full up of Blue Death, but I was sober as a judge, I swear.

In fact I hadn't even had breakfast, because some big, mischief-eyed kid had yanked me from bed and insisted on an early-morning "canter". Since Carson usually slept in and could bite your head right off if you tried to poke him awake before he was ready, my private suspicion was that he'd wanted to vacate the tent before Smitty could appear with any boring tribal war business for him to wrestle with. And what can I say? I went with him gladly.

I was grandstanding some, of course. Barreling over small hills, doing wheelies when it seemed safe. And racing him, as I said. Honestly racing, with true competition boiling through my blood. The early morning air was cold and bracing; once awake, I was as full of energy as if I'd been slugging down mugs of coffee. The fact was, he'd been silly enough to mention that the sight of me riding reckless, gunslinger style, aroused him incredibly despite his fear that I'd do something stupid and get injured. So I was a tad horny too, and enjoyed teasing him up. Just from the glimmer of his eyes as he watched me, I could tell it was working.

Yeh, I was frankly showing off. Because I intended to win this game, in a number of ways. I wanted to rouse him enough until he just lost all that warrior control and *had* to jump me. I could barely wait.

Part of the reason for all that show-off, aside from my jackass capabilities and the pure fun of stirring him up, was that his warbeast scared the crap outta me and I needed to act very brave to counter that in my own mind. Brimstone and I had never gotten along. I called the damn thing "Butthead", and I almost think the creature knew what I meant and resented it.

A warbeast, ya'see, wasn't the same as a horse---not that I got along with horses either. But this was even worse; a blend of warhorse, panther, and large snake. It was a thing not an animal in my humble opinion. It had been created by a shaman of mind-numbing level, far higher than Smitty; and it was my suspicion the guy had mysteriously dropped dead soon after his "success". Creating a mount that ate raw meat instead of grain struck this boy as pretty fucking stupid on an inventor's part, no matter how smashing it might be in battle. I mean, newborns always come out hungry, right?

Only Carson rated high enough to get such a steed, and thank God for that I say. Although I wished they'd given the damn thing to someone a few tribes down the road instead of my main man, at least there was only one of the bastards in existence.

And I guess it was an honor, and no doubt the beast kicked ass in real battle, but damn! Every time it rolled its wickedly intelligent, flame-filled eyes at me I caught myself swallowing hard and wishing for a gun.

It moved like a large cat. It was fanged like a serpent. And it was as smart as I was; smarter, I sometimes thought---which thought I didn't like at all.

My boy and I were still at emotion-touch level, and that not consistent. For some reason, the total sweep of being woven in each other's mind, that glorious full communion of soul and thought we'd shared in near-magicless Berkeley, hadn't re-invented itself in Khesh. It made zero sense, but there it was. Except for occasional gestalt glimpses and what I got through elf senses, mind meld had not occurred. And Smitty'd damn near promised me!

Well, there's no point in even denying the fact that for a variety of reasons me and this misbred horse of his were insanely jealous of each other and vied like a pair of lovesick teenagers for Carson's attention.

The one thing I wanted to do now was outrun it. And so I was trying like all hell to imitate a human rocket. Our honeymoon was over, but Carse and I still had excuses to be together. We had to learn to ride in sync; I had to train to keep up with him. On a street bike, it woulda been no problem. But a triple or 750 was just too heavy for this terrain; they would be sure to bog down somewhere and my ass would be stuck all to hell, probably right in the middle of a honking big battle where I was needed. No, I had to work with the lighter, less powerful but more maneuverable dirt bikes here, right when I woulda enjoyed cranking it up and just showing that misbegotten nag my heels.

Because let me tell you, Butthead did its level best to leave me far behind whenever Carson's attention slipped. Its best was pretty fucking good, too. The damn thing could go from zero to long gone in ten seconds flat. But mainly---to my smirking enjoyment---my boy made it behave. He at least kept in mind that the whole point was us learning to hang together, not some competition thing. He was the only grown-up of the three of us, I admit it.

My guess of when Do'nar and Asher would arrive, by the way, had been a miss. I never was good at scrying, and to tell the truth, I had pretty much decided all my worries, fears, and visions about the end of our world were so much horseshit. Or at the least pretty exaggerated. It had been three days since I felt them coming, and they still weren't here.

I'd tossed off concern for them, put them outta my mind actually. Do'nar, I trusted. He would handle Asher if there was a problem. And I have to admit, I sometimes wondered if there WAS a problem with the guy at all, or if it had just been jealousy on my part and nothing else beyond us being two people that just didn't like each other. Maybe it was just as simple and silly as that?

Us Northern barbarians were beating up those Southern farts fairly handily. Of course they outnumbered us and we suffered losses, but they hadn't been able to break through the other tribes yet, and with the vicious offensive Carson planned about two weeks from now, I thought we might have a chance.

There were a ton of Southerners, granted, but their regimentation and obsessive, fear-bred loyalty to the Fatherland made them the opposite of good warriors. Even if their training hadn't been slap-dash compared to the Tribes' lifetime of battle readiness, they simply had no flexibility, and not a smidgen of honor either. They were brave when attacking in packs, but counted as individual warriors, they stunk, and if they started to lose they quickly panicked and ran, superior numbers or not. They were, in a word, lousy soldiers when compared to the brawling, loud-mouthed tribesmen to whom "war" was a way of life.

The Easterners hadn't even made a play yet, but I understood the power of my magic now and was betting I could counter whatever they threw at us of sorcery, or at least slow it down. In any case, what good would worrying about it do me? When the time came I'd do my best and hope it would be enough.

Now there were more important things to concentrate on. Now my lover---my fierce, beautiful lover---rode with me. It seemed more vital somehow, than all the war in the land.

His hair flew long and free as he galloped, kicking the obnoxious warbeast into a fast gliding run that was indeed a challenge even for a Kawasaki. I gunned the bike and took off after him, caught up, started to pass him.

As I slowly pulled ahead I focused on the beauty of Carson's strangely graceful hands controlling the reins, his powerful legs gripping the beast itself. I forgot to watch where I was going, and hit a small whoop-de-doo without even seeing it.

I lost control as I flew up in the air, and me and the bike parted company. A thing bound to happen, when you're barreling along at some fifty miles an hour perving after your boyfriend instead of watching the road. I was glad I knew enough to throw myself as far from the bike as possible instead of clinging to it, but still I felt like a damn fool.

But then he was there, I got the wild impression of him skidding the warbeast in close, flinging off in near desperation. "Keith!" His voice was wild, and I answered quickly before his worry could escalate to panic. Damn, where did he get this silly idea that I was gonna break in pieces if he didn't keep a good eye on me?

Crouching over me, yelling in my face. The strong vein-corded hands I'd admired on his reins were now gripping my upper arms, and I swallowed hard at the sheer strength of him.

"I'm not hurt. Just stop." My voice was a little husky. I was sprawled out on my ass looking up at him, and suddenly I was feeling no pain at all, even though his fingers were biting into me. My eyes drifted to those calloused fingers, tracing the dark silky hair that furred them lightly. Artist's hands, warrior's hands. Creating, and killing, and now holding me hard. What a dichotomy.

Hard? Oh, you bet I was. Suddenly and completely just dribbling with raw lust from a hand-grip. Yup, the wizards were definitely the braniacs in this tribe; cool, calm, logical and collected. Just like me.

He stared down at me for a few long seconds, dangerous, overwhelming. Then he knelt, silently. Oh, I loved him like this, huge and all mine and fucking kneeling. Screw thinking. It was over-rated anyway. And there was no doubt he'd already noticed me drooling.

I managed to wobble to my knees as well. He didn't get up. Just studied me, tilting his head as I rose, with eyes suddenly gone intensely, darkly blue. Even darker colors swirled behind the blue, like ghosts of storm. "Mad fool," he said softly, in a deep voice the night could have envied.

The early morning air was chill as hell on my admittedly sore ass, as I simply unlaced my leathers, dropped the pants, and leaned towards him. "Enough fuckin' talk," I said elegantly. "Lose the clothes, warchief. We missed the morning wake-up boink, but this is even better. Healthier. Out in the open air and shit."

Talk about piffle---I'm a boy who loves the sleepy rich luxury of a wake-up in deep furs with his mouth on mine and his hand comfortably between my legs, toasty warm and totally self-indulgent. In fact you'd think that this "open air" would be wilting my sudden hard-on and sending me for cover, but the sight and feel of him looming over me had turned me ravenous for whatever reason. There was something about falling practically under his beast's feet, too, that turned me on in a dark and loony way.

I sure didn't fight the feeling. I knew by now that all the sex drive between us was part of the reason we'd been brought here, a raising of power-type thing. Given all men are randy, but we did it often enough to stun even the sex-crazed Riders.

I'd actually talked it over with Smitty once, which proved that I was really worried about the matter. "It's not just sex, dammit, you know I care for him. But I feel kinda inhuman here. Everytime I look at him I---"

"McIntyre. Trust me---it's only normal." She tried hard not to laugh and failed miserably. It pissed me off, but I forged ahead anyway. I had to tell someone.

"Fuck you, normal! It's not only studying his ass or his crotch! I look at his hairline, the way those tattoos cup his cheeks, his Adam's apple moving for cryin' out loud! I've gotten hard lookin' at his feet, and I've always found feet the dead opposite of sexy! Smitty, what's going on here? Is there some kinda anti-sex potion I can take? Lord, I never thought I'd ask this in a million years, but even I only got so much energy!"

"McIntyre, you really will complain about anything, won't you? " Her snarky grin faded a bit, then, and she said softly, "You're not just a pervert, trust me---although I'm sure that's part of it. Sex equals magic in this world, kiddo. And apparently, just judging from what's between you two---"

"Just enjoy it, McIntyre. Don't fight it; go with the flow. Think of it as raising power for what you'll need to do here. And from what you guys share, your project is gonna be HUGE."

Now, though, I was finding her words very intelligent. Go with the flow. I could see my maddened lust flare back at me from Carson's eyes as he watched me fumbling with my upper clothes, but instead of jumping me or joining me in attempted nudity he just touched my hand lightly. "Stand up," he instructed softly. He hadn't made a move to even throw back his riding cloak!

He dodged easily, barely moving. "You are a sex fiend," he interrupted annoyingly, eyes bright. What was this? Our mind-link might be faulty, but there were other ways to check that he wanted this as much as me.

"Sex, hell. I just wanna please you," I attempted to bullshit him grandly. "Show you what I feel for you by giving you my body, oh love of my life." So will you take it already before I freeze my nuts off? Have I grown warts or what?

"As fine a definition of 'sex' as I've ever heard," he snarked, and I heard myself growl impatiently. I wanted him to knock *me* down and go for it, but if it had to be the other way around---!

"No. *I* want to," he brushed my protest aside with an arrogant but hungry softness. "Stand up. Now. You managed to win by cheating, and my bet must be paid even if it was a fall that threw you ahead of me."

I looked towards where he jerked his head slightly and sure as shit, my bike had continued on without me far enough to cross our usual finish line, a grouping of three trees that marked the border of Rider land from the haunts of the Lost River boys. Butthead looked mad enough to pop, and I grinned at the nag insultingly.

I then studied Carson's face and felt a smirk growing on mine. I cut short my next remark, something stupid about going and seeing if any of the tribal warriors would be interested in my ass since he obviously wasn't. So this would be his game? Well, I was definitely ready to table my own ideas and play ball, especially since he'd won our first couple racing sessions and I'D had to pay up, big-time.

My boy soon took care of that discomfort, surging up slightly to wrap one cloaked arm around my hind end as his mouth found the front parts of me, warm and sexy and very very moist. Oh, jeez---was he good at this!

Carson was *not* a subservient type, I hasten to say. But he was never meant to boss people around, either; he was more reserved than anything and being Mr. Boss just got on his nerves. But sometimes, those nerves could be calmed for whatever reason by just going down on me until I turned from a demanding prick to a little whimpering pile of mush begging for mercy. We weren't married to top/bottom roles at all in any event, but for some reason it really gave Carson a charge to do me like this. Maybe he knew it totally unknit my bones to see and feel him taking me in, making me helpless?

Because however it looked, when Carson blew me I was definitely NOT the one in control. Me, with my bones melting and my brain stir-fried with the intoxication of feeling it, seeing him down on his knees to me? I was more his boy-toy when he chose to have me for lunch than in any other of the games we played, simply because I totally lost it. And he knew it, the prick!

Maybe part of it was the sheer knowledge that this proud, deadly creature would never kneel this way, touch anyone else this way ever. I was his boy. And nothing proved it like this.

Moments happen and then pass; you gather the happy ones, the incredible ones, and inscribe them in your memory. I would hold the memory of this dangerous creature kneeling to me, smiling wickedly before he tasted me, through days of future hell.

"I'm gonna take you home after this," I warned him breathlessly before he went to work and I had no mind left. "I will strip you naked and tongue-fuck every scar you have. And then I'll be picking up pieces of you, warrior-boy, and sellin' them to the highest fuckin' bidder. Your most important part goes to Sun Eagle, cause I know you love that intellectual giant."

"Touch yourself for me," I begged him half-way through, in a voice that even to me sounded crazy with need. He obliged me without stopping what his mouth was doing. The cowardly bastard wasn't prepared to come out in the cold and so he just fondled his prominent erection through his leathers but combined with his mouth the sight was enough for this boy.

I twined my fingers through that dark hair as I came. Maybe not the grand orgasm as done through elf senses; a spasm of sheer ecstasy without the light show. But good, so good. I staggered a little, then looked down at his lazily pleased face and snorted weakly. "Great. You get me off in zero-degree weather and don't even bother to shed a boot.. Animal."

"I bite cheaters," my lover said, so pleasantly I had to laugh. "And you had best get your pants on, wizard. You are turning blue and sprouting goose bumps in many interesting places. An unattractive sight."

I gave him the finger as I fumbled my pants back up. Christ! My hands were slow with cold, and the chilled leather sliding back up my iced-over ass wasn't a pleasant feeling at first. "Screw you, Carson. Unattractive sight---now I know all your compliments are horse-shit."

The bastard gently helped me the rest of the way into my britches, gathered up the jacket from the ground and helped me into that as well. Then said quietly, "Oh, your beauty arouses me----but not for the reason you think. I never loved you for your looks only. You know this."

"Yeh, yeh," I agreed rather testily. I never felt comfortable when he slipped from tease into a serious mood, because usually that meant he was gonna say something embarrassing. "So you always tell me. And I admit that on Earth I wasn't really a hottie, just your average hairy freak." Would my agreement shut him up? Hell, no, why did I even expect it to?

He looked at me gravely. "That is my point. I love what you are, and what you can be." His smile then was evil. "But it is more than pleasant, in this world, to see your looks reflecting your spirit and your deeds, lanisha. Your outer self begins to match what's inside you, don't you see? Some tribesmen think you conceited, but I know better; I know that however your ego seems to swell, you never believe in yourself enough. And now the Land is showing the error of this thinking. You are greater than you know, or want to believe." His voice had grown very soft, muted thunder, the lowest tone of a bass guitar that's felt more than heard. "You ask why I paint you. It is so you can see yourself as you *are* now, instead of as you think you are."

"Holy horseshit, you come up with the weirdest crap, Carson!" I spouted nervously. "It's just the turning-elf thing. All elves are pretty!" I don't know why his deduction frankly scared me shitless. I'd had nearly the same thought about the changes in Carson, but me!

I remembered seeing myself through his eyes in the grip of elf senses. His battle angel, he called me later; and yes, that reflection of "me" had seemed fierce and exotic, a blazing presence of power in the rainbow night. But that was just his perception, dammit! Had to be.

He was watching my expression carefully. "You loved me when I was lost and helpless; you loved me through all the changes into something hopefully better. Can you deny what I feel so strongly? Can you not admit the same things work for both of us?"

"No." I didn't want to live up to what Carson was thinking. He was always seeing me as a hero, the blithering ass! He put me on pedestals beyond belief and I trembled at the thought of falling from heights I had no desire to be at anyway. It would take all the courage I had to give myself to Carson's god. I wanted no part of anything more complicated. And I couldn't, couldn't explain to Carson about that scenario. If he didn't already know I wasn't gonna tell him.

I pulled away from him as he watched me lace up. "Carson, get this straight. I am not what you think I am, I am way more frivolous. Know what I want most, for example? To finish this damn war as soon as possible, so I can have fun again. I'm hoping it'll be over by winter, because judging from the autumns here, winter is gonna be one mean motherfucker. And when winter happens, I'm gonna be pestering Do'nar to craft you and me some skis or snowboards. That's my high priority now; having fun, learning to ski! So don't you be thinking I'm all noble and shit!" I ran for my downed bike with determination.

"Race you," I tossed over my shoulder as he silently stared at me, understanding more than my words. This conversation was over as far as I was concerned.

I thought he sighed a little, as he rose to his feet and went to mount the glaring Butthead. I stuck my tongue out at the horse-thing and it lifted a lip and growled back at me. It hadn't enjoyed watching me get my rocks off with Carson one teeny tiny bit. It looked like it wouldn't mind eating me alive, and not in the pleasant way I'd just experienced.

"I wasn't here then to heal 'em, was I? A poor boy does what he can, to make amends. I'll keep the promise. Of course, I'll expect you to fuck me silly in return. Don't think you're keeping that erection under wraps till Christmas, Mr. Self-Control."

His eyes sparkled as he leaped gracefully onto his beast---and considering the erection in question, grace was a real accomplishment. Merciless prick. Oh, don't get me wrong, there's nothing finer than a good blow job. But what it mainly had done was melt my innards nicely, and now I wanted him inside me so much I coulda rolled over and begged for it. Matter of fact, I guess I was doing just that. "Goddammit anyway!" I swore, disgusted.

"You are the soul of romance," he observed sweetly, just to tick me off. I slammed the bike into life and ripped out inches away from the obnoxious warbeast, doing a small wheelie just to show them both.

If he'd been alone, Do'nar would had hopped off with his bottle and settled his rump comfortably to enjoy the show until it finished, leaving Battle Hammer, his warsteed, to guard his back from intruders. In fact, most Tribal warriors would glory in the sight of their Warchief and his Bonded enjoying each other in such a way. Riders saw nothing shameful in sex, and were somewhat voyeuristic by nature, and since Nightwolf had chosen to make his Bonded happy outside the tent walls----

Well, he might be irritated if he discovered a cheering audience, but he'd have to admit he'd pretty much asked for it, lovemaking in the middle of the grass like that. A man with privacy on his mind would have taken it to the nearest grove of trees or back to his own tent.

Although Do'nar would bet money this little encounter was that hellspawn Firehawk's idea. Not that the sexy little shit would need to be too persuasive,

Do'nar was as nosy and gossipy as any other Rider, but probably he would keep this sight to himself for awhile, because it struck a deep chord in him beyond the fun of spying. The sight of his friend and war-chief---this formerly ice-bitter, lonely man---laughing and carefree as he embraced the plague of a wizard---ah, that made Do'nar feel curiously warm inside. Of course seeing a performance like this was arousing too, but there was more to it than that.

It was good for the Land, Do'nar thought, that the heroes of prophecy shared feelings and not just bodies. And he admitted, damn it, that he was a sentimental old fool who welcomed the sight of his two best friends getting along so well finally.

The man's face had lost all expression, and it was so pale you could mistake him for one of those vampire fellows rumored to live in a city far beyond Jewelfoam Ocean.

Embarrassed, Do'nar could only hem and haw, then voice some balderdash he didn't believe about the two men deserving their privacy. He kneed his horse back down the hill, and to his relief Asher followed, silent, almost wooden. Dammitall!

The War Captain harumphed a few times, then nobly dove into the big, messy pool of this awkward situation. "Er---Asher. I know you had what one might call a crush---a powerful yen, anyway---for the Warchief the last time you visited. But as you see, things have changed."

He glanced at his companion, who still seemed a little odd. Damn, the faint smile on his face now was less than pleasant, and his eyes seemed curiously empty. More like they'd been before Do'nar had gotten closer to him. The amusement had fled; they were golden mirrors, leading nowhere, reflecting nothing. Closed and arrogant again, the boy was. Shit!

"Things seem to certainly have--changed," Asher agreed finally, in a pleasant but colorless voice. "I see a miserable elf rules the Twelve Tribes now, for one thing."

"Oh, Odin's balls, it's not like that, you idjit!" Do'nar remembered to lower his bellow to a soft bark just in time. "They are madly in love, and I'm warning you as a friend to not try and get between them, or you'll regret it. The Wolf is happy for once in his life, but that doesn't change his power in the Land, or who he is!"

"Damn right, as a friend! A friend who'll be the first to trounce your ass if you think of bothering Nightwolf OR his Bonded with this, this fixation of yours. You're not the first nor probably the last young warrior to find the Nightwolf attractive." Do'nar's voice softened, grew kinder. "He's powerful, some would say beautiful, when the battle-magic is on him and his god is there to help him slay."

"He's beautiful whether in battle or not, even on his knees at that flame-rat's whim!"" Asher snapped, then looked as if he wished he'd kept his mouth shut. But his eyes were at least "present", not turned inward. And the look they bent on Do'nar was molten fury.

Do'nar, having faced down many of his Warchief's dirtiest looks, was fairly unimpressed. "I knew it! Boy, it's not your fault. I'm a ladies' man myself,

But even I have felt a stir watching the Dark Rider in a battle-frenzy. And yes, outside of it too he is more than glorious. As for the elven sprite he loves, by the gods! I've cut down my consumption of Blue Death around him, he's enough to stir me against my own inclinations! And you believing what you saw a sign of weakness in the Wolf, or contempt from his Bonded---gahh! What do these Rangers teach of sex, anyway? Bunch of silly sheep!"

"He's nothing but a slut---ouch!" Asher's furious hiss was cut off by fingers of steel digging into the meaty part of his arm and squeezing hard enough to shock him silent.

"My point," Do'nar said in a pleasant voice that belied his merciless grip, "Is that those two are madly in love with each other. You have the sense to see that; there can be no denial. And the wizard may be too beautiful to be taken seriously at first glance, but he's no slut. You know him less well than you should, so I'll forgive your remarks and not be parting your hair with a axe-blow. But don't use the word in my hearing again. I've been friends with Firehawk longer than with you, Sir Kaine. Remember it."

"You're right. I apologize. I do wish the, the Nightwolf had chosen me. And I'm so jealous of that, I'd call anyone a slut who was with him. Even if he or she was the dullest, plainest creature on earth, which the elf definitely isn't."

Some of the dry amusement was back in Asher's voice, which relieved Do'nar as much as the remark. The boy wasn't trying to lie at least, say he felt no desire for the Wolf nor jealousy toward his Bonded.

"And I---damn! I've maybe grown up a little since last year, because despite all I'm---glad---that the Wolf has found joy. Back then, it seemed to me that he was the unhappiest person I'd ever met in my life, even including myself."

"It's my opinion you meant what you said," Do'nar said keenly, studying his bewildered face. "Come now; confess. Your comfortable tale of being saved and adopted by the kindly Rangers was nothing more than moonshine and fond wishes, wasn't it? What really happened to you? I'll inform you right now I know a little about those tree-lovers from my readings. I can easily believe they'd ride a score of miles to save a rabbit caught in a trap, but a human being? It would be a miracle in my book!"

Asher had gone even paler; he sat his ruined, decorative horse as if he might fall off it any second. His eyes were downcast; his breath for a moment as labored as the horse's.

Do'nar was about to urge him again when he began to speak, in a low, toneless voice that seemed barely a part of himself. "You're right. I went to the Rangers later in life. I was captured by the---Southerners---when I was just a boy. I was a slave for years. I---my story is much like yours, I suppose---I remember the house---my father----I had a brother, can't remember what happened to him, or if he was even there when they attacked us. I can't remember the attack, really---can't remember where I came from. It was too long ago. And they---did things, to my thoughts."

Asher, on the other hand, seemed to go molten, or at least wildly nervous. He wouldn't look at Do'nar for some reason. "I---it almost sounds like your story, but it's coincidence! That's why I lied, I--- Southern bastards, they captured children by the scores, a thousand such stories! I---anyway, I remember a house not tents! This is senseless, for you to think---"

"You should know by now, from hanging on the end of a spider's web. Every tribe is different, in the way they live." Do'nar's voice was as uninflected as smoke, his face inscrutable. "It was houses we had, in the Storm River tribe. Our people were carpenters, boy."

Asher, strangely, was panicked enough to clamber off the horse. He was halted by Do'nar's hand on his arm as the big man also dismounted swiftly. "I've never seen a Southern mirror, by Thor! But someone told me, my eyes go golden in battle. As golden as yours. Our coloring is the same, boy. Although it's more refined and better looking on you, by thunder!"

Do'nar's voice was soft, almost worshipful. And what he said next terrified Asher , even though on some level he had maneuvered skillfully to bring this about.

"By the Gods," Do'nar whispered. "I'm not alone. I have a brother to love." He embraced the smaller man before he could squirm away. "Lyian. Forgive me, boy, for not being there to save you that day."

Asher had known sex since eighteen, had been touched many times, in many ways. But never had he been embraced like this, with love so total it was almost a force of nature. So pure, it nearly destroyed him with its innocence.

He'd expected Do'nar to cuss and rant and deny the possibility at first, not embrace it so trustingly. And once convinced, he'd expected Do'nar again to rant, blubber with emotion. Not this dignity, this quiet force of grief mingled with joy that barely touched the wretched man's eyes with tears!

Something was wrong. Because it was Asher who was beginning to sob brokenly, quite contrary to his script of restrained, manly emotion. He should be trying to console Do'nar, not the other way around!

For a moment in time, he almost was saved. He almost redeemed himself by pushing the poor idiot away and shouting "No! I planned this! I mean to destroy everything!"

He believes this---he believes in me. And why shouldn't I pretend this farce is true? I could be his lost brother. I could deny the Lady, give up the Nightwolf. Be only a relative, one of the Tribe, honored as companion---nothing more. I could pretend. I could make this fantasy real, on some level.

To get close to Do'nar, as a way to destroy the elf who had brought shame upon the man Asher desired, and shattered the image of a majestic and powerful, almost mythical being.