Though his eyes swam in darkness like blind fish, his consciousness lingered. He wondered if he was heavy or light, for he no longer knew; he wondered if Eurilda still clutched his bootstraps or was dead and dashed under a goblin heel; he wondered if Eurilda cut away shadow as easily as a body's weight; he wondered if Inglefras used him as contemptuously as she talked of others; he wondered why he hadn't wed Kuilea, who was more than willing, and unrestricted in marrying a brother by hospitality. If Kuilea was not a good person, she was loyal, devoted, clever, and all other things good in a wife. As Khyte was not good either, she suited him more than many.
When Khyte's vision cleared, he stayed on the grass, not wanting to black out again. Like dreams, his wonderings vanished in the light of the Abyss. Inglefras snored loudly, her head sprawled on his shoulder. Neither seeing nor hearing Eurilda, he lifted his pounding head, and through clouding eyes saw that her tiny arms pinched his boots so hard that they creased the suede.
As the giantess was now less than a hand's breadth, he could crush her skull between thumb and forefinger if he believed her up to no good. When he tensed so hard as to become rigid, he realized Eurilda still had a hold on him, and though it wasn't as compelling and inexplicable as the dryad's, it was absolute in its own terms.
Still meditative, his thoughts turned to Azuri; as Eurilda was now a fraction of her former height, was the pocketed elf now an ant's size, or too minuscule for the human eye? Moreover, when she fought as a giant on the tower roof, was Azuri, at some larger fraction of himself, dangling from her belt over the battling elves? How small could the sorceress shrink someone by making them the cargo of someone else who was shrunk, and so on, into infinity?
"Are you going to lie there all day?" Huiln was still in the glitzy robes he wore as a consultant to the Bankers Capital Building: a light green robe with embroidered tabard, gold-plated helm, and epaulets.
"Huiln," said Khyte, "meet Inglefras."
"We've met," said Huiln, "which you know."
"Inglefras is an excellent teacher, so I know a great deal," said Khyte. "She's an open book on many subjects, including promiscuity, and any words for which the dryads have a vacancy in their language, which has been a little tedious. In this case, the dryad word closest in meaning to promiscuity is their word for love. So, yes, I've learned a great deal from your princess, or should I say our princess, for while you would have her belong to you, she's given herself to many, and right now she's giving herself to me."
"Khyte, you missed your calling," said Huiln. "Given the right subject, you're a professor." The goblin picked Eurilda off Huiln's boot with a look of distaste, and with the other hand helped Khyte up.
"Traveling is a classroom," said Khyte, "a laboratory, and a large storeroom of examples. Also, learning Alfyrian, Nahurian, and Uenarakian has made me more conscious of how I speak and think. Though you're changing the subject, I'll oblige you, as I prefer a wandering conversation to rambling up and down Kreona." Khyte stooped and picked up the sleeping Inglefras. His strong feelings for the dryad, best described as energized affection, had not diminished with her unconsciousness.
When Huiln looked at Khyte as if he grew another nose, the young barbarian realized he was speaking as he thought, not as he pretended. The shock of the day's adventures, and his bewitchment by one witch or another, dispelled his backwater facade, and the true Khyte, the articulate intellectual contrary to his savage type, surfaced. As he could no longer submerge the personality that piqued the dryad's interest, his friends would have to learn his true face.
"I have many questions, professor," said Huiln. "I'd like to see your decision to subvert our plan as a logical proof. Then let's have a sidebar about how your instruction might satisfy a Kuilea who is too agitated for words."
As if his daydream was restaged, Khyte glimpsed his earlier wonderings about why he hadn't married Kuilea, but they evaporated under observation, leaving him only with undefinable regret. "Though I'm sorry for upsetting you, Huiln, in our adventures we've often had to read people and situations, and change plans to escape the inevitable."
"I understand feeling which way the wind blows, because I was tempted to turn you in for Merculo's reward of three million gold chiochyens. That's enough incentive to overcome the considerations of family, friendship, and House. I've already had a half-dozen of the sickest spawn of the House of Hwarn pressing social calls this morning, and also Veirana, though she had the grace to feign concern for your safety."
"Veirana? I thought she liked me?"
"In the event one of these fine ladies also feigns, I'll abridge that wise tautology of your tribe: a dog in heat is still a dog. We're not out of the woods yet, which means more plans you won't stick to."
"This one is still in the trees," said Khyte, indicating the sleeping Inglefras; in the trees was a Drydanan idiom for dreaming. "And I'd like to join her."
Though Huiln had traveled to Khyte's world, he only knew this phrase in the literal sense. "There are beds made and fires stoked, but if you'd rather go for a hike..."
Khyte was so exhausted that his laugh and smile muscles were too slack to string his mirth. "Show me to my bed, Master of Hwarn."
Khyte's next unmuddled thought came the next morning, halfway through his breakfast of black coffee, khlern eggs, gurteta patties, and sweet rolls. Until that moment—his mouth warm with a gulp of coffee and the fork halfway to his mouth—he had forgotten the previous day, and even then it was more mud than memory. "Where's what's-her-name?" When Kuilea did not answer, he fell to shoveling food and hoisting his mug like a well bucket to coffee-blast the fog out of his head.
"You mean the Sixth World?" the goblin woman said. "That took you in her orbit? Or did you forget my name? Since you didn't have a second thought for me yesterday, the progress of your disease might wither your first thought of me today."
Khyte was not awake enough to reply in kind. "Pass the coffee. And sugar." When she ignored him, he half-stood to grab them for himself.
After his third cup, he said, "where's Inglefras?"
"Oh, her. She woke with the flowers and the tree blossoms."
Folding the huge Extra of The Kreonan House Journal that obscured his end of the table, Huiln said, "the real question is what to do with both of you." He pushed the newspaper over to Khyte.
Unlike a regular edition, which was printed in twelve columns of absurdly tiny font, that day's edition was in six columns, each topped with angry headlines that Khyte may have considered concerning had he not known that they concerned him. Since the headlines did concern him, they seemed farcical: the presumptive TERRORISTS INVADE CASTLE, the factual SIX COURTIERS KILLED, the misleading KING COLLAPSES UNDER THREAT OF DEATH, and the worryingly accurate OFFWORLDERS PLOT TO KIDNAP PRINCESS INGLEFRAS.
When Huiln read the first article aloud, Khyte stooped laughing. The writer made the very excellent point that the Princess Inglefras, having been under the King's roof, was family by law, with a conferred status on the Goblin World no less than a Countess, and hence Khyte was not only an assassin, a murderer and a thief, but far from being considered a rescuer, was a kidnapper, a conspirator against the succession to the throne, and given House Hwarn's relation to the king, an usurper. It was hard to feel like a hero in the face of the red hot press accusing him of being a kidnapping assassin.
Huiln continued, "turning you in would be my duty if I was a patriot, and my pleasure if I was grubbing for the reward. As Kreonans are greedy patriots as a general rule, you had better take care."
"I know you're enjoying this, but we both know you won't sell us out." While Khyte was by no means so certain, he felt he knew Huiln well enough to think that money, not Inglefras, would push his goblin brother over the edge.
"Before we plan a single step, all facts should be on the table. Also, Eurilda has not yet awakened."
"She has" said Eurilda, though two back to back yawns stretched the 'has' as she stumbled to the table. The sorceress had taken a goblin's height, and was dressed in some of Kuilea's bedclothes. "Forgive me for eavesdropping, but you're a loud, obnoxious family, and your voices carry. My first proposal is that Khyte stays, since with or without us he does as he wills."
This challenge to Khyte's participation in the rescue was less troubling than the sight of Eurilda in Kuilea's bedclothes. If his goblin sister and the sorceress had commiserated, the subject of said commiseration was likely a certain wayward barbarian, whose heart was even more wayward than his feet.
"Having anticipated that sentiment," said Huiln, "I talked to our dryad, who won't have anything to do with a plan not including Khyte."
"Of course," said Kuilea.
"I wouldn't expect it otherwise," said Eurilda. The women shared a sneer and joined in an ugly laugh, and though the giantess was the fairer of the two, her chortle was monstrous, seeming to bellow from her actual lungs, not the miniature. Which is not to say that the goblin woman laughed like a lady, but with a sharp scowl that would have cut the manhood from Khyte if it could, and very nearly did.
"Are you finished?" asked Khyte.
"I wasn't laughing. Moreover, I'm at least half-serious," said Huiln.
"I was deadly serious," said Kuilea.
"While we're being serious," said Khyte, "there's only one route left. With the gates and walls guarded and the embassy under Merculo's heel, both Mount Irutak and the Alfyrian Ladder are out of reach."
"Though you mentioned another course of action," said Huiln, "I didn't hear one."
"Lay low until the guards become less vigilant."
"Then you need a better hiding place, because Merculo will want blood, and order his guards to search every house in Kreona."
"How long do we have?" Inglefras's eye blossoms were bright, and all the floral designs on her blouse had bloomed, accentuating her wide awake look. Though there were two open seats, Inglefras leaned on the back of Khyte's chair, her hands nestling in his hair like orchids. He couldn't help feeling the rightness of this, despite Eurilda and Kuilea's glares and Huiln's sudden fascination with the wallpaper pattern.
"We should leave after breakfast," said Huiln.
"If you trust me, and promise to keep my secret," said Eurilda, "instead of seeking safe haven, we can flee to Ielnarona."
"As that sounds promising," said Huiln, "my promise you shall have."
"As those clever words mask not a promise, but a promise to promise," said the giantess, "I insist that you swear."
"I swear," said Huiln.
"I'm not happy with the double meaning there either," said Eurilda, "as aside from present company, goblins are known foul-mouths."
"They were your own words! Fine. I promise."
"I also promise, if my life is not on the line," said Khyte.
"Not good enough," said Eurilda. "As revealing this secret risks us all, you must swear on pain of death."
"Swear it, Khyte," said Inglefras.
"Though I'm reluctant without knowing the secret our lives shield, I promise."
When Kuilea and Inglefras agreed to secrecy, Eurilda continued. "Do you remember my argument on ancient catacombs under The Five Worlds? Not only was that not speculation, but I did not need Huiln to confirm their existence, and only allowed him to go so you might accept my previous plan. You see, I visited these catacombs and many others."
She paused to drink. "The catacomb builders left a more useful artifact: a network of doorways through which one can pass to other catacombs, even those on opposing worlds."
"You travel on Baugn," said Khyte. "I've ridden with you."
"While I enjoyed your company on those recreational journeys, nine times out of ten my business carries me through the doorways."
"You used one this time to arrive ahead of me, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"So you lied when you said only giant sorcerers are travelers?"
"A day before that you believed all giants are sorcerers. You tiny-brained humans like the taste of lies better than the truth. To keep the secret of the doorways, we encourage your belief that only our size-changing sorcerers may travel between worlds by Baugn. Not long ago, it was true."
"Until yesterday, it made sense of the facts as I knew them, though considering how much you despise Alfyrians and their ladders, I wondered if giants had adopted some variation on the elves' fiendish device."
"Are the doorways wooden, metal, or stone?" interrupted Inglefras.
Eurilda said, "though we call them doorways, they look little like their namesake. These gashes in the subterranean rock exude steam and light."
"We call them Furrows," said Inglefras. "We discovered ours when defending our root network from vermin. Since nothing we've thrown through has returned, the Great One won't permit us to send a dryad—not even a seed."
"By things, you mean dirt, sticks, rocks, and other debris."
"You found what we threw."
"We've cleaned up your message, yes."
"Sorry for the trouble," said Inglefras with a tinkling laugh.
"I can guess the plan" said Huiln. "you'll lead us to the Furrow that brought you here."
"Don't use that untidy word. As nothing ever grew in them, despite the dryads' idiot attentions, they're obviously not Furrows. Meanwhile, giants use them every day as Doorways."
"Is that your plan if we agree to call it a Doorway?"
"Yes, that's my plan," said Eurilda.
"Where is it?" asked Khyte.
"Wouldn't you like to know," said Eurilda.
When this set off a commotion of shouting, so that Khyte couldn't distinguish what anyone said, Inglefras whispered in Khyte's ear and turned to the door. Eurilda and Kuilea stopped yelling, and allowed their glares to cut after the dryad on her way through the exit.
"...and that's why," continued Huiln in a softer tone, "you must entrust the location to one other. We would be in a bad way if something happened to you—not that I suggest anything untoward should or will happen to you, you understand."
"No, I don't," said Eurilda, "but before you explain yourself, I want you to tell us what Inglefras said." Though responding to the goblin, she looked straight at Khyte.
"How should I know?" asked Huiln.
"I was asking your brother," the giantess said sweetly.
"Sure, I'll tell you," said Khyte, "when you tell us where The Furrow is."
"I'll pretend you said Doorway," said Eurilda, "and return Inglefras myself."
"Inglefras doesn't trust you," he said. "She doesn't even like you. Taking her from us by force would be in vain if she tells her mother an unflattering tale that paints you as an abductor, not a rescuer."
"What if I care not for her royal goodwill? I'm no obsequious human that must hope for reward; with a princess in hand, and the advantage of my giantish and sorcerous might, why not ransom her? Unless you concoct a richer stratagem, you are all unnecessary, as only I know the Doorway's location."
Huiln said, "knowing it exists, we'll deduce its location."
"Given luck and common sense, neither of which you inherited."
"By Inglefras's estimation, you're the weakest link, Eurilda," said Khyte. Though not its usual target, he was familiar with Eurilda's crushing glare, as it was bestowed on everyone the giantess regarded as unworthy—a category easily extended to pests of every variety. "Nothing personal. I know you're strong. But the dryad picks those she prefers." Through long practice he had learned the combination of flattery and reasonableness that could keep him off the menu of her voracious contempt.
"Very well," she said. "Once I tell you, you will tell me what Inglefras whispered."
"It's private business, but if that's the price, I'll pay it."
"Neighboring the Bankers' Capital Building is a cultural district in which lies The Fair Well, an art gallery and winery; its bottom-most wine cellar conceals a secret crevice open to the catacombs. Not an eighth of a mile down those winding corridors is a room inscribed on every stone surface with ancient lettering, as well as the first Doorway we discovered. To be fair, we must credit a guest of a gallery reception, a drunken lout who wandered into the wine cellars, lost himself in the catacombs, and fell through the Doorway to Uenarak, where we mocked his unbelievable story and locked him up as a spy. When my master Otoka sent me to confirm his story, I found the Doorway, and passed through to Nahure."
"When you said giants discovered them," said Khyte, "you did not mention it was you. Is this why you ask us to call them not Furrows, but Doorways?"
"Who better than I to name them?"
"For one," said Huiln, "that poor goblin."
"Why would we honor a spy?"
"Because he's not a spy!" snapped Huiln.
"Perhaps not, but should we honor a drunken oaf with a discovery of this magnitude?"
"You can't lock up a drunk for that long!"
"It's only been four months. Inglefras enjoyed Merculo's hospitality for longer." Eurilda turned to Khyte. "It's your turn to give me an answer."
"I'm not satisfied yet," said Khyte. "though as misdirection, your story was diverting. You told us how this Furrow joins Uenarak to Kreona, not how to return Inglefras to Ielnarona."
"While some Doorways are unidirectional," said Eurilda, her teeth gritted, "others have controls."
"Levers, pulleys, wheels, or buttons?" asked Huiln.
"None of the above. The controllers resemble knives, though their unearthly metal shines only with the gray radiation of the Doorway, and seem to be a phenomenon so indissolubly paired that they are irremovable from the Doorway chamber. When the first would-be thief lost fingers in the attempt, my fellow giants, priding themselves on their cleverness, tried many times thereafter, with the cleverest suffering loss of limb or life, and the strongest exhausted from wrestling the ancient metal. Not matter the stratagem or force employed, the dagger stops at the entrance as if pinned to the spot, resists all might and wit until let go, then clatters to the stone. The knife cleaves through any imaginable container in its efforts to remain in the room, splitting backpacks, chests, and even a clam shell contrived from two joined breast plates that occasioned the first death, as its confident inventor was both dumbstruck and struck dead when the insistent weapon wrenched through its cage of armor. Once we accepted we must study it in the Doorway chamber, Otoka the Wise determined that the knife steered the Doorway's eye from one World to the next, and that each scribble on the walls corresponds to a different city of The Five Worlds."
"This likely means," said Khyte, "that the Furrow under Kreona once had its own knife, as you mentioned writing on the walls."
"While I'm impressed by your attention to my story," said Eurilda, "and it is very likely, we can't assume that from the facts."
"You've already assumed it," said Khyte. "You expect to take Inglefras through this Furrow to Uenerak, where we'll use the controller to travel to Ielnarona."
"I assumed nothing. I'm so skeptical of our chances that I would happily pick another way that did not risk all our lives," said Eurilda.
"While getting through Kreona's outside wall, scaling Mount Irutak, and finding enough Baugn for all of us is riskier than traveling a few blocks to The Fair Well, trusting you is even riskier."
"What have I done to deserve you, Khyte?"
"Why does it matter? We make this decision as a group. I'll ask Inglefras for her opinion on the matter." He pushed back his chair and stood up from the table.
"You're forgetting something."
"No, I promised to tell you. But there's no reason for everyone to know." And he stooped to whisper in Eurilda's ear. The giantess' face became red, and as Khyte couldn't guess whether this signified embarrassment, shame, or rage, he realized he may never have known her very well. As any of those three were likely, Khyte felt some trepidation and waited for Eurilda's reaction.
"I should have expected," she said, "You've always been an expert climber."
Khyte might have blushed, had sword-master Iulf not drilled shock, anger and recklessness out, and 'rest, repose, and readiness' into him. "Never show your mind," said Iulf. "Your face is your second shield." Ten years later, Khyte couldn't take off the mask. Though her words were no doubt calculated with as much deadly aim as any spell in her arsenal,
pity echoed in his unloving heart when he caught the intent skulking behind the insult—she wasn't here to satisfy Otoka's directive, but her desire to reclaim ownership of Khyte. Though he felt some sympathy for the monster, he felt not sorrow but skittishness, for she had once told him that though they were lovers, he was neither friend nor peer, but a pet, her comfort creature.
Here was an excellent opportunity to keep up his image as The Idiot in his circle of acquaintances with some off the cuff non sequitur, but he refrained from speaking when he noticed tears on not only Eurilda's cheeks, but Kuilea's. Though the goblin woman could not have overheard Khyte's whisper, she had surely inferred it.
"Can I talk to you, Khyte?" asked Huiln in a conciliatory tone.
"Of course, brother." They walked out of the dining room into the main hall, toward the library, sitting room, and game room. "What did you want to say?"
"Nothing, You needed a pretext for an exit." The goblin had a warm smile and a rust red sparkle to his eye that reminded Khyte of Inglefras.
"You don't care?" asked Khyte.
"I don't own her, and you're both family now. I hope you enjoy each other."
Khyte silently cursed, then thanked, the insane traditions of goblin hospitality; while it meant he wouldn't fight Huiln over Inglefras, it took some of the fire from his loins to know that one of the dryad's lovers cheered him on. Moreover, Huiln played the part of the procurer, going so far as to expedite their tryst. "Thank you," said Khyte. His voice raised at the end, unsure whether to add a question mark, an exclamation point, or a sober period. "Huiln, before you go..."
"Yes, brother?"
"If we're magicked, don't hold today against me."
"So you think we're enchanted? I doubt it, Khyte. We're both still acting according to nature. When I talk backwards, breathe water, or eat metal tacks, I'll worry about being enchanted."
"While that should sound sensible, my senses and the perimeter of my thoughts are a blur of excess. Nothing seems sane and everything seems reasonable."
"As I barely know who you are today, Khyte, I'd believe you to be enchanted, as to hear you expound so on sense and thought is like seeing fish fly up a wall. That said, to ease your doubts, I'll only ask that if you were the Khyte of two days ago, that had just alighted and descended Mt. Irutak—would you bed Inglefras?"
"In a heartbeat, but not one heartbeat after the fact of it happening, and that's the problem. This indescribably binding attraction wraps my feelings in unending orbit around the most otherworldly being I've found in five worlds."
When the door opened, Inglefras leaned on it like a sensual vine. "Why do you dally, Khyte?" It was as if Merculo's demure captive had escaped her rescuers as well, and left a sultry double. She continued, "My other suitors are respectful and prompt. Handsomeness and grace without kindness are like a running deer."
Khyte was surprised to hear the Drydanan proverb on her lips.
"What does that mean?" asked Huiln.
"Good night, Huiln," she said, clasped Khyte's hand, pulled him in, and closed the door.
Huiln had given Inglefras Khyte's old room. While it was bedecked not only with Lord Hwarn's furs and linens, but with tapestry and gold plated lamps Huiln took from the reading room in his zeal to decorate it, Khyte recognized it from his memories of creature comforts he once shared with Kuilea.
She pulled Khyte down on a quilted divan. On a small coffee table was a decanter of brandy, but only one snifter. When he supposed that dryads do not drink, he laughed, remembering Sarin Gelf's outre joke about dryad absinthe; while only a few days ago, that epochal moment started this adventure, and Khyte felt immensely grateful to the fat merchant, who had been, whether in on it or not, instrumental in introducing Khyte to Inglefras.
"How do you know that idiom?" asked Khyte.
"Is it so strange? The Drydanan tongue is a young language, but it has more poetry than that of dryads. At times I envy humans their strength of expression. Deer don't run for the sake of it, but when in rut or pursued by hunter or predator. And a handsome and graceful man without kindness is begging to be shot."
"That's the gist. Have you visited Drydana?"
"Not me, but this one has stories nonetheless. As we dryads adore the hunt, I would have much in common with your tribe. Would they like me?"
Khyte said, "no man would object to your presence unless they object to joy or beauty. Can you adore the hunt, when nature is sacred to dryads?"
"And you know so much of dryads, Khyte. While nature is sacred, so is the hunt, as Nature and the hunt are one. The basest animals eat plants, superior animals eat the basest animals, and plants, feeding on all bodies through the soil, are at the top of nature's pecking order. It is very exciting, though, to watch humans shed the blood of animals or, when a hunt goes awry, to watch the animal gore a human. Wars between humans or goblins or Alfyrians are even more exciting, I imagine, although I've only seen wars among dryads. But unless you have a war to share with me in our trip to Drydana, I will be happy with watching you hunt a boar or a bear."
"Were you acting timid when I killed Merculo's courtiers?"
"That's an impudent question."
"I thought we were being honest with each other. Impudent is something you call your valet, not someone you've invited to help you get undressed."
"How can I require help getting dressed or undressed, when I'm already naked? What you think is my nightgown is simply myself—an efflorescence I can expand or contract or change color to create different fashions."
Though Khyte took a hard look, he saw only hems and lines of a dress. Could it be true? His curiosity and desire were inflamed. He leaned forward and ran his hand over the shoulder of her gown, only to find no difference from the feathery soft texture of her upper arm, all of it as soft as a chick's down. "You're warm."
"You were expecting me to be cool, like a tree?"
"Well, yes."
"This body you see walks, runs, laughs, and does all things humans do,"--here, her hand cupped his manhood--"so how could it not be warm blooded?"
Though Khyte wished to plunge into the dryad's warm blooded heat more than anything, his curiosity bridled this desire with uncharacteristic restraint. He must have more answers.
"Dryads are warm blooded?"
"It isn't that simple, Khyte, but you will learn more on Ielnarona."
"I don't like mysteries and secrets," said Khyte. "I like knowing the battlefield and winning the prize."
"You have a dryad mind. We also prize knowledge above all else."
"I didn't say that. I love a payday above all else."
"Aren't my charms enough for you?" When she pouted, then leaned in to Khyte, her exhalation was a transfixing, narcotic aroma of cherries, oranges, and cinnamon. When the kiss began, he ended, as if their pressed lips devolved into an intertwined impulse, a simple organism with a briefer life than a mayfly. This loss of consciousness that most call love was delicious to Khyte, who had never surrendered his soul like this, whether in a first kiss, or the lovemaking that followed.
His excitation was incensed as his hands wandered the silky garment to disclose only nakedness and floral fantasy. As his penetrating hands denuded the dryad's illusion, she grabbed his wrists, but after a minute, released them, then covered his insinuating fingers with her own; when his hands roamed to where she wanted, she rooted her hands in his hair. When his desire built to its peak, he carried her to the bed.
"Why are you still dressed?"
"My clothes aren't an illusion."
"But I don't want to see them."
"I'll make them invisible," he said, then stripped off his hauberk and dropped his pants.
"That was quick," she laughed. "Are you a wizard?"
"Here's a magic trick for you." He crawled into bed. "And there's nothing in my sleeves, which are on the floor."
In Khyte's prior lovemaking, he worked himself into an enervating frenzy, after which he felt spent and traveled, but never contented or having arrived. Eurilda—his first—intimidated him with her eagerness and frankness, which he knew now stemmed from the contempt of a certain knowledge that she was greater, as the witch and giant dwarfed him in many ways. With Kuilea, love was a transaction that made her greater and him lesser, and he prolonged her affectionate feast until there was nothing left to give. In loving Inglefras, their limbs commingled in a gliding, sensuous coupling, and hers was the softest, most delicious flesh his manhood ever tasted, reminding him of a perfect peach, that split effortlessly from the pit to melt in one's mouth, and leave you far from slaked, but tantalized and wanting another. And if that day and night of lovemaking was a bag of ripe peaches, Khyte helped himself to all of them, which left him wondering, as he lay in bed aglow while Inglefras slept, if he had ever truly lusted.