“I see,” he purred, and kissed her there, sending a spark of delight to her abdomen. Her eyes fluttered closed as he trailed stinging kisses along her jaw, each one leaving a warm echo, and her hands sought to tangle themselves in his hair. And all the while his fingers brushed languidly over her skin. Finally he claimed her mouth. His kiss, in contrast to his gentle fingers, was urgent, seeking. Yenni moaned and squirmed, and he nudged his big thigh between her legs as if he knew she needed to feel something, anything there. The sheets whispered and crinkled as she undulated against him.

He broke off the kiss only to graze his lips along her cheek, up to her ear. “Yenni,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

“Yes, Weh-sheh?”

“If we continue like this, I will make love to you.”

“Yes, Weh-sheh.”

He paused, then rolled them both so that he was on top of her, resting on his forearms. His hair made a curtain around them, flashing violet in the flickering light. He nuzzled her nose with his before touching his forehead to hers. “You’re sure?”

She loved him, and the Sha had given their blessing. “I am sure.”

The smile he gave her could only be described as wicked. “Well, great golden sky turtles,” he said, making her laugh. But his thigh was still against her, and he moved it as he took her mouth, sliding his tongue in to meet hers. And she was no longer laughing.

Yenni sighed, wonderfully content. She turned to Weysh and smiled, wondering how he could sleep, sprawled out and snoring, while every last inch of her body tingled and buzzed with sensory memory. She slipped from the bed, pulling on Weysh’s nightshirt against the room’s chill, and went back to the little desk by the window to finish her letter.

The words poured out of her in a long and constant stream as she explained the nature of the attacks, her new position as a professor, and her observations about Cresh and its people. But at last she ran out of things to say, and it came time to tell them about Weysh. She grabbed the pendant of the necklace he’d given her—she’d taken to wearing it at all times—and though her pencil shook in her hands, she made herself write.