'Will you allow it?'
'Thou hast exposed thyself to great danger. Canst thou get back?'
'If I want to.'
'Thou must. There is nothing here for thee.'
'Let me decide that!' The youth's outburst faltered. 'Why... why do you pretend to care so much about me?'
'I-- ' she had no answer. Her concern was no pretense, but she realized that her actions and her words had been contradictory. She had changed, perhaps as much as the young ones, keeping the old disregard for death to herself, applying the new conservation of life to others. 'I do care,' she said. 'I do care about you.'
And the youth caught his breath at her use of the adult form of address. 'I've hoped for so long you might say that,' he said. 'I've wanted your love for such a long time...'
'You will only have it for a little while.'
'That is enough.'
They embraced. The old one folded her wings over him, and they sank down into the warm sand. For the first time, they touched with love and passion. As the sun struck the sharp mountains and turned the desert maroon, the old one stroked the youth and caressed his face, holding him as he began the change. The exterior alterations would be slight. The old one felt her lover's temperature rising, as his metabolism accelerated to trigger the hormonal changes.
'I feel very weak,' the youth whispered.
'That is usual. It passes.'
He relaxed within her wings.
The sun set, the land grew dim; the moons, full, rose in tandem. The stars formed a thick veil above the fliers. They lay quietly together, the old one stroking her lover to ease the tension in his muscles, helping maintain his necessary fever with the insulation of her wings. The desert grew cool with the darkness; sounds moved and scents waxed and waned with the awakening of nocturnal creatures. The world seemed more alien at night.
'Are you there?' His eyes were wide open, but the pupils were narrow slits, and the tendons in his neck stood out, strained.
'Of course.' 'I didn't know it would hurt... I'm glad you're here...'
'We all survive the passage,' she said gently. But something about this world or the changing one himself made this transition difficult.
She held him all night while he muttered and thrashed, oblivious to her presence. As dawn approached, he fell into a deep sleep, and the old one felt equally exhausted. The sun dimmed the veil of stars and warmed the fliers; the creatures that had crept around them during darkness returned to their hiding places. The old one left her lover and began to climb a dune.
* * *
When she returned, the new adult was awakening. She landed behind him; he heard her and turned. His expression changed from grief to joy.
'How do you feel?'
He rubbed his hands down the back of his neck. 'I don't know. I feel... new.'
She sat on her heels beside him. 'I was hungry afterwards,' she said. She held up a squirming pair of the reptiles. 'But I didn't have to wonder if the food would kill me.' She slashed one creature's throat. The blood was brilliant yellow, its taste as sharp as the smell. She sampled the flesh: it was succulent and strong after the mushy, flavorless meat on the ship. 'It's good.' She offered him a piece of the meat she held. 'I feel you can eat it safely.' He regarded it a moment, but took the second beast and bit through its scales and skin. It convulsed once and died.
'A clean kill,' she said. He smiled at her, and they feasted. He stood and spread his wings, catching a soft hot breeze.
'We can fly here,' the old one said. He ran a few steps and launched himself into the air. She watched him climb, astonished and delighted that he needed no assistance. He seemed unsure of distances and angles, unsteady on turns and altitude changes, but that would have improved if he had had the time. She heard him laugh with joy; he called to her.
Wishing she were still strong, she climbed the dune again and joined him. All that day they flew together; she taught him to hunt, and they fed each other; they landed and lay together in the sand.
* * *
Twilight approached.
The old one ached in every bone. She had imagined, as the air supported her, that she might somehow escape her age, but the ground dragged at her, and she trembled.
'It's time,' she said.
Her lover started as if she had struck him. He started to protest, but stopped, and slipped his wings around her. 'I will attend you.'
He walked with her up the dune, carrying the veils. At the top, he fastened the bands around her fingers and ankles. The old one spread her wings and fell into the air. She flew toward the mountains of sunrise until darkness engulfed her and the stars seemed so close that she might pull them across her shoulders. Her lover flew near.
'What will you do?'
'I'll go back to the ship.'
'That's good.'
'I may be able to persuade a few to return with me.' She thought of his loneliness, if he were refused and returned nonetheless, but she said nothing of that. 'I respect your decision.'
She climbed higher, until the air grew perceptibly thinner, but she could not fly high enough for cosmic rays to burst against her retinas. She took comfort in the clear sky and in flying, and plucked a veil from her companion. After that, he slipped them into the bands, staying near enough for danger. She felt the cold creeping in; the veils drifted about her like snow. 'Good-bye, my love,' she said. 'Do not grieve for me.'
Her senses were dimmed; she could barely hear him. 'I have no regrets, but I will grieve.' The old one stretched out her stiffening wings and flew on.
* * *
He followed her until he knew she was dead, then dropped back. She would continue to some secret grave; he wished to remember her as she had been that day.
He glided alone over the desert and in the treacherous currents of mountains' flanks, impressing the world on his mind so he could describe its beauties. At dawn, he returned to his craft. A breeze scattered tiny crystals against his ankles.
He dropped to his knees and thrust his fingers into the bright, warming sand. Scooping up a handful, he wrapped it in the last silver funeral veil and carried it with him when he departed.
Published by Alexandria Digital Literature. (http://www.alexlit.com/)
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