'Forgive me,' Duwan said. 'I have much to ponder.' Jai broke up the fallen limb and placed some of it on the fire. From a distance came the warm, sweet smell of rain. 'We will have a wet camp tonight,' she said.
Duwan had not spread his sleep covering. Jai lifted his pack and began to unfold the material. Duwan remained silent, staring into the flickering flames, as she used dead sticks to form the covering into a canopy.
'There,' she said, 'you will sleep dry.' A patter of large drops made a soft murmur on the trees. It was a whispering grove, and the distant, sighing communications of ancient Drinkers mixed in Duwan's mind with the sound of the wind, the patter of raindrops. Then the storm was upon them. Jai cringed with the flash and rumble of it, and the rain penetrated the overhead foliage and began to wet them. Duwan, aroused from his thoughts, crawled underneath the canopy. Jai sat huddled by the hissing fire as it fought to survive in the increasing rainfall.
'Come,' Duwan said, motioning to her to join him. She came gladly, curled herself, being careful not to touch him.
'You will have a wet backside,' Duwan said, with a chuckle, as he observed that her rear protruded into the rain. She moved closer to him and they touched.
'Forgive me,' she whispered, drawing back.
'Come,' he said, putting his hand on her waist to pull her into cover. She edged closer, felt his body heat on her flank.
She was shivering. He could feel it as his arm lay loosely across her waist. 'You're cold,' he said.
'Yes, Master,' she whispered, although her shivering was not from cold.
'We must think about getting some proper clothing,' he said.
'Yes, Master,' she whispered.
'Give me your back,' he said, pushing her into turning onto her side. 'I will warm you.' He pulled her to him, spoon fashion, and held her tightly with his arm. 'Better?'
'Thank you, Master,' she said.
'It is time we made something clear,' he said. 'You are no longer a slave. No one is your master. It does not please me to be called master.'
'Yes,' she said, still shivering. Then, to distract her mind from his closeness, 'If you will kill animals I can make us garments from their fur. I have never done it, but I noted that the women of the runners wore such garments and perhaps I can learn to make them.'
'We will not take life,' he said.
'As you will it,' she said.
'You're still cold?'
'Yes.' Then, after a pause, 'No.'
'No?'
'Your touch—the feel of your body—'
Duwan felt his face grow warm. He started to push her away, but did not. 'These things affect you?'
'You are very beautiful, Mas—' She paused. 'Do you feel it?'
'I feel the warmth of you,' he said.
'Shall I make you feel more?'
'This is a newness to me,' he said. 'I cannot will the heat of ripeness.'
'Ah,' she said.
'And you, is the feeling of ripeness with you always?'
'Not always.'
