back, carrying fine garments.
'Your kindness is great,' Duwan said. 'Where shall I go to change.'
'Go? Are you so modest?' She smiled. 'Help him,' she ordered, and Duwan was pulled gently but insistently from the couch by the two females who, gigglingly, began to divest him of his clothing. He saw the flame red eyes narrow as his powerful chest was exposed. He felt his face grow hot as his lower garment was removed and he stood, naked, with the flame red eyes sweeping him. Then a kilt of soft, comfortable material was fastened at his waist and a loose, luxuriously made tunic pulled over his head. Elnice clapped her hands again and the two females began to serve. There was fruit and flesh and various dishes of green things and, of course, dishes made from the staple of the Devourer diet, the nuts of the tall grass.
'The meat is special,' Elnice said, as Duwan refused a serving. He looked at it in doubt, wondering if it was the flesh of a Drinker young one.
'My own hunters range far,' she said. 'This is the flesh of a grass eater and it is brought to me from far beyond the plain of Arutan. Do you have an aversion to eating flesh?'
'I do,' Duwan said. 'In my wanderings I have acquired odd tastes.' She shrugged, and the motion gave her upper body so much grace that Duwan felt a flush of pleasure.
'Then drink to new friends,' Elnice said, lifting a cup. Duwan raised his own cup. The contents smelled like the fruit juice he'd once tried, and as the female drank deeply he did the same. The taste was fruity, but there was a tang, a tartness, that he'd never experienced.
He did well by the food, for he was hungry, and the cooked dishes of green things and the bread made from the grass nut were delicious.
'Tell me now of your travels,' Elnice ordered, although her voice was soft and sweet.
To be safe, Duwan stuck to the truth, telling of the north, of the vast tracts of trees—he'd learned enough not to call them tall brothers—of the snows and the frozen lakes. His detailed account seemed to bore the female, so he paused.
'How do you like our city so far?' Elnice asked, arching her back, smiling at him.
'I am overwhelmed by the numbers,' he said, 'and by the odors of the streets.' He smiled. The fruit juice, he was finding, tasted better with each glass. A female stood behind him and filled his glass each time he emptied it.
'Do you not find it beautiful?'
He cued himself from her little frown. He was finding her to be quite transparent. If it was a compliment she wanted… 'I find, in this room, great beauty,' he said.
'Do you?' she asked. 'Is it my furniture, my works of art?'
'If I may be so bold, it is you,' he said.
'Ah.' She rose, came to take his hand. 'Come, then.' The room seem to roll as Duwan arose. She put her arm around his waist, pressed her soft, female flank against his, guided him through a doorway into a chamber which seemed, to Duwan's eyes—and there seemed to be just a little something wrong with his eyes—to be nothing much more than a huge, luxurious, covered bed.
'Since you know beauty,' she whispered, releasing him and stepping away. Duwan's eyes went wide as, in one graceful motion, she denuded herself, leaving the gown heaped on the floor. 'Make yourself comfortable,' she told him, guiding him toward the bed, pushing him down. He felt a bit odd, so he allowed this, and sat there leaning against a pile of cushions as she stepped back, and began to do things with her body that seemed almost impossible. She moved in sensuous waves, arms striking poses that showed her at her best, hips undulating. As she danced she made a low, humming sound and her fiery eyes never left his. One of the serving females came in, left a pitcher of the tangy fruit juice on a table beside the bed and, to cover his confusion, Duwan drank deeply. He was wondering what was happening to him, for he felt his body as he'd never felt it before, felt his bud point swelling.
When she came to him, swaying, a picture of such beauty that he was breathless, he made no objection as she took his kilt, his tunic, and lowered herself to him, lips to lips, bud point to bud point. He felt the heat, the moist union, felt himself extending and then entering and after that only an excitement that made his brain spin and his blood race. That it was his first grafting was lost to him, for his movements were instinctive, and as he rolled, putting his weight on the female whose beautiful face was pressed to his, as he knew her bodily juices with his mouth and that other part of himself, she was making that soft, humming sound that, to his ears, was the most pleasant noise he'd ever heard. They lay, joined deeply, the after-pleasures coursing through their bodies. Duwan slept, and so skilled was the female that when he awoke, in darkness, she still held him within her and the fire rose up in his blood again so that she was awakened and began that low, musical hum of satisfaction.
With the light of day, with his brain pushing against his skull in painful throbs, he wept quietly as Elnice of Arutan still held him within her and, his mind clear, if pained, he knew what he had done.
'Alning,' he whispered. 'Ah, Alning.' The sound roused her and, to his shame, her lips, her arms, her movements kept him there.
