"We're really stuck here, aren't we?"
Vyrathion follows my gaze."You are, certainly. For the moment."
"And if the rain doesn't stop?"
He frowns up at the ceiling of piled branches. "Do you think it won’t?"
I glance at him. "It usually stops. Sooner or later."
"How much later?" he asks with a hint of thoughtfulness.
"In the jungle? Storms usually stop after a few hours. Sometimes they go on."
He nods. “The rain isn’t a problem for me, other than as humiliation, which is bad enough. Nor is the river. I could walk from here to the shore on the bottom. It would be immensely degrading and horrific, but I could.”
“Because you don’t need to breathe. Not really.”
He shakes his head. “Your kind has all these needs. Air. Shelter. Food. Water, but not too much water. I only have one need.”
I nod. “Gold.”
“Yes.” He glares out the opening at the dark rain outside, mutters something under his breath about spells and returns his attention to the storm.
“I hope you’ll stay,” I say. “Even if you can leave anytime you want.”
He doesn’t reply.
For a while silence settles over the shelter again. It's not an uncomfortable silence. That's what surprises me most.
When I first met Vyrathion, every conversation felt like a negotiation with a dangerous animal. Now we can sit together without speaking, listening to rain hammer the leaves that make out the roof while the river rages around us.
The realization should probably concern me. Instead it feels strangely natural. Perhaps that's why it takes me so long to notice how close we're sitting.
The shelter doesn't allow much personal space. At first I'd been too tired and wet to think about it. Now that everything hascalmed down, I become aware of details I'd rather not notice. The warmth coming from him.
The steady rhythm of his breathing, which he doesn’t really need.
The scent, dry and spicy and perfectly male. The hair, golden and shiny, even now.
Everything about him feels larger than life. Larger than the shelter. Larger than the island. Larger than the storm itself.
And somehow we're sharing the same cramped space.
I shift my legs, trying to get comfortable. My shoulder brushes his arm. The contact lasts only a moment, but for some reason it feels much longer.
I focus very intently on the opposite wall and it becomes a remarkably interesting wall.
Beside me, Vyrathion shifts as well. When I risk a glance in his direction, I discover that he's looking at me. His eyes drift toward me, then away again. Each time they linger a little longer.
The pattern repeats often enough that eventually I can't ignore it anymore.
For several minutes I pretend not to notice while trying to determine what he's thinking. That turns out to be impossible. Understanding Vyrathion is like trying to understand a thunderstorm.
Finally I turn. "Vyrathion, why do you keep looking at me?"
His expression immediately becomes neutral. "I am not looking."
"I think you are."
