The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

She wanted to Sing the images into an indelible memory.
    (Come up to the dry cave before you catch a chill,) Amaranth said from the lip of the high opening in the cliff. (Autumn is full upon us. The rain is cold.)
    She danced in a circle for the sheer joy of being alive, of bonding with a precious flywacket, of knowing Televarn’s love.
    Maybe she should climb up to the cave and spend some time with Amaranth before returning to Televarn in the lean-to. Amaranth couldn’t fly yet. His wing was still bruised bone deep. One of the fish in her basket was for him.
    I must return to Televarn. The thought inserted itself into her mind, blocking the idea of climbing up to the cave where Amaranth waited for her.
    (He lies to you. He is not worthy of you,) Amaranth reminded her.
    “Come to me, Amaranth. We’ll dance in the rain together. I’ll take you to Televarn.” She held out her arm to the flywacket, not certain why it suddenly seemed important that Amaranth be in Televarn’s arms.
    (I do not trust him.) The flywacket turned his back on her, retreating deeper into the cave.
    Myri held out one of the fish as an enticement, suddenly anxious for her familiar to come to her. Come to Televarn.
    Amaranth ignored her and the fish.
    A blast of cold air against her face told Myri of the rapidly advancing squall. She resumed her run for the shelter of the lean-to before the rain drenched her.
    Amaranth’s continued rejection of her lover darkened her mood. Televarn promised her a home and family. The voices that had sent her east promised only a home. Couldn’t Amaranth see how important the beautiful man was to her? To them both.
    I have to love Televarn. She couldn’t question the need deep inside her to love him without hesitation.
    Her stomach growled, and she laughed at the ridiculous noise.
    “Come in out of the rain, cherbein. ” Televarn tugged at her arm from beneath the driftwood angled against the cliff where it curved into the headland. Amaranth’s cave was well above them and closer to the opposite headland, commanding a full view of the curved beach.
    Their bed of moss and grass sprawled across the center of the shelter, inviting her to stretch out there with Televarn at her side. A small fire burned brightly against the cliff at the back of the lean-to.
    She laughed again at the pleasure his touch gave her. As his arms folded around her, she traced the shiny embroidery on his vest, delighting in the symmetrical design. She continued laughing in delight at the beautiful contrast of the silver and gold against stark black.
    “I don’t understand you, Myri. You laugh at everything. I thought witchwomen were supposed to be solemn, predicting doom and gloom.” He dropped her hand and retreated to the warmth of the fire.
    Some of Myri’s joy deflated with the separation he put between them. If she had climbed up to the cave, Amaranth would have warmed her and showed his contentment with his purr.
    Don’t think about leaving Televarn, ever.
    “Witchwomen are women first. We laugh. We cry. And we love like any other woman.” She placed her basket of fish beside the entrance and knelt on the bed next to him. “Mostly we love life and the men who give it meaning.” She kissed the side of his neck.
    He enfolded her in his arms. The fierceness of his grip startled her. Usually he was more gentle and teasing in his passion.
    “What would I do without you, Myrilandel? My life began the moment I opened my eyes and saw you bending over me, your black cat cradled against your shoulder.” He continued to hold her close. “All my life before that, my family, my travels, my other lovers, are all meaningless without you.”
    Myri’s muscles twitched with the unaccustomed stillness of remaining in one position so long. Gently she wedged her hands between them.
    “I need to cook the fish. Did you find any of the wavebulbs to go with them?” She squirmed for release.
    Televarn dropped his arms from her body slowly as if he were reluctant to let go.
    “I’m getting tired of fish and wavebulbs. We’ve eaten nothing else for weeks.” He sighed heavily as he reached for his own rush basket. “My mouth waters for bread and meat and yampion roots.”
    Myri examined the five wavebulbs inside the basket, looking for soft spots where rot would make them inedible. The green globes were all fresh and ripe. They had dense skins that would roast to a delicious tenderness. The thick liquid inside, bitingly bitter when