We stay on the platform for a while, naked and primitive and happy, just lying in each other’s arms with the stars above us and the whole world far away.
“I love you,” I state, just in case I hadn’t made it clear.
“And I love you,” Brank’ox replies. “It is a joyous feeling.”
I don’t even have to answer, I’m so relaxed. I just rub my cheek on his bare, firm upper arm.
“Let’s just stay here,” I suggest on impulse. “We can start the village you talked about. We’re halfway there already.”
“Agreed.”
“I mean, we have a totem pole. What more do we need?”
“Nothing more is needed,” he rumbles.
“Just the two of us and the totem pole. That’s all. Oh, and we have something nobody else has.”
“How very true. Only our village has a Dolly.”
“Okay, two things.”
“A Dolly and a Brank’ox?”
“Fine. Three things.”
“And the Factory, of course.”
“Grrr. Four things. Now will you stop?”
He thinks about it. “No.”
I gape over one huge arm muscle and gently bite it. I guess he brings out the natural savage in me. “Such a stubborn man! So, the thing I had in mind was your music. Nobody else has that.”
“Lucky them.”
“No, lucky us. Come on, my love. Make this great night perfect. We can sleep out here tonight, right? I don’t think it’s going to rain, and I just love this starry sky. The beams and stuff up there will keep the irox from getting to us. This time we have furs, too.”
“We’ll sleep out in the open as much as we can,” Brank’ox decides and takes his harp out of its pouch, quickly assembling it.
“We will,” I agree, getting comfortable as close to him as possible without impeding his playing.
He begins playing, and the strange, otherworldly tones start filling the balmy air.
There’s no particular melody; he’s pretty much choosing strings at random. But this is his music. This comes straight from his mind and soul, as raw and real as he himself is. Those atonal sounds are his and will never be repeated. He makes them only for me, only for the here and now. And there’s nothing more beautiful than that.
He stops playing. “Oh, is it that bad?”
“No,” I sniffle and quickly wipe the tears. “It’s that good. Please go on.”
He does.
22
- Brank’ox -
“Let me see your harp for a moment.”
Dolly tosses a bone onto the fire and wipes her hands on a leaf.
I hand it to her. “Play it.”
“No. Only Brank’ox may play this. I just want to see.” She puts it along her forearm, as if measuring. Then she hands it back. “Okay, thanks. It’s very well made.”
I take it apart and put it back in its pouch. “It’s a very simple thing. Today I will check on the charcoal fire and see if there’s a water source closer to here. I think I can just about hear running water in the night. Very faintly, but still.”
Dolly stands up and yawns, then smiles into the morning sun. “Really? I can’t hear anything.”
“I deafened you with the harp. It was my plan all along. Stay inside here, only on the lower levels. Any… hm… need you might have can be taken care of in that far corner we agreed.”
She straightens and puts her straight hand over one eye as if shielding it from the sun. “Yes, Swordmaster!”
I stiffen, then frown and take a quick step closer to her. “Are you making fun of me?”
She gasps and backs off a little, fear in her eyes. “Yes. Sorry. I won’t—”
I grab her chin, forcing her face up and enjoying the scared look. Then I place a passionate kiss right on her mouth. “Yes, you will. Sometimes. I enjoy that.”
She relaxes and melts into the kiss, moving her mouth and little tongue in the most perfect way. “Okay. I will.”
“As long as you also do what I said.”
“Fine. Will you be long?”
“Not if I find what I seek.”
“Can you find something for me? A piece of hardwood, about this big.” She shows with her hands. “No branches or twigs, just clean wood.”
“With bark or without?”
“Without.”
“Wet or dry? Old or young? Sweet or sour? Light or dark?” I’m happy, and it makes me silly with giddiness.
She punches my arm. “Now you’re making fun of me. Good. Be safe out there.”
“Yes, Soapmaker!” I shield my eyes in the same way that she did, then turn and walk outside, into the woods, hearing her bright peals of laughter