Page 111 of Lorran
“I swear I washed my hands. I need a nail brush,” she said.
“We will make it happen,” he replied. He had requested two magpies of his own, and Wyn had been sketching out different ideas. She wanted to leave her mark on him, but she did not want it to be a copy of her own tattoos. Lorran deserved original art.
Two for joy.
Until she settled on a design, she painted in various magpies in the bare patch on his hips, a spot only she could appreciate.
“My mate has gone to great trouble to make omelettes, which she should not because she is with child, and you are too lazy to come and appreciate her generosity,” a gruffer voice shouted.
Mene, the other brother. Along with his human mate, Rosemary, and her son from a previous relationship, Michael, Wyn had been getting to know her Sangrin dwelling in-laws. She met Seeran, Hazel, and their son, Gavran, almost immediately. Being stationed on the same ship, they often had dinner together a few times a week. Fine by Wyn. She enjoyed family time and Hazel made amazing desserts. The woman was a genius.
“Duty calls,” Lorran said, linking their arms.
* * *
“Come on.The sun is almost at the zenith,” Wyn said, dragging Sonia through the gallery’s lobby to the entrance to the sculpture garden.
“I thought this was going to be a girls’ day,” Sonia complained.
“It is.”
Sonia tossed a significant look at Lorran, who lurked three steps behind them.
“Ignore me. I am here to carry heavy items and offer no opinions,” he said, a friendly smile on his face.
Sonia blanched at the sight of his fangs.
Right. Wyn saw the problem. “Lorran, why don’t you hang back? Give us some space.”
He gestured broadly. He was three whole steps behind them.
“More space,” she clarified.
“Unacceptable. I must be present if an attack comes.”
“For crying out loud, it’s a sculpture garden,” Sonia snapped. “The worst thing that can happen is allergies kick in. Scram. I need to gossip about you, and I can’t do that if you’re listening.” She waved her hand at him in a shooing gesture.
Lorran gave Wyn a questioning look but backed away when she nodded. “It is warm. I will bring you cold beverages.”
“That sounds great,” Wyn said.
“Do not leave the grounds,” Lorran warned as he left.
“Oh my God, is he serious? He’s serious,” Sonia moaned.
Wyn shook her head fondly, thoroughly enjoying listening to Sonia’s complaints. She had some small worries about their friendship growing apart. They had never been so separated for so long. Speaking over the network wasn’t the same. It helped with the feelings of isolation and loneliness as Wyn adjusted to her new life, but it didn’t compare to wandering through the local art festival and swearing that next year they would have a booth.
From the moment Wyn spotted Sonia departing her shuttle, it was as if no time had passed. They were as they had always been, making snarky comments, referencing old jokes and complaining about a film as if they had watched it together and shared popcorn.
She wished they had longer than a day together, but she’d take what she could get.
The door to the sculpture garden slid open automatically. Wyn blinked in the bright sunlight. Lorran was right about the sameness of life on a spaceship. Same light, same ambient temperature and no breeze.
On an elevated terrace, the garden grounds sprawled out before them in a disorganized web of crushed gravel paths, flagstone, fountains, hedges and groves of tall, leafy palms. It was chaotic and a riot of sight and sound, and Wyn loved it.
Moving along the path, they passed through an archway covered in colorful, winged insects. The covering was dense enough that Wyn could not see the arch or a frame. It was as if the insects hovered in mid-air, flapping their wings in perpetual flight. She refrained from touching, but she thought they were mechanical.
“This is wonderful,” she sighed. Then, “But why a sculpture garden?”
