Page 56 of Lorran
“There is much to be done today and I want you near me at all times,” Lorran said.
Wyn
Day four in space: find a naked alien out the back door doing his morning yoga.
Yeah.
On one hand, yowzah. He wasn’t joking about his dick being noteworthy. It hung there like a club. On the other hand, who does that? Just hangs out in the buff. They might be technically married and maybe kissed once or twice, but they didn’t know each other like that.
And Lorran looked so damn happy just sitting in a puddle of sun like a cat. Well, a panther or leopard or some flavor of large murder cat, not like a regular kitty cat. As gorgeous as he was—Wyn couldn’t deny that he fit the traditionally attractive mold to perfection—it wasn’t gross or perverse. He just was.
Wyn didn’t think she’d ever be comfortable just being uncovered, tits out and flaunting what her momma gave her. She wondered if the lack of modesty was a Mahdfel thing or a Lorran thing.
He wanted to get a dog together—a space dog or whatever. Bringing another life into their relationship felt too big. How could they be responsible for another living being when they barely knew each other?
True to his prediction, Mylomon arrived, and they went off to take a gander at the shuttle. While Lorran and Mylomon inspected the shuttle for visible damage, Wyn found a flight of stone steps that went to the top of the grass-covered buildings.
“Do not stray far,” Lorran cautioned.
From the top, the sun sparkled on the open ocean. A steady breeze did its best to make a mess of her hair. It was a gorgeous view, with new spring greenery all around and salt in the air. Her vantage point overlooked the two Mahdfel men while they removed external paneling from the shuttle. Periodically, Lorran looked up to check on her. If she had any concern about the shuttle sticking out like a sore thumb when they were meant to be lying low, the dull gray of the shuttle blended in with the gray concrete.
Huh. So that design choice served a purpose and wasn’t a tragic lack of inspiration.
Well, that showed her about being a design snob. She wanted to remember all these details to tell her mother and Sonia when they eventually got back to civilization and a working network connection.
Seated on a stone block worn with age, she took out what supplies she had: a block of watercolor paper, a travel paint box and a brush. Sketching would have been easier, but for the first time since she could remember, she needed to hold a paintbrush.
She opened the watercolor paint box for the first time in years. Years. She half expected moths to come fluttering out. The cakes had dried and shriveled in the pan. Poor things. Still, nothing moisture couldn’t fix.
Using a water brush pen, she dabbed the brush into the green and gave a gentle squeeze to get the water flowing. She made test swatches, reacquainting herself with the feel of the brush. Soon, she had a page filled with the same swirling design she always doodled in a rainbow of colors.
The sun burned away the lingering cloud cover, and the air warmed. The men ventured into buildings and returned with mechanical parts that had seen better days. The buildings were a mix of mechanical garages and supply storage. Their conversation drifted up to her ears. She caught snatches of “I’m not an engineer,” and, “That is what videos on the network are for,” and, most alarmingly, “A hammer will make it fit.”
Wyn had a feeling they would be there for a few days.
At some point, Lorran removed his shirt. His back muscles flexed as he hauled out boxes and crates from the supply storeroom. A complex pattern of tattoos spread across his shoulders and down his arms. The sunlight washed out the lavender in his complexion, making the black tattoos more prominent still.
He stretched slowly, raising his arms above his head, and lowering, giving a heck of a gun show. It wasn’t her imagination when he turned her way and winked.
Impossible man.
Wyn frowned because he was such a shameless flirt. However, when she focused on the workbook in her lap, a smile crept up on her.
Saavi and Mikah came out to check on progress. Saavi seemed remote, almost uninterested, but she burned her husband the day before. Wyn wasn’t one to judge.
Mikah, however, seemed fascinated by Lorran and Mylomon’s efforts, peppering them with questions about the shuttle, the parts, the tools they used, and even the boots they wore. He especially seemed fascinated with Mylomon.
“Why don’t you have any clan markings? Do you not have a clan?”
“I do,” Mylomon answered gruffly.
“It’s fine if you don’t. My father does not. Did not. I do not.” Mikah picked up every tool Mylomon set down, turning it over in his hands. “When I am older, do you think I can join yours?”
“There will always be a place for an honorable warrior.”
Wyn grabbed a fresh page and roughly sketched out the scene in pencil. She painted in broad strokes of gray and purple, knowing she could always add finer details once the paper dried. In the moment, she felt invisible binds slipping away as muscle memory moved the brush. She loved this so much, adding a drop of paint and watching it spread as water moved across the page.
She captured the sky, a strange grayish-green where it met the landscape. Far away, the tall grasses were unnervingly similar to regular grass from Earth. Closer inspection showed her pink fronds, deep purple striation, and even a cluster that was a deep green at the base and faded to a neon pink.
