FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Fate also smiles

Copyright 2000, Wirewolf

Cray Drygu is copyright his player

Rayanth is copyright his player

**************************

Chapter One

Living at the end of a remote country road means I seldom have strangers show up on

my doorstep. Having a job that keeps me at home most of the time means I don't get out

into society very often.

I can hear you saying to yourself that I need to 'get a life.' Thanks for the advice, but the

truth is I do have a life. And I did say 'seldom,' remember?

She was one of the exceptions. An exceptional exception, if you'll pardon my mangled

English. I could tell from the instant I first saw her that she was, well, important. I don't

mean to the world in general, but to me and my safe, predictable life. After all, fate was

something I had always snorted at, considering it the province of the 'psychic' and the

confused.

I'm not making sense, am I? Let me back up and start over.

My name is Trevor Walsh.

I live in Tennessee. I'm part of a small, tightly knit community of humans and

genemorphs who have, against the pattern of history, put aside superficial differences and

discovered that, truly, people are people. My living comes from people who don't

understand their computers. My house is empty when my two non-morphic dogs and I

are gone. If this sounds like I'm some kinds of high tech hermit, I can dispel that notion. I

have lots of friends and I don't really like to spend my whole day rattling away at a

keyboard.

Like many folks, I often get caught up in the small events of my life. Of course, when

you spend much of your time alone it's to be expected. I mean, what else is there to do?

My story starts with a prime example.

The day she appeared I was out back, getting my mower ready for the summer. It's old

and cantankerous, but I can usually convince it to run with only a screwdriver and a

wrench or two. I had been working on it for an hour or so while the dogs lazed nearby. I

was completely immersed in my tinkering. When I finally fired it up, I was gratified to see

it start. I listened to it run for a bit, then turned to Nudge, the female, and gave her the

thumbs-up. She ignored me. Her attention was focused entirely on the corner of the

house. I turned to see if there was another rabbit about to get chased from my yard.

It was one of those moments. You know, the kind that sear themselves into your

memory. She was standing there in the late morning sunshine, next to the few iris growing

by the side of the house. Her left hand was perched lightly against the wood siding, her

other arm held across her stomach. I don't remember what she was wearing that day

because I was dazzled by the muted radiance of her russet fur. The light seemed to cling

like cobwebs to her, from the tip of her left ear down to the crook of her elbow. I couldn't

help being reminded of Rebecca.

She stood there and I stood there. Luckily, my mental fog lifted and I realized she might

want to speak to me, which would be easier without the mower humming its rough,

monotone song. I killed the ignition with a practiced flip of my finger.

As the harsh mechanical drumbeat faded there was movement by her knees. Chancer,

the male, had come up beside her, curious as always. She noticed him the same time I did.

When she jumped and shrank from him, I realized she was not a 'dog person' (forgive the

expression.) Someone who dislikes or is afraid of dogs usually cannot hide it when they

are surprised by one. I didn't want her feeling threatened by my animals.

"Chancer, come!" I said firmly. He obeyed quickly. Most everyone in the valley knows

my dogs are well trained and harmless, but she was a stranger. Once he was at my side,

looking up at me for my praise, I gave him a good head rub and had him lie down.

"They're friendly to everyone," I told her. She eyed Chancer a moment.

"I need help." Her voice was soft, but I could hear a measure of confidence. "The

battery in my car is dead. I need to get into town."

I nodded, wanting to ease any concerns she might have about asking me for help. "That

won't be a problem. Where's your car?"

"At my house. Down the road."

I hesitated, and she noticed. It wasn't that I had doubts about helping her. As I said,

ours is a small community and I know everyone within a three-mile radius of my house.

She represented a change in my environment of which I hadn't been aware.

Life is change, however, and this change looked to be a good one. I wiped my hands on

the rag stuffed in my back pocket and took a few steps toward her, saying in as friendly a

voice as I could manage, "Lead the way."

I followed her around the side to the front of the house where my old truck was parked.

She walked past it. When I said, "Miss?" she stopped and looked back at me. I hesitated

again, my hand on the door of my rusting Nissan Turego. "Faster to ride," I suggested.

She thought about it, but only for a second. She headed down my short driveway on

foot. I felt myself frown.

The beautiful, nameless vulpiform turned left at the end of the drive. A hundred yards or

so in that direction, the rough paving ends at an accessway to Mr. Bennington's north

field. Usually the only traffic to go beyond my house are his tractors or combines. It was

too early to plant the usual crops of sorghum and feed corn. I must say I was intrigued as

to where she was taking me. I was also uncomfortable and embarrassed that she had

chosen to walk rather than ride the short distance with me.

Within forty yards or so of the edge of my property the road curves right. And there on

the right, just between the road and the large hill that bordered it, was a small cleared

space. Plunked down within that space, seemingly without much thought, was a small

mobile home, the kind folks often call 'tornado magnets.'

I pulled into the brief, rutted driveway beside an old Chrysler Bolo, one of the last

models to use only an internal combustion engine. I guessed it might have once been

green, but time and the weather had been very hard on the paintjob.

She watched me warily as I got out and retrieved my jumper cables. She didn't move

immediately when I said, "Pop the hood and we'll get you cranked up." When nothing

happened for a handful of moments, I told her, "I need to get to the battery on your car to

jump it off."

My new neighbor yanked open the stubborn driver's door and twisted the hood release.

The Bolo's hood jumped up with a protesting screech of rubbing sheet metal. It only took

a minute to connect her battery to one of the four batteries under the Turego's hood. I

made sure to disconnect that battery from the rest of the system before hooking up. It

wouldn't do to send a 48 volt surge through her car's 12 volt system. I felt her eyes on me

as I hooked up the two vehicles.

I stepped back and checked the connections. I told her to try starting the car. She got in

and hit the ignition. The engine turned, caught and started. Blue smoke puffed from the

back as the Bolo growled menacingly through a decaying muffler.

I quickly disconnected the cables and moved around to the driver's side. As she looked

up at me I wondered what I was seeing in her eyes. It might have been reluctant gratitude

or apprehension. My strongest impression, though, was that I was seeing surprise and

suspicion. I tried again to project non-threatening friendliness.

"By the way, my name's Trevor Walsh." I held out my hand. After a moment she took

it. The warmth of the leathery pads of her palm and fingertips seemed to draw the blood

to the surface of my skin. We both let go eagerly. Thoughts of Rebecca pulled

themselves up from their scant hiding places. I didn't want to deal with that now.

"I'm Bethin. Thank you."

I recognized the dismissal in her voice. Before I stepped away I asked, "Do you have

any jumper cables of your own?"

There was a thread of distress in her words now. I suspected it was not in having to

admit she didn't own such basic emergency equipment but in having to continue talking to

me. I'm not entirely sure what made me casually say, "Here. Keep mine until you can get

a set of your own. You might need them again." Without waiting for her to accept my

offer, I tossed them onto the seat behind her.

Back at the house the dogs were uninterested in my return. I'd only been gone a few

minutes, after all. I got out of the truck and turned as she drove by, leaving a faint blue

cloud behind. She didn't look in my direction.

I was being a fool. Any ideas of this new genemorph in the neighborhood being anything

other than a neighbor were ridiculous. She didn't seem too keen on my company, she

didn't like the dogs, and she obviously hadn't been interested in meeting me when she first

moved in. Whenever that was.

How had I missed that? Sure, I'd been gone for a week earlier in the month for those

classes on the newest microprocessors. I still should have noticed her or her car or even

the mail carrier going beyond my mailbox. And why hadn't Mr. Bennington told me he

had used some of his land to put in a trailer down the road from me?

Now I really was being a fool. One look at Bethin said it all. She would remind

everybody of Rebecca, especially me. Most everyone who knew me avoided bringing up

that subject.

Which brought me to the real question: Why had I gone out of my way to make sure she

would have to come by the house again to return the jumper cables? Was I being a good

neighbor, as I would to anyone living in our little valley? Or was there some other reason,

some subconscious desire to...

To what?

I'm not sure how long I stood next to the Turego, lost in my thoughts. Chancer brought

me back with a gentle nose pressed into my palm. I looked down and smiled wistfully at

him.

"Come on. Let's finish up the mower and have lunch." He wagged his approval and we

walked back around the house.

**************************

Chapter Two

It was a week before I saw her again. I was working on a problem handed to me by

Samuel Vadischek, the personnel manager at Matsutacorp's chip production facility in

Fairbanks, Alaska. His home telecomp was having trouble interfacing with the one in his

office. I was thoroughly involved in my work when a knock at the door jarred me. I got

up and peered through the front window.

She was standing on the narrow front porch, looking around. I guessed she was trying

to locate the dogs. Her clothes were casually comfortable, a loose halter top and wide-

legged denim shorts. A pair of sandals on her plantigrade feet completed her simple outfit.

A faint smile crossed my face as I reached for the doorknob. She took an involuntary step

back when I opened the door.

"Hi."

For a fleeting moment I could have sworn she would bolt. Her eyes widened fractionally

and her ears twitched. Then she collected herself and said, "Hello. I brought your wires

back."

I drew a blank. "Wires?" She held up the jumper cables and I couldn't keep the grin off

my face. "Oh, my wires. Sorry." I noticed the paper bag in her other hand. Raw meat to

fend off attacking dogs, I wondered. She gave the bag to me.

"This is for you. For your trouble."

I told her it wasn't any trouble, really, and looked inside the rumpled brown bag. A six-

pack of beer was shedding its first coat of condensation within. I made myself smile and

say thank you. I don't care for beer.

She handed me the cables and turned to go with a quiet, "Bye." Something in me knee-

jerked, and I spoke before I had any idea what I was saying.

"Would you like to have one?" She stopped and looked at me. Silence.

'One what?' that ever-critical part of my mind prodded.

"A beer. With me. In-inside." I held up the bag, feeling my face get just a bit warm. It's

a wonder she didn't roll her eyes and walk away from the idiot stammering on his front

porch like a teenager asking for his first date.

She might have felt sorry for me. Maybe she liked beer and really wanted one. Perhaps

she was just being polite. Whatever the reason, she nodded her agreement and stepped

inside my home.

I have company at my house regularly, but you wouldn't have known it to see me.

Something about this almost-Rebecca skewed my thinking. I dumped the cables by the

door and lead the way to the kitchen. I set the six-pack on the counter and hunted up

some glasses. I had already poured one, wrinkling my nose slightly at the scent, when I

realized she was still in the living room. The two rooms are separated by an extended

counter, so I could see her standing near the front door, staring at my home office.

She turned to me as I approached, drinks in hand. Her eyes were still wide and her

mouth was slightly open. It's a typical reaction for anyone seeing the huge investment in

computing power I have made. At least it is for most people. When she looked at me,

though, it was as if she had found herself in the lair of a serial killer.

"Are you the one who did all that stuff to the government's computers?" Her voice was

soft, strained. Her tail quivered behind her, a frightened child hiding behind its parent.

Then I understood. Feeling myself regain some of my lost composure, I handed her a

glass and said, "No. That stuff is for amateurs and egomaniacs." I waved casually at the

micro-mainframe that sat at the center of my personal network. "I use this to help people

with their computer systems. I work as freelance tech-support, a troubleshooter." I said

this with a touch of pride. After all, I'm one of only a thousand or so around the world.

"Oh." The alarm faded from her face and she took the glass.

I stared the floor a moment, again deflated. A decade's struggle to pull together a system

like mine was simply ignored once she determined there was no threat involved. I took a

dejected sip of my drink, forgetting what was in the glass. The yeasty taste that filled my

mouth brought out a mildly disgusted grunt. I saw her eyes flick toward me. Recovering

quickly, I smiled and said, "Mm. Good beer." I had to suppress a second groan at how

stupid I sounded. She took a sip of hers and resumed assessing the threat level in my

house.

After her perfunctory look around, I motioned to the kitchen table where we sat down

across from each other. The silence between us grew instantly. I wondered why talking

to strangers in public was as easy as entertaining friends in my home yet talking to

strangers in my home was so difficult. I could only think of one topic at that moment to

bring up, so I sallied forth with, "So, Beth, how-"

"Bethin" she corrected crisply.

I ducked my head in embarrassment at having been shot down again so quickly.

"Sorry. Bethin." I cleared my throat and reassembled my scattered wits. "Uh, I was

wondering how long you've been living here." I cringed inwardly. Was I so inept today

that I couldn't utter a single sentence without regretting how it came out? "In your trailer,

I mean."

Noticing her intense interest in the grain pattern of my oak table top, I could sense she

was starting to regret accepting my offer of free beer. "About a month." Nothing more

was offered.

There was a whole list of inane questions lined up in my head, ready to bore her to death.

I ignored them all and shifted the subject to one I could perhaps use to help her relax.

"Do you like it out here?" It was a question I seriously wanted to know the answer to,

and I was able to project that in my voice.

She noticed. She looked up at me for a second before dropping her gaze to the ring of

condensation starting to form under her glass.

"Yes." Again, nothing else seemed to be forthcoming, but I kept my mouth shut and let

her decide if she wanted to continue. This time, I was right.

"It's quiet out here. Restful." She ran the pad of her forefinger through the widening

puddle of beer sweat on the table. I said nothing, and was rewarded. "I've never lived in

the country before. No sirens, no helicopters. No neighbors watching me." She looked

up at me, guilt mingling with doubt in her expression.

I shook my head in denial. "I didn't even know you..." I almost said 'existed' but caught

myself. "...had moved in until you showed up in my back yard."

She nodded and went back to drawing swirls of water on the table top.

I took another drink, deeper this time. I did my best to relax and let the next, natural

question come to me.

"Where are you from?"

I was staring at her, I admit. That's why I noticed the subtle change in her at hearing my

question. Her fingers stopped moving and her browline dropped slightly. The corners of

her long mouth turned down a bit. Her ears, of course, were the clincher. They flicked

backwards, an aborted attempt to lay flat against the skull. I'd seen dozens of genemorphs

do it before. I was about to retract the question when she said, softly, "Atlanta."

She had history in Atlanta and wanted to escape it by moving 280 miles west. I could

sympathize. I'd wanted to leave Noah's Valley many times to escape the daggers of

memory. My friends had kept me here, kept me sane. Kept me alive, I'm certain.

My next words were unrehearsed and heartfelt.

"You're safe here. We all look out for each other."

She looked up, curious. I had her full attention.

"There are about forty households, families mostly. Humans and genemorphs of every

stripe. We formed our own supportive community about 5 years ago. We call it Noah's

Valley." I smiled, as I always do when I hear the name. "You and I are right about in the

center of it. Go three miles in any direction and you'll meet a friend."

The idea seemed foreign to her, puzzling. She had doubts, I could see.

"You're a part of our community now. If you want to be, that is. A few live here that

don't, and that's no problem. No one will bother you if you don't want them to."

She was staring straight into my eyes. Now I saw something else. Veiled. Vaguely

desperate. I saw her need to believe my words. I wanted nothing more than to give her

what she was asking.

"You're safe here," I said again, quietly. This isn't Atlanta, I said with my eyes.

The moment stretched out, silent and hopeful. I kept still, trying as hard as I could to

convince her without more words. That's when the dogs came in, of course.

Chancer and Nudge wandered into the room from the bedroom hallway where they had

been sleeping in the mild afternoon sun. They were unconcerned with Bethin's presence,

but curious. As the two German shepherds moved closer, Bethin stiffened. I intervened

with, "Chancer, down. Nudge, come." She watched closely as the male lay down a dozen

feet from her chair and the female moved directly to my side. I petted Nudge and told her

she was a good girl.

When Bethin asked, "They're trained?" I didn't notice her tone. Figuring it would help

reassure her, I said, "Very well trained." Then I saw the look on her face and realized I'd

gone the wrong way. In large cities, like Atlanta, trained dogs had been used as weapons

against genemorphs during civil unrest. Now, at least, I knew a possible reason for her

fear of my companions.

Putting my hand on Nudge's shoulder, I tried once again to put my guest at ease by

clarifying with, "Only for obedience and tricks, of course." When Bethin's gaze shifted to

me, I met it calmly. "They haven't been trained for attack or defense. I don't believe in it."

I took it as a good sign that she seemed to relax almost as quickly as she had after

learning that I wasn't a cyber-terrorist. A small display of my dog's talents seemed like a

reasonable way to foster more goodwill between us all. I said, "Watch this." I looked

directly at Nudge and said, "Nudge, up." She got to her feet, facing me. "Gimme a kiss!"

I told her excitedly, leaning forward. She came close and licked my chin twice. "Good

girl! Now, Nudge, stand up." She eagerly rose up on her hind legs, knowing what the

next command would be. "Dance, Nudge!"

She started twirling around, swinging her tail to keep her balance. I grinned at her while

she did three doggy pirouettes, then came back down to all fours. I made a fuss, praising

her and petting her. It's her best trick. Looking to Bethin, I was mildly surprised to see

confusion in her eyes. I couldn't believe she hadn't seen dogs perform tricks before. I

wondered about the wisdom of taking my little display a step farther, then decided I would

try it, cautiously.

Knowing Chancer was slightly jealous at the attention Nudge had been getting, I turned

to him with my next command. "Chancer, come." He got up and approached me. When

he was a few feet from Bethin's chair, I said, "Stay." He was roughly facing Bethin, who

now watched in fascination. I told him, "Chancer, bow." He stretched his front legs out

in front of him and lowered his muzzle to his paws. After a moment I had him lay down

and crawl forward until his head was by Bethin's ankle. He looked from me to her. I said

to my new neighbor, "He likes to be scratched behind his ears."

She looked at me for a moment. It seemed to me she was unconvinced and unhappy at

being put in such a position. I held my breath, hoping I hadn't made a huge mistake.

When she slowly reached down, I sighed quietly. Chancer enjoyed the attention and,

before long, Bethin appeared at ease giving it.

I wasn't expecting it. The scene was so close to my memories of the last time Rebecca

had sat at the table that it was probably inevitable. As Bethin sat there, stroking the top of

Chancer's head, I had a mild intrusion.

I'd experienced these before, and I thought I'd suffered the last of them years ago. But

there it was. I wasn't sitting at the kitchen table across from Bethin, I was sitting there

staring at my dead wife as she petted our dog.

"Rebecca?" It was only a faint whisper that left my lips, but those large upright ears

caught the sound perfectly. She turned towards me, a confused look on her beautiful,

familiar face.

"Excuse me?"

That brought me back instantly. Bethin's voice brought Bethin's face into focus.

Rebecca vanished back into the mental 'room' where I'd been keeping her since my last

therapy session. I was somewhat shaken, though.

"Uh, n-nothing," I stammered. I took a deep breath, tried to envision the grave marker

that stood guard over my wife. 'She's gone,' I told myself. I noticed Bethin staring at me.

"I just got lost in thought, that's all." My standard defense line, unused for so long. It was

a wonder I could remember it at all.

I'm sure she caught the scent of my distress. That, and my odd behavior must have been

enough to convince her to end her visit. She stood, leaving her half-finished drink. "I

need to get back. Thanks for the beer."

I stood as well. I couldn't think of anything to say. I was floundering through conflicting

desires. I wanted her to stay, but the puddle of ice water in my stomach told me she

needed to go. I could only nod dumbly.

A few steps away from the table, she saw the picture. It's the only one I keep out. In it,

Rebecca and I are standing, arms around each other's shoulders. It was taken at a

genemorph's rights rally in Seattle seven years ago. We're both smiling broadly, signs and

banners cluttering the background.

Bethin looked at the picture, tilting her head slightly. She looked at me, the question

obvious in her eyes. I turned my eyes to the floor, trying once again to envision the grave

marker. It didn't help.

"My wife," I said hoarsely. A bad sign, my throat tightening like that. My control was

slipping. I worried how much worse it would get. I would find out very soon.

From my peripheral vision I saw Bethin look around briefly, as though trying to locate

this person I claimed was my wife. A natural reaction. The truth dawned on her quickly,

and I saw her take a half step back. I looked up at her, not knowing what to say next.

She had the same look on her face, the one she'd had when I'd spooked her at the front

door. She wanted to bolt. For all practical purposes, she did just that.

As she all but ran out the front door I felt compelled to follow her. I got to the threshold

of the door and stopped, an almost overwhelming feeling of abandonment settling over

me. I fought a terrible urge to call her back, to speak her name and stop her from leaving

me again.

Again?

Reason looked me coldly in the eye and said, "Her name is Bethin, not Rebecca. She is

not your wife."

Reason was not able to keep me from opening my mouth and gasping a breath to call out

her name. I remained silent, though. I was stopped by a sudden loss at what name to call.

Bethin, Rebecca, Bethin, Rebecca; I wanted both and knew in my heart I would never

have either. Torn, I could only watch in silence as she walked away. I could feel my heart

trying to re-fracture, to break along the scars of the old wounds. I wanted nothing more

than to call my dead wife back.

I sank to the floor, propped in the open doorway, and shivered. One of the dogs licked

my ear and cheek, whining. I could only cover my eyes and moan, "Oh, God. Rebecca,

what am I doing?"

**************************

Chapter Three

Time. That was the only remedy available for my slight reversion. I talked to Cray

about it. His advice was, "You've only got two options. Go after her or stay away from

her entirely." As direct as always. He's a good friend though, in spite of his penchant for

teasing. He's helped me through more dark times than anyone except my therapist.

He was right, too. After a month had passed I found myself untroubled by my doubts

and fears. It was a rough month, though. There were more intrusions.

I had one nightmare, two nights after I'd seen her last. It was the same one that had

plagued me immediately after Rebecca's death. The two of us were standing outside our

motel, watching in fear as San Diego tried to consume itself. Riots had broken out after

the announcement by the Supreme Court that genemorphs, under the constitution, had the

right to vote. The latest rights rally had turned into an armed conflict as humans and

genemorphs did there best to convince each other with bricks, knives and guns.

In the dream, Rebecca and I are running to our car, wanting only to escape the

screaming, smoke-laced carnage that filled the streets. With the car in sight, I pulled the

keys from my pocket, only to drop them. Rebecca took several running steps as I

stooped, panicked, to retrieve them.

Her harsh scream brought my head up. Some righteous human in a brown ski-mask had

rounded the corner of a parked van and thrust the sharpened point of a steel pipe into her

stomach. His shout of, "Godless animal!" brought a razor's edge to the scene.

The keys fell, forgotten. Rebecca fell, dying. That's where the dream always ended. Her

falling, me unable to reach her.

That was the lowest point. I had to seek out Cray's help the next morning.

**************************

My Turego sat ticking away its heat as I knocked on the door of his house. When no

one answered, I realized his bicycle was gone. Thinking I would have to ride out my

problems on my own, I turned to see Cray zipping up his driveway, narrow tires crunching

on the gravel.

He was dressed only in electric blue biker shorts, and only because there are a few

houses on his usual route outside our valley that will call the county sheriff if they see a

certain nude genemorph wolf riding his bike in public. He stopped his bike at the steps of

his porch and looked at me with a slight smirk.

"Let me guess," he said. He was barely winded from his early morning ride. "It's your

new neighbor."

I nodded and managed to say, "Yeah."

He pushed his wire-rimmed glasses further up his snout. He grinned at me, a potentially

frightening display if I hadn't known him. "Told you."

Feeling slightly put out at his smugness, I sullenly said, "I know."

Cray propped his bicycle against the porch railing and tugged at the front of his shorts.

"Had breakfast yet?"

"Couldn't eat."

He paused in the act of pulling down his biker shorts, his tail half out of the sleeve in

back. He stared at me, his expression neutral. The brief silence was punctuated by a

sharp explosion of birdsong. He stepped out of the shorts and said, "Well, that's no

good." I just stared at the pendant around his neck, nearly hidden by the soft gray fur of

his chest. It was a pair of male symbols, interlocked; his way of declaring his sexuality to

the world.

We stood there a moment, his shorts in his hand, my eyes losing their focus as the

nightmare's echoes rang in my ears. His ears flicked.

"Come in and have some orange juice, then. Gotta get something in your stomach." He

tossed his shorts at me and I caught them reflexively.

Cray's house is much like mine, but larger and newer. I sat at his kitchen table while he

put his breakfast together. At some point, a large glass of orange juice appeared in front

of me. With his back to me as he worked, he said, "So what's on your mind, monkey

man?"

I didn't rise to his racial slur. He no more meant true offense than I did when I

sometimes called him 'dog-head.' I knew he was only trying to draw me out, make me

react to something, get me to show what I was feeling.

I showed him.

"I had the dream again." That stopped him. He turned to look at me. I stared at him

and added, "And I saw Rebecca."

For being all of 18 years old, Cray was remarkably mature. His interest and knowledge

of psychology made him the closest resource I had when I couldn't get to my therapist.

Otherwise, I don't think I could have ever 'bared my soul', so to speak, to such a young

person. Our own relationship was a difficult one at first. I'd had trouble seeing past his

age and playfulness. Once we had sounded one another out, we realized we had more in

common than not. My dependence on his knowledge of psychology only furthered our

friendship.

He stood there a moment, raw egg dripping from a fractured shell between his fingers. It

fell into a small bowl half filled with uncooked hamburger. Most carnivorous 'morphs

preferred their meat raw, though many would eat cooked food when the flavor appealed

to them.

"An intrusion?" he asked. I nodded.

He thought about this briefly. Returning his attention to his food, he said, "Tell me about

her."

I took a deep breath and started off in as calm a voice as I could manage. "We were at

my house, sitting at the table. She was petting Chancer when I saw-"

"No," Cray gently interrupted me, looking at me over his shoulder. "I said tell me about

*her*."

I frowned, feeling put out again. Surely I had already told him about her. "Umm," I

muttered. He clarified for me.

"What do you see when you look at her?" He tossed the eggshell into the garbage.

I had to let that soak in for a moment. What did I see? I tried to recreate the scene in

the kitchen in my mind. It came with crystal clarity. I swallowed, took another deep

breath.

"She could be her sister, in some ways," I said softly. "Her fur's almost the same color.

She's the same size." I saw her now, and the details that had been noticed but not

registered came to the forefront. "Her eyes are more green than yellow, and her ears are a

bit bigger. Her nose..." I rubbed my own stump of a nose unconsciously. "Her nose is a

bit darker than Rebecca's is." I realized my mistake, and corrected it belatedly. "Was."

My mind was wandering now, my thoughts separating and fluttering away, like butterflies

scattering in search of more fertile offerings. "She's a beautiful fox," I whispered.

"I'm sure she is, but that doesn't help," came Cray's exasperated growl. "You aren't

listening to me!" He punctuated his accusation with a glob of raw meat flung in my

direction. It landed with a damp thump on the table. He turned his back to me, his hands

buried in his bowl, kneading eggs and meat into a sticky paste. "I'll make it easier for you.

Tell me what you know about her."

I was confused. I couldn't see where he was going with his questions. "She's from

Atlanta," I began. "She left to get away from something, or someone." Each sentence

took a moment to construct. I had sift through the things she'd told me and the

impressions I'd gotten, working out the facts as I understood them. "She doesn't seem to

like me. Or my dogs. She gotten used to the dogs, kind of. But I don't think she really

likes them."

"Where does she live?" Cray asked, adding one more egg to his breakfast. I frowned,

knowing I'd already told him.

"In a trailer Mr. Bennington put on his property."

"Does anyone visit her?"

I didn't answer immediately. I had to puzzle that one out. It had been several weeks

after she had moved in that I even knew of her presence. If she'd had friends visiting her, I

would have been more likely to see traffic going beyond my house.

"I don't think so, no."

"Now," he said over his shoulder, "put that all together and tell me what you see when

you look at her."

It finally dawned on me what he was asking. I had to stop and think again, which was

the whole point. He wanted me to see her objectively, to deduce her state of mind from

what I knew about her and had observed. I went back through everything we had just

discussed.

"She's here because she's hiding. She's scared, maybe hurt. She feels like she can't trust

anyone. She's worried about getting too close to someone who might hurt-"

I stopped, stunned, as it all became clear.

Cray brought his bowl to the table and sat down. He scooped a finger covered with egg

and meat into his mouth. After casually licking the film of egg from the pad of his finger,

he said, "You see? She doesn't remind you of Rebecca nearly so much as she reminds you

of *you* after Rebecca died."

Suddenly I was lost. I knew what the world was like when I was a victim of events. I

had no notion of my role when someone else was in the place I had struggled so long to

put behind me. I felt like I knew nothing. I was incapable of dealing with this situation

from the other side. At least, not without a lot of help. I looked at Cray.

"What do I do? What am I supposed to do?"

This time two fingers went into the bowl and retrieved a meaty lump that disappeared

into his toothy mouth.

"You already know what to do. You've been in her place. You know what she needs."

I frowned and wished he would just tell me what I should do. That, I realized later,

would have done me no good.

"This is all supposition," I protested. "I don't actually know why she's here, what she's

gone through."

"That's your first step then, isn't it?" There was a subtle gleam in his eye as another bite

of his breakfast disappeared. "Learn about her."

A faint mist of fear settled over me, raising goosebumps on my arms. "I- I don't know..."

Cray raised his head, gazing calmly at me. "I've already told you this, Trevor. You

essentially have two paths before you. Get closer to her or stay away from her."

I didn't know if I could bear either of those options. I felt trapped, caught between those

two uncomfortable choices. "I don't know what to do," I despaired.

His hazel eyes softened. When he spoke, his voice had become a velvety rumble. "How

do you feel about her?"

Blank. Somewhere in my mind was the answer to that question, but when I looked for it

I found only an empty spot. All I could do was shake my head minutely.

I sat there a long time. Questions formed, none of which I could answer. What did I

want from a relationship with her? What did she truly think of me? Could getting closer

to her help me, or would it damage me?

I needed to think it all through. Cray had helped me all he could for now. I had to find

the right path and take it.

I thanked him and headed for the door.

With my hand on the knob, I heard him say, "Trevor." I turned to look at him. His long,

lupine face was solemn. "Don't let her hurt you."

The quiet seriousness of his voice, the set of his ears, the slight tension around his eyes;

they spoke of his genuine concern for my well-being. He's often so nonchalant that it's

easy to mistake his intentions. While he may make gentle fun of me and my predicament,

he would rather shave his own tail than see me in pain. It's sometimes easy to forget how

close a friend he really is.

Touched by the open display of his feelings, I thanked him for his concern. He smiled as

I left him to his breakfast.

**************************

Chapter Four

After the nightmare, the intrusions tapered off. For a time, they were only 'flickers', as I

call them. I would hear a slight sound and have to convince myself it wasn't Rebecca's

voice whispering to me. Shadows of the young birch trees would slink across a wall,

giving the illusion of an indistinct body moving near the windows. Once the flickers

stopped, a week or so later, I was able to follow Dr. Pernelli's advice and visit Rebecca's

grave. I didn't go to the beautiful pink marble slab inscribed with my wife's name. I went

to the banks of the Tennessee River. It was there that her ashes had been scattered. We'd

once talked about leaving our bodies with the river that had brought us together.

I stood, looking out at the calm night waters. The gentle lullaby of waves gave me that

deep, peaceful feeling I had been missing since Bethin had walked out of my house. I

spoke to my wife, my best friend, my closest lover. I told her of my recent troubles and

imagined I could hear the sweet murr of her voice. The words, though, were fuzzed,

incomplete. I opened my heart to the only person who could hold it, only to feel it labor

unrelieved of its burdens. Rebecca could not help me.

Two paths. Pursue her or avoid her. Not the tidy, easily defined options I would have

liked. Pursuing her seemed to me to be inviting disaster. How could someone still

bearing the injuries of his loss successfully court a woman who was so obviously

uncomfortable around him? Avoiding her was just as distasteful, as it smacked of

cowardice and weakness.

With Rebecca's death there had been no options, only the desire to stop the pain any way

possible. Dr. Pernelli, Cray, and all the others kept me from losing my grip during those

black days. It had been a terrible struggle, for me and for them. Recalling those times

reminded me of a line from an old song. The words had shed their melody long ago, but

their message was perfectly clear: 'Dying is easy, it's living that scares me to death.'

Now here I was struggling again, with the old hurts resurfacing and new ones growing

like weeds. I couldn't bear going through such distressing events again, having my soul

wrenched from me. Nothing was worth that anguish.

I turned to go home and froze. A ghostly echo drifted by me. "Don't say no, not just

yet."

So many years ago, perhaps a lifetime. She and I had met on the banks of the river. I'd

made a bad impression on her. With the sting of her rejection burning me I'd said those

words, hoping to forestall the departure of the most beautiful fox genemorph I'd ever seen.

I could see in her eyes the doubt, the desire to leave me to my poor choice of words.

Yet she had stayed. I managed to convince her of my sincerity, my feelings for her. I

shiver when I think how close I came to losing the most wonderful times of my life

without knowing it.

The image of Bethin, moved by some nameless force, stepping through the door of my

house came back to me. I'd tried to repair my mistakes, convince her I wasn't so bad.

And she'd stayed.

The waves of the Tennessee rubbed the pebbly shoreline, singing its quiet song of

change. The images stayed with me, matched by the sound of lapping water. I knew then

what I would do. I would wait, neither pursuing nor avoiding. Perhaps I could call it

procrastination, or simply cowardice of a different sort. However I labeled my decision, I

would let events unfold as they saw fit and I would take them as they came. If we found

ourselves together, then that was our fate. If not...

Fate? I wondered at that a moment. I had never believed in fate before. I certainly

didn't now. Fate was for the 'psychic' and the confused.

Or, perhaps, for those graced with love.

**************************

Spring had finally gotten itself established well enough that I could open the windows

and air out my house. With the creaking brittleness of winter finally washed out of the

landscape, the mustiness of my seasonal captivity could be flushed out of the curtains and

rugs. Flowers were exploding like slow-motion fireworks, calling forth a small squadron

of droning bees.

I was out on my front porch, laying on the wooden swing the Neriells made for me.

Chancer lay under the swing, snoozing. Nudge wasn't satisfied with his choice and had

bound up onto my chest. After regaining the breath she had 'oofed' out of me, I almost

scolded her. The look on her long face made me smile. I accepted her implied apology

and let her settle down. It wasn't long before the warm breeze and dancing bees lulled us

all into a light doze.

Once again, it was Nudge who saw her first. I was alerted by the sudden lifting of her

head. I blinked and scratched her neck, asking her who was visiting us. Turning my head,

I saw her again.

A month is a long time, but not long enough to have forgotten how she looked in the

sunshine. The light played lovingly along her arms and across her face, highlighting the

dark brown spot of her nose.

My dreamy observations stopped the moment I realized how she was walking: urgently,

directly toward me. I then noticed the cut of her clothes, the careful styling of her hair. It

was quite a change from the casual clothes I'd seen her wear. I was perplexed by the sight

of her walking to my house, well dressed and groomed and in some kind of hurry.

Her expression spelled out the rest for me. She was in trouble and she wanted my help.

I pushed a reluctant Nudge off my chest and sat up, unconsciously sweeping cast fur from

my shirt.

"What's wrong?" I asked when she was within speaking distance.

"My car," she said, her ears slanting backwards. "I think something broke and I have to

get into town. I have an appointment and it's very important. I can't be late. I can't." If

I'd been blind I still could have sensed her distress, it was so obvious in her voice. I stood,

thinking quickly.

"When is your appointment?"

"At one-thirty."

I glanced at my watch. That gave us just under an hour. Enough time to investigate her

ailing vehicle and drive her into town if it was necessary. "All right, uhh, give me a

second," I muttered, trying to organize my thoughts. "I'll be right back."

Ducking into my house, I ran to my key rack and got the keys to the truck. Spinning

around to head back out the door, I had another thought and dashed into the bathroom to

collect a large terry towel.

In the driveway, I opened the passenger door of the Turego and laid the towel on the

seat. Once it was in place, I motioned Bethin in. The look she gave me was so painful I

stopped moving, a toy with its battery yanked from it. My mind was in high gear by then

and I quickly figured out what I had just done.

"That's not for the seat," I told her apologetically. "That's for you. I let the dogs sit up

front sometimes and I didn't think you'd want their fur all over your clothes."

Very quick, I noticed. Once she had a satisfactory explanation for something that

bothered her, she quickly adjusted and relaxed. She slid onto the seat, keeping her skirt

against her calves with her tail as she sat down. She flicked her tail out from under her as

she settled her weight, getting comfortable.

As I got in the driver's seat and started the Turego's pusher engine I asked, "What

happened to your car?"

"I don't know," she replied, noticeably less agitated now that she seemed to have a

solution to her problem at hand. "It made a sound, then it stopped running and wouldn't

start again."

When I heard the whine of the flywheel coming up, I set the pusher engine to standby

and put the truck in gear. The batteries switched on to keep the flywheel up to speed as

we pulled out of the driveway. "The car started? It was running?"

"Yes. I was backing up when it made a 'bang' and jerked. Then it wouldn't do anything."

I cringed, expecting the worst as we drove the few hundred yards to her house. Sure

enough, there sat the Bolo, leaking green and blue onto the cracked asphalt of the road. I

hardly needed to get out of the truck to diagnose the problem, but I pulled up beside her

car and got a closer look anyway. "This won't take a second," I told her as I jumped out.

She had raised the hood. There on the left side of the ceramic engine block was a finger-

wide crack. Coolant and synthetic oil mixed and drooled onto the ground, the vital fluids

of some huge animal wounded by a hunter's arrow. As I watched the puddle spread under

the car and crawl toward the ditch, I knew this animal's wound was fatal.

She no longer had transportation. Which meant she would have to replace the car.

Which meant she would have to do something with the Bolo. It was a typical chain of

thought for me, leaving the main problem to consider some secondary aspect. And, as

was often the case, it led to an idea that had some merit.

I reached into the truck and opened the small storage compartment behind the driver's

seat. Inside was one of my old digital cameras. I snatched up the camera and did some

more quick thinking. Bethin's voice called to me as I made a single circuit of the car,

snapping five pictures, including one of the blown engine.

"What are you doing?"

Quickly reviewing the pictures as I got back in the truck, I asked her, "Does this car have

any sentimental value to you?"

Puzzlement crinkled her muzzle a bit. "What?"

I looked at her, putting the truck in gear and heading back up the road. "Is there any

reason you would want to keep that car rather than replace it if necessary?"

Her confusion turned to concern. "No, not really. Why? Can't it be fixed?"

"Probably not without spending a lot of money. The engine let go, either a thrown rod

or a stress fracture."

"How much?"

The tone of her voice told me where her ears would be. When I caught a glance, my

suspicion was right. Her ears were laid back, almost hidden. Her eyes were wide, as well.

"Well, I'm not a professional mechanic, but I would put it at roughly fifteen hundred to

two thousand." She stared at me, not saying anything at first. When she finally spoke, I

almost missed it in the wash of engine noise. The pusher engine had started on its own to

charge the batteries and add some torque to the electric motor as we started up a hill.

"I can't afford that."

Several things went through my mind at that moment. I could have easily loaned or even

given her the money. I didn't believe for a second that she would accept such charity from

me. I have a friend who could have loaned her a car until she could find a way to buy one,

but I figured that would fall under the same category. Then there was my little

brainstorm.

Feeling a bit proud of myself for my foresight I said, "I've got an idea that may help you

out." I looked at her, unable to keep a small grin off my face. The grin died quickly,

though. Once again her expression made it plain she viewed further help from me with

trepidation. I decided to believe that she was worried about asking for more help from

me. I hated to think she still felt so uncomfortable around me that she would only

grudgingly accept my offer. Gathering my courage, I explained myself.

"I think you can sell your car for enough to buy another one." After passing several

neighbor's houses, we had come to the end of my road, which ended at an intersection

with another roughly paved country road.

"But it's broken," she said. "And it's old."

I nodded as we turned right. "Well, yes, part of it's broken. But you can sell it

*because* it's old. There are lots of car restorers who would like to buy parts off your car

to help fix their own. Most of it works, right? The net terminal, the GPS, the sound

system, all that works?"

Her ears had perked up a bit. "Yes, but I never really used any of it. I just drove it from-

" It was truly surprising how fast her mood went downhill. She frowned, and I wondered

if she had bought the car in Atlanta. Perhaps, I thought, getting rid of it would be a good

thing for her. I jumped into the silence she had created.

"I'm sure I can find someone who'd like to buy your car for parts. And I happen to have

a friend who sells cars on the side. He's got a few good ones you might like."

Bethin stared at her hands as they lay in her lap. She said nothing. Eventually she

nodded, then turned her head to watch the budding trees slip by her window.

When we got to the highway I realized I had no idea of our destination, other than the

nearby town of Paris. Judging by her clothes, she was trying to make her best impression

on someone. Her soft auburn hair was swept over and around her ears and left to fan out

around her neck. She wore a pair of attractive cloth boots, as genemorphs in general tend

to shun leather products. The only jewelry evident was a tiny pair of garnet stud earrings

fitted in holes at the very tips of her ears.

A job interview, I realized. Her dress, her anxiety at being late, the fact that she's only

been in the area a few weeks; it all pointed to an interview. I cleared my throat and asked,

"Where are you going for your interview?"

Her reaction was not what I expected, nor was her answer. "The Highland Animal

Clinic." She said nothing more, just stared out the window.

So she's not impressed that you can figure out something as simple as where she's going,

I thought. Why should she be? Then her answer filtered through my self-absorbed

thoughts. I couldn't hide the surprise in my voice.

"You're Anna's new assistant!" That got her attention. She turned to me but still said

nothing, so I explained. "She's my vet. The last time I saw her she told me that she's

looking for a new assistant. You must be the one."

"I haven't got the job yet," she said softly, and went back to staring at her hands.

I kept my mouth shut for a minute, letting all this percolate. I couldn't come up with any

single reason why she should doubt her ability to land a job, especially with Anna.

Sincerity, I decided, was the answer. It had worked the first time, in my kitchen. Well,

for a little while, anyway. I pictured Bethin and Anna talking, relaxed and enjoying

themselves.

"You'll like Anna. She's a wonderful person, friendly and passionate about her work."

Success. Bethin was watching me instead of her hands. I kept my eyes on the road but

tracked her reactions from the corner of my eye.

"She's one of the most open minded people I've ever met outside our valley. She has this

way of just-" I paused, trying to find the right words. "-seeing into a person. She makes

everyone feel at ease."

I risked looking at Bethin for a moment, trying as before to reinforce my message with

my expression. "I'm sure the two of you will hit it off."

Her uncertainty was lodged firmly on her beautiful face. "I don't have any references.

And I don't have any real experience." I shrugged and went back to watching the road.

"She won't ask for references. She'll want to make her decision based on her own

impressions of you rather than someone else's. And I can tell you exactly what she'll say

about your experience: 'Everyone starts somewhere.'" I let a few seconds pass in silence

before adding, "You have just as much chance of getting the job as anyone else."

"I suppose." She said it quietly, but I was almost certain I had heard that small measure

of confidence I'd noticed when she first spoke to me in the back yard.

I felt a smile pull at my lips.

**************************

Chapter Five

Paris, Tennessee is what you might call a 'big' small town. It's much larger than any of

the smaller towns scattered around the neighboring counties, but it's still of a size that

makes it a quiet, unassuming place to live. Even so, I personally found its population of

roughly twenty thousand far too large for my comfort.

I do have my uses for the place, though. Shopping, mostly. And, of course, the

Highland Animal Clinic.

Three years ago the law offices of Borchart, Midds & Keeler moved to larger offices.

That's how Anna's clinic wound up in an overly modern cylindrical building of white

stucco and tall mirrored windows. That, and the fact that her son is a highly motivated

realtor who easily latched onto the building for his mother's vet practice. The running joke

is that a building currently dedicated to easing the suffering of animals was once the home

of sharks.

Pulling into the parking lot, Bethin looked at me with concern. "Do you mind waiting

for me?" As though I might actually consider going home and leaving her there on her

own.

"Not at all," I assured her. "I'm just going to hop across the road to the grocery store

and get something to munch on while I do some work." I pointed to the net terminal in

the dash. "I'll be back long before you're finished."

She opened the door and stepped out, her skirt falling into place as she wagged her tail

once in adjustment. I watched her briefly collect herself, her blunt black clawtips tapping

restlessly on the doorframe. As she closed the door I said, "Good luck."

Her focus shifted to me and, as we stared at each other for a second, I couldn't help

smiling. The open honesty of her face, her eyes, told me that Anna was sure to take

Bethin in.

"Thank you, Trevor. For everything." She turned and made her way into the clinic while

I sat in the truck wondering why I had goosebumps on my arms. It took a moment to

realize she had just called me by my name. I watched the smoked glass door long after

she had passed through it, wondering why that was so important.

I was still wondering as I left for the Sav-Mor grocery store just up the street. Once

there, I parked and headed inside, ignoring the video displays touting the latest sales and

promotional gimmicks.

So what does it signify, I asked myself as I headed to the produce section. She called me

by my name for the first time. Did that mean she saw me differently than she had before?

Perhaps. I had helped her out twice now. Maybe she was more willing to believe I meant

her no harm. There might even be a seed of trust starting to sprout tiny leaves in her.

I snorted at myself for such poetic meandering and turned my attention to the generous

offering of cryogenically fresh grapes. The label said they'd been harvested three years

ago and made available just this week, a month before the growing season started.

If there was any trust being built between us, it would doubtless result in little more than

a vaguely relaxed attitude around me. I supposed that would be better than her actively

disliking me, but I was hoping for something a little more positive between us.

I paused, the vacuum-sealed grapes in my hand. I was doing it again; I was assuming I

would try to build a relationship with her. Why? Why did I want to be more to her?

What was driving me to assume she could take Rebecca's place?

An image of my empty house, my empty bed, came to me. Regardless of what I might

feel about her, there was an undeniable reason for wanting more from her than a

friendship. I could still remember the feeling of fur against my bare skin, the soft gravity

of a warm body next to mine. Even after the successful end of difficult therapy sessions, I

would sometimes feel overwhelmed by loneliness in the silent darkness of my room.

Was that it? Was she to be nothing more than another part of an ongoing process of

healing? A female to link with, to ease my isolation?

I had always lived alone before I met my wife. And we'd had a hard time figuring out

how we fit together. I hadn't known how to be in a relationship. Rebecca had been

compelled to teach me. It took a great deal of patience on her part. She showed me how

to express myself better, how to open myself up to her, how to trust her and myself. It

seemed without her around to remind me of these things I was lost. I had to start over,

relearn everything.

I wondered if Bethin would have the same kind of patience.

I was back in my truck, sitting in the parking lot of the clinic and snacking on my grapes

when I remembered the pictures I had taken of her car. I had to fish out the cable that

went with the digi-camera from the clutter behind my seat. I grunted to myself that I

really needed to clean up the truck's cab. That thought, as always, withered and died

moments later when I found the cable. I set the camera on the dash next to the grapes and

plugged it into the net terminal.

There are several newsgroups that I subscribe to, but only one deals with cars. I had to

use it as a gateway to find the sites of some car restorers. A quick search through them

with cross references to the Bolo served up a newsgroup that dealt almost exclusively in

folks that restore various Daimler-Chrysler products.

Selling my services through a newsgroup is how I make my living. Selling material

things is something I'd never done, however, so some research was my next step. I

jumped into the 'parts-accessories' column and read any postings that looked like someone

was selling a car for parts. Not surprisingly, such postings were very straightforward and

I soon had my own ad worked out, complete with pictures of the stricken Bolo. I sent the

message and set up an alarm that would let me know of any replies.

I was skimming through my other newsgroups, hoping for some news on the

government's efforts to block the merger of Microsoft and Wal-Mart when the passenger

door opened. Bethin sat on the terry towel and closed the door without comment or eye

contact. I watched her as she composed herself, hands on her lap, head down. I frowned.

Surely Anna hadn't dismissed her at their very first meeting.

"Bethin?"

She took a deep breath, held it and let it go. My frown deepened. When she turned to

me I wished like mad I had a genemorph's nose. I knew she was broadcasting scent clues

to which I was oblivious. Her face was as still and closed as any I'd seen. I wondered

where she would apply next.

"I'm sorry. I thought you... would..."

My train of thought puttered to a stop as her long, beautiful muzzle slowly opened, the

corners of her mouth turning up to point at her ears, which were pitched full forward. Her

eyes sparkled and her tongue came out briefly to swipe at the flat of her nose. Her joy

was flooding from her like snowmelt rushing through a dry streambed. I felt tingly, seeing

her sudden display of happiness. It looked good on her.

"You were right," she rumbled. "She's very friendly. I think I have a good chance. A

really good chance."

"That's wonderful." I beamed, feeling relieved and grateful to Anna. "When will you

know?"

"Maybe tomorrow. She has three other people she's looking at. But she already has one

genemorph working for her."

I nodded, thinking of Shaster, the lithe feliform who works as Anna's receptionist. He

lives with his mate and their family in a large mobile home two miles north of me. I hadn't

seen him since the Spring Herald picnic six weeks ago.

I was about to ask her if she had any other errands she wanted to run when the net

terminal sounded off. At first, I thought it was an incoming business call. When I opened

the message I was surprised to find I had a hit on my ad already. A quick scan of the reply

made me smile.

"Well, Bethin, it looks like you have another reason to celebrate. There's a fellow in

Arkansas who wants to buy your car."

Her own smile faltered. "Buy my car? Who?"

I pointed to the net terminal. "Someone who saw the pictures I posted. He wants to

negotiate the price, but I quoted three thousand dollars so I think there's a little room to

play around."

"Three thousand?" She seemed taken aback by the amount. I nodded.

"I suspect you might get twenty two hundred or so out of it, but that should be enough

to get you another car."

"Twenty two hundred," she repeated, still surprised by the amount. "That's a lot for a

car that won't run."

"Well, it's not a whole lot, really. But like I said, I know a fellow who sells cars and he

should have something for you." I started the pusher engine and waited for the flywheel.

"Speaking of which, would you like to go car shopping today? He should be home."

"Why are you doing this?"

The instant the words were out, I felt like I'd just been caught doing something. Not

something wrong, just something I wanted done without admitting my involvement. I

started to wonder about this but quickly realized Bethin was waiting for an answer. She

gazed at me, curious and slightly confused. I opened my mouth to give her an answer and

found I didn't have one, not one that made sense to me.

"I, uh," I stammered. "It's, well... you-" Words were never my friend, and they seemed

more elusive today then usual. I stopped spouting gibberish long enough to form a simple,

truthful, and vague answer.

"You needed help." I shrugged. She waited quietly, and I felt compelled to add, "I

couldn't just, you know..." Flustered, I gave up with a small, helpless gesture.

She said, "Thank you, again," and touched my hand. I felt heat on my skin and cold in

my stomach. It took me a moment to move after she'd taken her hand back. I nodded and

tried my best to concentrate on driving.

**************************

Bethin said she'd like to see what Jo had to offer, so we left Paris and headed for his

house. On the way, the media station I'd tuned in played an older song by one of the first

genemorph bands, Rough Beasts. The angry lyrics and almost militaristic beat of "Broken

chain" had caught on quickly with their core audience and, not surprisingly, young

humans. Children have always had less trouble embracing new ways than their parents.

The stirring anthem of the genemorph's fight for equality had reached enough people to

become a real hit. Although it never got heavy play on human stations it still made its way

into enough households to carry the Rough Beasts into the category of celebrities.

I noticed Bethin mouthing the words as we drove. I suddenly wondered how much

oppression she'd experienced in Atlanta. Had she lost friends or family in the riots that

had ground through several dozen blocks of genemorph slums? Was that the source of

her amazement; that I, a human, would help her at all?

It was a quiet drive to Jo's house, her smiling and staring out the window and me getting

caught up in my own thoughts. When we pulled into the long driveway of Jo's house, I

could see Luca playing on the front porch with Niffle, her pet cat. As soon as she saw the

truck she scrambled off the porch and ran right for us, her tail streaming behind her. She

moved with the energy I've only seen in children and track athletes. The rounded points of

her ears could barely be seen through her thick brown hair.

I had scarcely gotten out of the truck when she reached me, still running full tilt, and

jumped at me. I was expecting it and caught her up with a practiced sweep of my arms.

Her joyous squeal was music to my ears as I lifted the four year old caniform up into the

air.

"Uncle Trevor!" she squeaked in laughter.

"Hiya, Fuzzy!" I greeted her. She's my best friend's only child, and a typically boisterous

little girl. She has her mother's markings, dark stripes through the fur of her chest and

stomach. Pale brown eyes looked happily down at me past a short, rounded muzzle that

crinkled in an delightful canine grin. I held her up for only a moment before I brought her

close to me for a hug. She wrapped arms and legs around me and rubbed her cheek on

mine. I smiled as brightly as she did. She has that effect on me.

"Where's your sire?" I stage whispered in her ear, tickling the sensitive hairs inside. She

giggled, flicked her ears and squirmed delightedly.

"He's out back," she whispered back, grinning. "Miss Mayfell brought us some rabbits."

"Ooh, that was nice of her. Hey, Luca, this is Bethin." I turned so the two were facing

each other. "Bethin, this is Luca."

Bethin extended her hand and Luca politely sniffed the pads of her fingertips. Luca held

out her small hand and my new neighbor gave her pads a quick snuffle and a single lick.

Luca's smile widened and she hugged me harder. Then, with her trademark

impetuousness, she arched her back, wanting to get down. I let her go and she landed

with a quiet thump on the thick grass. She was off in a flash, heading around the house

with a short yip and a "C'mon!" tossed over her shoulder.

"She's adorable," Bethin said, smiling open-mouthed. She turned thoughtful and closed

her mouth with a single tongue-swipe of her nose. "Are you really her uncle?"

I motioned Bethin to follow me around the house. "Ah, no, not actually. It's that

universal tag for close friends of the family."

We found Jo, Ria and Luca out on the red brick patio at the back of their house. With

them were about half a dozen white and brown rabbits. Several of the rabbits had been

processed already, hanging by their hind legs and stripped of their pelts. Ria was cleaning

and gutting the first one, preparing the meat for a meal. Niffle had left the front porch and

was twining around Ria's ankles, hoping for a scrap or two.

"Trevor!" came Jo's loud, friendly call. His familiar voice was touched with a Hungarian

accent that marked his origins the way the classic Shepherd markings on his face did.

"What are you doing for supper tonight?"

I grimaced. "Have to work. I've got a client on Hawaii time and some leftovers in the

fridge." I pointed to Bethin. "This is my new neighbor, Bethin...um." Three times I've

met her, I thought, and I have no idea what her last name is. I glanced at her.

Bethin was staring at the rabbits hanging from a nylon line between two trees that lined

the patio. I expected to see the rapt expression of a carnivorous genemorph staring at a

potential meal. I hadn't expected to see that expression mixing with obvious revulsion.

When she turned her attention to Jo and his family, she surprised me again. She ducked

her head and twitched her ears in embarrassment. I stood in silence for a heartbeat before

I remembered her place of origin.

Although the view is stereotypical, it is still very much true that humans used to the rules

and restrictions of urban life will find the freedoms and relaxed attitudes of rural folk

amusing, bewildering and occasionally unsettling. Genemorphs are not exempt from this

stereotype, mostly because of their proximity to humans. A vulpiform from Atlanta might

eat meat, raw or cooked, as her body requires, but only be familiar with it the way urban

humans are: wrapped in plastic packages in the grocery store. Add to that the typical

dress code required of genemorphs in general in most cities and you wind up with

genemorphs that aren't used to public nudity.

And here was Jo and his family, nude and in the process of slaughtering rabbits. It was

understandable, in hindsight, that Bethin might have been taken off guard. Her ability to

adapt took over, as it had when dealing with me. She took it all in, found no threats to

herself, and adjusted quickly. I had to admire her.

The brief, awkward pause ended when Bethin stepped forward and extended her hand.

"Bethin Veresh," she said. Jo lowered his head to take the scent of her pads. I watched,

waiting for raw instincts to color the scene.

After twice flaring his nostrils and quickly digesting her scent, Jo's eyes hardened. His

ears laid halfway back and his lips lifted just enough to expose his body's first line of

defense. His lean frame tensed as he offered his own hand, darkened with the vital fluids

of his family's next meal.

Bethin had laid her ears back, submissive; the stranger approaching the pack. She

cautiously sniffed the bloodstained fur. She licked twice at the pads that no doubt smelled

of caniform and dead rabbits. Her tail hung lifeless between her legs. All the while, she

never took her eyes from Jo's face.

A short, barely audible growl came from Jo, followed immediately by a brief, soft whine

from Bethin. Then they relaxed, straightening and smiling. Both wagged once or twice in

mutual acceptance.

"I'm Joachim Westcoatl. Friends call me 'Jo.'" His slight accent turned his first name

into 'Yo-ah-keem' and his last into a slur of softened consonants. "This is my mate, Ria,

and our kit, Luca." Bethin ear-flicked and tail-wagged a greeting to Ria, who smiled back

as she approached me.

"We're glad to see you," she said, holding her bloody hands out to her sides and leaning

forward. I put my head out and we rubbed cheeks as old friends will. Not to be left out,

Jo came up beside her and laid his cheek against mine as well. The soft murr in their

chests was a soothing reminder of their affection for me. I moaned my own pathetic

imitation of their throaty sound.

Having met and greeted us as friends, Jo looked from Bethin to me. "Are you sure you

won't stay for supper? It wouldn't take long to heat up the grill."

I said, "I'd love to, but Mrs. Moakilu is a potential link to her company. If I impress her

enough, she might recommend me to her tech team."

Jo cocked his head at me. "Well, good luck to you." He looked at Bethin. "How about

you, Bethin? We can fix one any way you want it."

She eyed the rabbits hanging nearby, still uncomfortable with the idea of newly killed

meat. When she didn't seem able to come up with an immediate answer, I said, "Actually,

she needs a car. Hers quit on her this morning."

"Ah," he said cheerfully. He gazed appraisingly at Bethin a moment. "What kind of car

do you need? If I don't have one, I can probably find one."

Bethin shrugged helplessly. "A cheap one."

Jo nodded. "Alright. What's your budget limit?"

Bethin looked at me for a moment, confirming what she said as fact. "About twenty two

hundred."

Jo frowned, and I almost didn't notice Niffle rubbing on my ankle. He'd gotten his treat

of rabbit meat and was looking for some affection from his guests.

"What's wrong?" I asked as I knelt to ruffle Niffle.

"I had two nice ones that she could have had, but a fellow from out of the county bought

both of them from me three days ago." He looked apologetically at me and Bethin. Niffle

meowed his complaint when I stopped petting him. "I don't have anything left that I can

let go for less than thirty five. I'm sure I can find one, but it will take a little while."

We all stood around for a bit, at a loss until Ria spoke up. "What about Mrs. Hargrove's

car?"

Jo made a face, like he'd gotten a mouthful of sour milk. "That old junker?"

I voiced my own confusion. "Mrs. Hargrove has a car?"

"Sort of. It was Mr. Hargrove's car; she never drove it. When he died, she asked me to

take it into storage for her."

I understood Jo's reluctance now. "Eddie Hargrove has been gone, what? Five, six

years now? And it's been sitting around since then?"

"Six years," he confirmed. "But it hasn't just been sitting there. I start it twice a month,

run it for a bit, change the oil once a year."

Bethin's automotive prospects looked a bit better. If Jo was taking care of it, then it

would be mechanically sound. "What is it? Is it road worthy?"

Jo's tongue darted out to swipe his whiskers as he tried to recall. "It's a Chevy. I forget

what model. Starts with an 'm'."

"Merit?" I guessed.

"No. Bigger. It's a sedan."

"Madison," chimed Ria.

"Yes!" Jo smiled at her, turned to Bethin. "Would you like to see it? It's behind the

barn."

"So that's what's under that big tarp," I realized out loud. Jo nodded.

Bethin said she would like to see it, so the three of us plus Luca and Niffle made our way

out to Jo's barn. He stores his better cars inside to protect their paint while the older,

cheaper models brave the elements in a line in front. His property is a fair distance from

the road, and once we were between the house and barn the road out front was invisible.

The twelve wooded acres the Westcoatls live on surrounded us, giving the illusion that

we were miles from the nearest neighbor. Most of the properties in Noah's Valley are an

acre or more, with the floors of the hollows cultivated for farmland and the hills and rocky

spots dotted with houses and mobile homes.

We moved through the barn, essentially an enormous wooden shed with a metal roof. It

smelled of cold soil, rubber and oil. Dark patches speckled the dirt floor and Jo cautioned

us all to avoid walking in the old oil spills. I heard the light buzz of the season's first

wasps echoing against the steel roof.

The Madison sat out in an old cow pen. It was perched on four stacks of cement blocks,

its tires off the ground. Jo grabbed a corner of the blue plastic tarp and dragged it off.

The car's generic wind tunnel body design was compromised by a crumpled left front

fender. Splotches of rust bloomed opportunistically through the peeling paint. While it

wasn't pretty, it looked solid. It was of roughly the same lineage as the Bolo, with Chevy's

last strictly internal combustion engine under the vaguely arrow-shaped hood.

The three of us gazed at the old car while Luca burrowed under the tarp and Niffle

explored under the Madison's raised tires, perhaps looking for tasty distractions.

"It shouldn't take much to get it road reliable again," Jo said. "It'll need new rubber

under the hood, hoses and belts. New oil and filters, a battery. Change out the coolant.

I've got some good tires I can put on it, these are starting to dry rot." He walked to the

rear and looked under it, as though checking for gender. "Muffler and all is still intact."

Bethin touched the dingy white paint on the hood gently. Almost reverently, to my eyes.

"How much?" she asked quietly.

Jo leaned against a mold-streaked fender and raised a foot to dig a sharp twig from the

sensitive arch of his toes. "I'll have to ask Mrs. Hargrove, but I'm sure she won't ask

much. I owe her a visit, anyway."

Jo and I watched Bethin. She stood there, her fingerpads lightly tracing the line of the

fender where it met the hood. "I'd like to have it, if she'll sell it."

He nodded, grinding the pad of his foot into the grass to relieve the itch. "I'll talk to her

tonight." I heard a throaty giggle from the lumped up tarp as Luca tried to find her way

back out. I smiled as her muzzle peeked out from a fold. Her eyes caught mine, she

giggled again and zipped back under.

Jo said, "I can bring it to your house whenever you're ready so you can work on it." I

turned to him, surprised that he would assume Bethin would be working on her new car.

But he wasn't addressing her, he was looking right at me. I was baffled for a moment. I

had assumed Jo would take care of getting the Madison road ready, and couldn't

understand why he would drag it to my house for me to do the work.

His expression told me the story. Cray had talked, and now Jo was helping to nudge me

toward Bethin by setting me up to work on her car. A number of feelings dashed through

me, the last, predictably, being fear. But tucked away between my annoyance at Cray and

my surprise at Jo's well intentioned attempt at matchmaking was a small, new born desire.

I wasn't sure what it was I desired, but I knew it would only be satisfied in Bethin's

presence.

"Will you have time?" Bethin asked me. I couldn't help but notice she seemed less

reluctant to ask my help this time, and I was heartened by this slight change.

"Sure," I nodded. "I have been intending to take a few days off." Which was true, but I

had planned to do some planting and upkeep on my house. Compared to helping Bethin

with her new vehicle, those chores had little appeal now.

We made our way back to the house, Luca leading Bethin and telling her about her

morning's adventures. I glanced at Jo, wondering what Cray had told him. He was

looking at me with a familiar expression: 'Trust me. It'll work.'

I wasn't sure of which I was more afraid: that he was wrong, or that he was right.

**************************

Chapter Six

I don't like working on cars. It's hard, dirty work. There's no doubt I have a knack for

it, though. What few skills I have were cultivated into a passable talent by spending many

hours under various hoods with Jo. He's taught me as much about cars as Cray's taught

me about myself. I never learned to like the work, however, and only apply my meager

leaning when necessary.

For Bethin's sake, it was now necessary. The Chevy Madison had groaned its way up my

driveway and wheezed to a stop. The first words out of Jo's mouth as he climbed out

were, "You may want to check the plugs and wires, too. She's got no power." Jo

subscribed to the belief that vehicles were inherently female. I nodded as Ria pulled up

behind him in Jo's wrecker to take him home. I stared at the car's dingy flank, wondering

if I was up to the task. Jo noticed, and smiled sympathetically. "At least I didn't have to

drag it here."

"True," I admitted. "But be prepared for a phone call."

He put his hand on my shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "Nothing you can't

handle," he said. I drew my eyes from the old car to the warm brown depths of my best

friend's eyes. I wondered if there was a hidden meaning in that last statement.

I suddenly felt like I needed a word of advice, but didn't know how to go about

approaching the subject. I managed to say, "I have to wonder." Jo rose to the bait,

instinctively knowing I needed to say something difficult.

"What's that?"

"What my motives are."

He studied me a moment, his expression friendly and open. Then he offered me a sly

grin and tapped the roof of the Madison with a claw. "Auto-motive."

I laughed at his silly pun, feeling a little better but no wiser. He leaned in, his nose close

to my ear.

"Just trust in yourself." I felt the whiskery warmth of his nose pressing below my ear.

Buoyed by his confidence I smiled and turned to him. I touched two fingers to my lips,

then placed my 'kiss' on the end of his jet black nose. His wide pink tongue instinctively

washed over the skin I had just touched. His smile widened and I felt mine do the same.

"Thanks," I said.

**************************

Mrs. Moakilu was thankful for my help the previous evening, but I sensed my use to her

was ended once I had worked my way to the root of their networking problem. I was

disappointed, but was given permission to use the brief contract as reference for future

bids with other companies.

Now I was leaning over the undamaged fender of the Madison, looking for any engine

components that might need repairing or replacing. My drop light cast harsh shadows

over the tightly tangled hoses, wires and electronic parts. I found a vacuum hose running

from the throttle body to a check valve. I had no idea what the hose did, but it was

cracked and needed to be replaced. I picked up a grungy notepad and scribbled another

line to the growing list.

"Trevor!"

I stepped back from the car and stood up to greet Bethin. I had learned the hard way not

to lurch upward while working under a hood. There's a half inch scar on the back of my

head as proof.

She strode up the driveway, oblivious to the morning's late spring chill. I wore an old,

oil-stained jacket over a worn flannel shirt while she sported a short sleeved blouse, knee

length shorts and her sandals. She was carrying a clear plastic box with some wrapped

sandwiches and other items inside. Since I had refused any offer of money for the work I

would do, she had decided to pay me with lunch.

"Good morning," I called. The dogs greeted her with well mannered enthusiasm, but I

could tell she was still uncomfortable around them. She didn't fear them, but she wasn't

happy when they were paying attention to her. I called them to me while she held her box

above their curious noses.

"I hope you like chicken salad and barbecue potato chips." She set the box on the roof

of the Madison and wagged once in satisfaction when I smiled and said, "You bet."

I spotted another vacuum hose that had split and took it off to measure it. "How are you

this morning?"

"Fine," she said. She leaned over the nose of the car and glanced at the engine without

seeming to know what she was looking at. "Curious," she added. With a casual wave of

her black-furred hand, she asked, "How bad is it?"

"Not bad at all, really." I set down my list again and picked up a rag to wipe my hands.

"It's mostly minor stuff, nothing that will cost a lot."

She nodded, a distracted expression on her face. She stood up straight and turned to me,

as though she had just made a decision. "I have something for you."

I realized she had her hands behind her back. I couldn't even guess what she might be

holding. When she brought her hands around to show me, the first thing I thought was,

'small.' It was a piece of wood half the size of my fist and carved into some intricate

shape. I started to reach for it but remembered my hands were still greasy. I leaned

forward to see what her gift was.

'Dogs,' was my next thought, followed by, '*My* dogs.' I looked up at Bethin, surprise

and astonishment all over my face. "They look just like them! Where did you get this?"

"I made it."

I felt a twinge of envy and couldn't help asking, "You *made* this?"

She nodded, still cupping the two wooden dogs in her hand. There was no doubt that

the pair of four-inch canines were Chancer and Nudge. She had gotten their proportions

right, painted them with their markings, even bestowed that 'what'cha got to eat in your

pocket' look on Chancer's face that he uses on guests.

"They're gorgeous," I said, shaking my head at such remarkable talent. "How long did

that take you?"

"About a week. I did it right after you showed me their tricks."

I absorbed the details of her work; the delicate lines on their tails to simulate the fur, the

tiny nubs on their feet for claws. She had even scratched a single line down the tips of

their noses to mark where the bifurcation of their faces started. "That's amazing. You

have enormous talent." I looked up at her, met her eyes. "Thank you very much."

She gave a vulpine 'blush', that mild flaring of her nostrils coupled with a brief twitch of

her ears. Her eyes dropped to her offering. "It's the least I can do. You've helped me a

lot."

I felt a mild blush cross my own cheeks and I managed a smile. "I was glad to do it."

The space between us seemed to shrink. I imagined I could feel the heat of her body,

smell the almost spicy musk of her skin. A dozen images went flitting through my mind's

eye, a mixture of Bethin and Rebecca moving through scenes of my past. I was frozen for

an instant, unable move or speak. 'What are the possibilities?' I wondered.

"Where can I put it?"

Reality had me by the throat again. "Um, the table on the porch there would be fine." I

took a deep, quiet breath, trying to concentrate on anything other than her. I stared at the

Madison's engine but saw nothing more than vaguely interesting shapes. Closing my eyes

didn't help. I still saw them both.

"See you later," she said cheerfully as she walked back down the driveway. I opened my

eyes and returned her wave. "Thanks again."

"Thank *you*," I returned.

Take food from a starving man and he will feel deprived. Take a man's pain away and he

will feel relieved. As Bethin moved out of sight, I felt somewhere between the two.

There was a kind of inevitability that crept into me when she was near. I wanted and

feared what I seemed to believe would happen between us, without knowing why I felt it

would happen at all.

'Anything is possible,' I told myself.

I've never been a good liar.

**************************

Bethin's new car became a thorough distraction. Rounded bolt heads and stripped

screws told the story of Eddie Hargrove's absolute lack of mechanical finesse. Just getting

the protective covers off some of the engine's components was more of a challenge than I

had expected. I had already made two trips into town for parts, the first for what I knew I

needed, the second to replace parts that broke when I tried to remove them. I was several

hours from finishing when I heard my name called.

I was as surprised to see Bethin a few steps away as I was to see that the sun had set

only moments before. Distraction had apparently reached the threshold of absorption.

"Wow. Still at it, huh?"

"Uh, yeah." I carefully stood up, feeling every muscle in my back complain about its

recent abuse. "I had a few problems."

"Oh. Anything serious?" she asked, concerned.

"No. Just a bunch of little things ganging up on me. It'll take a bit longer than I thought,

is all."

"Mm." She nodded. We stood, looking at her car while the season's first few crickets

sang timidly.

"Well," she said. "I just came to get my box. I'll bring you something tomorrow."

"Ok. Oh, hey!" I remembered the message I'd gotten during lunch. "I have something

to show you inside."

"Oh?"

Even with all the mechanical problems that had just been swimming around in my head,

there was room for an interesting observation: Bethin had sounded curious rather than

disturbed at my suggestion that she enter my house. To play it safe, I added, "I got a

message from that guy in Arkansas."

Inside, I showed her the message. The professional car restorer from Arkansas, a fellow

calling himself 'BoloRama', had settled on $2100 for her old car and made arrangements to

have it picked up by a friend of his. Bethin was pleased at this, but seemed amused at

something she saw.

"What?"

"Your name. 'Razurbyrd?' What does that mean?"

I winced, suddenly embarrassed by my oldest net handle. "It was my first e-mail account.

I opened it when I was eight."

She regarded me with friendly curiosity. "Why the spelling?"

"Fifteen other people had variations of that name. It took me half an hour to come up

with that particular spelling."

"Ah." She smiled, and my embarrassment melted away to nothing. I smiled back.

Her eyes traveled over the equipment cluttering my work desk. The desk is an elegant

collection of black steel piping and beveled glass designed, I suspect, by an unemployed

artist who subscribed to the minimalist style. She pointed to the furthest corner.

"What's that?"

I gave a rueful chuckle. "That was an experiment of mine." I picked up my old VR

interface. It served no real purpose now, but it still worked and it looked good on the

desk so I left it hooked up. It was nothing more than a thin ceramic base with a slender

rod of metal at each corner. Each rod described the vertical edge of a one-foot cube and

housed a scanning laser. I turned on the power to the interface and woke the computer

with a command to begin my test program.

Moving the interface to the center of the desk, I said, "Watch the screen." I put my hand

within the interface's imaginary cube and waited for the scanners to recognize me. On the

screen, the test program kicked in, scrolling numbers along the bottom until all the

parameters were set. Then an animation of my disembodied hand popped up, mimicking

my hand's position and attitude. I wiggled my fingers and was pleased to hear Bethin's

quiet "Urr" of appreciation. I waved and gave the 'V' sign.

"Do you use it much?"

"No. It's just a science project I did in high school. It doesn't work as well as it should."

To demonstrate, I snapped my fingers and the hand on the monitor splintered into poorly

aligned fragments.

"Can I try it?"

Curious about her sudden interest, I said, "Sure."

She slowly moved her hand into the interface's scanner field, as though she were

expecting to feel the penetration.

"It'll take a second. It has to read the size and shape of your hand, then come up with an

image that resembles it. Yours will have a default skin, since-"

Bethin didn't notice that I'd stopped abruptly, staring at the screen. An almost perfect

copy of her hand floated on the display. The color of her fur wasn't quite right, but the

other details were there: the rounded tips of her claws, the pads of her fingertips and palm.

It even replicated the movement of the fur on her hand as it parroted her small

experimental movements.

"Hey," she said quietly, amused. "It's my hand."

"Huh." I frowned, bewildered by the impossibility. "That can't be your hand. Your

hand's not in the file."

Bethin was doing agility exercises, touching the tips of her claws together in intricate

patterns. The VR program did its best to keep up. Finally, she gave the genemorph's

solidarity sign: hand open, palm out and fingers arched to emphasize the claws that most

'morphs possessed. That triggered a memory.

"Oh, I know," I said. "That's not your hand, that's Rebecca's hand. I forgot she was in

the file."

Bethin looked at me. I stared at Rebecca's hand. Rebecca's voice, tiny and pained, said,

"You forgot?"

I must have drawn something from Bethin's presence. There should have been a surge of

guilt, an undercurrent of pain. Instead, there was a numb emptiness. If I had been

thinking clearly, I would have recognized it for the first that it was. The idea of forgetting

any aspect of Rebecca should have hurt me.

With my new sense of detachment blanketing me, I switched the interface off. I tried to

think of something to say.

"Would you like something to drink?" There was no waver in my voice, no hesitation in

my words. I stopped trying to understand what I was feeling and concentrated on her

answer.

"A beer would be nice." Quiet, calm answer. Was she being drowned in the same flood

of non-emotion? Had she become detached from her feelings, too?

I shuffled to the fridge and poured her one of the remaining beers she had given me. I

handed it to her, avoiding her eyes. I found myself staring at my high school project and

remembering the day I scanned Rebecca's hand. The simple, pleasant act of holding her

wrist steady as the interface did its work had lead to more intimate, intense moments.

Those memories rolled through me, leaving behind a softly haunted feeling.

Was I losing her? Worse, was I leaving her behind? Discarding her to make room for

someone new? Dr. Pernelli and Cray had both told me that it would happen someday, that

my feelings for Rebecca would subside to make room for others whom I loved. I had

always assumed they meant my friends.

Had they known someone like Bethin would appear?

My thoughts turned to Jo and Ria for a moment and suddenly I remembered a promise I

had made.

"Oh, Bethin. I almost forgot." I did my best to meet her gaze. "Jo and Ria would like

to throw a party for you. To welcome you to the Valley. Would that be alright?"

Her ears flagged a bit and she looked uneasy. "Uhm, I don't know..."

"It won't be a big production, just a picnic for a few, uh, dozen people. They haven't

made any plans or anything. They wanted me to ask you first."

She stared at the withering head on her beer. "Well, I suppose it would be alright."

I held up my hands. "You don't have to if you don't want to. It's strictly up to you."

The last thing I wanted to do was push her into a social situation that bothered her.

I was staring again. I saw a marvelous transformation come over her. She collected

herself, looked me in the eye and said, "No, it's all right." Her voice strengthened, her ears

perked and she stood a little straighter. "I should go. I should meet all the people I'll be

sharing the Valley with. It would be good for me."

I smiled, happily surprised. "You're sure?"

"Yes." She smiled, too. "I think a party is just the thing." She looked at me and added,

"To celebrate."

"Oh?" I tried to guess what she might want to celebrate, but considering my

preoccupation with the Madison that day I might have forgotten almost anything.

"What?"

"Anna called me before I came here."

My smile widened slowly. "You got the job."

She nodded. "I got the job. I start in two days."

"That's wonderful!" I enthused. "I knew Anna would like you best."

"Really?" Her smile dimmed but I saw her eyes sparkle. "Why?"

My mouth opened, but nothing was ready to come out. I bought some time with, "Well,

I mean..." Then I surprised myself by saying, "Why wouldn't she? You're a wonderful

person."

I would have given anything at that moment to know what was going on in her mind. At

first, she seemed flattered and happy to hear me compliment her like that. Some process

worked on her from the inside, though, and any good feelings she had shrank. Something

else grew, cutting off the light that had shone in her eyes. She turned away from me, a

pained look on her muzzle. Her tail pressed hard against her thighs. Alarmed, I tried to

offer an apology, but couldn't think how to phrase it when I'd no idea what was causing

this sudden turnaround. I managed to ask, "Are you alright?" It sounded like a stupid

question even then.

She nodded, her eyes squinted against sudden tears. "I'm fine," she assured me in a voice

that said she was anything but. Her hand covered her snout and her ears dropped. Her

breath came hard and she shook her head as though denying some internal accusations.

"Excuse me," she said, her voice low and rough. She was out the door before I could say

another word.

I stood there, miserably certain I had hurt her somehow. Exhaustion draped itself over

my shoulders and whispered in my ear that I needed to give up on the day. My body was

empty and I obviously wasn't thinking straight or I wouldn't have driven Bethin from my

house for a second time.

I put away my tools, showered, and fixed a small dinner. I collapsed into bed just before

11:00 p.m. As I waited for sleep to absorb my problems, I felt a weight on the side of the

bed. Nudge, always the more daring of the two, had put her front paws on the bed.

Neither were allowed on the bed, but as I stared up at her expressive face I was certain I

saw animalistic compassion in her eyes. She seemed to know that I should not sleep alone

this night.

My throat hurt, one of those bad signs. "Nudge," I whispered, raising my hand to her

warm pelt in supplication. She hopped on the bed and lay next to me. A soft whine and a

warm tongue against my neck were all she could give me. At that moment, it was enough.

I threw my arm over her and gave in, my tears wetting her coarse fur as I buried my face

in her shoulder.

**************************

Chapter Seven

Bethin's new car was ready for her the next day at noon. Squirrels and blue jays were

arguing over rights to the branches of the large oak in the back yard. I had just finished

cleaning up and shut the hood with a bang that startled the noisy wildlife into temporary

silence when Bethin came walking up the drive. She seemed subdued, hesitant. In her

arms she carried her plastic box holding a wrapped lunch for me. She had her arms

around it, as though protecting it from harm. Unnecessary, since the dogs had taken off

that morning for whatever delights could be found in Mr. Bennington's fields.

I ached to undo whatever I had done the day before. I took in the blue sky, the warming

air, the nearby mockingbird's song and my desire to make Bethin feel better. I focused it

all into a pleasant, gentle smile. I saw her ears perk slightly and I knew there was hope.

The keys jingled quietly as I held them up. "It's all ready for you."

She looked at the car, taken off guard by my announcement. "Already?"

I nodded. "You can take it for a test drive now. Although, since you already own it," I

grinned, "I suppose it would be more of an acquaintance cruise."

Her black-furred hand took the keys and pressed the plastic box into mine. "This is for

you. Ham on wheat."

I thanked her, but I doubt she heard. She was staring at the Madison. I had hosed down

the outside, cleaned the inside. It looked much better than it had when we first saw it.

Eddie Hargrove hadn't been much of a mechanic, but he had taken pride in his car's

appearance. The rust and bent fender took only a little away from it.

She sat behind the wheel and fired up the motor. Three hundred dollars and two days'

work had given the Madison its dignity back. The six cylinder engine hummed without

complaint. After listening for a moment, she shut it off and got back out. She closed the

door carefully, stepped back.

"It's wonderful." She turned to me. "Thank you very much."

"You're very welcome," I told her.

A small, strained smile creased her muzzle for a second. Then she dropped her gaze to

the car's new tires. "I'm sorry."

I nodded, but she didn't see. "It's ok."

"No, it's not," she said, faintly annoyed. "I shouldn't have run out. You were only being

nice."

I mulled over her words and didn't actually find anything that proved I hadn't caused her

flight. I had to know. "I was afraid-" I cut off the 'you were upset with me' in fear it

might sound like I was shifting blame. I tried, "I thought maybe I had said something...",

but stopped, not really knowing how to finish.

"No," she said again. "It wasn't you. It was me." She studied the gravel between us.

"What you said, it reminded me of something." Her eyes closed, rewinding the tape on

some hurtful part of her past. "Of someone."

I would never have credited how much that could hurt. In my self-centered

preoccupation with what Bethin might mean to me, I hadn't thought what others might

mean to her. There might well be someone in Atlanta right now who missed her terribly.

Possibly she was the one carrying an unreturned love in her heart. I felt certain Cray

would be disappointed in me if he knew I had been so inconsiderate about her own

emotional bruises.

"Do you still want to go to the picnic?"

She nodded, looked up at me. "I'd like to meet everyone."

"When would be the best time?"

"I start work tomorrow." Her ears twitched. "Saturday is my first day off."

I shifted the box under one arm and nodded. "I'll let Jo and Ria know."

We were staring at each other. I couldn't guess what she was thinking, but I felt a

sudden flash of memory shiver through me. I remembered staring at Rebecca as we said

good night, having ended our first date on amiably interested terms. The gravity between

us had grown, until we wound up in a brief kiss that had left me dazzled.

That thought washed through me like a fickle summer shower, bursting open to expend

itself within moments and leaving everything clean and hot. The image of Rebecca was

gone even as I noticed Bethin leaning closer. My head was empty of everything but

wonder as she touched her muzzle to my cheek. I knew this caniform display of affection,

but seldom did the warm press of lips, nose and whiskers last so long.

She pulled back finally, her tongue lingering a fraction of a second longer on my cheek.

My head buzzed, as if my brain were caught in some powerful feedback loop. Our eyes

still held each other, forsaking our surroundings. The world stopped and watched us,

breathless.

She said something, but the words slithered right around me. I was desperately

searching her face for the answer to what had just happened. Apology? Attraction?

Invitation? Something else I couldn't even begin to fathom? What did that kiss mean to

her?

Bethin got into her new car and carefully drove away. I touched my cheek, confused and

scared and hopeful. The real question came to me.

What did that kiss mean to *me*?

**************************

The best place in the Valley to hold picnics is at the Nhuong's small horse ranch two

miles north of my house. Tra and his wife Luu are Vietnamese immigrants with a long

history of supporting genemorph's rights. They were also the first to suggest that folks in

Noah's Valley form their own self-supportive community. Most of us look to them as

parent figures.

Half the twelve acres that surround the Nhuong's old wood-sided house is cleared for the

horse runs while the other half is covered in oak and poplar trees. The new leaf buds had

opened nearly a month ago. While the mornings might still see an occasional light frost

the days were deliciously warm. It was the best time of the year to be outside. Pollen and

insects were a month away and snow was no more than a bad dream.

As Bethin and I pulled up in her car, I could hear the gathering already. The chatter of

humans and the deeper, rumbling voices of genemorphs mixed, each serving to

counterpoint the other without being lost itself. Bethin couldn't have missed the sound if it

was obvious to me. She didn't say anything as we got out of the car, but I saw her look

around nervously. I wondered if she was really up to this.

"Want to take a moment?" I asked.

She looked at the house, squinting against the late morning sun. She took deep breaths.

Cataloging those present behind the house, I assumed. Perhaps searching for threats. Her

sneeze surprised me, sharp and quick. She sniffed once and licked her nose.

"I'm alright."

On a sudden impulse I held out my hand. She glanced down at it, up at me. I wondered,

too late, if she would be offended. I needn't have worried. She took it as the friendly

gesture that it was. She covered my palm with hers and pressed the soft, leathery pad

against my pink flesh. Our scents mingled, essentially giving her my 'mark'. It wasn't

necessary, of course, but it made her feel a bit better knowing that all 'morphs who greeted

her would know her as my friend.

With a gentle smile, she said, "Thanks. I'm ready."

Picnics are undoubtedly my favorite event in the Valley. Everyone has their own life and

it's hard to keep up with what's going on sometimes. A picnic will bring most of us

together, letting us get reacquainted with those we haven't talked to or seen in a few

months. Following the brick walkway around the house led us past newly planted

marigolds and flowering shrubs covered in new leaves. Coming around the corner, I could

see several people I hadn't crossed paths with for a while. I walked slowly, letting Bethin

get used to the environment.

As I expected, Luu appeared within moments to greet us. A small woman with an

intense gaze and an almost perpetual smile, she positively beamed at us.

"Ah, Trevor, there you are!" she exclaimed in her high, light voice. "Good to see you!

And is this Bethin? I'm so glad to meet you!" She gestured for us to take a seat at one of

the three large picnic tables that had been built just for these kind of gatherings. "Get

comfortable, have something to drink. We're almost all here who's coming. It's going to

be wonderful!"

Luu was gone again before either of us could say anything. I told Bethin that Mrs.

Nhuong was a great hostess but it usually took her a while to get over the excitement once

things got going. We'd be able to talk to her later when she'd settled down.

As I gazed around at the folks I'd come to know so well, I felt a surge of affection.

Many of these people had helped me though hard times, just as I'd helped them when I

could. There was much history between me and the people gathered there. If ever I could

call anyplace home, this was it.

I turned to Bethin, intending to ask her where she'd like to sit. I saw the tension in her

face, the nervous flicking of her ears. I sidled a bit closer, until we touched shoulders.

"Quite a gathering, eh?" I said, as if we might be discussing something as mundane as a

flock of birds in flight or a field of bright wildflowers.

A few cheerful hails were thrown to us, and I smiled and waved. I didn't move from

Bethin's side, though. I would wait until she was ready to move. No one approached us,

the genemorphs being able to tell from her body language that she was not ready and the

humans taking their cues from their 'morph friends. I pointed to the nearest couple sitting

at a table.

"That's the Neriells. Thoary there is a master carpenter and Cierre is a licensed nurse.

He made my porch swing for me." The two lepiforms were talking softly to one of their

sons, their long, soft ears bobbing as Weese was reminded to play nice with his sisters.

Next to them on the bench sat Ari Muller. She is the only attorney in Paris who deals

solely in genemorph's legal problems. Her practice has helped many Noah's Valley

residents. Her bright red hair and lean frame, attained by spending most of her studying

hours on stair machines and treadmills, helps define her image as a fighter. Fighting is

what she does best, in court or on a gym mat. Her genemorph husband, Pferg, an

ursiform, owes his position in the Paris police force to her legal skills. He was obviously

not present. It's hard to miss genemorphic bears.

Ari flashed a quick grin at us. Bethin seemed openly intrigued by her, and I made a

mental note to specifically introduce them to each other later.

As I continued to describe the folks who were wandering around or seated and chatting,

a few sharp genemorph ears caught their names on the wind. Those would turn and wave

to me. It wasn't long before Bethin was waving back with me. Then I spotted Cray,

standing at the edge of the gathering with his mate, Rayanth. I pointed him out and said,

"There's Cray. He's the guy who helps me keep my head on straight."

Bethin gave me a look, as if I might perhaps be joking. "Really?" she asked. I nodded

and she gazed at Cray a moment before turning to me again. "I'd like to meet him."

Her sudden interest made me uneasy. I wondered if I'd said something I would regret

later, but came up with nothing. I tried not to sound nervous when I asked, "Now?"

She nodded and headed in that direction. I followed her, curious and apprehensive.

As we moved among the humans and genemorphs I wondered if Bethin might be feeling

self-conscious. She was one of only two 'morphs wearing clothes. The other was Brenn,

Shaster's mate. She was born with a genetic flaw that caused her to lose nearly all her fur

as a kit. Rather than being ashamed of her condition, though, she delights in covering her

exposed skin with all manner of human and genemorph style clothes. Her choice for the

picnic was a light cotton sari wrapped around her slim form. It covered her head, as well,

so that it made a hood to protect her from the strengthening springtime sun.

Bethin's outfit wasn't as exotic. A thin green and white sundress edged with a floral

pattern allowed her rich red fur to tinge the material to a warm pink. She had made one

concession to the warming weather. She had left her sandals at home and now walked

through the burgeoning grass barefoot.

Apparently she had also prepared herself for the sight of 20 or so nude genemorphs. She

didn't react at all as she made her way among them. We both smiled or waved as more

greetings were offered. She seemed almost relaxed. Then she noticed Rayanth, standing

next to Cray and holding his hand. The sun was glancing off the soft fur of his chest and

belly, highlighting the faint teal color of his pelt. Her stride slowed and she moved nearer

to me.

"Trevor?" she asked, uncertain.

"That's Rayanth," I told her. "He's a direct descendant of the Beecher line."

"Oh," she said softly. She hesitated for a second, and I could understand. Rayanth was a

rare individual.

Long ago, Beecher Genetics was one of many new companies trying to produce viable

genemorphs for the privilege of holding the patent to the process. They, like so many, had

come close before losing to Advanced Moreau Designs. Their research process, however,

had come very close. One of their near successes was a species of genemorph wolf with

unusual colors in their fur. Rayanth was a descendant of that production line. His fur was

actually white with a faint purple cast everywhere except his broad chest and stomach,

which was a washed out greenish blue.

"He's a bit shy," I said, filling her in quietly as we approached. "He met Cray in the

Virtual University of Michigan a while back. They've been mates ever since."

"Hello Trevor," Cray said as we got closer. "Is this the neighbor I've been hearing

about?" He only glanced at me before studying Bethin in a friendly, open way. Then he

surprised both of us by extending his hand, palm up.

By being part of a larger group, Cray was essentially a 'dominant' in his brief interaction

with Bethin. To offer his hand first was his way of helping to put her at ease. It was a

gesture of acceptance and acknowledgement.

Bethin and I were both mildly surprised, but she willingly lowered her nose to his palm. I

noticed she kept her eyes on him as she did so. I looked to Rayanth, wondering what his

reaction was. He smiled and softly greeted me. He seemed to have no problems with

Cray's display.

When Bethin returned the gesture, I noticed a tiny flick of Cray's ears. He easily caught

the fresh mark I had left on her palm. His eyes met mine for an instant, leaving me to

wonder what he thought of my gesture.

After they had exchanged 'morph greetings, I lead the human method of introductions.

"Bethin, this is Cray Drygu. He's studying psychology with a specialization in genemorph

applications at VUM. And this is Rayanth, his mate. He's majoring in computer science.

Guys, this is Bethin Veresh. She's the new assistant at the Highland Animal Clinic."

"And what have you been hearing?" Bethin asked Cray.

I froze. An almost irrational fear seized me. I felt like a child about to be caught in a lie

between his parents.

Cray shrugged casually. "Mostly that you've been having terrible luck with cars lately."

I took a deep, slow breath, hoping the three genemorphs around me wouldn't notice.

"You have me at a disadvantage," Bethin said softly. "Trevor hasn't told me anything

about you."

Now my throat closed off. I felt a sudden, furious rush of heat to my face as Cray

looked at me. Curiosity colored his tone. "Really?"

"It hasn't really come up." It was amazing that I didn't stutter or simply go blank. But

my face had to be radiating enough heat to wilt their whiskers. To my chagrin I could see

laughter in Cray's expression. He thought it was funny, seeing me put on the spot like

that. A small knot of anger in my throat choked off anything else I might have tried to

say. It was all too like him to rub my nose in my discomfiture.

The tall 'morph wolf looked the fox up and down once, appraisingly. "That's a nice outfit

you have on. I bet you would love to talk to Brenn. I'm sure she'd love to talk to you,

too." He pointed to the laughing, purring feline who was watching over a handful of kits

and human children playing 'prey', the genemorph version of 'tag'.

As the two walked away, I felt suddenly betrayed and jealous. As I tried to catalog and

understand the swirl of mixed emotions, Rayanth lightly touched my arm.

"You know him better than that."

I looked at him, his admonition plain to me. "What?"

He stepped closer, leaned down toward my comparatively small ears. "He'd never do

anything to hurt you. Or your chance for happiness."

Why did I feel so abruptly lost? I searched his open, honest expression. "Happiness?" I

asked, my voice small and confused.

A small cloud drifted across the sun, dousing the unique highlights in his fur. His head

tipped slightly, his face showed concern. "You really can't see it, can you?"

See what? I wanted to ask, but didn't. I feared I already knew the answer. I was

absurdly glad Bethin had left. I wasn't sure I could have looked at her then and not seen

Rebecca.

"Rayanth, I- I can't..." I floundered. I shut up when he put his hand on my arm again.

The warmth of his pads gave me unexpected comfort.

"It's all right," he said quietly. "It's hard, I know. Just give it time. And know that we'll

be here to help you if you need us."

I looked up at him, feeling tiny and vulnerable but safe within the presence of my many

friends. Words had evaporated, leaving me mute. I could only nod. He gently squeezed

my arm.

As the afternoon glided serenely toward evening, I watched Bethin talk to many of the

folks gathered at the picnic tables. Sometimes Cray was with her, sometimes Brenn,

sometimes Luu. She talked, laughed, and listened. She seemed to fill with confidence,

especially around other genemorphs.

I stayed at arm's length most of the afternoon, giving her space to make new

acquaintances on her own. I was glad to see her looking more comfortable that she ever

had around me. I still felt twinges of jealousy once in a while, but would look for

someone to talk to whenever I did.

Darren arrived late to the party. That is his way, as was the oversized shirt he wore

emblazoned with the words "Thin the monkeys." Darren's a chameleon, the genemorph

term for a human who desires nothing more than to be a 'morph himself. He has taken his

personal worldview to extremes, though. He's as close to being a true misanthrope as any

cave-dwelling hermit or radical terrorist genemorph. Luckily for him, his love of all things

genemorph is equally balanced by his absolute aversion to violence. Instead, he expresses

himself with boisterous pro-genemorph slogans at rallies and an indulgence in the gestures

of latent animosity for humans that more vocal genemorphs use in their campaigns. He's

seldom seen without a shirt that defames the 'monkeys', the disparaging 'morph term for

humans.

Despite his worldview, he's seen as a good, decent person who will help anyone who

asks, regardless of who he is. Those who live in the Valley generally consider him the

resident eccentric. He's good at parties, though

He had brought his guitar this time, to the delight of many. His singing is only passable,

but his playing is marvelous. Not long after he had arrived he was perched on the edge of

a table with his instrument across his lap. He strummed a few chords experimentally. Luu

shook a finger at him.

"Darren, you promised. No rally songs at picnics."

Darren grinned, knowing full well what he had promised but unable to resist teasing a

little. He shifted his guitar and watched as those gathered moved nearer. Soon the first

notes of one of his own songs was drifting through the warm spring air. It was called

'Deer in autumn.' It's a thoughtful, softly sung ballad about the trials of life and the

importance of faith. He doesn't sing it often, but when he does it's a given that there'll be

several misty eyes in the audience.

He followed that with 'My little chicken dance,' a quick, quirky and hilarious ditty about

a child's view of farm chores. As I chuckled at his description of a frustrated boy trying to

herd his scattered flock of farm birds into the hen house, I noticed Ria standing next to

me. She rubbed shoulders with me in casual greeting. I smiled at her, feeling quite good.

"One of our better picnics, hmm?"

I nodded. "Weather cooperated this time," I said, remembering the Spring Herald picnic

that had been driven into the horse barns by rumbling spring rains.

Ria took a deep, invigorating breath and grinned, the tip of her tongue quickly peeking

between her teeth. The air smelled wild, alive. It wasn't just the perfume of new growth

or the rich, pungent aroma of horses. I could smell the genemorphs clustered around us.

Being around a single 'morph, you could detect the expected scent of skin and fur, the

faint musk of a living creature whose genetic blueprints once included scent glands for

communicating with others. In a crowd of 'morphs the scent grew, until it became almost

a separate entity. A genemorph could test the wind and tell you who was present and

what species they were. A human could only tell you that there were more than a dozen

nearby.

"Bethin seems to be really enjoying herself." She tipped her right ear toward a small

group of 'morphs who were murring over some spiced venison Luu had put out. Spiced

meat is the equivalent of candy among the carnivorous breeds.

Among them were Bethin and Brenn, who seemed to have hit it off. I noticed that while

they were enjoying the small clumps of meat on their plastic plates, they seemed to be

deep in discussion. I found myself wondering what they were talking about.

"Where's she from, anyway? Do you know?"

I glanced at Ria, wondering if she was serious. She seemed to be. While ours is a tight

community, news doesn't always reach everyone. "Atlanta is what she told me."

Ria urfed in sympathy. "Atlanta was never very kind to our folk, was it," she said

quietly. "All those 'public decency' ordinances forcing them to wear human-style clothes,

stigmatizing any 'morphs or humans who associated outside their species." She shook her

head sadly. "She's probably never seen genemorphs and humans behave civilly toward

each other until now."

Thinking back on our first encounter, I said, "No, she probably hasn't."

"It's a good thing she has you for a neighbor, then. You helped set her mind at ease."

She said it so casually, I was halfway convinced Ria was joking. I was certain that the

last thing I could ever do was put Bethin's mind at ease.

"You know, I might be wrong, but I think she's interested in you."

"Ria," I scoffed. "I'm not even on her list. She tolerates me."

She stared hard at me, and I felt the weight of those words settling on my shoulders. I

didn't know that they were true, I merely suspected. Part of me hoped they were true.

And the rest of me agreed with Ria's disbelieving expression. I waited anxiously for her to

say something; to disagree with me, to confirm my suspicions, anything.

"She told me about you."

I held my breath.

"About your helping her, your kindnesses."

The sun opened its one great eye, bringing a beautiful luster to her dark fur.

"She seems, well, taken with you."

Warmth flooded in, from the sun, from my friends, from the possibilities.

"You should talk to her, get to know her better." Ria put her hand on my shoulder,

leaned close. "You owe it to yourself. And to Rebecca." She kissed my cheek, lips and

whiskers brushing my skin.

As Ria walked away, I noticed Cray and Rayanth at the far end of the gathering, keeping

a comfortable distance between themselves and the rest of the crowd. Cray took

Rayanth's hand in his and smiled as his mate nuzzled his cheek. Their small display of

affection reminded me of how I sometimes envied them. They still had what I had lost.

It finally sunk in that Ria had said I owed it to Rebecca to talk to Bethin. I felt myself

frown. How could that be? How could I owe it to my missing wife to take an interest in

another woman? What kind of loyalty was that, to disregard my feelings for Rebecca and

give my heart to another?

And what would Bethin want with my aching, empty heart? What good was I to her?

I didn't know it then, but fate would soon give me answers to some of my questions.

**************************

Chapter Eight

The next week was a busy one. I was contacted by my two largest clients within eight

hours of each other. Rather than decline any work or put one off I took both jobs and

split my time between each. It felt good to stretch myself for a change. I hadn't worked

fourteen hour days since I was a student and I was reasonably proud of myself for being

able to slip back into that kind of schedule.

It cost me, though. By the time I had both nearly completed I felt terrible. I

remembered why I had been glad to graduate and trim my schedule down. My friends had

been staying away at my warning: I'm busy and surly and I can't remember if I showered

this morning so you might want to call back next week, thanks.

The light was shining brightly at the end of my tunnel when I finally noticed it was

raining. Typical spring weather, I thought. Rain had been falling on and off for two

weeks and the ground was saturated. It was a Tuesday night, about 9 p.m. I was really

looking forward to closing both jobs tonight and sleeping late the next day.

Then the weather alert popped up on my computer screen, text and a radar picture. An

active thunderstorm heading east would reach Noah's Valley within the hour. I frowned,

checked the charge on the batteries of my backup power supplies and threw myself at my

new deadline.

I finished both jobs in a rush of tight concentration and sent my work. By then I could

hear the clouds growling their threats and see the distant strokes of electric daylight

punching gunshot holes in the darkness. I wondered if I should shut down the machines.

Before I could decide, I heard Chancer and Nudge barking on the back porch. They don't

like storms and wanted to be close to me when the weather got ugly. Just as I opened the

door to let them in the power went out. From the corner of my eye I saw the screens of

my computers display warnings as the UPS batteries kicked in. That was enough for me.

I shut the machines down and disconnected them from all outside wires, even the cable to

the net dish on the roof. Surge protectors could only do so much, and they would fry like

anything else if struck directly by lightning. The only way to truly protect everything was

to isolate it completely.

I wasn't surprised when the voice phone rang. Someone was most likely calling to check

up on me since the power died.

"Hello?"

"Trevor?" I couldn't place the voice at first, not until I heard, "It's me, Bethin."

"Oh, hi." Her voice on the phone was almost a match for Ria's.

"Is your power out?"

"Yeah." I didn't bother to look out the window. I couldn't see my neighbor's house

when the leaves were on the trees. "Unless a tree took out a power line half of the Valley

is most likely dark. We're all on one of two circuits that service this area." I pressed the

light button on my watch. 9:57 p.m. "There's a substation near the highway that gets

hammered almost every spring."

There was a silence on the line. I wondered if the phone line had gone out when I heard

her sigh. "So you think it will come back soon?"

"Mmm. Hard to say." I felt one of the dogs press against my legs and patted its head.

"I'd give it half an hour before I call the power company. Mr. Qualls over on Keller road

retired from the local power company and always calls if the lights go out at his place.

We're on the same circuit he is and if his are out, he'll have already given the new director

an earful." I listened to her breathe a few moments. "Are you alright?"

She didn't answer immediately, but I heard her breathe deeply again, as if trying to calm

herself down. "Yeah."

I opened my mouth to ask another question but heard a sound outside that stopped me.

The wind was kicking up, moaning as it drug itself around the house. I suddenly had an

odd feeling this storm would be a harbinger, bringing change to our lives. I don't spook

easily and storms are nothing new, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something was

about to happen. I pictured Bethin alone in her small trailer, listening to the same wind.

"Would you like some company?"

It didn't dawn on me how my question might have sounded to her until much later. At

the time I was simply concerned that she might feel isolated during a bad storm.

She hesitated again, and when she said, "No, that's alright, thank you," I imagined she

sounded as if she had seriously considered it. "I'll be fine."

"Well, if you need anything, let me know."

"I will. Thanks. Bye."

When we hung up, I noticed the flash outside was closely matched by its thunderous

arrival. A phrase popped into my head, one I didn't remember reading but was so clear

that I was convinced I had read it recently: 'The pronouncements of God swept among the

people on the shoulders of Fate.'

I went to the linen closet to dig out my old, wonderfully anachronistic oil lamps that I

keep for such occasions. As I lit the three of them I wondered what fate had planned for

our little valley.

As the night went on, it became clear that fate had decided to unleash havoc on us. The

wind's guttural howls became an angry shriek. Fat, heavy raindrops were hissing against

the roof and windows while the rustle of new leaves grew into a dull tearing sound.

I sat on the floor against the couch with the dogs on either side of me. I petted them and

spoke as soothingly as I could. I wondered if I would have to realign the net dish on the

roof or buy a new one when the storm was over.

A soft sound filtered through the house, a sound I had heard only once before. Both the

dogs and I looked to the south, from where it had come. The last time we had heard that

faint 'thrush' nearby we had gone out to find one of the maple trees at the edge of the

property had toppled.

We waited, and I wondered which tree had come down. Nothing else could be heard

above the rumbling cough of thunder and the wind bullying its way through the trees. I

pictured the trees around Bethin's house, one in particular, and the hair on my arm started

to rise. I stood and dialed her number. I felt a cold spot in my stomach when she didn't

answer. 'She might be asleep. She might have left.' I told myself. It didn't help. When

ten rings produced no answer, I grabbed my umbrella and a light jacket and headed out.

The umbrella did little good. The wind slung the rain across my body in cold strokes that

made me wonder if I was being foolish. Perhaps the phone lines had gone down, or she

had disconnected them to protect her equipment. The image that kept me jogging toward

her trailer was the enormous poplar tree that grew on the hill behind her house. If it had

fallen over onto that small wood and metal box she lived in...

I could see nothing useful as I strode up her short driveway. I looked up to see if I could

pick out the silhouette of the poplar tree. I couldn't. The clouds had obscured the stars

and the sliver of a moon, and in the perpetual avalanche of rain I couldn't make out the

shape of her house. I cursed myself for not bringing a flashlight. Nature obliged most

dramatically.

Like some bad cable movie a sharp, lingering stroke of lightning showed me what

happened. My fears about the poplar had been justified. Two thirds of the trailer's length

were covered in dark foliage. I could make out several broken windows and the tangled

mess that had once been a roof, now collapsed on top of the crushed walls of the north

end of the trailer.

I thought I had been cold. The rain was nothing to the dread that filled my stomach with

freezing cement. The thought of Bethin pinned under the wreckage numbed me. I don't

remember dropping the umbrella, or getting soaked, or running up to the outer wall of the

trailer and pounding on it. I do remember shouting her name, wishing the rain would stop

long enough for me to hear her. I tried to push branches aside to find the front door.

Nothing would move. I thoughtlessly grabbed the torn edge of an outer wall, thinking to

peel it back. Several cuts to the palms of my hands forced me to stop. I moved back

around the south end of her small house. I had hoped to find the back door unblocked,

but was frustrated again. I threw myself against a large branch that was resting on the

roof, caving it in like a baseball bat that had struck a pillow, uselessly.

I was slamming my fists against the walls, shouting loud enough to make my throat hurt.

Over my own cries and the constant thrum of rain I caught a faint sound of breaking glass.

I ran back around the south end and noticed movement in the single end window.

Something large, some jumbled collection of sticks pushed through the window, breaking

more glass. It pulled back and appeared again. Another stroke of lightning highlighted

Bethin, standing in the window with a wooden chair in her hands. I reached out toward

the window and shouted.

"Bethin! I'm here!"

At first I didn't think she heard me. She made no sound, didn't acknowledge me in any

way. She swung the chair a few more times until the outer screen tore. She pushed the

chair through the broken window and quickly followed it out. I couldn't see her face in

the darkness but her movements told me much. She was frantic, pushing, tearing,

straining to thread her body through the opening. I heard more glass breaking and feared

for her safety. I got under the window and reached up to help her. She ignored me.

With a sudden flurry of movement, I heard her cry out. She twisted violently, clawing at

something that had her trapped. I tried to calm her down but my words were drowned in

a flood of rain and frenzied thrashing.

She finally found some purchase with her legs and thrust herself through the window. I

winced as she strained to escape, distressed to hear a grinding sound as the metal frame of

the window bent and the remaining screen tore. She fell free and I tried to catch her.

Without enough light to see I couldn't tell where to grab and wound up having 140

pounds of terrified morphic fox slam into my shoulders and drive me to the ground. I felt

a brief fiery stab of pain across the side of my head before it hit the muddy ground.

I lay there, stunned, when a second assault began. Bethin was trying to extract herself

from me. I felt claws gouge my stomach and rake my shin as she scrambled to get away

from me. Dazed even further, I just lay there and groaned. I lost track for a moment until

I heard her whine.

I craned my head around and hissed at the pain that returned to my neck and ear. Rolling

to my knees, then to my feet, I felt my injuries take roll call: a shoulder that felt somewhat

bruised, scratches lining my belly and leg, and several fingers on my right hand that had

apparently been caught under something heavy. These were in addition to the cuts on my

hands that I had managed to forget just a minute before.

I waited, not feeling up to the task of moving just then. The next flash of lightning

spotlighted a bedraggled, muddy vulpiform huddling against a bush a few feet away. Her

tail was curled around her legs so tightly I could hardly tell she had one. Her ears were

likewise nearly invisible, no doubt pressed flat against her head. I could make out little of

her expression, but the sounds coming from her told me she was still very frightened.

I took a deep breath, spat the mud out of my mouth and called her name. She looked at

me, but until another flash of lightning washed across us I couldn't tell if she was really

hearing me. I had to wait until the thunderclap had faded before I could speak to her.

"Are you hurt?" I took a clumsy step toward her, but stopped when she backed away

from me. I was too rattled to wonder about this. I simply accepted that she was scared

and uncertain and I needed to give her a minute to get her bearings back. With a grunt, I

knelt down in the soggy grass.

"Tell you what," I said. "Why don't we both rest for a bit? I'm feeling a bit worn just

now." I put a hand to my burning neck and felt the angry sting of an open wound. The

rain washed my hand clean before I could see how much blood there might be. I decided

that was a good sign, that I wasn't bleeding very much. My mashed fingers would still

bend, so I knew they weren't broken.

I looked at Bethin, or at least I tried to. I could barely make out her shape against the

bush. I waited, resting and hoping for another flare of lightning. When a dull flicker

coursed overhead, I could just see her eyes and face. She was staring at the crushed ruins

of the trailer. I asked, "Are you alright?"

"My house," she murmured.

"I know," I said. I did. I'd had to move once as a child because of a fire that incinerated

my home.

"Everything's in there."

I wanted to gently distract her from the sudden loss that had dropped on her, literally.

"Are you hurt anywhere?"

"My clothes are in there." She sounded plaintive now. I realized that when she had

come through the window she hadn't had any clothes on. I heard her moan, and asked

again, urgently, "Bethin, are you hurt?"

My eyes were finally getting used to the dark, and I could tell she was holding her hands

to her stomach. Fearful she may have injured herself, I said, "Let me have a look." I

stood, wobbling, and took a step closer. She pressed herself into the bush and whimpered,

"No." I stopped.

"Where is it?"

"My...my stomach. It hurts."

"Bethin," I said softly, trying to gain her trust. "Please, let me see. You might need a

doctor."

I was grateful when she finally turned toward me. I knelt next to her and asked her to

show me where it hurt. When she pulled her hands away from her stomach, she

whimpered again. I knew I wouldn't be able to see anything in the darkness through her

thick fur, so I placed my hands against her, looking for that sticky warmth that signaled

blood in fur. What I found was a tiny hard nub that caused her to cry out when I brushed

it.

"You've got some glass in you. Do you hurt anywhere else?"

"My leg and my arm."

"Can you walk without hurting?"

She considered that a moment before she stood and took a few steps. "Ahh! Oww!"

"What? Your leg?"

"Yes. I think I cut it."

I looked at the dim outline of her shattered home. I'd have to take her to my house. "I'll

carry you to my house, if you'll let me. I'll call Gabby, she's a paramedic. She can come

look at you, take that glass out of you."

I felt her shivering. She and I were both soaked and frigid. I knew I would be shivering

soon, too. She tried to take another step, wanting, I guessed, to make it under her own

power. She moaned and threw her arm over my shoulder. "Can you lift me?"

It wasn't easy. I'm not very strong, and my 5'8" frame isn't suited for carrying more than

my own 175 pounds of weight. I was determined, though. I got my arms under her

shoulders and knees and lifted, grunting at the weight pulling my bruised shoulder. It took

a few tries to get her centered to the point that I could walk with her in my arms.

I was terrified I'd drop her, but I managed to get to my doorstep without losing my grip

on her. I was greatly relieved to see the power was back on. The dogs were dancing

around and barking madly, the storm and my sudden departure having upset them. I set

Bethin down on the edge of the low coffee table by the couch and told her I'd be back in a

second.

I returned with several thick terry towels and a phone that finally connected to Gabrielle's

house.

"Gabby?" I said. "It's Trevor. Bethin's at my house. She needs your help. She had to

crawl through a broken window." I laid one towel on the couch lengthwise. I noticed

Bethin was trying to cover herself with her hands, looking cold and embarrassed and in

pain. "Yeah, a tree hit her house but she's alright. Just got some cuts and some glass in

her." I could see a small dribble of watery blood pooling on the table top. "Shock? No, I

don't think so." I motioned Bethin to lay on the towel-covered couch. She moved slowly,

wincing and hissing at the stinging bite of glass. "Thanks. See you in a bit." I hung up,

set the phone down and spread a towel over her drenched body. "Better?" She nodded

gratefully as I rolled a third up and slipped it under her head.

I started heating some water in the micro and asked her if she'd like something warm to

drink.

"Tea, please."

While the water warmed I settled the dogs, talking softly to them and petting them.

They calmed by the time the tea had steeped.

"Sugar or milk?"

"No, thanks."

I sat on the table by her head and handed her the ceramic mug. She thanked me, her

voice soft and strained. I watched her take several slow sips. Her ears started to come

up. She licked her whiskers and drank a bit more. I heard water dripping and realized I

was leaving quite a puddle on the table. Glancing at my wet clothes, I said, "I'd best get

out of these. Be right back."

As I headed to my bedroom, I heard, "Trevor?"

"Yes?"

She raised herself up and I could see the sharp point of her muzzle over the back of the

couch. She looked at me, her eyes still troubled. "Thank you."

I nodded. I knew I should say something. Such an event as we had just experienced

surely required some comment. I could think of nothing. I simply said, "You're

welcome."

**************************

Gabby didn't show up alone. Jo and Ria were with her. They stood back as Gabby

tended to Bethin, cleaning her cuts and pulling several thin slivers of broken glass from her

hide. Only one cut, the one on her leg just above her knee, needed to be shaved to be

bandaged. I followed Jo and Ria's example and stayed out of the way.

Once Gabby had Bethin patched up she turned her attention to me. "What all?" she

asked. I told her and she set to work. I was very surprised when she pulled a thin needle

of glass from my earlobe. "There's better ways of gettin' pierced, you know," she said.

Her dry sense of humor was a big part of her bedside manner. I looked her in the eye and

deadpanned, "Can I still get that gold stud I wanted?"

"Ask your father," she replied evenly, not to be outdone.

Ria, more concerned about Bethin's immediate future, asked, "Do you have somewhere

to go?"

Bethin shook her head. "I suppose I could afford a hotel for a few days, until..." She

trailed off, not knowing what came after the 'until.' Her ears flagged and she picked at the

edges of the towel that still covered her.

"Don't worry," Ria told her. "You're part of Noah's Valley now. I'm sure we can work

something out." She looked at me and asked, "What do you think?"

It took a second before I understood what she was asking me, and several more seconds

before I could figure out why. I hadn't even managed to open my mouth to answer when

Gabby spoke up.

"Well, let me suggest this. I called Lisseda on my way over. She's an old friend of mine.

She's a feliform who works the night shift at Henry county hospital's radiology lab. She

lives alone in a big house in Paris and she'd love to take you in. You know, until you can

get things, uhm, settled."

Bethin said nothing at first. She only stared at the floor and clenched the towel like a

lifeline. When Gabby touched her shoulder and said, "Bethin?", she nodded. I could feel

Ria's eyes on me but I was feeling tired and a bit overwhelmed and I wasn't thinking too

clearly.

Gabby, with her usual quick efficiency, bundled Bethin up in an emergency blanket and

disappeared, heading for Paris. Jo and Ria stood with me on the front porch for a bit, until

Ria nuzzled Jo and quietly spoke to him for a moment.

I watched Jo get into the wrecker and close the door. Ria touched my arm and said,

"Why didn't you say something?"

I don't know where the anger came from, but it rose up and lashed out before I could

contain it.

"Like what? 'You should come live with me. Never mind that you just had your house

demolished, come snuggle up with me and everything will be better in the morning.'"

Ria's expression hardened, and I regretted every word I'd just uttered.

"What's wrong with you? I know you're not that insensitive."

"Ria-" I began, wanting to apologize. She cut me off with a sharp wave of her hand.

Her dark blue eyes glittered in the porch light.

"Do you really think she'd rather be stuck in some stranger's house at a time like this?

With a woman who will be at work all night and sleeping during the day?"

I found myself defending Gabby without knowing exactly why. "I'm sure she'll be more

comfortable in a genemorph's house than in mine. And if she has Gabby's confidence, then

she has mine, too. She'll be fine."

Ria stared at me, disbelief taking the place of her usual smile. "I can't believe this.

You're giving up on her."

"What?" I said, stunned. "No, Ria, I-"

"You're afraid to get involved with Bethin because you think you'd be betraying

Rebecca."

I felt like I'd just been punched in the stomach. My mouth worked, trying to object,

trying to deny those hurtful words. I felt weak, as if I didn't have the strength to deflect

the accusation Ria had flung at me.

"Trevor, Rebecca loved you. Deeply. Everyone could see it." Ria's voice lowered,

getting rough with emotion. "She took great joy in your happiness, in giving you that

happiness." She took a deep breath and pressed on. "But she's gone. And now Bethin

needs your help. She's lost and alone and you're the one she knows best. If Rebecca

could see you giving up on her like this it would..."

She had to stop, her voice breathless and pained. She stared at me as if I were turning

*her* away in her moment of greatest need. I felt like a small boat tossed by the

distressed writhings of an anguished sea.

"It would break her heart," she continued, and I saw a single tear draw a dark line in the

fur of her cheek. Her ears were pressing hard against her head and her tail was moving in

short jerks. She swallowed, collected herself. "And I can't believe you would do that to

her. Or to Bethin." Her anger resurfaced, tempered by her sympathy for me. "Don't you

dare ignore her when she needs you. Don't you *dare*." Her last word was a near-growl.

She held my eyes a moment longer, then stalked off the porch and got into the wrecker.

Its headlights came on, and I was blinded to its occupants. They were nothing more than

shadowy outlines as they pulled away.

**************************

Chapter Nine

I knew what would happen the next day. A large handful of folks from around the

Valley showed up to help move Bethin out of her demolished house. The road was

cluttered with pick up trucks. Men and women, humans and genemorphs, everyone who

could manage to show up on a Wednesday morning was there. Shaster had taken the

morning off, at Anna's insistence, and driven her back from Lisseda's house so she could

pick up her car. I was standing by her mailbox, watching Cody Hollins lift the poplar off

the roof while several men with chainsaws lopped the heavier limbs. Cody has his own

small construction company and had shown up unannounced with one of his two

backhoes.

No one else noticed at first when she arrived, scrunched down in the back seat of

Shaster's car. I saw her staring at the tree, her left hand pressed against the window. The

early morning sun glinted off the glass, hiding her face. I knew she had to be

uncomfortable because Shaster had to get out and open her door for her, urging her to

come out. She stood by the car, looking at the tree and house. Her ears twitched.

Treeva, an ursiform relative of Pferg, saw her first. She shambled over to the

comparatively tiny fox and laid a gentle, comforting hand on her shoulder. Others noticed

and waved, calling her name. Bethin looked around at all the people helping out,

somewhat stunned. Shaster and Treeva stayed with her while she absorbed the scene.

I remained by the mailbox, wondering what I could possibly say to her. My mind was a

whirl. I couldn't really think, I could only watch. I hadn't slept much the night before.

Ria's words had taken up residence in my brain and would replay themselves each time

exhaustion tried to pull me under.

No one seemed to notice me, either. I did nothing to help, only stood and watched as

her possessions were packed in mason jar boxes and plastic garbage bags and loaded into

the backs of the pickups. The splintered corpse of the tree had been moved to one side

and the extent of the damage was visible now. The entire north end of the small trailer

had been crushed down to about four feet. The trunk of the poplar had been propped up

by the refrigerator, which had been driven through the floor of the kitchen. If it hadn't hit

the fridge, it would have pulverized all but the small south bedroom.

I felt as numb as Bethin looked. I tried to find the courage to approach her, but could

only hover around the edges of the activity. She didn't go inside the trailer, and I couldn't

blame her. Finally, when I heard Treeva's soft bass voice ask her, "Where do you want us

to take your things?" I stepped up next to her.

"Bethin," was all I could manage at the moment. She looked at me, startled. Her ears

flicked again, then pitched forward, her attention full on me.

"Trevor," she said quietly. Her eyes roved over my face and she looked as though she

had just found the only person she knew in a crowded room. She was still feeling the

effects of the night before as much as I. She followed my name with a subdued, "Hi."

Until that day, I had always thought the hardest thing I have ever had to do was propose

to Rebecca. Now, faced with this woman who made me nervous and confused and

uncertain, I had to admit that what I wanted to ask her was just as difficult. I was so

flustered that it took me a moment to respond to her simple greeting.

"Hi." I stared right into her eyes and wondered what in the world I could say next.

Treeva unwittingly helped me.

"Say there, Trevor. How are you doing, hmm?"

"Fine," I mumbled without looking at her, then took Treeva's words and shamelessly

used them as my own. "How are you doing?"

Treeva is no fool, and she knew I wasn't speaking to her. She took her cue and stepped

back a bit.

"Okay, I guess. Still a bit rattled."

"Yeah. Me too."

We stared at each other, momentarily lost. I was surprised to find myself again

comparing Bethin to Rebecca. The details of her face seemed to sharpen, and I began to

see how different she really looked from my late wife. The fur around her eyes was

darker, while the splash of white that covered her throat came all the way up to the

underside of her muzzle where it highlighted the thin black strokes of her whiskers. There

were narrow bands of black along the edges of her ears where Rebecca's had been solid

red with white tips. Her eyes, though, caught my attention fully. There was something I

couldn't name in her eyes, some quality that eluded me.

When my senses came back to me, I realized I'd been silent for a long time. I had a

single, important question I had to ask her. I opened my mouth and asked, not even trying

to compose what I'd say.

"Are you going to stay with Lisseda?"

I wasn't happy with how it came out, but it was out.

Bethin looked uncertain, as if she didn't quite understand the question. "I guess so."

I nodded distractedly, expecting her answer and trying desperately to figure out a way to

approach the subject.

"You know, Lisseda's really nice and all, but she works long hours and she sleeps during

the day and..." I stopped on the threshold, wondering for a split second where my next

words would take me. "And I was wondering if, maybe, you know..."

Damnit, I thought, just ask!

"I-I have a spare bedroom you could use and a partial basement where you could store

your stuff. I'm home all the time and I'm easy to get along with." My breath deserted me

and I had to work to get it back.

Bethin said nothing at first, and a cold dread filled me. Had I sounded desperate? Had I

insulted her? I tried to come up with an appropriate apology, with no luck.

"Are you asking me if I want to stay at your house?"

I blinked. I heard a sound that might have been Treeva stifling a chuckle.

"Uhh, yes." It was definitely Treeva. She gave a soft, rumbling cough to cover her

laughter. I didn't care. "If you want to, that is."

Another silence dropped between us. I swallowed nervously, not knowing what to

expect.

"So we'd be roommates, huh?" A little smile brightened her face.

I could feel the hair on my neck tingling. "Yes," I said, with a bit of confidence I

borrowed from her. "Roommates."

Her smile grew. "I think I'd like that."

I couldn't keep a silly grin from seeping across my face. I didn't even try. It felt too

good.

Brenn came up to us then, wearing a thick denim skirt and blouse against the slight chill

of an overcast morning. "Bethin, honey, we're almost ready to take your things to Paris.

There are a few folks who're going to meet us later with some donated clothes and

whatnot. You lost an awful lot last night." She noticed me staring at Bethin, then noticed

Bethin staring at me. "Did I miss something?"

Treeva spoke up. "I think there's been a change of plans."

**************************

There was a moment of realization, a minute of so of eye-opening clarity, when the first

boxes were stacked against one wall of my living room. I'd had this revelation before, of

course, when Rebecca and I moved in together. Now it was settling over me again, the

comprehension of what was going to happen to my life.

I had been living as a widower for years. In that time, I had become somewhat self-

centered about my home. There was no one else to consult about things like the

placement of furniture, the music that filled the empty corners, the contents of the next

meal. All that happened was what I wanted. Changes were mine, events focused on me.

When another person shares your home, all that changes. That was the first, biggest

lesson I'd had to learn with Rebecca; that sharing a home meant sharing *everything*.

With her, I sometimes felt like I was surrendering part of my life to her. It was a willing

surrender, to be sure. Each supposed loss was balanced by a wonderful gain. That, I

eventually learned, was the heart of compromise.

This time I was less certain what compromises might be made, or how I might feel about

them. I still hadn't figured out exactly what my intentions were toward her, although it

seemed obvious enough to others.

What troubled me the most was that I didn't know what her intentions were, either. The

two of us were going to live together, however temporary the arrangements might be.

Without an idea of what she expected I would be in the dark as to how to approach these

changes.

It was rather awkward at the start. Once her few remaining possessions had been left

scattered around my living room, nearly everyone left us to ourselves. Jo and Ria stayed a

while, helping set up my small guest room with the old bed Thoary had loaned us. It was

dark out by the time they left and both Bethin and I were wiped out. I stayed up only long

enough to check my mail for important messages.

By the time I got into bed, I was fighting to keep my eyes open. I closed my bedroom

door, stripped off my clothes and closed my windows. I've slept in the nude since I was a

teenager and hadn't bothered closing my bedroom door since I left my parents home. I

doubted, though, that my parading around naked in my own house would help Bethin and

I feel closer. Sitting in my bed, closed off from the chill air outside and the rest of the

house, I felt vaguely trapped. I wondered if Bethin felt the same way.

I didn't sleep well that night. I snapped awake twice to the sound of water running in the

bathroom. Each time it took longer to get back to sleep. Memories taunted me, trying to

stir those feelings of desolation I had worked so hard to reconcile. They had to fight with

newer memories: the touch of her hand on my arm after her interview, her keen, open

smile at the picnic, her kiss in my driveway.

The more I thought about it, with the confining silence in my room forcing my gaze

inward, the more I was inclined to believe Ria's words at the picnic. 'She seems, well,

taken with you.'

But what would I do? She and I now shared, for a time, a house. Would things change

between us? Would our relationship grow? I had told myself I would allow things to

move at their own pace, in their own direction. I hadn't imagined we would be living

together. Is this what we were intended to do? Was it right?

I slept later than usual that morning. I awoke to a scratching at my door. The sound of

blunt claws against wood propelled me out of bed, only to scramble for my jeans before I

opened the door. Chancer slipped through the open door, followed quickly by Nudge.

The panted and wagged their good humor.

Curious, I moved past the open door to Bethin's new bedroom. Her bed was made, her

window and curtains open to the warming late spring air. I made a brief stop in the

bathroom, remembering almost too late to close the door. Hands washed and hair ruffled

into place with a few quick swipes of my fingers, I went to the kitchen. On the table was

an old coffee cup filled with water and a few wildflowers Bethin had snipped from the

edge of the property. Under the cup was a note.

'I hope I didn't wake you this morning. I had to be at work by eight. I

get off work at five, but I'll be later coming home. I have to do some

shopping after work. I hope you don't mind the flowers. I just needed

something pretty to look at while I had breakfast.

Bethin'

I glanced at the clock. 10:30. I certainly hadn't heard her, not eating breakfast, not

washing her dishes, nor driving off for Paris. I looked at the dogs. They looked at me

expectantly. "Oh, right."

I fed the dogs, then myself, then kept myself preoccupied with the first mowing of the

season. A quick tour of the back yard turned into a weed pulling expedition. I spent the

whole afternoon on my knees yanking dandelions from the iris beds and spreading new

mulch over the lilies that crouched under the oak tree. The work invigorated me, and

when the dogs tried to get a game of tag going, I was more than willing. We chased each

other around the yard, barking and panting and laughing. When I couldn't keep up

anymore, I started wrestling with them. Play biting and tug-of-war with an old rope

finished me off for the afternoon. I collapsed on the back porch, leaves and twigs in my

hair and clothes.

I must have dozed off. The sun had dropped behind the tall screen of newly leaved trees

behind the house when I heard a car door close. I sat up, feeling itchy and alive. My

hands managed to find a few burrs and such and pull them from my hair as I walked

around to the front yard. I found Bethin there, tugging grocery bags from the back seat of

the Madison. She greeted me with a cheerful, "Hi!" She even gave the dogs a brief head

scritch as they pressed close, trying to see what kind of edibles she had to offer. I looked

at my watch. 6:10. The air was turning brisk as the light started to die in the east.

"Lemme give you hand," I offered. She gratefully passed me several plastic sacks. Once

she had loaded me down, she did a small double take. She reached up and pulled a leaf I

had missed from my hair. Smiling, she held it up for me to see. I couldn't help but grin.

"You're not a real gardener until you've scuffled with a mob of angry weeds," I

explained. She chuckled lightly at that.

I helped her put away the food she'd bought, making space in my cabinets and cupboards

for the items she had chosen for her meals. There were other things in the bags as well,

but I kept myself from prying. I could tell that some of the things were clothes. Most of

hers had been recovered from her mangled dressers and closet, but a few items had been

unsalvageable. I suspected the rest were toiletries and such. Her bathroom had taken a

single large branch though the roof and little in that room had survived.

"So what do you want to do about supper?" she asked.

I was surprised at the blank I drew. It was as if I were somewhere between a typical

domestic scene and a date. "Uhmm..."

"Well," she added, slightly uncertain. "How about this: who's cooking tonight?"

"I'll cook, if you want. I used to do it all the time for us." Bethin looked away, briefly

studying the printing on her grocery bags. I felt compelled to amend, "For Rebecca and

myself." It was a marvel, the lack of pain I felt for saying that. "What would you like?"

"Urr, the fish, I think." Her sudden cheer seemed only slightly forced.

"What kinda veggies you like?"

She thought a moment. "Carrots and peas, please." Her long tongue snaked over her

thin black lips. I sympathized. I hadn't bothered with lunch.

"Cooked?"

"Mm, yes. And the fish, too, with lemon and pepper, please. Some of the French bread I

bought today as well. Nice and fresh."

The tone of the evening quickly settled into 'having a friend to dinner.' It made things

more comfortable for both of us, I think. Conversation was light and meandering. We

shared the minor events of our day. Our eyes met often and I found myself wondering

what she was thinking.

The phone chirped shortly after supper. It was Mr. Bennington, wanting to talk to

Bethin. I passed the phone and started cleaning up. I did my best not to eavesdrop, which

was easy since Bethin barely spoke above a whisper.

When she came back to the kitchen I had my hands buried in soapy water and dirty

dishes. She stood next to me after putting on latex gloves to keep stray fur out of the

rinse water.

"More bad news," she sighed. I kept quiet but glanced worriedly at her. "Mr.

Bennington's insurance on the trailer and its contents has lapsed. I never got around to

getting my own policy. Whatever I lost is gone for good."

It took me a moment to reply. "I'm sorry."

She shrugged listlessly. "It's not so bad, really. I didn't have that much, and I didn't lose

anything that I can't buy again. All my carvings were in the other room." She was silent

for a beat, but I sensed there was more she wanted to say. I waited.

"I was lucky, really. If Shaster hadn't asked me to make him a carving for his and

Brenn's anniversary, I would have been in bed when the tree hit." Her slightly bottled tail

pressed against the back of her denim shorts. "I guess it was fate, getting that job and

meeting him and their anniversary coming up."

I couldn't help frowning. She noticed. "I never cared much for 'fate,'" I explained. "It

has too many teeth." She said nothing. We finished the dishes in silence and all the while

I was wanting to say something to her. Finally, the dishes dried and put away, I leaned

against the sink and said, "It must have been terrible."

She nodded. "It could have been worse, though. I got just enough warning to know

something was going to happen."

"Warning?"

Nodding again, she said, "When the wind picked up enough to shake the trailer, I knew it

was blowing hard enough to do damage. I heard the tearing sound of the roots coming up

out of the ground just before it hit, so it was a surprise but not a shock. It still scared me

pretty bad, though."

A single detail stood out in my mind. "You could hear it coming?"

Bethin looked at me, her expression calm. "Not well, but I was paying attention." She

swiveled her large ears to me. "I can hear your heart beat from here."

Heat flooded through me, setting my cheeks ablaze with a furious blush and setting the

hair on my arm on end. A faint stirring in my groin surprised and alarmed me. My sudden

arousal was natural, I suppose, after having been alone for so long, but I'd never imagined

I could lose control of myself so quickly.

I don't know if it was her embarrassment at catching the scent of my sexuality or her

distress at causing my awkward silence that made her apologize, but I didn't want her

feeling bad in my house again. "It's alright," I said quickly. "Not a problem."

"I didn't mean to..."

"It's not your fault." I took a deep breath and looked her in the eyes. "I'm o.k., really."

A short silence ended in her softly saying, "This is going to be harder than I thought."

I considered that a moment. "What? Us living under one roof?"

She nodded.

I was one heartbeat away from saying, "I'll understand if you've changed your mind."

But Ria's voice spoke fiercely from my memory. "Don't you dare ignore her when she

needs you." And at that moment, I finally, *finally* decided I would truly extend my hand

to her. I didn't want to hide any more and I didn't want to ignore her discomfort. I

paused, trying to find the right words.

"It doesn't have to be hard," I said slowly, feeling my way through the words. "Not as

long as we're honest and..." I hesitated only slightly. "...and open to each other. Not as

long we give each other room when we need it." She was gazing intently at me, listening

with the slightest quiver in her ears. "Or get closer as we need it." I realized that sounded

a bit presumptuous and tried to refine my statement with, "I think we will do fine together

as long as we're-" I broke off, lost for the right word. Respectful? No. Realistic? Ugh,

no!.

I looked at her, seeing her wait for my next words. I felt the same tug I felt when I had

looked at Rebecca. Then I knew what I wanted to say.

"As long as we're gentle with each other."

She stared at me a moment. Her ears flicked minutely and a smile crept across her

muzzle. But it was a sad, wistful smile, and I saw a glint in the corner of her eye. She

wrapped her arms around herself and nodded, and I knew what she needed.

I held my arms out and she gratefully accepted my offer. We both needed that hug, and

we were both reluctant to let go. So we didn't. We just stood there, warm in each other's

arms.

**************************

Our friendship did grow, slowly and carefully. Neither of us wanted to push the other.

Or so I thought. We shared the safe, easy parts of our lives: chores around the house, the

minor aggravations that marred our work days, our opinions on numerous general topics.

I stopped closing my bedroom door at night, but took to wearing an old pair of cutoff

jeans to bed. Bethin wore a dark green nightgown that, not surprisingly, looked very

good on her. I'd always been partial to greens against red fur. Almost a quarter of

Rebecca's seldom worn clothes had been some shade of green.

I was watching a news channel one night, listening to CNN's senior genemorph reporter

covering a veteran's protest in England. Bethin was sitting next to me, arms folded and

head tucked slightly as she watched the caniform reporter interviewing an outraged group

of lepiforms. While numerous different breeds stood outside some drab government

building shouting slogans, the rabbits railed against the American reporter.

"Ya don' know what it's like! We don' have the freedoms you Yanks got! We got ta fight

for *everathing*! An' now they want ta take away what little we got left!"

The smaller genemorphic rabbit gamely faced the larger canine reporter and spat his

defiance of his government for declining to pay aging morphic soldiers, who had fought

against the Irish Liberation Army, their veterans benefits. The newest peace between

those nations was supposedly jeopardized by Ireland's affront at Britain's recognition of its

genemorphic military members and their accomplishments.

Bethin was uncomfortable watching the genemorphs argue while the reporter droned on

about the impact such a protest would have on national politics. I saw her flinch at the

shot the cameraman caught of a flying bottle splintering across the pavement near the

protesters. Humans had clustered around the edges of the demonstration and were

beginning to loudly voice their own opinions.

I muted the sound and asked, "Want to watch something else?"

She wasn't watching the screen anymore. She nodded silently, her breath shallow and

her eyes closed. I skipped through a few other channels until I found some harmless fluff

to watch, a sterile variety show scrubbed clean of any controversy. She ignored it.

"It's easy to forget," I said.

She glanced at me, a haunted look in her greenish yellow eyes.

"Living in Noah's Valley makes it easy to forget," I explained, "that there are still a lot of

fights to be fought. A lot of minds to be changed."

She nodded briefly and without comment. Her gaze settled on her lap once again.

Atlanta must be tormenting her again, I thought. I leaned closer and lightly laid my arm

across her slim shoulders. She responded immediately, turning toward me and slipping her

arms around my chest. She sighed softly, her muzzle pressed against my shoulder. Her

eyes closed again, this time in contentment. I rubbed her shoulder and laid my cheek

against the top of her head.

Later, lying alone in bed, I thought about Rebecca and all the rallies we had gone to.

Had we done any good? Could two species, so different and similar at the same time, co-

exist without fighting? Humans couldn't even co-exist with each other without frequently

resorting to violence. What chance did we have of moving beyond our nature to embrace

our own creations with open hearts?

My thoughts vanished when I heard a slight shuffling at the open door of my bedroom. I

listened, uncertain I was hearing what I thought I was. Then her voice, subdued and

vaguely desperate, drifted across to me.

"Trevor?"

I sat up, facing her. With a full moon filling the room with pale strokes of light, she

could easily see my confused expression.

"Is something wrong?" It was all I could think to say.

"No," she said quietly. "I wanted...could I..." She looked down, and I could just make

out the outline of her head. Her ears must have been flat, as I couldn't see their sharp

triangular outlines. "Could I sleep in your bed? With you?"

My mouth went dry. I felt like an unknown prayer had been answered and my worst

fears had come to life, all in the same moment. I tried to speak, but there were no words

in me. She must have taken that silence as a rejection.

"Please," she whispered. "I don't want to sleep alone anymore." I could hear pain now,

and my mind shook itself loose of the shock.

"Yes, of course."

A slight puff of breath, held in fear and released in gratitude, ushered a quiet, "Thank

you."

Numb. That's the best way to describe how I felt as I drew back the sheets and watched

her lay down next to me. I tried to make myself relax as she got settled, her back to me.

She startled me a second time by scooting toward me until she was pressed against me,

her back warming my stomach and chest and the light scent of her hair filling my nose.

I was still struggling, trying not to tense up. I asked her, "Are you comfortable?" She

answered by reaching over her shoulder, taking my hand in hers and drawing my arm over

her side. The warm pads of her fingers briefly stroked the back of my hand as she twined

her fingers with mine.

"I am now," she said.

I know she could tell I was awake for a long time afterward. Her breathing told me she

had no better luck getting to sleep. We lay there, pressed together in artificial intimacy.

My head buzzed, trying to make sense of it. I didn't know if we had made a mistake by

doing this, or if we were doing what we should have done long ago.

I squeezed my eyes shut and silently pleaded, "Rebecca. What do I do?"

I couldn't imagine what her answer would be. But after a roomful of heartbeats had

passed, I heard Ria's words once more. They murmured gently to me, "Don't ignore her."

I eventually was able to relax. I felt myself dropping into sleep. Somewhere around the

edges of my perception, my beloved wife finally spoke in cobweb soft tones.

"Just hold her. She needs you."

I slept.

**************************

Chapter Ten

"That's the strangest thing I've ever heard you say." Joachim regarded me with mild

amusement, a glass of iced tea in his hand.

I felt a slight blush color my spring-pale cheeks. I gave a small, helpless shrug and said

nothing.

"So, you're sleeping with her," he clarified. I nodded. "But your not *sleeping* with

her." I shook my head. He studied me a moment, the tinge of humor leaving his face.

"How long?"

"Um, a little over a week now."

"Every night?"

"Yeah."

"And when you wake up?"

I wondered how he knew to ask that. "She's always up before I am. Gone to work or

eating breakfast," I admitted.

Jo studied me a moment. I waited as patiently as I could for his reaction. My eyes

wandered over the newly mown grass of the back yard, the thin coating of pollen on the

resin chairs in which we lounged, Jo's towing service uniform casually draped over the

porch railing and his work boots below them. He had stopped by for a friendly visit after

getting a call to a wreck out of the county. His tow truck sat out front, dwarfing my

Turego.

"Why aren't you sleeping with her?"

I shook my head minutely. "No. Neither one of us is ready for that. We...no."

Jo let the silence between us go to the birds and crickets singing their farewells to the late

evening light. I had to force myself not to squirm as I waited. I knew Bethin would be

home from work in half an hour.

"How long has she been living with you now?"

I ran the days back in my head, working out the dates against my haphazard personal

schedules. "Almost a month."

"When did she last look at a place to live?"

I could only shrug. The subject had lain quietly between us for some time, untouched. I

hadn't pressed her on it. I didn't want her to think I was trying to push her out.

Jo's large, powerful hand covered mine. "Trevor," he asked quietly, "when will you be

ready?"

Joachim has been my closest friend in the Valley since the day I arrived. We could speak

about things that even Cray and I never discussed. He knew most of my secrets, my

desires and weaknesses. We've shared a brotherly affection that was tempered by the

death of my wife. He held me often during that desperate time, comforting me as no one

else could as I surrendered to a consuming grief. There was little I could, or would, keep

from him.

But this question he asked I could not readily answer. Not because I didn't want to. I

wasn't certain of the answer myself.

"It's not that I don't want to, really. I've been thinking about it lately. And how long it's

been." I stopped, letting the images flicker through my mind; Bethin and I lying side by

side in bed, the thick cascade of soft auburn hair on her pillow. "I just don't think there's

enough trust between us yet."

"Trust?" he said, taken aback. I nodded and he flicked his ears at me. That faint smile

was back. "It sounds to me like she's already found that trust. She's willing to sleep with

you."

"No, Jo," I admonished. "You know what I mean. Sleeping next to me doesn't mean she

wants to make love."

His smile grew slightly, his ears perked. "No?"

"No," I said, minutely exasperated at his sudden turn of humor. I tried to press home the

point. "What if you and I shared a bed?"

Now his grin flashed brightly, and I realized how silly I had sounded. I elaborated.

"What if you and I were..." I tried to think of an example. "What if we were travelling

and... and we were staying at a motel and got the last room and had to share a bed? We

could do that, right?"

"Of course," he agreed amiably.

"Right," I said, relieved that my point had been made. "We're friends. Sharing a bed

wouldn't mean we'd be having sex."

"But in your house," came his coup de grace, "she has her own bed to sleep in."

I gave up. "You're missing the point," I mumbled.

His smile disappeared again. "No," he said quietly, "you are."

I said nothing. I'd hoped to have resolved this problem with Jo's help. It looked like I

would still have to manage on my own. I would have his support, I was sure, but little

else.

"Have you talked to Cray about this?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"And?"

I took a deep breath. "He said I had made my choice, and that I shouldn't let my fears

confuse me."

"Is that right? Have you made your choice?"

I didn't say anything at first. I couldn't. I was watching the past few months flit by my

mind's eye. I saw the two of us, distant at first, drawing ever closer. Our lives were

starting to change, bend and flex around one another. I could see us melting around the

edges, beginning to blur slightly into each other. If it continued...

"Yes," I said. I saw her face, those soft green eyes meeting mine over a simple dinner,

her ears pitched forward to catch my words, her long, delicate muzzle tucked in mild

embarrassment when I complimented her. Bethin's face. "Yes," I murmured again.

I felt Jo squeeze my hand. "Trevor, do you love her?"

Her face seemed to waver. I opened my mouth to object, to deny, and was silent. I

closed my eyes, expecting to see Rebecca in that darkness. I didn't. There was only

Bethin. My breath caught, almost like pain. My eyes stung.

"I...think..." My hand trembled in Jo's grip. Was it possible? Is that what the warm spot

in my stomach was when I heard her laugh? Is that what made me want to gasp when the

heat of her fingerpads brushed my hand while we washed dishes? I thought I knew what it

felt like to be in love. I had known for certain with Rebecca, but with Bethin, it was

different. Could I be in love with her and not feel like I did for my wife? I felt like I was

rushing toward the surface of a river in which I'd not known I was drowning. "I think...

maybe I do."

We sat silently for a time, letting this realization settle between us. When I could speak

again, I asked Jo, "What do I do?"

He smiled again, affection shining in his eyes. "You'll figure it out." He gave my hand

another squeeze and added, "Just remember what I told you before. Trust in yourself."

I nodded, hoping it would be that simple. I smiled back at him. "Thank you."

**************************

England was heating up. The protests had sparked new friction between old adversaries.

For a week, it was the top story on all the newsfeeds. I stopped watching during the

evenings, when Bethin was home. The stories obviously upset her but she wouldn't talk

about it.

Friday of that week, I had been slacking off. With no immediate work coming my way, I

spent my free time outside. During lunch that day, though, Bethin had come home early.

A sleep deprived truck driver had run off the road near the Highland Animal Clinic and

taken out a power pole, leaving Anna's veterinary practice in the dark.

I was slouched on the couch, a few crumbs and an empty soda can the only proof of the

lunch I had demolished. I was engulfed in the latest pictures of the fighting and didn't hear

her until she came in the door.

I stood, suddenly self conscious of my messy appearance. I halfheartedly tried to brush

from my shirt the evidence of my fondness for chocolate chip cookies. "Hi," I said,

wishing I'd had a minute's notice so I could have cleaned up a bit.

"Hi," she replied distractedly. She laid her keys on the table by the door and slid out of

her work jacket. "How are you?"

"Eh, bored, really. You?"

"Not bad." She dropped the small clutch purse she kept money in next to her keys. "I

cashed my check today. I can pay the rent I owe you."

"Oh, yeah." I'd forgotten about it, again. "Umm, I wanted to talk to you about that,

actually."

She looked at me, curious, but her attention was taken away by the TV. The news

commentator's voice was replaced by anguished cries and a dog barking. I turned to see

video of something I had hoped never to see again. The protesters in England had, in the

view of the police, turned violent enough to warrant the release of trained attack dogs.

Rottweilers and German Shepherds were slipping through the ranks of genemorphs at the

edge of the crowd. Several people fell, dogs swarming around them. Although the

genetically enhanced dogs had been trained to intimidate and subdue people and not harm

them, the camera found one small feliform being bitten by a Rott that had been overcome

by the excitement. My stomach tightened at the sight of the young cat's arm being

savagely yanked back and forth by a dog that weighed almost as much as he did. The cat's

ears were pinned back, his mouth open in a wail that couldn't be heard over the horrified

shrieks of those nearby.

By the time I had picked up the remote and swept my finger across the on/off button, the

Rott's own life had been cut short by outraged 'morphs who attacked it. Its jaws were

being pried apart by a large wolf while a larger cat, who bore markings almost identical to

the dog's victim, raked it across the stomach with lethal claws, spilling yet more blood for

the camera. I punched the button forcefully and dropped the remote as if it had burned

me.

I felt short of breath. I knew those scenes all too well and had managed to put them

behind me. The hair on my arms was standing on end, my skin tingling as adrenaline lit

through my veins.

Bethin was equally effected. Her eyes wide and her ears hard against her head, she had

crossed her arms over her chest as if to ward off the attack that had happened on the other

side of the ocean. She turned away from the TV to me, but when she met my eyes she

stepped back and headed for her bedroom. I stood silent as her door closed.

It's either because I'm a male or because I'm a human, I thought. Or perhaps both.

I thought about knocking on her door and asking her if she was alright. Being the only

two people in the house, however, meant that it was me she wanted to keep at a distance.

Give it time, I decided. If she wants to talk, she'll talk.

I spent the rest of the day with my dogs, trying to bury the TV's cruel image.

**************************

I listened to a gentle rain patter against new leaves as I lay in bed. Darkness had found

me still alone in the rest of my house, wondering what damage Bethin had suffered from

those few seconds of video. When I became convinced she would not be leaving her

room, I settled down for a long, lonely night.

I didn't sleep, though. I was absorbed in replaying the event, trying to understand her

reaction. I felt sure it had something to do with her former home, Atlanta, and the riots

that had scorched parts of the genemorph ghettoes. But had she suffered at the hands of a

man, or the police and their dogs? Was she a victim, or had she run because of fear?

I stood without thinking about it. I walked to her bedroom door and knocked without

any idea what I wanted to say. I heard her voice faintly call my name.

She was curled up on the small bed, her pillow clutched against her stomach. Her ears

flicked at my quiet footsteps. I knelt by her head, laid my hand over hers and said, "What

can I do to make you feel better?"

Her fingers curled around mine. I heard her draw a long breath and release it as a sigh.

She shifted on the bed, sat up. She took my hand in both hers. "Trevor, am I really safe

here?"

I puzzled on that a moment. I wasn't sure what she meant by 'safe.' Or by 'here.' I gave

the best answer I could.

"As safe as we can all make it for you."

She let go with one hand to stroke the side of my face, her fingerpads smooth and warm

on my cheek. I couldn't make out her face well but her voice told me enough.

"There's something I want to tell you. About my past." She held her breath a moment.

"It isn't pretty. I'm not proud of what I've done."

I nodded. "Alright." I reached for the small lamp on the bedside table. She stopped me

with a gentle touch. "Please, no." She took both my hands in hers.

She said nothing for a bit. She turned her head and looked out the window by her bed. I

waited quietly.

"I used to live with a 'morph named Trace, a cheetah. He was my mate for almost a year.

When we first met, he was nice. Quiet and charming, in his own way. A little bit

dangerous." The silhouette of her starlit ears quivered. "I think I was more enthralled

with the idea of him than with who he actually was. He was secretive sometimes, and he

would disappear sometimes. Then he'd show up with flowers and presents and talk sweet

to me."

Bethin turned away from the window to stare down at our intertwined hands. "I was a

student at a veterinary school. I wanted to be a vet more than anything. Trace even

helped pay for some of my classes. But he was disappearing more often, and I couldn't

get a straight answer from him about where he was going. Finally he said, 'If you really

want to know, I'll take you tonight.' We wound up in some burned out building on

McDonough Avenue near Lakewood Heights. It was past midnight and I couldn't

understand what we were doing there."

She paused, no doubt reliving that troubling evening. Her voice was steady, though, as

she continued. "Then some people showed up, mostly 'morphs. There were two tigers

there. They were huge. They looked like they wanted to kill someone and couldn't decide

who it would be. They snarled at Trace and asked him who I was. He said-"

She hesitated, a frown trying to pull down the corners of her narrow mouth. "He said,

'This is my bitch. She stays or I walk.' From then on they ignored me. They asked him if

he had what they wanted. He said, 'Of course,' and opened the trunk of his car. He dug

out this metal box and opened it. Inside were a bunch of little plastic bags with red

powder inside."

I grimaced. Red powder meant twitch, one of the fad drugs of late. Its use had tapered

off after thousands of junkies started to die from the fickle, hard to reproduce chemical

cocktail. Amateur chemists and dealers inadvertently killed many of their hardcore

customers.

"When they were ready to leave, a police car stopped in front of the building. The tigers

went nuts. They started shooting before the two officers were out of their car. One died

in the car. The other shot back. Trace grabbed my arm and tried to find a way out. I was

so scared I could hardly move. He hit me a few times to make me run."

The shock kept me silent. The riots in Atlanta had started over a shooting incident

involving two human police officers and a group of 'morphs. I was stunned that Bethin

could have been involved, even in the most peripheral way.

She was still staring at our hands. I found myself staring at her, marveling at her

strength. Recounting such a terrible time in her life didn't seem to bother her as much as it

would me. I realized then that she was stronger than I would ever be, emotionally. I

didn't have time to dwell on it.

"Trace took me to his house afterwards," she said. "He kept me there like a prisoner.

He wouldn't let me out, wouldn't let me go to school. I never got to graduate. After the

riots, he became paranoid. He kept me in my room all the time. All I had was a TV. He

managed to get an enhanced dog that was trained to guard people. He brought it into my

room several times, telling me what would happen if I ever tried to get away. The dog

would never bark or growl at me. It would just stare at me and snarl." She looked up at

me. "It almost made me reconsider being a vet." I wondered briefly if she was joking, but

she wasn't.

"He kept me there for three weeks, until I escaped. I guess he was selling more of his

drugs. He got in his car and took his dog with him. When he left, I broke open my door

and looked around. I found a bunch of money." She hesitated again, closed her eyes for a

second. I heard shame in her voice. "I- I stole his money. I got out through a window by

breaking it with a chair. Then I just ran. I slept in a culvert that night, afraid he might

look for me in the motels. The next day I saw that green car by the side of the road with a

'for sale' sign on it. I bought it and started driving. I tried to stay at a couple of places,

but I always felt like I would turn around and find Trace behind me, turning his dog on me

because of the money I took."

She looked me in the eyes then. The faint light in the room glowed in her eyes. I was

mesmerized, truly spellbound by her story and by her.

"Then I met you, and you told me I was safe here. I felt like I had been waiting years to

hear someone say that to me. It felt like-" She broke off, her voice getting rough. Taking

a deep breath, she squeezed my hands. I brought them to my lips and gently kissed her

fingers, my eyes never leaving hers.

"It was like fate. Like I was meant to come here and meet you. And when the tree fell

and I wound up living in your house..." She ran out of words.

Such a painful betrayal by someone she thought she loved, I thought. It's hard to

imagine anything much worse than that.

"You *are* safe here," I assured her. "In this house. In this valley. He won't find you."

She swallowed, took a deep breath. "Are you certain?"

I did have one doubt. "Did you change your name?"

She nodded. That in itself would help separate her previous life from her new one. I

could go through certain databases I knew and check to see how well the two had been

separated.

"What was your real name?"

A terrible look of pity filled her eyes. She was silent as my heart counted out a dozen

beats. "Rebecca Dewalt."

"R- Reb..." I stammered. She nodded.

I was starting to believe in fate.

"What should I call you?" I asked, my voice just above a whisper.

"Call me Bethin. I like hearing you say that name."

Somehow, it felt right. Rebecca was the past, for both of us. She was a strong, loving

foundation for us to build upon. She was our common history. I suddenly remembered a

verse from a song I'd heard long ago.

/Forever sleep, my precious dear/

/Leave behind the pain and fear/

/Your love will fill the endless night/

/And warm me with your perfect light/

I closed my eyes and tried to imagine my wife's face. I saw her as only an outline, a

ghost. She was smiling at me. At us. I opened my eyes. Bethin was smiling, too.

"Bethin, will you come back to bed with me?"

She nodded.

Minutes later, I felt as warm and happy as I could remember being in years. I slept

deeply and did not dream.

**************************

I awoke slowly the next morning, my mind grasping with infant uncertainty at some

change in my surroundings. As I felt awareness work its way through me, the hair on my

arms tried to rise. I felt a haunting familiarity in the gentle tug of sheets held off my

shoulder, of weight next to me on the bed. I lifted myself up on my elbows and turned to

see Bethin laying next to me, the morning sun giving the beautiful red fur around her face

a halo of pinkish gold.

Her eyes were open. She was watching me, alert and smiling. Waiting for me. The fog

shrouding my mind burned off, leaving me lucid and tight. I stared at her, still not entirely

believing. My breath seemed to catch in my chest. I tried to speak, but could make no

useful sounds.

"Good morning," she said. Her voice was liquid silk, her eyes lit with a fire I hadn't seen

in forever.

"You're still here," I whispered hoarsely, and I knew she understood. I understood. All

the questions dissolved, all the doubts faded. We both knew. I wanted to say something,

to tell her how much this meant to me. The words slipped away, eluding me like a handful

of smoke.

She sat up slowly, folding her legs beneath her and flicking her tail underneath her

nightshirt. Her hands reached up, touched my face. I marveled at the heat of her

fingerpads.

It was new again. The feeling of being caressed with such tenderness held that rush of

discovery. It had been so long. She traced the contours of my flat, hairless face like a

child touching a butterfly's wings. I felt the slight tickle of her fur sliding along my skin.

Her thumbs stroked my lips, bringing a tingling flush of blood to them. She leaned closer

and I sat there, frozen, as she kissed me.

Warm, so warm. Slightly wet. Bristly, as her short whiskers twitched against my

cheeks. The leather of her nose left a faint kiss of heat against mine. When she pulled

back, I had to make myself breath again. The air stuttered out of me as I shivered.

Anticipation burned in the pit of my stomach. When I met her eyes, I saw a hunger that

almost frightened me.

I heard a faint sound, like purring. Hearing the low, breathy rasp of her murr brought a

swirling flood of memories bubbling up from the quiet places I'd tried to hide them. My

chest tightened and I felt myself moving without thinking. I grasped her shoulders and

kissed her back, lightly at first. Her arms encircled me and she pressed against me, heating

the kiss tenfold. I could feel the tips of her sharp teeth against my lips. Her mouth opened

and her tongue surged forth to find mine. They met and mated, tiny lovers in their own

right.

My fears were gone. The world was collapsing. All that was not us turned to dust and

blew away.

As we pulled back I felt incredibly light, as though every burden I'd ever carried had been

dissolved. I was clean, free. I also felt an aching desire building in me. As good as I felt,

I was incomplete. I needed more.

My hands moved up to her cheeks, cradling her narrow face. I studied her briefly,

learning her features, savoring the soft beauty of her. She smiled. I grinned and gently

kissed the dark tip of her nose. Her muzzle tipped sharply up and we kissed again. She

let me into her this time. My tongue swept over the hard slipperiness of her teeth,

cautiously probed the daggered tips of her eyeteeth. My hands wandered down, over her

shoulders and along her sides.

She rose to her knees, grunting softly, filling my mouth with her breath. I pulled back

slightly and did something Rebecca had taught me. While my hands explored her cloth

covered thighs, I gently licked her muzzle with quick, darting strokes of my tongue. I

worked my way from the sharp point of her chin to her cheek, along her lips, following the

lay of her whiskers. I was rewarded with an urgent thrust of her body against mine and

the broken, rusty hinge rumble of her growl.

I'd found the hem of her nightshirt and burrowed my hands beneath the green fabric.

Taking advantage of our closeness, I swept my arms upward, running my fingers through

the fur of her back. I let them wander over her spine, between her shoulder blades. I

pushed my nose through the thick fur of her cheeks until I was staring into the tufted cup

of her ear. I took the edge of her ear between my teeth and let her feel the points of my

own canines. My fingernails dug into the fur of her back, scratching the skin beneath. She

arched her back, her growl shrinking to a whimper as I held onto her ear.

"Trevor!" she gasped. Not in pain, or in fear. It was arousal, desire.

I let go of her ear. Ignoring the stray hairs in my mouth, I brought my arms around to

her sides, the folds of her nightshirt draped over them. She raised her arms and I slid it

over her head and down her arms. As the shirt spilled onto the bed between us, I grasped

her hands. I brought them to my face, holding the slightly moist pads of her palms against

my cheeks. I could smell the sharp tang of sweat on the exposed skin of her hands. I

kissed her fingertips one at a time, teasing the thick yet supple pads with gentle nips.

I must have teased her a bit too much. With an impatient 'growf', she wrested her hands

away long enough to grasp my wrists. She pulled my hands down until my palms were

resting against her breasts. She closed her eyes and murred louder when I rubbed the tiny

nubs I felt through the fur. Her nipples stiffened until their tips peaked the fur beneath my

palms. I gently grasped them between my thumbs and forefingers, pinching them gently. I

watched her expression as I slowly twisted those small, furless teats. Her ears would flick

each time I pulled or twisted or pinched. Her breathing became ragged.

I smiled and pushed her back against the pillows. She opened her eyes, slightly startled

by my move. She saw my smile and gave me one of her own. We kept our eyes locked as

I laid her flat on the bed and moved my head down over her right breast. I was no longer

teasing her nipples. Instead I used two fingers of one hand to flare out the fur around the

nipple, then set my lips firmly upon it. I let my tongue introduce itself, rubbing across that

sensitive pike of flesh. My teeth came together upon it, pinching again. I felt her moan

rumble through her chest and nibbled harder.

When I finally planted my lips firmly on the tip of her breast and sucked vigorously, she

squealed and grasped the sides of my head. At first I think she wanted to pull me away,

but quickly started pulling me into her bosom instead. I released her nipple, gave it a

perfunctory lick, then latched on again, sucking harder.

I had truly forgotten how hot a 'morph can get during sex play. The few areas of

exposed skin become blood-hot, and the rest of the body gets almost as warm. I was

already starting to sweat from the contact between Bethin's thickly furred body and mine.

The pads of her fingers were like tiny flares on the side of my head as I switched from one

breast to the other, leaving the fur of its tip darkly damp. She was starting to pant from

the heat generated between us.

Suddenly Bethin drew my head away from her nipple with a loud groan. She looked at

me with undeniable need. Only then did I notice the almost painful erection pushing at the

front of my cutoff jeans. Seeing her need and feeling my own was almost enough to push

me to rough, thoughtless action. I wasn't completely out of practice, though. I wrestled

with my rising passion, forcing myself to move slowly. I moved up her body, tenderly

kissing her lips. She returned my kiss distractedly. Her hands were the focus of her

attention. They had found the waistband of my cutoffs and were nimbly working the

catch.

I raised myself up on hands and knees, making room between our bodies. I resumed

licking her muzzle while she opened the fly and pulled, gently at first, at the waistband of

my cutoffs. My erection actually impeded her work, as my penis had become wedged into

the hole of a pocket. When she pulled down sharply, tugging painfully at my hardened

cock, I grunted explosively. It took all the self control I had not to grasp my own sex and

free it from further unintended abuse. Bethin understood, though. She ran her fingers

along the burning length of my shaft until she had freed the head from its cloth prison.

Despite the situation, it was still a shock to feel myself abruptly free and exposed. My

raging hard on dangled below my stomach, bobbing in time with my revving heartbeat and

the restrained movements of my body. But its freedom was short lived. One hand

encircled my cock while the other gripped the inseam of my cutoffs and pulled them down

over my rump. Once that single piece of clothing was out of the way, I felt both her hands

begin their work.

Bethin began to respond to my licking. While her hands fondled my manhood her tongue

snaked out to leave moist trails on the skin of my cheek. She pressed the tip of her muzzle

against my throat, her nose and tongue rasping against the stubble of a night's growth of

beard. I felt her teeth graze my Adam's apple as her hands squeezed and pulled my cock.

I gritted my teeth at the intense stimulation. Her fingers twined around my balls,

separating them, rubbing them, compressing them almost painfully. When she stopped

nuzzling my chin and pulled once on my cock, I knew she was feeling as empty as I was.

We had waited long enough. I lowered my head next to her ear and whispered her name.

She pulled on my shaft again and whimpered, "Please."

She moved, drawing her legs apart, opening herself for me. Her tail tried to curl up

between my legs but was hindered by my shorts, stretched between my thighs. We both

looked down at the denim shackles around my legs. Bethin grunted, "Lift up." I rose up

on the balls of my feet, my hands punching shallow holes in the mattress beside her ears.

I stifled a laugh as she drew one leg around until it stood between us. She hooked her

toes into the V of the open fly and pushed, sliding my shorts down my legs. I felt her

blunt toe claws lightly raking my shins and sucked in a deep breath at the erotic feeling it

gave me.

Quickly kicking off my cutoffs, I felt her tail move up against me, curling up against the

cleft of my buttocks. I dropped to my knees again as her legs wrapped around my hips

and her arms encircled my chest. She seemed to want to enfold my entire body into hers,

as though it was the only way she could be complete. The heat was intense. I was

covered in a loving blanket of living fur, my own heat absorbed and given back to me as I

began to move against her body.

Bethin's panting told me she felt the heat as well. I was doing little more than rubbing

my bare skin against her soft, thick pelt. My cock wasn't quite in position to begin its

short journey, but the feel of sweat-slick fur against my shaft was exquisite, and I spent a

few selfish moments indulging my pleasure.

Soon, even such wonderful distractions weren't enough. I needed this more than

anything else I'd desired in years. Pulling my body back a bit further, I could feel the tip of

my penis sliding along the gentle curve of her body. Bethin let go with one arm to guide

me. As the naked skin of her palm grasped me, I thought there could be nothing hotter

than that touch. I was wrong.

The ancient animal lurking deep in my hind brain took control and I moved to take my

new lover. Intellect proved a powerful balance, and slowed my advance to a gentle yet

forceful thrust. Bethin hissed loudly as I entered her, counterpoint to my low groan as the

heat of her body seemed to consume me. When I pulled back, it was almost a relief. My

need proved deeper than my discomfort, and I thrust again. The sensation was so intense,

like being enveloped in fiery silk. Memories tried to surface, but were consumed before

they could make themselves known.

It was a struggle, truly. My body drove me on, urging harder jabs into my partner. I

desperately wanted to please her, though, and kept myself to a calm, measured pace. The

things I'd learned to do to make Rebecca happy came back to me effortlessly. I wanted to

make Bethin happy, too. Any technique I had acquired I would use for her. I was

tempted to try something I'd done for my wife once. In an effort to simulate the knot a

male caniform has at the base of his penis, I had gamely pushed my testicles into Rebecca's

pussy. She'd loved it, but when she clamped down on me in the throes of passion, I'd

almost passed out from the pain.

Feeling the heat of Bethin's body flowing into me, making me slick with sweat, I knew no

such efforts were needed. Indeed, it was all I could do to keep myself from letting go,

becoming a rutting animal.

We found our rhythm before long, a steady rocking of our bodies as we built new heat.

Friction was absent. Bethin was astoundingly wet and, with the sheen of sweat on my

body lubricating us, we moved effortlessly against one another.

It was only much later, sated and sane, that I realized we had both been largely silent the

whole time. The expected sounds of lovemaking were there; grunts, groans, an occasional

growl from Bethin. But we were so swept up in our physical need that we said nothing to

each other. Our bodies were talking for us. In that sense, we both seemed to feel the

same thing: an overwhelming desire to exorcise ourselves of our past.

The details escaped me at the time, since I was caught up in the raging lust that pushed

me harder towards my reward: The rich scent of a morphic woman's musk, laced with the

tangier odor of my sweat. The rustle of sheets competing with the liquid trillings of birds

outside and the wet, bare skin contact of our sexes. It was all there, but hidden

underneath the electrified messages sent by my skin. I may as well have been blind and

deaf.

Soon it was getting harder to hold back. My body's demands had gone unheeded for too

long. Bethin was whimpering beneath me, overwhelmed by her own needs. I was blessed

with a single moment of clarity that let me see her true condition, and I acted on it. With a

determined grunt, I finally allowed my body to dictate my actions. I shifted slightly, giving

myself room to make longer thrusts. I was literally ramming myself into her now,

battering away at the final wall between us.

It was then, my harsher movements finally pushing her toward release, that she

instinctively threw her head back, exposing her throat. I knew that signal and acted

without thinking. I lowered my head, growled, "Mine!" and clamped my teeth onto her

throat.

Orgasm has been described many ways. To me, it has always felt like my entire body has

focused its energy into my sex and forced it out into my partner. I seem to lose my senses

as I give all I am. With my jaws carefully latched onto Bethin's throat, I felt every muscle

give one last effort. I drove myself into her almost brutally. My arms and legs twitched

and my hips shook at the effort. My breath was gone, I was nearly used up. When I felt

Bethin buck underneath me and her grip tighten, I knew she was a close as I was. She

reached her orgasm before I did, but not by much.

Her howl was really more of a strangled scream. The clenching of her inner muscles

nearly wrenched a similar sound from me. With my mouth full of her fur, I was mute but

still deeply effected. As hard as I was pushing myself into her, she was drawing, pulling,

*sucking* my essence from me. My eyes squeezed shut. Surely there could be nothing

more intense that this.

I rode the sensations as long as I could, savoring them, letting them swallow me whole.

My balls hung tight to my body as they emptied, my cock twitched as my muscles spasmed

like little lightning flickers, trying to squeeze every drop of fluid out of me. My mouth

hung open and I stopped breathing.

When we finally both came down from our shared heights, we were drained. We slowly

settled side by side, still joined. We embraced, shaking. I stared at her, feeling healed.

Feeling whole. I didn't know if I wanted to weep or sing. All I could manage was a tired

smile. She understood, and licked my nose.

**************************

We slept without meaning to, but only for an hour or so. Bethin woke first and

showered. I finally woke to the sound of running water. I laid on the still-damp sheets

and marveled at the possibilities that now faced me.

I sat up in the bed when I heard the hair dryer running. It would take a couple of cups of

coffee to get me up to full speed, and the rest of the day was ours to do with as we

pleased. Bethin came out of the bathroom, her face and ears dry but the rest of her still

damp. It would be another hour of air drying before her pelt was thoroughly dry. She sat

on the edge of the bed next to me.

We kissed, a long smoldering kiss. When we pulled back she said, "I have something for

you."

She brought her other hand, which I hadn't noticed was behind her back, around and held

it out to me

It was another carving. I took it and looked closely. It was a tree, a wonderfully

delicate tree done in great detail. But the workmanship wasn't what drew my attention.

She had carved it on its side, as thought it had been toppled by strong winds. And it was

on a base. I noticed words on the base.

'Fate also smiles'

It took me a moment to speak. "It...it's beautiful." I looked up at her. "You're beautiful.

I...I-" Nothing else would come out.

"I know," she said. "I know." She smiled and asked, "How do you feel?"

"I- I feel good. Very good. Amazingly good." I grinned. "And you?"

She studied me, lovingly caressed my face. "I feel...safe."

**************************

This text is (c) 2000, Wirewolf

It may be downloaded and printed only with copyright information intact.

It may not be distributed without author's permission.

Comments or other responses should be addressed to:

[email protected]

[email protected]

[email protected]