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Chapter 5: The Beach
Part 3
“That, I suppose, is with the fortune of the spark. But you definitely have tonight,” she said.
“Hm?” said Frix.
“Riverbed?”
They stopped. Their walk had taken them close to the tree line. Here, one walking path angled towards the thicker woods where the Ran pitched their tents. Another bent away towards the Great River Rainroot. Mossalea tilted her head that way.
“Oh,” said Frix.
“Mhm.”
“Yeah, let’s uh, let’s go fishing,” he said, starting to wake up.
“I love fishing,” she said, taking his hand. “I also stole some wine.”
They made their way to the usual spot, a little alcove born of a weird kink in the river. A huge boulder pile had long ago forced the water to route around it. The resulting curve in the river expanded out into a shallow eddy, around which a wide beach had formed. Opposite the water, a short, muddy cliff bordered the beach. That, plus the towering boulders on the far side of the river, gave the sandy nook a sunken, hidden feeling. They had spent many an afternoon catching the fish that wandered into eddy. And recently, many an evening fooling around on the sand.
They’d yet to risk a true seed-dance—Frix wasn’t keen on fatherhood yet and Mossa loved shoot-leading too much to be burdened by carrying his child. But there was an energy in her tonight that seemed different. Why did he have to be so tired?
They had some supplies and fishing equipment stashed in a pile of rocks along the base of the cliff. Mossa gave him a little wine pouch as she retrieved a blanket. He took a nervous swig as she shook it free and threw it open.
“C’mere,” she said, and took the flask as he walked over. She knocked back a gulp and tossed it aside, then wrapped her arms around his sides, bringing her forehead to his.
Hushed and hurried, their breath quickened as he found his arms around her. Warm skin coursed over leather as he traced the sculpt of her shoulder and wrapped another hand around her waist. His fingers found the roots of hair just above the base of her neck.
She teased her bottom lip across the top of his, and dodged as he tried to sneak a kiss.
Giggling, she pulled away, but he held onto her hips through a slit in the thin skirt. She placed her palms on his chest, their eyes locked, and she began to undo the knots on the front of his tunic.
He relaxed and let his arms fall by his sides as she got it off of him. She backed up a pace, looking him up and down, then reached behind her back. The breastplate popped up as the backclasp loosened, then it fell and caught somewhere, causing it to swing, clatter and jangle against her leg.
They both snorted stifled laughs at the un-sexiness of it for a moment, then settled again. He drunk in the sight of her body, bathed in starlight, strong and supple and smooth and soft, her scars a thousand gorgeous dimples, like rockfleck in granite.
Then they were both on their knees, her teasing again, biting at the side of his neck. Joyfully fed up with it, he clutched her hair and forced her face to him with his other hand. She gasped, he kissed her, and—
—sensations of falling, up. Red haze. A huge expanse flooded his senses, the whole world, he floated, no: flew? Red lines in the haze, criss-crossing, they all led back to—
He pushed away, as red filaments continued to zip and dart across his vision. Frix put his hand to the side of his head.
“What’s wrong?” she said. “Frix?”
“I…”
Mossa looked over her shoulder. “I hear it too.”
“What?”
She leaned over and snatched up the breastplate, hurrying to fix it back on. “Someone’s coming.”
She had dropped her slinger in the sand, and now bent over to grab it. Frix sat there still, trying to puzzle out what was happening. Maybe he had had too much wine after all. The red lines started to fade.
“Who’s there?” Mossa called out.
Then Frix did hear it. A crunch, a step, and a snap as someone moved up on the cliffs.
“Hey, hey, um, sorry…” A familiar voice floated down from above.
“Swinn?” said Mossa. “What in the Great Leaf are you doing?”
“Er, sorry. Crap. Guys, uh… there’s been a summons. Head of Seed, Got-ran-pal, for you Mossa. And me. I, um, I was told to come find you.”
“A summons? We just got back! I’ve barely slept!”
A silhouetted head poked out over the edge. Frix couldn’t make out his expression in the dim light, but Swinn sounded like he’d rather be anywhere else. “I know. But, it’s urgent I guess. Briefing then deploy at sun’s kiss.”
“Can’t they brief us in the morning?” She stood up and crossed her arms. “I’m busy right now.”
Frix didn’t need to see Swinn’s blush; he felt it for both of them.
“Um. No, it’s now. But I suppose like five, ten minutes wouldn’t… uh. They said to double-time but…”
Mossa turned back to Frix, one eyebrow arched. “Ten minutes then?”
That pulsing red feeling lingered, he could still sense it whenever he closed his eyes. “You should go… I think the wine’s got me all… ten minutes is...”
She scoffed. “I’ll be merciful and let that low hanging branch go.” She bent over and grabbed a handful of his hair. “But when I’m back from this latest party, we’re spending the night out here.” She gave him a dainty, sardonic kiss on the cheek, bit his earlobe, patted his head, and then gathered her beached items.
“Sorry,” Swinn called out again.
Mossa scrambled up the cliff side and he heard them both scamper away. Frix sat on the beach for a while afterward. He listened to the gurgling swirl of the eddy, blinking away ghostly pink streaks and wondered what it would feel like to fly.
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