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“I’m Kymburli,” I said and offered my hand to him. He took it and held it in his hand. He did not offer a name. I turned to the woman and offered my hand. “Krystenah,” she said. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Kymburli,” she said. “ We saw your party. You looked kind of sad when your friends left. Master wanted me to ask you if you would like to come home with us.” She looked at him, as if for approval. He said nothing, but there seemed to be some sort of unspoken communication between them that I didn’t catch. “We would like to show you a good time,” she said. I looked from him to her and back again. “You’re kidding, right?” I asked. “Nope,” she said. “Please consider quickly. Master wants to leave soon,” she said. My head was swimming a little. Something inside me wanted to say yes to this strange invitation, but then I heard myself saying, “I had better not.” In a moment the two of them stood up. He grabbed her wrap from the hook on the booth. She walked over to him and closed her. The smell of her, somehow overriding the smell of his own sweat and suffering. Her face hovering over his, the face of an angel of mercy who would not let him go. She anchored him with her fragile and courageous strength in a way that awed him. And above everything, her voice. The constant litany of her words of comfort and belief. Her belief in him. In his strength. Her belief he would pull through. It was a balm to his soul, a lifeline in those times when all the world went dark and his grip on all he was began to falter. Always, her words were there to cling to, and he drew resolve and will from her precious voice. Rael did not remember what she said. Not entirely. Her words were snatches, bits and pieces, half phrases and monosyllables etched in his mind and carved into his soul. I’m so very afraid of being alone, she’d whispered to him in the sort of tone that made him want to hold her and shield her from all the grief and pain of the world. The people I love die. They never.
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