“It’s as easy to combine work and play.” Alessan drew a gentle finger from her ear to her shoulder.
They worked steadily, but each utilized every opportunity for a quick caress or a kiss exchanged as deft hands folded ging over a pile of needlethoms. They knelt by the bushes, knees or thighs touching. Moreta felt the light hairs of her arms rising toward his, she was becoming so sensitized to the delightful friction of his proximity. She had an idiotic desire to giggle and saw that Alessan, too, wore a rather foolish grin on his face most of the time. They were scarcely conscious of the others and almost forgot their existence until B’lerion and Oklina crashed to the top of the ravine.
“You have been busy,” B’lerion said with grudging approval. “Haven’t you noticed the heat?” He had stripped to the waist, and Oklina had tied her shirt up under her breasts, leaving her midriff bare. She carried four nets of packaged needlethoms. “I’m hungry, too, even if you aren’t.” He swung his shirt by the sleeves so that its burden was discernible. “Found some ripe fruit and chopped down one of those palms for the edible heart. You can’t keep on at the pace you’ve been going”he gestured to the filled nets“without suste-nanceand a bit of a rest in this humidity. Capiam! Desdra! Let’s eat!”
Capiam and Desdra were arguing about the astringent properties of the ging sap when they sauntered up to join the others. Capiam, too, had stripped off his tunic, which was now draped over his shoulders. He was very thin, his ribs showing plainly.
“I know it’s hot,” Moreta began adroitly, “but none of us can return to Ruatha suffering from sunburn.”
Capiam exhibited a leaf he was using as a fan. “Or heat prostration.” He raised his eyebrows in satisfaction with the filled nets. “We left ours back a bit. I rather thought we should rest, as is the custom on this hot island, during the hottest part of the day.”
Everyone agreed that that was a sensible idea.
“I found some melons and the red roots that Istans are so fond of,” Desdra said, producing her contribution.
“There’re clusters of softnuts on all the trees, Alessan. That is, if you can climb at all,” Moreta said.
“I climb, you catch.”
Alessan took on” his shirt to keep it from being torn. Moreta used it as a receptacle for the softnuts. He was a dexterous climber and a swift picker. When finished, he sought his reward in a close embrace, his hands slipping up the back of her tunic, caressing her shoulders as she found, to her surprise, that his skin was as soft as Orlith’s and the smell of him almost spicy in his maleness.
They recalled themselves to the task, not wishing to take too long for what was a simple enough operation. Moreta decided that her flush would be attributed to an incipient sunburn.
“Sun’s rays at this latitude are too strong for winter-white skins,” Desdra said, lounging on some ging fronds that she and Capiam cut just for that purpose. “And that heat’s enough to drain anyone,” she added, making use of Capiam’s fan.
They relaxed during the meal. The red roots were succulent, the softnuts just ripe, and the melons so close to fermentation that the Juice had a winey tang to it. The palm heart was crisply cool and crunchy, a nice texture to complement the others. Throughout the meal, B’lerion kept up a stream of quip and comment about his being one-handed in a venture that was destined to save the continent. Would he receive full marks for his participation or just half for the hand that had worked?
“Is he always like this?” Alessan asked quietly after B’lerion had
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Moreta: Dragonlady of Pern
told an extravagantly funny tale at the expense of Lord Diatis’s reputation. “He’s better than most harpers.”
“He sings a good descant, but B’lerion’s always seemed to be the epitome of a bronze rider.” ,
“Why, then, is he not your Weyrmate?”
“Orlith chose Kadith.”
“Do you not have any say in the matter?” Alessan was irritated for her sake. From remarks he had made during their morning’s work, she knew that Alessan didn’t like Sh’gall and wondered just how much their new relationship would strain Ruatha’s dependence on Fort’s Weyrleader. She was struggling to find an honest reply to a question she had evaded in her own heart, when Alessan contritely covered her hand, his expression pleading with her to forgive his rash remarks. “I’m sorry, Moreta. That is a Weyr matter.”