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Save Point: Who Walks by Herself In The Rain

Once Cleos eye has healed and the button is discarded, she comes to visit Terrowne in the green garden, the fruiting apple orchard that is the third part of the City of Uruk, a shared space where all are welcome to walk and visit as long as no-one steals the year-grown ripeness. It rains over the city then, for the first time in ages.

They talk and caress in the rain. The resistance of her tail sends thrills down his spine, and the rain beads in droplets on the white-bleached fur that extends all the way down her belly from the longer whiskers under her chin, and delineates to open up the spaces around her eyes. She rubs her long, compact muzzle against his chest to ease the itch where her eye is not quite finished reconstructing the finer details of her vision.

And it is a miracle to him that where she was hurt, she is now restored and completely intact. It is still dry, even warm, beneath the fruit-bearing trees that grow here, not stringently arranged in the style of some places but varying in size, from the low and scrubby that are more like bushes to the occasional majestic silver-barked flowering that reaches to the skies.

The rain flows past, and Sethkill prophecies changes to the worlds weathered eco-system, casually extrapolating the changes in climate that will inevitably occur when he tells them about the sethura he works with in the uplift project in Khem, how one of them likes to swim with crocodiles in the vast low-reeded river around which the culture that grows there has nucleated, wearing light fish-scaled armour made of thin colourful titanium flakes to keep from being bitten.

As he talks he looks mournfully at the arm he has lost, watching the rain skiff on the greased plates and run off. The pieces don't quite match, but they articulate very well and are free of motion for his thoughts to move, as long as he keeps them oiled against dust, grime and obstructions. He flexes the fingers of the gauntlet in anticipation, an exercise in concentration that keeps his mind away from the fact that his shoulder joint still aches, until they reach Khem once again.

And just what would it take, to make you give high-pitched squeals of lust, he asks. Cleo is looking most wonderfully uncouth, sweat trickling hotly down between her muscular breasts and mixing with the rain. She laughs happily, quite a sound coming from a lioness, a sort of gurgling purring cough of delight with affectionate snapping of teeth, and licks him.

I got what I need right here, she says.

End: The City Of Uruk