Feznatch returned, cutting off Lance reverie by dumping a deer in front of him. Feznatch drew a large dagger, and started to skillfully skin the deer, and in no time the hide was laid bloody side up apart from the main body, yet to be jointed and gutted.
'Take off your shirt.' said Feznatch, scraping the blubber off his dagger and replacing it in his sleeve-sheath.
Lance took off his shirt and shivered slightly at the chill evening air. The sun's bottom was millimeters from the horizon, casting a red, orange and purple palette onto the few clouds present. It was a beautiful sunset, if only the sun cast it's heat as well as the colors, Lance thought.
'Pants too,' said Feznatch, who continued when Lance hesitated. 'Unless you want to sleep in wet trousers, I suggest you take off your pants, and if you'd like to remain free of frostbite and hypothermia, rub this deer fat onto your torso. There might be enough for your thighs but it wasn't the plumpest of deer.' He finished, rubbing his hands into the blubber and smearing it onto Lance's chest. There was enough fat to rub onto Lance's thighs, for which he was eternally grateful.
'Walk onto the platform, and don't get knocked over. It's harder than it looks to climb back up.' said Feznatch to the very greasy Lance.
Lance would've liked to have said that he waded into the river, that he caught a fish overhanded in the first twenty seconds, and that when he did finally fall over, he dived so majestically into the pool below that the nymphs just gave up their fish, and he and Feznatch ate well that night. In reality, none of things happened, except for the majestic dive.
Lance's lower half instantly went numb, the deer blubber extending still the debilitation and refusal to move any further in his legs. Lance didn't doubt that the river had a mountainous route, but now it was confirmed. He had chosen to wade in, acclimatize, and then try balancing, but the ground just before the platform was just as treacherous, algae covering it like a fine, brown film of grease. Or half-diluted detergent. Many bowls had been smashed on the floor because of the slippery traits of detergent.
He, even in his evergreen spearfishing career had never felt water as cold. Even when his wetsuit was still to arrive, and he went out rockin' boardies in mid-winter. The water had been eight degrees then, he had had warm, wet-suited Nat get a water thermometer from the life-savers, who were stunned that Lance had actually stayed in, let alone catch the three lobsters that he did. He could remember rubbing the sixty dollars hard in Nat's face on the train home.
This water however, was nothing like that. It blocked out all else, the objective more than obliterated from his memory, Lance turned and started getting out, stiff-jointedly. Feznatch then did the most malicious thing that had been done to Lance ever since he had arrived in Avalon. Lance saw it coming to, but his half-frozen brain could do nothing to impede Feznatch's incoming hands. Both palms hit Lance in the sternum. That coupled with Lance's sluggish legs and treacherously algal footing meant that he had no chance of not falling backwards. Two of the aforementioned plights and Lance might have been able to retain his footing, if not his dignity, but all three, not a chance.
Lance splashed backwards, his sea career building an instinctive inhale, just before submersion of any form. This may have saved Lance's life, for as he splashed into the more-than-icy waters, the cold robbed him of all sense of direction, bearing, and replaced with the overpowering need for oxygen. Oh, Lance could go another minute at least before he really started needing that oxygen, but that cold, that obliterating, overpowering freeze robbed him of than knowledge too. Lance was washed over the lip of the platform in less time than it took him to realize it, so he found himself on the first of many voyages down the slope. Oh, he knew he would be okay, drop wise. Cold wise he wasn't sure if the deer blubber worked miracles, but Feznatch was confident before, and Lance had made the decision to trust the bear.
As he slid he knew he had no chance of stopping, or even slowing his decent, so Lance struggled to a sitting position and turned, and gave a look to Feznatch that promised so many sinister and dark methods of revenge that Feznatch laughed. He laughed and cackled, and Lance couldn't help but smile as he majestically fell, from a slightly off-kilter cross-legged position, seven meters into the clearest pool of water he had ever seen. It had been blue before, but as Lance went over the edge of the slope, he thought for three meters of his fall that there was nothing but air, and that a magical force had done away with the water. For a few milliseconds, Lance didn't mind the cold. But then he realized, four meters above it, that on the sand at the river bed, a gold coin was sparkling. It wasn't like sun reflecting off a coin sparkling, it was sparkling like Lance knew clear water sparkled. Dancing veins of light, projected by the moving surface. He noticed how calm the water had become, and everything seemed to slow down, as things did when a lot of adrenalin is forced into one's bloodstream in a short amount of time. The second half of Lance's fall seemed to last three or four seconds, and he had time then to notice many things on his way down.
There was a large cave heading back under the river, the top of the mouth being the bottom of the platform, and the bottom lip being underneath the surface and therefore not important for at least another five milliseconds. the river continued, but the clarity, the air-like purity of the water tapered out, moving from the crystal clarity to deep blue sea-looking water, back to the brown, dirty river-water. The trees seemed a little greener around the cave, though there was no plant life in the five cubic meters of the cave that Lance could see, around the cave on the banks of the river, were greener trees. Or maybe they were just evergreens in winter. Lance had no clue, since horticulture had never held his interest longer than the Venus Flytrap had.
Lance struck the serene scene like a bombshell. Bombshell was definitely the simile an onlooker would have used, Lance's strange position producing a splash large enough to rival the iconic pose, and more than a little stinging pain in his legs and back. He was however numb, so it was very much a muted, stinging pain in his back. He tread water in the pool, at pains to disturb it, and realized that it wasn't cold. Well, it was bearable, and Lance probably would have voluntarily entered the water, had he felt it. When he had his breath back, Lance dived down to the bottom of the pool, using the vertical current of the waterfall as a taxi to the bottom.
When he reached the sand floor, everything faded into the back of his head. That's why he loved surfing, scuba diving and snorkeling so much, because when you dived, there was nothing but you and the fish and the great blue. He explored the sand, picked up the gold coin, and was just about to kick off the bottom when he came face to face with a girl that looked remarkably like Leshy. Except for the blue hair which remarkably resembled noodles. And Blue eyes. But other than those rather small things they were identical. The girl winked and beckoned to Lance, and she turned and swam in to the cave. How many girls have winked at me in the last forty-eight hours? More than the last forty-eight months. Lance answered his own question mentally.
'Tamrlaine, nymphs. Nasty, nice, in the middle? Talk to me.'
'A nymph's personality depends on her water. Judging by this river, that nymph would be right down the middle. But be careful, there is more than her living in that cave, and I'm not talking about the stupid snow cones.'
'Okey dokey. Entering deep dark cave with the sea chic after being pushed into a sub-zero river by a man who can change into a bear if he wants, and you tell me to be careful? I may be new, but I'm hardly that bad at this game.'
'That's debatable.' came the curt reply, Lance sensing more than a little jibe in the comment.
'No, it's not.' said Lance, feigning seriousness.
'It is not anything from this game that you draw near, nor the last, nor the second last. It is the same game, different players and slightly different board every time. It is an ancient queen you draw near, in this ever-repeating game of chess.'
'Okey dokey. Entering a deep, dark cave with the sea chic and you tell me that there's a possibility I might wake up Sauron, enemy of Middle Earth? Oh, wait, no. He would be a bishop. I might wake Melkor Morgoth, Dark Enemy Of The Light, if I'm not careful?'
'The names you invoke carry weight. I know them little, a man recently came by me raving about a Sauron, but I would still blaspheme them with only the most powerful of allies at my side. And if you-'
'Shut up. I'm going in.'
'You sound like your father.'
'You sound like a piece of metal that fell from a martian's spaceship.' Finished Lance, though there was no venom in his words. He didn't know if Tamrlaine "knew of a Mars" but Lance ceased to care once he surface in the cave.
It was much bigger than Lance imagined. It wasn't just a rock cut by erosion. The nymph shot forward, Lance could see the ripples created in her wake, and shot out of the water, a mermaid's tail switching so quickly to human legs that Lance thought that she might have been hiding her fish tail from him, and landed, standing, naked as a babe, a meter form the edge of the water. It speaks volumes that the cave stole Lance's attention from the nymph.
It was made of ice, but ice that didn't radiate cold, and nor was it clear. If it was ice, it was clouded. The cave was squat in it's space, wide and long, but not as tall, perhaps because of the river. At the back of the cave it tapered down into a gaping maw of a tunnel, it twisted from the river's course and angled back the way Lance had come, a dark path which probably led to the thing which Lance mustn't wake. The floor which the nymph -who Lance was now making a conscious, valiant and futile effort to not look at- was standing on was also ice, glacial white stuff fixed to the side of the cave.
There were little mounds on the ground, fifteen centimeters high at the most. Ten of the little snow hills were scattered around solid ground, be it ice, snow or frozen dirt.
When Lance had observed the little mounds for twelve seconds, his gaze inevitably was drawn towards the nymph. He ducked down in the pool, keeping his hands on the ice, then yanked himself up onto solid ground, gaining his feet after a second of graceful and dignified floundering on his stomach. At least Lance hoped it was dignified and graceful. The nymph laughed, a gurgling laugh that sounded like water running over stone.
'What's your name?' said Lance, unsettled by the nymph's laugh.
'People call me Fishy.' said the Nymph, smiling.
'That is a wonderful name,' said Lance offering his hand before he offered something else. 'Mine's Lance.' said he, putting on a smile that he hoped didn't look like an evil grin.
'You're the one they're talking about. The princeling. How will you impress the rivers, I wonder.'
'I would do that by winning the trees favor, I'd imagine.'
'And how do you plan to do that?' said Fishy arching one eyebrow.
'Do you know of the young dryad, Lethlósiniminilesh?' said Lance, struggling to remember her full name.
'My sister, Leshy. What of her?'
Lance didn't know how the nymph would react to more earthly language, but old-fashioned english had not faulted him yet, so he continued the stream of posh lingo. He sensed, quite rightly, that he had yet to win the nymph's trust. 'I'm courting her.' said Lance simply, his mind quickly supplying the translation.
'Then I wish the two of you the very best, but if you break her heart, then all the wrath of every body of water bigger than a puddle will rain down upon ypur shoulders.'
'As threats go, I think that's the best one I've heard, ever since my father retrieved me.' Lance cut himself short.
'The Wolf-Prince is an earthling. I'd want to keep that one a secret. Chu'rook would be all over your father, claiming illegitimate birth and similar nasty things about you.'
'But my parents were married, how could he claim illegitimate birth if-'
'Any birth that occurred on earth is instantly illegitimate for most royalty in Avalon. The werebears, whom you are familiar with, and most smaller races discount it. But what we call the ruling races, werewolves and vampires, and more recently humans, make a big show of having pure bloodlines and similar backscatter like that. Sometimes the better ruler is turned down purely because the other candidates can claim a higher ranking bloodline.'
'You can't choose your parents; that's insane.' said Lance, making a mental note to shake it up after his rise to power.
Fishy sat on the bank of the pool, dipping her feet into the water. They became scaled and webbed, and seemed to excrete a sticky substance similar to snake oil, actually the stuff frogs are covered in is a better approximation, thought Lance.
Fishy quickly changed her feet back into human-looking feet, though they were still in the water.
'Why did you do that?' said Lance.
'Nymphs and Dryads see it as rude to show someone our true form before we know each other well enough. Usually creatures that see us in the rivers and lakes and oceans see half human, half nymph form, hence the earthly myth about mermaids.'
Lance's eyes glazed as he realized that Leshy must have judged him very quickly, and probably correctly in there short time together. He came back to the matter at hand, albeit reluctantly. 'How do you know of my home world?'
'Being a nymph awards more than one river, Lance. I know of every major body of water in existence, in Avalon or on earth. The first nymphs were the original acknowledge the existence of the theory of "mirror world". They were seen as insane and untrustworthy after that, as many scientists are, but later heralded the great mind of their time. Scylla and Charybdis were the first to the knowledge, and were ....... frustrated by everyone's non-compliance.'
'Well, If I had dedicated my life to my field and made a revolutionary breakthrough, and people called me bonkers then I would probably through a tantrum similarly proportioned to theirs.'
'Anyone would.' said Fishy, as Lance sat beside her, their shoulders just not touching.
Lance dangled his feet in the water, and a koi fish came up and started nibbling on his foot. Fishy started to shoo it, but Lance stopped her, saying 'He is doing no harm.' and after a second the fish returned to it's rather numb and chewy meal.
'Leshy came to my river, and screamed her head off when my koi came up. She would come near the water's edge again.'
'I bet she did.' said Lance. squinting into the deep pool at his feet, the dim light making it impossible to see further than his feet. A bigger koi came up and joined the first, and Lance realized why in countries like Thailand and Vietnam koi were used as massage instruments.
Lance leaned back, putting his hands behind him, leaning on them. As was his penchant, Lance looked at the new person, in this case Fishy, and decided what he thought of them. And from his point of view now, all he could see was her back, and her long black hair. Her skin was the same shade as Leshy's, not pale, but not quite tan either. Fishy's skin had a blue sort of glow, as human skin goes when it's very cold. And while Lance could feel no heat radiating off her, he would have bet she didn't feel cold at all. 'What do you want from all the conflict that is about to break out, Fishy?' said Lance, more breaking the silence than anything.
She collected her thoughts, and then; 'The nymphs and dryads are not taken seriously as a race in Avalon. For example, if the werewolves declared war, the whole world would stop and listen, at least for a little, before either joining a side or hoping the conflict will pass them over. But if dryads or Nymphs declared war, other races with no stake in the outcomes would sweep the child's play away, "it's time for grownups to have a chat now," you know? I know that the nymphs could do little on our own, but in larger scale wars when other races were involved, a monopoly on water can be more useful than it gets credit for.'
'I see what you mean. I can see similar plights in many other "smaller races" in Avalon. Peoples like the halflings, although they are happy with their stake in life, but others as well. It seems a Lord who caters for the masses gets the masses.'
Fishy looked at Lance with a new twinkle in her eye. It was obviously a sorely passionate point with her. 'You wouldn't.' she said, hope positively oozing off her words. Lance raised and eyebrow, daring her to believe. Fishy rushed forward and fiercely hugged Lance, and after a moment of considering the consequences, Lance wrapped his own arms around Fishy.
'Why would I not? You could have drowned me, I'm sure, but you showed me this beautiful cave.' whispered Lance in her ear. She stepped back, and Lance was very aware that she didn't remove her arms from his upper arms as she did so.
'Why would I drown you?' said Fishy, showing some of the same innocence that had made Leshy so endearing to Lance.
'Why would I undermine your race?' said Lance, a half smile playing on his lips. From his position, it was impossible for Lance not to notice that Fishy had a very voluptuous body, and while Leshy hardly had an unattractive body, on those terms alone Fishy was ahead of Leshy.
'Besides, even if I was trying to drown you, it take considerably longer than any of the werebears. You have an air about you,' a sly grin crept into her features, 'an air of coolness, even when submerged in water.' said Fishy, and years of playing tip in a pool with Nat prepared him for what happened next; not prepared him enough to stop it, but enough that when Fishy did push him into the water, he was able to complete a half back-flip and turn it into a dive.
Fishy dived in after him, consciously suppressing her fish form and using water currents to propel herself. Lance was already twenty feet away, swimming quickly away. While the lack of fins denied him his race-winning bow wave, his freestyle was still better than most of the kids in his school. He frowned. He hadn't seen his school friends in ages. He wondered what they would say if he showed them his .... hairy side. His closer friends would know it was still him ... but the ones that weren't so close, he would either be an abomination or a cool freak of nature. He hoped it was the latter.
Lance was yanked straight down by hands that appeared on his sides, straight down into the water which was still dark, but he could see the pool, bathed in light. He could see through the surface Feznatch standing by the shore, his movements stressed, erratic, and decidedly bear-like.
Fishy was beneath Lance, her arms around his sides, propelling them both. Lance looked at her, she looking forward, and observed her face. It was slightly more angular than Leshy's, the cheekbones more prominent. She turned to him, their noses millimeters apart.
Lance thought it would probably happen. If she really was like her sister, then wouldn't they be attracted to the same traits in a person? And Leshy seemed to have collapsed in his arms: So it wasn't a surprise when Fishy kissed him, and they accelerated through the water, both their eyes closed. It wasn't weird kissing underwater -there was no water-based interference- although Lance credited that to him kissing a nymph rather than actual physics.
Fishy broke off the kiss, and buried her head in his chest, shaking it occasionally. They continued to accelerate through the water, Lance who was now worried at their speed, could see six feet before Fishy's bubble of clarity ended, and the water became murky and impenetrable. Suddenly the back of the river reared in front of the pair. They were traveling to fast for Lance to get Fishy to turn, so he did a corkscrew through the water, positioning himself on the bank-side and preparing for the crunching impact. He hit the wall of hard-packed earth -this was no gradually inclining beach- and felt two of his ribs give way slightly. Fishy pressed up against him, and suddenly the propulsion ceased. Lance was vaguely aware of Fishy blowing air into his mouth, and then depositing him on the dirt bank. The ribs made it hard to breath, so indicate he wanted her to stay, he just held her hand tightly. He felt her slipping away, but he groaned and reached out, mumbling something about wanting her to stay.
* * * * * * * * * * *
It was three o'clock in the morning, and a mist lay over the Silt Marshes. The lightened and modified schooner, though neither of theses things were obvious, was gliding through the five foot deep water as easily as anything.
Soot had offered to forge some upgrades to the ship that Soloman had engineered, but hadn't found the skill to craft. As a result, the ship now zoomed along at a steady speed of forty knots, fifteen with wind against them.
The Silt Marshes used to be an archipelago of islands of the shore of Avalon, but in the last hundred years or so had risen out of the ocean slightly. A ship, handled well and with a map, could get through them in a week, but The Tourniquet was setting a record time through the swamps, and would find herself in the ocean on the inside of four days. The massive pool of water, contained by the basin-like land formation, was ten feet deep at it's deepest, tiny spits of land emerging from the murky depths. Not many captains were brave enough to risk their ship, crew and life to find a quicker way to the ocean. The Tourniquet was headed by one of the rare breed. The helmsman, a human by the name of Wrendyll, skillfully navigated the medium-sized vessel through the perils brilliantly.
There was a primitive swamp-people, named "Gillies", who were known for there camouflage capabilities. They lived on houseboats or semi-amphibious cottages, but no one had found their village and come out of the swamps alive. Despite their formidable penchant for stealth, the one time Soloman came out of his cabin to check their progress, he instantly pointed out two Gillies. The two tribespeople quickly ran from their chosen spot, their slightly disproportioned legs and feet allowing them to sprint as a man on a track, over the uneven and normally treacherous marshy ground. Their clothing intrigued Soot, a poncho-like garment weaved from leaves and splattered with mud, which fell to just above their knees. It was loose and allowed them room to sprint as they did, but even though they whipped past branches and roots, it didn't catch on anything.
Artemis had started drawing up their plan for the extraction, and quite heavily relied on Artemis' man on the inside of Chu'rook's self-named city opening a back door, but he hadn't replied to Artemis trained messenger owl. Gwideh was a white owl, and had flown off the day the group had met with the ship, but it was now six days later -ample time for a reply- and Gwideh was yet to show his white underbelly to the crew. Artemis had passed it off as his man sorting things out, greasing the correct palms, dropping tidbits of information to the right people, but deep down, Artemis worried something had gone awry. It would be unfortunate if the group arrived at Chu'rook and the door was closed.
It wasn't unusual for people to arrive at Chu'rook looking for accommodation for a week or so, but such people were watched carefully, by authorities and by the people of the city, ever-ready for a bit of gossip. And so Artemis' man was dropping rumors here and there, that an admiral of Barnacle Landing was visiting Chu'rook on a diplomatic mission. Derst would pose as the admiral, as he was the most quick talking and, after certain modification to his attire, definitely the most regal-looking. They were almost ready.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Lance opened his eyes from his pain-induced blackout, and was instantly relieved to see Fishy next to him, asleep in a chair. He then turned his attention to his surroundings, which were remarkable indeed. He was in what looked like an igloo, but as he looked out the window from his bed, a river-trout swam by, chasing a smaller fish Lance couldn't identify. He stuck his hand out the open window, and when he withdrew it, it was wet. The igloo was at the bottom of assumably the river that Feznatch had brought him to, at least Lance hoped so. Lance gave up being surprised at effects that were obviously supernatural.
He sat up, leaning against the bedhead, and looked around the igloo. There was a picture of assumably Fishy's mother and -Lance blanched- father. What if he came around? How would he explain? Where would he hide? What does Feznatch think happened to me? Fishy turned over in her armchair, but didn't wake. Lance forgot about Feznatch as he looked at Fishy. She was thankfully no longer naked, the nightgown she had on probably the contents of her wardrobe. Lance cast around for a blanket, and ended up just giving her his, wrapping it around her shoulders. As he turned back from Fishy, he saw his clothes in a pile on the floor with Tamrlaine and his scabbard.
'Good morning.' said Lance.
'You know, you can't just go around kissing every thing that is vaguely female in Avalon.'
Lance didn't even bother justifying what happened, but he sent an image, a memory, of Ben kissing the succubus at Frederikshire prison.
'He's the lord of his tribe.'
'I'm the prince of my tribe.' said Lance, settling into a bad mood. He wouldn't normally use his rank, or even bring it up, but Tamrlaine's words had called for it.
'I'm just saying, there is one possible path you take where you successfully excuse yourself from Leshy and Fishy without causing them to hate each other or you.'
'Out of how many?'
'Billions.'
'I've always been good at gambling. Won three hundred dollars at the Behind-The-Library casino at school. Watch me beat them odds.' said Lance, mentioning the school gambling ring.
'If you say so.' said Tamrlaine resignedly.
'You can't tell me how to do it, can you?' said Lance after a pause.
'No.'
'Then watch the master at work.'
'Thats what my last intelligent owner said.'
'What happened to him?'
'He got shrunk, captured, tied up, stabbed down the throat by a rusty iron spike, then roasted and eaten.'
'It's a good thing I'm actually a master then, isn't it?' said Lance, coming out his mood, seemingly having passed it on to Tamrlaine.
Fishy stirred, mumbling something incoherent about fish fingers, and opened her eyes blearily.
Lance sat and pretended not to notice.
'Good morning.' said Fishy, stretching. He couldn't take girls stretching. It was something that made him want to just sidle up next to them and have a nice long snuggle. Lance looked over and smiled.
'Morning.'
'Want some breakfast?' asked Fishy, smiling like she knew what Lance had just thought about.
'Sure, but what do you have to eat?' asked Lance, looking around the igloo. There were no cupboards and drawers, and definitely no food in sight.
One thing Lance had down was the morning at his girlfriends place. Step 1, get up without waking the girl. Step 2, cook bacon and eggs and hope that the smell wakes her before the meal gets cold. Things to remember: do not wake up girl. It came to him as easily as shifting into a bloodthirsty slavering hairy beast did, really.
The wooden door of the igloo opened, but the water, like at the window, stayed outside. Three fish shot out of the water and Fishy caught them, dexterously catching the third one inbetween the two already occupying her hands. She held her hands flat and Lance saw all the water that was on the fish form a pool in her flat hands, not leaking through the gaps between her fingers or hands, probably because she was a nymph. Lance her a hissing noise and realized the water was boiling, and was frying the fish. Fishy took her left hand from the bottom of the plane of water, and turned over the first fish. She burnt her forefinger turning over the second fish, and only just managed to flip the third without her forefinger.
Then Lance realized what she was really doing. He got up and put on his pants, tactfully leaving the shirt untouched, and walked next to her. His hand snaked around her waist, pressing her close to him. He kissed her cheek, and Fishy accidentally let her improvised frying pan fall to the carpeted floor. A hissing sound reached Lance's acute ears, but he thought nothing of it. She looked at Lance, mock-accusatorially, but then quickly dropped the fish as she realized they were also burning hot. Lance quickly crouched, both hands forming a similar platter to Fishy's and caught the fish. He was not so unwise to stop moving then, though. He through them upward, trusting Fishy to catch them as well as she did when they swam in the door, and grabbed the blanket Fishy had been under moments before. He then caught the fish that Fishy had dropped, and could hold them in his very improvised gloves.
'How were we going to eat these?' asked Lance, who would have had a hard time explaining if anyone walked in. A shirtless man crouching, holding three fish in a blanket, and Fishy standing there, half-dumbstruck, half-nursing her burns. Lance shrugged. Who was going to walk into an igloo at the bottom of a river that was about two degrees celsius?
Fishy pulled a block out of the igloo and placed it on the ground. The block of ice had been hollowed out, and it contained five plates, and many different utensils. She placed the block on the floor, having taken out what she wanted, and took the plate with one fish. She sat and started to eat
Lance didn't even look at his own plate, he just just took her plate and put it next to his, and looked at her palms. They were red and puffy, and the place just before the fingers started, opposite the knuckles, was already blistering. She tried to pull away, saying 'I'm fine.' But Lance wouldn't let her.
He kissed her palms, then took a bowl from the block, scooped a bowl-full of the cold river water, and walked back over to Fishy, gently guiding her hands into the bowl. He sat opposite her, and placed the bowl inbetween them.
Fishy sighed in relief as the cold water engulfed her burns, and she was surprised at Lance's care and gentleness. The day previous, in the cave, she had sensed a little ego about Lance, but it seemed to flicker on and off. The look he had in his eyes when he placed her hands in the bowl ever-so-gently, just made her feel like the only thing in the world. Like if there was a host of people vying for his attention outside, he would kick the door shut without looking away from her. She shuffled around, keeping her hands in the bowl, until she was shoulder to shoulder with Lance. She rested her head on his shoulder.
Lance was surprised at how tough Fishy was. She had held those fish for about four seconds before she dropped them, and didn't make a peep when they burned her. There was obviously something stopping the flat plane of water from burning her as she heated it, but the burns from the cooked fish were quite bad for domestic burns. He tested her fish before lifting it to her lips, his arm around her shoulders and holding the fish in front of her mouth. 'Your the perfect height for this.' he whispered in her ear as she chewed on the fish.
When she had finished, Lance washed her bowl in the river and replaced it in the cube. He wolfed down his own two fish, and was about to go when he thought of something. 'Can you keep me dry as I swim back up?' he asked.
'Sure,' she said then she smiled coyly 'But are you sure you want to leave so soon?' she asked, raising eyebrow suggestively.
Lance thought about it, then, after Tamrlaine's confirmation he replied 'Yep. But I'll be back later.'
Fishy looked disappointed, but then she walked out of the igloo, and was concentrating on keeping Lance dry as he walked along the riverbed. He looked around him, and marveled at the clarity of the water. He thought it was Fishy's effect on the river, that all the imperfections drained out as it went past her. Lance was in a bubble, which moved with him as he walked along the seabed. About halfway across he realized why Fishy hadn't just swam, because with the bubble around him he wouldn't have the ability to swim. The gravity was normal in his bubble. He reached the opposite bank, the side which Feznatch had brought him to, and hugged Fishy. She hugged him back, caressing the back of his head, then she pushed him up, out of the river, and he landed in a heap, his shirt and Tamrlaine still held in his hands.
'These girls are gonna kill me.' he said to Tamrlaine.
'This is only the beginning.' said the Sword.
'I'm not sure if I should be happy or apprehensive about that statement.' said Lance.
'Lets be optimistic. It's a good thing.'
'But it's not really, is it?'
'No, of course not. Many things will be happening to you Lance, and I think you'll classify less than twenty percent of them as good.'
'That's unfortunate,' said Lance. 'What was in the cave? And what were the snow cones you were talking about?'
'The snow cones are one of the most hateful species in Avalon. They are basically sentient snowmen.'
'What's so bad about that?' asked Lance.
'Have you ever met a snowman?' Lance had no answer to that.
'And the ancient potent force of destruction and death?'
'The thing in the cave is currently the most powerful individual in Avalon. If it wakes, it will take more than an alliance of vampires and werewolves to stop it.'
'Can I have a species? Or maybe just an animal family?'
'Draconis Hypoboria.'
Lance had no answer to that either.