no democratic government should deal with closed, totalitarian
societies that persecute their own citizens. They concentrated their attack on
civil rights abuses allegedly rampant under Fairyland’s theocratic regime. The
extradition clause came in for fiery argument.
A cold ache tightened Rye’s stomach. Her wing buds and the flight muscles across
her chest clenched uncomfortably.
“What does extra-thing mean?” Knot asked.
“Extradition,” she said. “Um. It’s when a country hands someone back to the
country where they came from. They do it so that people can be punished in their
own country, where they committed their crime.”
“Sounds about right, don’t it?” Knot said. “Why should we have to put up with
dregs coming here? Got enough of our own.”
“I reckon they should send all foreigners back where they come from.” Blackie’s
stubby antennae bristled erect. “Especially fucking elves. Whiny wankers. And
fucking gnomes. There’s nothing worse than a fucking gnome.”
Knot grinned. “Ain’t your mother-in-law a gnome?”
“I’d shove that fat old bitch on a ship to the Plainlands tomorrow,” Blackie
said. “Actually, I’d drop her in the sea with a rock tied to her beard. Gnomes.
Shit. They’re all the fucking same.”
Knot turned to Rye. “What’s that word for people like him?”
“Bigots,” Rye said.
“I ain’t!” Blackie said. “I got pure sprite, bogle, and gremlin blood in me.
Born and raised here. I’m no fucking foreigner. And I’ll tell you another thing.
Those fucking fairies have got it about right. Keep all the weird bastards in
their own country. I heard they hang crims there. I reckon it’d be no loss if
those flying freaks all hung each other! Then none of the bastards could come
here.”
Rye stood and walked away.
Rye could not imagine how she could be more comfortable. She reclined on one of
Flora’s sofas with the naked dryad a warm weight lying against her front. Flora
idly smoothed part of Rye’s wing membrane against her own hip and thigh. Rye
could smell Flora’s perfume and their sex. Beneath that, and even more
compelling than both, she smelled that tantalising aroma like pine sap. Rye bent
her nose closer to Flora’s hair and closed her eyes. She inhaled deeply. The
pine scent invaded her brain and permeated her whole being, as if Flora was what
Rye had been missing all her life.
Rye reverently kissed Flora’s hair. Her lips pressed a knot. Flora’s hair had
formed a tight, nasty tangle about the size of the top of Rye’s thumb.
“I wish we could be like this forever,” Flora said. “It’s the strangest
phenomenon. Whenever I’m with you, the rest of Infinity fades into nothing. Yet
time speeds up.”
Rye’s smile quickly faded. Her fingers found another tangle in Flora’s hair. And
another. Her fingers worked their way around the crown of Flora’s head to find
it ringed with the knots.
“Gently.” Flora sat up.
“Sorry. You’ve got some nasty knots.”
Flora twisted around to level a strange look at Rye. “Knots?”
“Tangles in your hair. If you get a comb, I’ll tease them out. I used to do
Holly’s hair for her. I hardly ever made her cry.”
“You don’t know much about dryad biology, do you?”
“I know a lot more now than I used to. Why?”
“These aren’t hair tangles. They’re buds.”
Rye frowned. “Buds? You’re about to flower? Or have I somehow pollinated you?”
Flora laughed. Rye felt stupid. Flora captured one of Rye’s hands to kiss.
“They mean that I’m serious about someone,” Flora said.
“Oh.”
Rye was conscious of a watchfulness beneath Flora’s smile. She had no clue how
to interpret it and didn’t know what she was supposed to say.
The moment passed. Flora rose and padded into the kitchen to fetch the abandoned
jar of wine. When she returned, Rye sat up and swung her legs over the side of
the sofa so that Flora could sit astride her lap. Flora held the glass to
societies that persecute their own citizens. They concentrated their attack on
civil rights abuses allegedly rampant under Fairyland’s theocratic regime. The
extradition clause came in for fiery argument.
A cold ache tightened Rye’s stomach. Her wing buds and the flight muscles across
her chest clenched uncomfortably.
“What does extra-thing mean?” Knot asked.
“Extradition,” she said. “Um. It’s when a country hands someone back to the
country where they came from. They do it so that people can be punished in their
own country, where they committed their crime.”
“Sounds about right, don’t it?” Knot said. “Why should we have to put up with
dregs coming here? Got enough of our own.”
“I reckon they should send all foreigners back where they come from.” Blackie’s
stubby antennae bristled erect. “Especially fucking elves. Whiny wankers. And
fucking gnomes. There’s nothing worse than a fucking gnome.”
Knot grinned. “Ain’t your mother-in-law a gnome?”
“I’d shove that fat old bitch on a ship to the Plainlands tomorrow,” Blackie
said. “Actually, I’d drop her in the sea with a rock tied to her beard. Gnomes.
Shit. They’re all the fucking same.”
Knot turned to Rye. “What’s that word for people like him?”
“Bigots,” Rye said.
“I ain’t!” Blackie said. “I got pure sprite, bogle, and gremlin blood in me.
Born and raised here. I’m no fucking foreigner. And I’ll tell you another thing.
Those fucking fairies have got it about right. Keep all the weird bastards in
their own country. I heard they hang crims there. I reckon it’d be no loss if
those flying freaks all hung each other! Then none of the bastards could come
here.”
Rye stood and walked away.
Rye could not imagine how she could be more comfortable. She reclined on one of
Flora’s sofas with the naked dryad a warm weight lying against her front. Flora
idly smoothed part of Rye’s wing membrane against her own hip and thigh. Rye
could smell Flora’s perfume and their sex. Beneath that, and even more
compelling than both, she smelled that tantalising aroma like pine sap. Rye bent
her nose closer to Flora’s hair and closed her eyes. She inhaled deeply. The
pine scent invaded her brain and permeated her whole being, as if Flora was what
Rye had been missing all her life.
Rye reverently kissed Flora’s hair. Her lips pressed a knot. Flora’s hair had
formed a tight, nasty tangle about the size of the top of Rye’s thumb.
“I wish we could be like this forever,” Flora said. “It’s the strangest
phenomenon. Whenever I’m with you, the rest of Infinity fades into nothing. Yet
time speeds up.”
Rye’s smile quickly faded. Her fingers found another tangle in Flora’s hair. And
another. Her fingers worked their way around the crown of Flora’s head to find
it ringed with the knots.
“Gently.” Flora sat up.
“Sorry. You’ve got some nasty knots.”
Flora twisted around to level a strange look at Rye. “Knots?”
“Tangles in your hair. If you get a comb, I’ll tease them out. I used to do
Holly’s hair for her. I hardly ever made her cry.”
“You don’t know much about dryad biology, do you?”
“I know a lot more now than I used to. Why?”
“These aren’t hair tangles. They’re buds.”
Rye frowned. “Buds? You’re about to flower? Or have I somehow pollinated you?”
Flora laughed. Rye felt stupid. Flora captured one of Rye’s hands to kiss.
“They mean that I’m serious about someone,” Flora said.
“Oh.”
Rye was conscious of a watchfulness beneath Flora’s smile. She had no clue how
to interpret it and didn’t know what she was supposed to say.
The moment passed. Flora rose and padded into the kitchen to fetch the abandoned
jar of wine. When she returned, Rye sat up and swung her legs over the side of
the sofa so that Flora could sit astride her lap. Flora held the glass to
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