Drusilla replied. "No men, no worries."
"He's pretty."
"Pretty what?"
"Just pretty."
"I prefer handsome to pretty," Drusilla sniffed, "but I don't want either one right now." She had her fantasy man, after all, who was much better than any real one could ever be. "Besides, what you would call pretty, I'd probably call…" Momentarily at a loss for the right word, she realized it didn't matter. Nothing did. She was drifting, floating, relaxed, and nothing mattered. "I don't mean to be rude, Zef, but I'd rather not talk about him."
"Later on, perhaps?" suggested Zef.
"No. Not ever," she said firmly. "And Zef?"
"Yeah?"
"I don't want to talk at all right now," she murmured. "I'm sure you'll think it sounds completely boring, but right now, I just want to… be."
"Well, all right," he grumbled. "Just promise me you won't drown in my lake."
"I'll try not to."
"Lester would give me hell for letting anyone drown," Zef went on, but then paused for a moment as though struck with a novel thought. "You could drown, couldn't you?"
"Well, yes," Drusilla admitted. "I could. But I think I'd rather not."
"Well, what if my friend were to rescue you… save you from drowning?"
"I'd be eternally grateful, I'm sure," Drusilla said amiably. "But I'll try not to put him to the trouble."
***
Meanwhile, hoping her eyes weren't as good as his, Manx had ventured nearer to the shore. He never dreamed he'd ever be jealous of Zef, but he was now. She was wet, practically naked, and floating on the water like the answer to his deepest needs and wildest dreams. All he had to do was pluck her out of the lake…
Drusilla chose that moment to right herself in the water and glance toward the shore. Manx, elusive as ever, was visible for only a second before retreating behind a nearby tree.
***
It had only been a moment, but the fleeting glimpse of a humanoid male with long, black hair imprinted itself on her mind—a humanoid male even more naked than she was herself. He'd had something around his waist, and what might have been a bow and quiver slung across his back, but that was all. That's got to be him, she thought. Hmm. Might not be a bad idea to… No, she wouldn't. She couldn't. It was a very bad idea.
Three months, she reminded herself. Three long months painting birds, swimming in the lake—and talking to no one but Zef. For a fleeting moment she thought that Ralph—good old matchmaking Ralph—must have set up this entire scenario to get her to fall for… someone. She wouldn't have put it past him to plant this guy on Barada just for her to find, but she dismissed the idea immedi ately; even Ralph wouldn't go to the trouble to concoct such an elaborate scheme. No, this had to be a simple coincidence. The way Zef talked, this guy was a friend of his, which meant he'd been there for some time.
Lester must not have known about him or he would have warned her, just as he had warned her about Zef. If Lester had gone to the trouble of introducing her to Zef, whom he obviously disliked, he probably would have made a point of telling her all about the Fugitive of the Jungle as though he was some sort of tourist attraction. No, Lester didn't know about Zef's friend, and as furtive as he was, he didn't seem to want Drusilla to know about him either.
"He might be pretty, but he's pretty shy too," Drusilla told Zef. "How come he doesn't just come right out and talk to me?"
Zef hesitated before answering. "Wants me to find out what you're like first," he said truthfully.
"And?"
"I think he'd like you."
"Maybe, but would I like him? I'm going to be here for a long time—and I'm all by myself. I don't want to make any enemies."
"I don't think you would," Zef said nonchalantly. "And especially not him."
She remembered the purring—perhaps it had been done by the man Zef was talking about. He'd seen her out on the patio,
"He's pretty."
"Pretty what?"
"Just pretty."
"I prefer handsome to pretty," Drusilla sniffed, "but I don't want either one right now." She had her fantasy man, after all, who was much better than any real one could ever be. "Besides, what you would call pretty, I'd probably call…" Momentarily at a loss for the right word, she realized it didn't matter. Nothing did. She was drifting, floating, relaxed, and nothing mattered. "I don't mean to be rude, Zef, but I'd rather not talk about him."
"Later on, perhaps?" suggested Zef.
"No. Not ever," she said firmly. "And Zef?"
"Yeah?"
"I don't want to talk at all right now," she murmured. "I'm sure you'll think it sounds completely boring, but right now, I just want to… be."
"Well, all right," he grumbled. "Just promise me you won't drown in my lake."
"I'll try not to."
"Lester would give me hell for letting anyone drown," Zef went on, but then paused for a moment as though struck with a novel thought. "You could drown, couldn't you?"
"Well, yes," Drusilla admitted. "I could. But I think I'd rather not."
"Well, what if my friend were to rescue you… save you from drowning?"
"I'd be eternally grateful, I'm sure," Drusilla said amiably. "But I'll try not to put him to the trouble."
***
Meanwhile, hoping her eyes weren't as good as his, Manx had ventured nearer to the shore. He never dreamed he'd ever be jealous of Zef, but he was now. She was wet, practically naked, and floating on the water like the answer to his deepest needs and wildest dreams. All he had to do was pluck her out of the lake…
Drusilla chose that moment to right herself in the water and glance toward the shore. Manx, elusive as ever, was visible for only a second before retreating behind a nearby tree.
***
It had only been a moment, but the fleeting glimpse of a humanoid male with long, black hair imprinted itself on her mind—a humanoid male even more naked than she was herself. He'd had something around his waist, and what might have been a bow and quiver slung across his back, but that was all. That's got to be him, she thought. Hmm. Might not be a bad idea to… No, she wouldn't. She couldn't. It was a very bad idea.
Three months, she reminded herself. Three long months painting birds, swimming in the lake—and talking to no one but Zef. For a fleeting moment she thought that Ralph—good old matchmaking Ralph—must have set up this entire scenario to get her to fall for… someone. She wouldn't have put it past him to plant this guy on Barada just for her to find, but she dismissed the idea immedi ately; even Ralph wouldn't go to the trouble to concoct such an elaborate scheme. No, this had to be a simple coincidence. The way Zef talked, this guy was a friend of his, which meant he'd been there for some time.
Lester must not have known about him or he would have warned her, just as he had warned her about Zef. If Lester had gone to the trouble of introducing her to Zef, whom he obviously disliked, he probably would have made a point of telling her all about the Fugitive of the Jungle as though he was some sort of tourist attraction. No, Lester didn't know about Zef's friend, and as furtive as he was, he didn't seem to want Drusilla to know about him either.
"He might be pretty, but he's pretty shy too," Drusilla told Zef. "How come he doesn't just come right out and talk to me?"
Zef hesitated before answering. "Wants me to find out what you're like first," he said truthfully.
"And?"
"I think he'd like you."
"Maybe, but would I like him? I'm going to be here for a long time—and I'm all by myself. I don't want to make any enemies."
"I don't think you would," Zef said nonchalantly. "And especially not him."
She remembered the purring—perhaps it had been done by the man Zef was talking about. He'd seen her out on the patio,
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