Spike was just gathering his cloak and gloves when he heard Del’s surprised shout. He ran out the front door, into the courtyard, expecting some sort of trouble. What he saw, however, was Del arguing with one of the orth they’d met at the city gates.

“No,” Del said firmly.

“Yes,” Ruisk replied, equally serious. He was holding the reins of what resembled donkeys, only larger. They were outfitted with some sort of riding gear, though a bit different from what Spike was accustomed to.

“Ruisk…” the dalhari warned. Spike watched as the orth smiled and blithely ignored the dalhari’s protests.

“Ah, Spike! So good to see you,” Ruisk said, leading the pair of mounts over to the gaping human. “You are coming tonight?” Spike nodded that he was, still not completely sure of what was going on.

Ruisk smiled conspiratorially at Spike. “Walking that distance in the cold and snow is dangerous, and I have no need for these ifnan during winter.” He brought the animals around for Spike to admire. They were handsome creatures, a beautiful speckled and striped cream and roan. Large ears and intelligent eyes studied the human curiously, and one stepped forward, snuffling at his hair. Spike reached up, stroking its muzzle. The ifnan huffed out, breathing garlicky breath into Spike’s face. Ruisk laughed at Spike’s expression of disgust.

“See, he likes you already.” Spike turned back to the orth, shaking his head.

“We can’t—“

“Yes you can. It’s only for the winter, so that you and Del can get into town. Being stuck out here is dangerous. Besides, like I said, I’m not going to need them this winter and it doesn’t matter where they eat their grain, here or there,” Ruisk said convincingly.

Spike had no objections; he knew how to ride a horse and figured that this would be little different. And Ruisk had a point; being stuck out here when the snows fell would be bad. These ifnan looked more than capable of slogging through several feet of the stuff. Their thick, shaggy coats and strong legs wouldn’t be hindered as Spike’s would.

He looked over at Del. She’d obviously relented, although she didn’t look too happy about it. “Fine. Did you bring grain?” They hadn’t purchased any. She had the means to trade for it, but if Ruisk was going to pull this on her, he was going to pay for it.

“It’s already in the barn. Now, why don’t you teach Spike how to ride on the way to town? The girls and I have to get back.” Ruisk left the animals in Del’s care and returned to his waiting sisters.

“Girls?” Spike murmured. He’d been pleasantly surprised with orth women. They were smaller than orth men, only slightly larger than the average human male. Spike had pictured huge, lumbering females the size of Tisk.

Del rolled her eyes. “Do you know how to ride?”

“Yes, but it’s been a long time.” He studied the ifnan. The setup seemed to work much like what he was used to. “Only one way to find out.”

The dalhari was pleased to see Spike able to keep his seat. The human was soon to the point that Del no longer worried that he would lose control and hurt himself.

•••

Dinner at Ruisk’s was only slightly more formal than at Zaf’s, mostly due to space. The guard had a large dining room, which allowed everyone to sit at the same table. Spike found himself seated next to Del and surrounded by a mixed group of orth and pakra. It was the first time Spike had interacted with the amphibious species, his only other exposure being from a distance. He was impressed by the slick-skinned people’s dry wit and manner—they reminded him of home.

Del found herself stuck with Spike for the entire evening. Ruisk had maneuvered it so that she was responsible for the human’s food, as well as introducing him around. It had become obvious at Zaf’s that Spike felt more comfortable when someone like Del or Zaf were nearby to help him out when he didn’t understand something, although he was quickly picking up the nuances of the various peoples he encountered.

The evening ended too early for Spike, who enjoyed himself immensely. The human could be heard laughing as he and Del rode out of the city, a low baritone rumble echoing in the streets.

“I wonder when Del will notice that they’re courting,” Chzel, the pakra Spike had laughed with over dinner, asked Ruisk.

“Knowing Del, it could be a while. She can be amazingly…inobservant,” he replied. Indeed, it was likely that Del wouldn’t notice what her, and now Spike’s, friends were scheming until after the bonding ceremony. Regardless of how quickly she figured it out, it was imperative that the wagers made about how quickly it would take place be kept secret. Del would not appreciate the humor. Well, she would eventually, but no one who knew her wanted to suffer through a spate of her indignant anger.

•••

Spike sat down on a tree stump, watching in awe as Del dipped and soared above the barren fields. It was the first time he’d seen her fly without being up there with her, and it was amazing. The dalhari flew over him and turned swiftly upwards, climbing up toward the clouds. He sat transfixed as she flipped over and tucked in her wings, diving straight down at him. Just when he thought she’d barrel down onto him, she twisted, snapping open her wings and gliding away, the force of her movements sending air rushing over his face. He was suddenly reminded of his childhood, chasing his friends around the park with youthful abandon. Spike wished he could be up there with her.

The dalhari continued to fly around for another hour or so, going high enough to survey the land for miles in every direction. It was getting chilly and the wind was kicking up, and a glance told Del that the first snowfall would begin before morning. Thick, dark clouds hovered in the distance, promising many inches of the frozen stuff. With a sigh full of regret, she returned to the house to collect Spike.

“Done so soon?” Spike hadn’t expected her to return until dark. She’d disappeared over the trees, only to return a few minutes later.

Del shook her head. “Snow’s coming. There are things to be done.”

The rest of the afternoon was devoted to moving firewood closer to the house and making sure the ifnan had sufficient food and water, in case they couldn’t get to the barn. Spike was drying his hands when Del returned to the kitchen with length of cloth. The blonde lifted a curious eyebrow as she set the item on the table next to him.

“You may want that tonight. After the first snow, the temperature won’t rise much until the thaw.”

Spike picked up the fabric as Del prepared dinner. Unfolding it, he discovered that it was nightclothes, specifically a nightshirt. The heavy, soft woven material was cut large and reached his ankles. It would definitely be warmer than what he had been wearing, which was nothing at all. Turning it over, he saw that there were no openings for wings. The garment had been designed specifically for a human, since it was too small for an orth and too long for a pakra.

“Thanks.” He set the garment aside and went to help Del with dinner. The human was determined to learn how to cook and Del was beginning to trust him with the simpler preparation tasks. This time he was charged with extracting preserved fruit out of the large glass jars they’d been sealed in, then chopping them up to be mixed with cream and baked into the center of the bread Del was kneading. Ever since she’d made it the first time, Spike had been clamoring for more.

Del set aside the dough to rise and retreated to the pantry. She dug around the shelves until she found a bag of grain and several containers of spice. Back in the kitchen, the dalhari filled an iron kettle with water, setting it on the stove to heat. She added in a selection of flavorings, and then began to carefully stir in grain as the water simmered.

Spike finished chopping and wandered over to the stove, curious about what Del was doing. “What’s that?”

Del kept stirring. “Dinner—cooked paz grain.” It looked like porridge to Spike.

Once again, Spike thoroughly enjoyed dinner. The porridge ended up being savory and laced with poultry instead of the sweet he had been expecting, and the fruit pastries exceeded his expectations. He helped with the washing, and then retreated to his room when he saw Del to the same, figuring that she was going to bed.

•••

Spike pulled on the nightshirt, doubtful that he’d find it comfortable. Yes, it would be warm, but he didn’t often sleep in any clothes, much less ones that resembled modern women’s pyjamas. But then it did remind him of the night shirts he’d worn before he was turned, so he was willing to try. The human was pleasantly surprised to find the garment quite comfortable and much looser than he’d expected. He fairly swam in it; the hem brushed the ground when he walked; the cuffs would have ended several inches below his fingers if not for the ties that cinched them at his wrists. He pulled the ties along the front closed, sealing out the cool air. Maybe it was made for an orth. There wasn’t a mirror in his room, but he was sure he looked funny.

He was about to add a last log to the fire and turn back the covers when he heard a faint sound from another part of the house. Curious and a little anxious, he opened the door, following the sound to its source. Spike ended up outside Del’s bedroom. The discordant noise he’d first heard had molded itself into a pattern that he recognized as music, probably from a stringed instrument. His conclusions were confirmed when he eased open the door.

Del was curled on the floor in front of the fire, a guitar-like instrument on her lap, nestled among the blankets she had wrapped around her. The dalhari ran her fingers along the strings, plucking out a slow, steady tune, humming softly. Spike stepped silently into the room, watching her play.

The noise of door hinges squeaking brought Del out of her reverie. She looked up, seeing Spike by the door, looking nervous. “Hiya.” She smiled up at him, the human visibly relaxing. Del gestured for him to sit and Spike bypassed the chairs situated around the hearth to kneel down on the rugs near where Del was, folding his legs beside him and tucking the voluminous folds of his nightshift around his cold feet. The warmth from the fire soon relaxed him completely.

“What were you playing?” Spike finally asked.

Del smiled. “Just a tune, nothing really. Something for winter days.” She resumed playing, the music similar to what he’d heard earlier. “Does it snow much, where you’re from?”

Spike blinked. “It did where I was born, but not where I was when I got stuck over here. That place was always warm, year round.”

“It snows a lot here. Before winter is through, the drifts will reach the tops of the hold’s walls. Then it melts and the streams swell with it, flooding the low fields.” The tune shifted, picking up speed and becoming erratic. “Then the mountains start to thaw, and the streams turn into rivers, and you can’t even see the fields anymore.” The music was now played in staccato bursts, the strings singing madly. “And then one day you wake up and the water is gone, washed into lakes and down to the sea.” The melody was once again slow and tranquil.

Spike watched as her fingers once again soothed the strings, a sharp contrast to their earlier attack on them. “Does the music always tell a story?”

She looked up, impressed that he’d caught on. “Yes, if you listen closely. Sometimes it tells the story; sometimes it answers you as you sing.” She stilled the strings, letting the crackling of the fire become the only sound in the room. A low howl started outside, quickly building into a high, unearthly scream. “And the snow falls.”

The human stared at the wall as though he could see the wind slapping against it. The sound was frightening, like a wild animal trying to get inside. He shivered as a high-pitched burst whistled across the roof. Trying to ignore the storm raging outside, he turned back to Del. “How do you play that?”

Del frowned. “It’s not too hard.” She handed over the instrument. Spike took it, holding it like he would a guitar. “No, lay it flat out, on your lap.” He shifted his legs forward, folding them to make a platform. “Move it over a little.” Spike shifted the instrument, but Del just snorted and stood, dropping the blankets she’d wrapped around herself. She gathered them up and moved around behind Spike, sinking to the floor and rearranging the blankets around both of them.

“Like this.” She pushed a blanket into his lap, elevating the instrument slightly and tilting it. Spike ran a finger experimentally over the stings. There were fifteen strings and he quickly realized that he had no idea what to do. Del picked up his left hand, placing it on the strings at the wide end of the instrument. She moved his left hand to the narrower end, where the strings got closer together.

“You can strum or pluck the strings, with either hand.” She moved his hands around, showing him very simple steps.

Spike shook his head. Music wasn’t his forte—he loved listening to it, but had never played anything well. “I’m not much of a musician. I don’t know any songs, certainly nothing for this kind of thing.”

Del snorted. “Nonsense. You don’t need anything—you just close your eyes and mess around. Eventually, something comes out, and that’s it.” She floated her hands over the strings and a quick, cheerful tune floated up, keeping time with the fire.

“Can’t do that.” He said, watching her blue fingers and purple nails coax music from the instrument. “It’d sound like a dying animal.”

“I doubt it. What comes out is what is supposed to come out, nothing else.” Her fingers changed motions, and a striking, jumbled noise jumped out, like thumbtacks spilling from a box and scattering on the floor. Spike jerked his head back in surprise. “See? It doesn’t have to sound like dancing tunes to be music.” She replaced his hands on the strings, leaning forward to reach him.

Spike sighed, giving up. Fine. If she wanted him to make noise, he would. He closed his eyes, shutting out everything but a vague flicker of light from the fire. His other senses heightened; the storm’s voice rose to a shriek, the soft texture of his nightshift became acutely sensual. The spicy scent that was uniquely Del curled into his mind as the heat from her body warmed his back. Spike exhaled slowly, allowing his fingers free reign over the strings.

Del smiled softly as Spike started playing. The initial sounds were random as the human became familiar with the limits of the instrument and his fingers. After several minutes a definite pattern emerged—a hypnotic, thumping chant. It took hold at the base of her spine, wrapping strong fingers along the bone and creeping upwards. She relaxed into it, resting her head against Spike’s back.

Spike felt his mind fall into a rhythm and let his consciousness fall away until that rhythm permeated his body. He heard exactly when his fingers began to elicit that same rhythm from the instrument. The combination of feeling and hearing it at the same time was heady. Spike was surprised when Del leaned against him, but he didn’t let it interrupt the music. Soon the tune was pulsing in time with the storm, rising to crescendos as the wind screamed high, and then falling to a whisper as the storm abated momentarily. The human lost track of time as he lost himself in the song.

•••

Spike knew he was dreaming, specifically of the lovely nights he’d spent sleeping in the top of a tree…with Del. He could just feel the unique warmth of another person’s body pressed against his back, breath on his neck. Back? Del had slept curled against his chest…

The blonde’s eyes shot open. He was lying on the floor, in front of a slowly dying fire. The heat along his back remained. The events of the evening came back to him, and he surmised that Del and he must have fallen asleep at some point. No matter, what was significant now was that they were curled tightly together in a nest of blankets, achingly close. Spike tried to reach up to scratch a slightly itchy nose, but found that his arms were trapped. Del had wrapped hers around him, holding him to her in her sleep. His legs were also caught, although by her tail. At least, he hoped it was her tail—he could feel both of her legs pressed against his.

Spike felt silky lips rub against the back of his neck. He groaned hoarsely as they trailed just below the hairline, brushing the sensitive strands there. It was torture; he wanted nothing more than to turn over and run his mouth and hands over the strong, slim body behind him, but at the same time he was afraid that any movement he made would make Del go away. So Spike lay there unmoving, soaking in every nuance of having the dalhari so close to him, touching him. Even if she was asleep.

Del’s eyes fluttered open. It had been an interesting dream; she rarely had erotic dreams, so this one had been a nice diversion, particularly since its focus had been Spike and not Gaihi. She looked through hazy eyes at the sight in front of her. She was lying on the floor with Spike. Be honest honey, you’re wrapped around him like a second skin.

The dalhari quickly extracted herself and stood, leaving the room for the kitchen. Only then did she let herself breathe. Damn. It was one thing to sleep so close when the situation demanded it. It was another thing entirely to fall asleep holding someone in the safety and privacy of one’s own bedroom.

Spike waited until he heard Del starting a fire in the kitchen before escaping to his own room. He quickly pulled on some clothes in the freezing chamber, and then steeled himself before going to the warmer kitchen. Del was absent, but he heard her in her own bedroom. Sighing sadly, he put a kettle of water on the hearth to heat, and then started a fire in the stove.

It wasn’t until he began poking in the storage room that he remembered the storm. Snow? He reached for the door to the courtyard, then stopped. If it had snowed much, he’d make a real mess. Instead, Spike went to the main door, which was protected by the entranceway. Cautiously opening the door, he peeked outside.

What he saw nearly drove him to his knees. The world was white. A thick blanket of blinding snow stood hip-high for as far as he could see. Spike could barely discern even the most prominent contours of the land through the stuff; there were drifts higher than his head piled against every surface. He hadn’t seen snow like that in ages, and never in such a pristine environment. And without factories to spew pollution in the air, the snow would stay that perfect blue-white until it melted. Or someone pisses on it.

He stood in the entranceway until he lost the ability to feel in his face and hands, which weren’t protected. Shaking his head at the snow, he bolted the door closed and returned to the kitchen. Del was there, finishing breakfast. They silently consumed it, as well as multiple pots of strong tea, all the while avoiding eye contact.

“I’ve got water heating if you’d like a bath,” Del said, clearing the dishes. Spike nodded silently and went to prepare a tub. Del had fled the room when he returned, so he poured his bath himself, refilling the pails so Del could also enjoy a warm bath. When he was done, Spike retreated to his room, starting a fire there. He pulled the blankets and pillows off his bed and made a nest in front of the fireplace, curling up to sleep the day away. He figured that Del wouldn’t be much company anyway. Reminds me of the poof sometimes, going all broody.

Del heard Spike’s door close and returned to the kitchen. She made use of the heated water, trying to scrub more than dirt off her body. Like Spike, she retreated to her bedroom, dragging even more pillows and blankets to the fireplace and burying herself under them. Only then did she let the tears fall.