Descending Road - I’M WILLING TO STRETCH A POINT by Dana W. Paxson

I’M WILLING TO STRETCH A POINT

1563 4D

The sound of a cart woke Marra in the chill night. Stars glowed in profusion above her. Deen lay still and cool beside her. She turned her head. A figure shadowed its way around a cart and moved toward them. A man. He moved uncertainly, turning his head back and forth as if he feared something. A long shadow hung from his hand: a gun. A looter, perhaps. Or maybe a grave robber. But what was he afraid of? Marra watched him work his way around the ruins of the house and barn. He stopped. A whistle and a call drifted back to Marra.

“Here, little guy.” A growl answered. Trig. “I’ve got something for you.” A soft whine. From a patch of gloom in the wreckage of the barn, Marra watched a small familiar shape emerge. The man reached out his free hand, bending forward, and the dog took a few tentative steps toward him. “Here, pup, it’s a snack. I’ll bet you’re hungry.” The man’s voice sounded soft and gentle; as Trig sniffed, he waved his extended hand.

Trig’s head turned sharply toward Marra. He barked loudly, again and again. To Marra, his back seemed to swell up in the darkness, his eyes whitening. The man turned to look.

“Oh, no.” The whites of his eyes showed to Marra as he stared at the two women lying, nearly naked, near the graves. The tidbit dropped from his hand; he shouldered his gun, and strode toward Marra. Then he seemed to see her looking at him. Confused, he halted again, fumbling once more for his gun. Now Marra could see his militia uniform. He said, “You’re alive? Who are you?” Trig cocked his head at them, whined again, then turned his attention to the dropped food.

Marra‘s mind raced. “My friend here is dying. Can you help us?” Her voice came clear and high. She drew herself to a sitting position. Ah, this one looks quite good, Aoriver said to her. Get close to him, and I’ll help you.

“I can take you to town, to the doctor. What’s wrong with her? Somebody bury you alive?” The man approached. As he bent over Deen, Marra caught the gleam of his smooth dark skin. How young he looked. He shouldered his gun again. Aoriver was right — this one would be fine.

“It’s a long story,” Marra said. She stood up; her wrap fell to her waist; she drew her shoulders back. The young man stared at her breasts, then jerked his eyes upward. “Why don’t we get her on your cart?” Marra reached down and took Deen‘s hand again. The young man quickly took the other hand. As he and Marra bent and lifted Deen‘s cool body, Marra‘s wrap fell to the ground.

“I’m Linas, Unit Eight, Group BW,” the young man said, holding his head rigidly facing the cart.

“Linas. That’s a nice name. I’m so glad you’re here.” Marra said, very slowly bending down, picking up her wrap, then dropping it again. She studied his face in the starlight. How much better she could see! What had Aoriver done? The details of Linas' mouth and eyes showed clearly, even to the small marks, and the twitches of his movement. So young and strong.

“What happened to you here? Who did this?” Linas jerked his head back toward the graves.

“Let’s get the cart going, and I’ll tell you,” Marra said. They laid Deen‘s body on the cart bed and covered it with the wrap from Deen‘s grave. Marra‘s hand fell on Linas' arm, and Aoriver said, Bend closer. That’s it. Now breathe on him. As Marra exhaled, Linas froze, still bent forward over Deen. He looked past Marra‘s bare shoulder, far off into the night. Then his eyes dropped to her young body. He smiled.

“Where’s your… clothes?”

“Over there.” Marra pointed to the wrap near her grave. “Would you get it for me?”

Linas quickly retrieved the wrap and returned. Marra turned away, then looked expectantly back at him. He came to her and placed the end of the wrap over her shoulders. “You’re as beautiful as… andros,” he said. “If your skin was light, you’d be as perfect as they are.” She turned toward him and put her arms around him.

“I’m cold,” she said.

“Here.” He held her close to him. She turned her face up to his, and exhaled. His eyelids drooped, and his breath came fast. She kissed him. His eyes widened briefly, and he collapsed to the dirt in the darkness.

The liver. The whole thing. I need the sugars.

Marra bent down, ripping the uniform open. “Wait,” she said, fighting her hunger. “He’s nice. Are you sure this is all right?”

At the brink of starvation and death, I’m willing to stretch a point. Yes, it’s all right.

Marra knew just where to sink her teeth. Hunger seized her, gave her strength. Trig approached and sniffed tentatively. She pushed him away. He sat down and cocked his head, watching her gnaw.

Story List	SURPRISE ME	Author Page
USER SURVEY	PUZZLE ME	MAKE ELM MARK

HOVER Lucida Bright BARE	HOVER Lucida Bright FULL	HOVER Palatino Linotype BARE
HOVER Palatino Linotype FULL	HOVER Times New Roman BARE	HOVER Times New Roman FULL
PAD Arial BARE	PAD Arial FULL	PAD Lucida Bright BARE
PAD Lucida Bright FULL	PAD Times New Roman BARE	PAD Times New Roman FULL


	I’M WILLING TO STRETCH A POINT 1563 4D The sound of a cart woke Marra in the chill night. Stars glowed in profusion above her. Deen lay still and cool beside her. She turned her head. A figure shadowed its way around a cart and moved toward them. A man. He moved uncertainly, turning his head back and forth as if he feared something. A long shadow hung from his hand: a gun. A looter, perhaps. Or maybe a grave robber. But what was he afraid of? Marra watched him work his way around the ruins of the house and barn. He stopped. A whistle and a call drifted back to Marra. “Here, little guy.” A growl answered. Trig. “I’ve got something for you.” A soft whine. From a patch of gloom in the wreckage of the barn, Marra watched a small familiar shape emerge. The man reached out his free hand, bending forward, and the dog took a few tentative steps toward him. “Here, pup, it’s a snack. I’ll bet you’re hungry.” The man’s voice sounded soft and gentle; as Trig sniffed, he waved his extended hand. Trig’s head turned sharply toward Marra. He barked loudly, again and again. To Marra, his back seemed to swell up in the darkness, his eyes whitening. The man turned to look. “Oh, no.” The whites of his eyes showed to Marra as he stared at the two women lying, nearly naked, near the graves. The tidbit dropped from his hand; he shouldered his gun, and strode toward Marra. Then he seemed to see her looking at him. Confused, he halted again, fumbling once more for his gun. Now Marra could see his militia uniform. He said, “You’re alive? Who are you?” Trig cocked his head at them, whined again, then turned his attention to the dropped food. Marra‘s mind raced. “My friend here is dying. Can you help us?” Her voice came clear and high. She drew herself to a sitting position. Ah, this one looks quite good, Aoriver said to her. Get close to him, and I’ll help you. “I can take you to town, to the doctor. What’s wrong with her? Somebody bury you alive?” The man approached. As he bent over Deen, Marra caught the gleam of his smooth dark skin. How young he looked. He shouldered his gun again. Aoriver was right — this one would be fine. “It’s a long story,” Marra said. She stood up; her wrap fell to her waist; she drew her shoulders back. The young man stared at her breasts, then jerked his eyes upward. “Why don’t we get her on your cart?” Marra reached down and took Deen‘s hand again. The young man quickly took the other hand. As he and Marra bent and lifted Deen‘s cool body, Marra‘s wrap fell to the ground. “I’m Linas, Unit Eight, Group BW,” the young man said, holding his head rigidly facing the cart. “Linas. That’s a nice name. I’m so glad you’re here.” Marra said, very slowly bending down, picking up her wrap, then dropping it again. She studied his face in the starlight. How much better she could see! What had Aoriver done? The details of Linas' mouth and eyes showed clearly, even to the small marks, and the twitches of his movement. So young and strong. “What happened to you here? Who did this?” Linas jerked his head back toward the graves. “Let’s get the cart going, and I’ll tell you,” Marra said. They laid Deen‘s body on the cart bed and covered it with the wrap from Deen‘s grave. Marra‘s hand fell on Linas' arm, and Aoriver said, Bend closer. That’s it. Now breathe on him. As Marra exhaled, Linas froze, still bent forward over Deen. He looked past Marra‘s bare shoulder, far off into the night. Then his eyes dropped to her young body. He smiled. “Where’s your… clothes?” “Over there.” Marra pointed to the wrap near her grave. “Would you get it for me?” Linas quickly retrieved the wrap and returned. Marra turned away, then looked expectantly back at him. He came to her and placed the end of the wrap over her shoulders. “You’re as beautiful as… andros,” he said. “If your skin was light, you’d be as perfect as they are.” She turned toward him and put her arms around him. “I’m cold,” she said. “Here.” He held her close to him. She turned her face up to his, and exhaled. His eyelids drooped, and his breath came fast. She kissed him. His eyes widened briefly, and he collapsed to the dirt in the darkness. The liver. The whole thing. I need the sugars. Marra bent down, ripping the uniform open. “Wait,” she said, fighting her hunger. “He’s nice. Are you sure this is all right?” At the brink of starvation and death, I’m willing to stretch a point. Yes, it’s all right. Marra knew just where to sink her teeth. Hunger seized her, gave her strength. Trig approached and sniffed tentatively. She pushed him away. He sat down and cocked his head, watching her gnaw.