A Gathering Of Stones

9

“Frunzacoache the Undying,” Danny said aloud, though he was speaking to himself, not Simms. “First Klukesharna, now Frunzacoache. Coincidence, maybe? Coincidence, hell.”

Careful not to move too suddenly, Simms pulled himself onto the sill and sat with his legs dangling in the heated water. He watched Korimenei work, nodded. “I c’n feel it,” he said. “You wahn’t havin’ us on.”

“What? Oh. Yeh.” Danny dragged himself away from the pulses of power throbbing out from the girl; the part of him born of Ahzurdan found the effect intoxicating. He ran a hand through his hair, frowned down at Simms. “You’re not stupid.”

“C’n see where you might think I was. Young for ‘t, an’t she.”

Danny yawned. As the tension drained out of him, his weariness came flooding back. “If she weren’t still tender, you’d be ash and gone. Give me your hand.” When Simms was on his feet, Danny tapped him on the shoulder, pointed toward the dressing room. “Come on; she wants her clothes and I’m tired of prancing around stark.”

“What was that thing?”

“Don’t ask me, it’s not one of mine.”