“I MUST HOLD YOU or you’ll fall.”
Being held seems to her more dangerous than flying, or more against propriety. She looks away from me, then back, searching my face. I don’t know whether I should smile or speak, but I do neither. Discover what you will, I think.
“Then hold me.” Her face is pink.
I send my wool basket sailing to my pasture, where my herding wind is minding my goats. I touch Kezi’s shoulder, then cradle her in my arms. My strong wind lifts us. My wet wind drags some fog along for concealment.
I wonder what she’s guessed about me. After the fire in the market, her hopes may be too high.
We rise slowly. Her cheek is against my chest. I can hardly think. I recite into her hair:
Where the gazelle races the tiger
And where the rivers
Splash ribbons of foam
On the gray-maned mare
And her foal.”
Kezi, I think, addressing her in my mind, love Akka. Love me. What I will tell you will seem impossible. Believe anyway. Do what I say to save yourself, to save us both.
My quick wind increases our pace. When we are far enough from Hyte, I disperse the fog.