Episode 82 Dance in the Rain
Dance in the Rain
“Well?” Rominy says, and Elowyn tears her gaze from the tree to look at him.
“Well, what, my love?”
“How does one go about building a treehouse?”
She studies the tree again. “I assume we need wood.”
“Yes, I imagine so.”
Cerian usually just grows whatever wood she needs. Or Tharios. But Cerian’s better at it.
Not that either of them can help her here.
“How do humans get wood?” she asks.
“We cut down trees.”
She nods. “I thought as much. No wonder your forests leave much to be desired.”
“Well, we don’t cut them all down. Usually.”
“The air would be fresher around Levina if you planted more trees.”
“Noted.”
She sighs. “I suppose we’ll have to cut down a tree. How do we go about it?”
Rominy’s eyes burn into her, and she meets his gaze again.
“You know even less about building treehouses than I do, don’t you?” he asks.
“I...”
He lifts his brows, and she shrugs.
“It’s easier to build things when your brothers have plant magic,” she tells him.
“I imagine it would be.” A smile tugs at his lips, and he runs his hands over his face before looking back at the tree. “All right. Let’s try something else first. I wish for a treehouse like Elowyn described from her stories.”
They watch expectantly, but nothing happens.
“Well, that’s disappointing,” Rominy says.
“Building it ourselves is half the fun.”
“Says the elf who doesn’t even know where wood comes from without magic.” He bumps her shoulder with his own, and she sucks in her cheeks, trying not to smile.
“I know where wood comes from.”
“Uh-huh. Do you have a saw hiding under that dress?”
“A saw? I’m not familiar with that word.”
He stares at her again. “It’s a metal tool with a sharp edge and teeth for cutting wood. How in the world did you plan to fell a tree without a saw?”
“I hadn’t thought about it yet.” She shrugs. “I assumed there was a way. How do we turn trees into building wood?”
“We call them boards or lumber, and I have no idea. Likely more saws. Tools we don’t have. And even if we did, we’d probably cut off our fingers trying to use them.”
Why does the air suddenly feel chilly? Elowyn wraps her arms around herself, trying to hold on to some of the warmth that left as he spoke.
“I’m sorry, El. That came out harsher than I intended.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out before pulling her into his arms. “I promised to help you chase your dragons, and I’m just poking holes in your dreams. Forgive me?”
The chill from moments ago evaporates as quickly as it came. Is his warmth chasing it away? Or did his words affect the air around them?
Perhaps they just affected her. She’s not one to be easily hurt, but Rominy’s words did sting a little.
She’s also not one to hold grudges. “You’re already forgiven, my love.”
He holds her closer and rests his cheek against her hair. “I am sorry. I want to make this dream of yours a reality if it will put that smile back on your face, but I’m at a complete loss here. I have no idea what we’re doing.”
“Perhaps the heartlanding can help.” She looks up at him. “It might not give us the treehouse outright, but perhaps it will give us the tools and materials we need.”
“It’s worth a try.” He clears his throat. “I wish for boards and nails and hammers and anything else we might need to build this treehouse.”
When piles of building supplies and tools appear before them, a smile steals across Elowyn’s face.
“There she is,” Rominy whispers. “There’s my Elowyn with the sparkling eyes and gorgeous smile.” He nuzzles her nose as he rests his forehead against hers the way her people do. The gesture fills her with a sudden longing for her family.
“Grandmera told me elves touch foreheads to signify the devotion you feel for the people you love most in the world,” he murmurs.
Elowyn’s breath hitches at the timbre of his voice. “It’s...it’s a gesture of belonging.”
His breath is warm on her lips, and she slides her eyes closed.
“And what does a kiss mean?” he whispers.
“Adoration. Romance. Love.” She barely pushes the words out. If she was cold moments ago, she’s not anymore.
His lips graze hers as his hand slides around her waist. “And touching your ears?”
The thought of his hands on her ears again sends fire through her. “A touch more intimate than a kiss.”
He presses his hand into her back until her body melds against his, and he whispers in her ear, “And the most intimate of encounters?”
“It means...everything. We...we call it the joining.” She leans her head back as his lips tease her neck.
“The joining. I like that. We’re so bad at this.”
“At what?”
His touch feels perfect to her. Inexperienced, perhaps, but perfect all the same.
“At listening to Tharios. You drive me crazy, love.”
Tharios. Whistling wind.
She groans.
“You’re already hot,” he whispers. “Tell me to stop.”
His voice comes out hoarse, and she whimpers. That’s the last thing she wants to do as his lips press kisses to her shoulder where he drew aside the strap of her gown.
A roar hits her ears, and her eyes flash open to dark skies right before a deluge of heavy rain dumps on them.
“That was sudden,” Rominy cries.
“Do you think the heartlanding is trying to tell us something?”
Rain coats both of them in seconds, re-soaking their clothes that had dried after their impromptu swim.
“You mean something like, ‘Cool it, Rominy?’” He grins, and laughter fills her at the sound of his own name on his lips as water plasters his golden-brown hair to his head and turns his linen shirt into a second skin.
How can he always be so attractive? Most people would look like drowned rats, but he just looks amazing. Does he have any idea how gorgeous he is?
“You’re staring at me,” he yells over the roar of the storm as he swipes wet hair out of his eyes and laughs. “Do I look ridiculous?”
Not ridiculous. Whistling wind.
“I’m unconvinced you could ever look ridiculous. You’re far too debonair. Is that the word?”
“It’s definitely a word.”
Is he blushing? He doesn’t need to blush around her.
“Did I use it right?”
He glances away and then groans. “Our wood!”
She swings her gaze to their building supplies. He’s right. The wood is soaked. At least the tools seem unaffected by the rain with the way the heartlanding stowed them under some propped-up boards.
“So much for building anything today,” he says. “I’m sorry. I was ready to try.”
She shrugs. “It’s all right. We have the rest of our lives to build this house.”
He catches her around the waist again. “That sounds like a metaphor.”
“A metaphor?”
He chuckles, but she can barely hear it over the rain.
“It’s a figure of speech. Poetic in a way.
We have the rest of our lives to build something spectacular, here with this house and in the real world.
You and me. We’re better together than we are apart, El.
And I think we’re going to build something beautiful with our lives. ”
Rominy can be delightfully sentimental. And romantic.
“I love that,” she says. “What shall we do now in this spectacular future we’re creating together?”
He leans near her ear. “I think we should dance in the rain.”
Before she can respond, he sweeps her into the steps of a dance like the one he taught her at their binding ceremony, and she leans her head back and laughs. He quickly abandons the formal steps and holds her close as they sway between the trees and the plants surrounding them.
Then he whispers something she can’t hear, and the scene changes to their sandy beach again. He doesn’t stumble or slow or miss a step, and she follows his lead as her heart swells with love for him and everything their lives together might hold.
“I hope you enjoy dancing in the rain, love,” he whispers.
“I do. My mother once told me to dance in every rain shower. Life’s too precious to waste a moment being afraid of what the world will think of you when you do.”
He gazes at her with an intensity that steals her breath. “You live that with your whole heart, don’t you? Will you help me dance in the rain whenever my fears threaten to get the best of me?”
She smiles and rests her head against his solid chest as their tropical island sways around them. “Always, my love.”