Of course Tasa has had to learn to act where I have had space to think. She, and most people, have no choice. We all do our work, buttheymust also think about where their meals will come from and how and fix their plumbing and all the facets of living in this world that have been smoothed for me.
What do you need to live?
Tasa’s answer to me was simple, but I’m beginning to think wryly that in fact it’s a very long list.
“So the problem with this forme,” Tasa says, “is that I’m not going to remember the plan.”
I nod. “But you can bring the list with you.”
“I mean, yes, but first I would have to remember the list before I get halfway down the mountain.”
I smile at her candor. “What if I keep it updated and then put it in your coat pocket every evening?”
We both pause for a moment, staring at each other.
That implies a level of intimacy—and longevity—that I don’t think either of us are prepared to consider.
After a moment, Tasa, as always, smooths over my bumbling attempts to converse like a normal person. “That might help,” she says ruefully, “but it wouldn’t make me remember to look at the list when I’m actually acquiring food.”
I can’t help it.
I laugh.
“Oh, shut up!” she grumbles cheerfully, shoving me.
I grin back at her, impossibly delighted that she has touched me. That a person—thatTasa—is laughing. Withme.
“Then I suppose,” I say, “we will have some creative meals in our future.”
Her head tilts as she studies me. “You really mean that,” she says, as though considering. “Oh gods, stop, you don’t need to declare again that ‘I’m a mighty sage and I don’t say things I don’t mean, earthly peon’—”
“I donotsound like that,” I say at her exaggeratedly low voice, but my lips twitch in amusement.
“Uh huh. If you say so. But I really would have expected you to be the kind of person to get serious aboutplans.”
“I suppose I am,” I say, “though much of my life has involved following other people’s plans.” My smile falls at that. “And at any rate, a plan that doesn’t take into account the realities of the people involved is a bad plan. Perhaps if I were more able to think creatively about how to use my power I wouldn’t be in this situation.”
Tasa takes my hand.
I still.
My entirebeingstills, focused on that point of contact.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she says quietly.
I can hardly breathe.
Our gazes lock on each other.
She leans toward me, and I move with her, and I am dimly and yet painfully aware of this moment we’re moving toward, scarcely daring to believe that I have somehow made this happen or let this happen but nevertheless absolutely certain I am going to kiss her—
The door to the cottage bursts open.
We both spring to our feet, but I am trained to deal with threats and by default make sure she’s behind me first.
On second thought, that is actuallynotmy training. In a battle situation, priests would surround me so that I had time to assess the threat and do bigger work.
This is... instinct?
