Maite was sure it was very stupid. She had talked to him about it, of course, but... she was still the disgraced former wife of the Warlord. It was hard for her to hold her head up around everyone at the Central Camp, let alone all of the Ekaini. Atleast she had Ekaitz to take the edge of.

And Otsoa. He was becoming something like a friend, insofar as Maite could manage to be friends with someone whose spirit was lost.

He'd get it back, though. He'd even come with her to just outside the Central Camp, even though he was still half-feral, despite the food she'd been bringing him as often as she could. She knew people in her own tribe looked askance at her for it, but they could hardly blame her. Her father had given up finding a marriage--two was enough--so how else was she supposed to spend her time? Hunting, weaving, and cooking grew monotonous, and she had few friends to take the edge of.

"You have to come." She shook away her fears and took him by both hands, squeezing tightly.

Otsoa was hanging near the edges of the camp like Maite, avoiding the fearful stares of stragglers as they wandered into the Midsummer Gathering. He had occupied himself with hiding, and sniffing the air much like a wolf, watching the people. The last time he had come here was many years ago, with Erlea and Garden. His daughter had been three.

He'd talked with Maite about the Quests before, and she seemed convinced that because he could still feel the brush of his jainko, he would be able to find it again through another Spirit Quest. But the wary eyes of the Central Camp were more convincing. The eyes that said he would never belong again. And Otsoa felt real fear vaguely at the back of his mind, in a place he couldn't quite reach. He had forgotten how when his Wolf had left him and taken the light in his eyes.

"You have to come," Maite said suddenly, determined, and took him by the hand with both her smaller ones. Had he not been so uneasy, he would have been impressed by the forceful grip those tiny hands could impress.

"I am coming. Maite, they won't -- they will turn me away -- what if they refuse us?"

"So what?" Maite said bluntly. "They will when you get your spirit back, and no shaman will turn you away if you try--they couldn't, they wouldn't." She slid her hands up his arms, ignoring the shiver of desire that brought. Silly girl, she told herself. Maite knew she looked for physical comfort from men, though she'd had no lovers--Ekain aside, if that's what you could call their relationship--since Jokin had died. But she still felt like a little girl, always looking for her father's approval, and she had been consciously trying to avoid looking at Otsoa as a romantic partner. He was too damaged, anyway, he was without a soul; it would be a kind of necrophilia.

Still, she gripped his upper arms tightly, drawing him closer to her and looking up at him earnestly. "You're afraid, Otsoa. That's a good thing. It means your spirit is closer, if you can feel pain like this, and I can see you do."

He couldn't help but flinch when Maite abruptly took hold of his arms, running her hands up them. But at the same time, he found himself drawn to her warmth, to the buzzing life of her spirit. It was always a cold shock when another Ekaini was willing to be close to him, and an even colder one when they decided they couldn't be, and pulled away. Maite, in the months that he had lived outside the camp and received packages from her with food and clothes, had never decided that. She had never pulled away.

She didn't now. It made Otsoa want to draw her in closer, to get that vivid, buzzing spirit so tight up against him that it thrummed through him too. He didn't. Otsoa allowed himself only the barest of touches, cupping her elbows in his hands. Just enough that in the places where they touched one another, he could feel a spirit pulsing against the emptiness.

"I thought I told you once -- Maite -- all I feel is pain. Afraid is new, afraid is welcome. I like it," he muttered, smiling a little. Maite had black eyes, he mused, like the ones he'd had before. His eyes were still black, yes, but in a much different way. Abysmal. Starless. The kind of eyes that you couldn't look into without seeing yourself soulless, lost. Maite's glittered like onyx, or the side of a trout in a dark river. He trusted her. But could he trust the camp?

"I don't feel the otso next to me -- he is far away. But if you help me talk to them, Maite -- to the shamans -- if you are at least afraid with me -- it will be enough."

Maite gave a shaky laugh. "I'm trying not to be afraid. Come on. A shaman can help you. There's one I know. He's, well, not kind, but he understands people without souls. I've already told him about you, he says he can help, and I believe him."

She backed away and took Otsoa's hand firmly in hers, pulling him after her. "His name is Aresti sem'Urdin. Come on."

The older man was in his tent, but he came out when Maite called. "Otsoa sem'Patxi?" he said. "Maite. Come on. I have datura prepared, but I'd like to talk to you first." He was looking at Otsoa, not at Maite.

Otsoa had no choice but to follow the insistent woman. He trailed along after her, holding fast to her hand, almost puppy-like in the crowd as they approached her shaman's tent. "Yes," he said, in response to his name, not letting go of Maite.

Although the idea that he might find his jainko again was enticing, it was safe here. And he was frightened.

Hesitating a moment, Otsoa approached the shaman with Maite in tow, his eyes averted so that the older man would not look into his soulless eyes and be frightened away. "I will try my best, shaman." His heart was ablaze with fear, but somehow Otsoa felt a pull toward the forest. It gave him a little hope. Out there somewhere was his jainko, and just as when he'd gone on his Spirit Quest as a teenager, he felt dwarfed by the possibilities -- but this time, more by the doubt that he would be able to find it a second time.

"You may go," Aresti told the woman gently. A spirit was an intensely private thing, and others in the room would distract him from his task. Once Maite was gone, he led Otsoa to the fire, where he had been boiling datura and praying over it.

He sat down with a faint groan as his bones creaked arthritically, and reached in to stir the boiling tea. It was strong, but not so strong it would send you all the way to Eguzki--to your end. Still, he hoped it would be enough. But he knew that most of a Spirit Quest did not lie in the datura, but in the Quester's state of mind. He would have to discern that first, so he could see what sort of person this half of Otsoa--the half without his spirit--was.

He had seen cases like this before. He had seen worse, even. But Otsoa had that dead, flat look; it was certain. He had lost his spirit.

"Tell me how you lost your spirit," he said at last, gently, closing his eyes so as not to discomfit the other man. "And tell me why you want to get it back."

Otsoa shuddered as he had to let go of Maite's hand and face the task alone. He had known it was coming -- it was the only way -- but it made the separating no less easy. The one that he had trust in was gone, and now he sat by the fire with a stranger. An old shaman brewing a tea of datura so strong he could smell it.

"I lost my spirit on a hunt," Otsoa said, remembering the words slowly. "I was leading a hunt, and because of my carelessness, one of my men died." He stared into the fire, but none of its light reflected in his lifeless eyes. "He -- I retreated. I was ashamed. I fled. And my wolf, it was ashamed too. It fled from me."

Even though the shamans eyes were closed, Otsoa looked at the man gravely. "Because of it, Garden was -- my daughter was -- taken from me. And my Erlea -- my wife, she drowned herself. The tribe cast me out. And I could only feel pain, and hate, for myself. I want to -- I want to get my spirit back. I want it back because I want -- I want to -- I want to walk into camp proud and tall. I don't want children to run from me. I don't -- I don't want people to fear me. I want my pack again. I have lost what matters most, and I want it back."

Something thrilled through him a little, though he thought it might be the smell of the datura or a little more fear. And then, more quietly than before: "Wouldn't you?"

"Yes," Aresti said. He shut his eyes and nodded slowly. "Yes, I understand. But you must remember that your Spirit--your Wolf--has desires too. I think that your Wolf followed the souls of your loved ones to the Afterworld. Some Spirits do that. More often the rest of the person decides to follow, mind and body. But you haven't, and so what I think is... I think your loved one's Spirits have been urging the Wolf to return. We can't know that for sure until we go on the Quest, but I think I can help you, if you let me."

Aresti opened his eyes at last and looked up at Otsoa. "If you'll allow me, I will send my Spirit, the Oak Tree, to pull yours back. If you follow my Spirit, he can help you to find the Wolf and to lead him back. But first, please tell me: does what I've said sound right?" He kept his tone even and noncommittal. He had been wrong before, but he had a good instinct, and he thought he knew what sort of person Otsoa was. Still, best to hear what the man himself thought.

Suddenly, Otsoa knew he could trust the shaman. This man, this Aresti, he understood. "Yes," he said quickly, "yes I think you -- yes, that's right. Yes. They called me and I came." How funny that sounded to say! He hadn't gone anywhere, except out to the woods to die. They called me and I came. It had come from somewhere else, he thought. But Otsoa was often delusional, and didn't want to get his hopes too high.

"Erlea was an Oak spirit," Otsoa mumbled sadly, rubbing at his burning left eye with the heel of his hand. The smoke had gotten in it. "I trust the Oak spirit to guide me; yes, shaman, help me."

Help me. It was something he had said to many, and many had turned their backs and fled in fear of the walking, talking corpse that was Otsoa's soulless shell. But now there was real hope that there was substance behind the old man's kind words.

"You will need to trust me," Aresti said gently, watching the young man. He knew about heartache himself, all too well, and he knew it could be difficult, but his Spirit had never abandoned him. He had always felt the Oak's presence. And if this man's wife's spirit was of the same kind, this might be a little easier. "Here."

He picked up a cup, and carefully measured out a dipperful of the datura, then handed it to Otsoa while he pronounced a muted blessing to Eguzki and prayer to the man's spirit. For a moment he thought he saw the shift and flicker in the other man's eyes that was Spirit, but it went under soon after. After he had handed the datura to Otsoa, he poured more for himself--a little less than he had given the younger Otsoa, because his heart couldn't stand his spirit to be pulled too far away.

"Drink that slowly, and listen to my words," he said, sipping at his own beverage and feeling the dizziness begin, the vertigo of being Not There and Very There at once. His voice, usually gravelly, became smooth and rich. "We are going to reach outside of ourselves. We are going to call for the Wolf to come back to us. I am pushing the sprout of my Oak Tree toward the Spirit Realm. I want you to climb it. Can you feel the bark under your hands and feet? It will be hard to reach all the branches. I want you to think very hard, with all of your mind, to imagine climbing the tree to the Spirit World. I will be there with you. I am the Oak. You must push yourself toward the Spirit World, Otsoa, but do not enter it. Your wolf is still outside, I know it is. If you keep striving, it will come back." He paused to take another long, slow sip of datura, and to look at the level of Otsoa's cup. "Take another drink and continue up the tree..."

Otsoa accepted the cup that was handed to him, knowing what was inside it. He took a long, slow sip, and let his mind wander into the prayer, beginning to feel very light. He looked down at feet that were the same hue as the fire-brightened earth, and felt sick -- his eyes closed slowly.

Erlea was with him, a brief glimpse of her smiling face drawing him into the world his mind -- and the datura -- had made. "Yes," he replied, "I can feel it," as he put his hands and feet against the tree, hauling himself up onto the first branch. The struggle of pulling himself up the oak tree was unimaginable, just the weight of himself and the sky, and above it: the Spirit World, which he had been cautioned not to enter. And the oak was there, urging him on, growing taller with each minute, with each sip of the datura.

He had to climb, but it was hard. And still he felt the twin oaks -- Erlea and Aresti -- strengthening him.

The leaves brushed his face, and he twitched away from their coolness, afraid to break the splendid peace that they had. The bark scratched him, the branches bent under his weight, but when he looked down, he had only come so far. And he still had so far to go. He thought he might fall, but with a desperate cry, clung to the tree branches, forcing himself up.

And the Otsoa that was outside himself shivered in an invisible chill wind, raising the cup of datura tea to his lips to warm them.

Aresti set his own empty cup down and moved closer to Otsoa, watching him carefully, trying to lend him strength. "Keep going," he murmured, his voice quieter now. He knew that he must be thinking of his wife. "Ask anyone's spirit you find--anyone's spirit reaching out to you--if they will help you to find your Wolf." He breathed in and out, setting his hands on Otsoa's knees, trying to anchor him. In and out.

"Think of your Wolf. He always knows where you are, when you are in need. He wants to come back, but you have to show that you're strong enough. Just as real wolves can tell when a member of the pack is weak, and will not respect him, or when a cave is inadequate, your wolf can tell when your heart won't be a good home for him. You must make your heart stronger for him. The Spirits of those already dead may be able to help you, and I will give you as much strength as I can. Can you feel it flowing through your veins, like sap from the tree you're climbing? Keep going, Otsoa."

Otsoa's shaking hands held his now empty cup, resting in his lap as his mind struggled furiously against itself. The shaman's voice pushed him forward, up another few branches, closer to the top. And, as Aresti had suggested, Otsoa called out to Erlea. How he missed her -- his lips whispered her name even as he screamed in the dream-trance. And Erlea answered with a merry laugh, a bell-like sound from high above.

"Catch me if you can, emazte."

The shaman's touch on his knees, and the sound of Erlea's laughter, drew Otsoa upwards. Strength surged through him as Erlea called to his father's spirit, spirits of friends and tribesmen, and lastly, the hunter who had died in Otsoa's care.

He stopped. The hunter perched on the branch with him, smiling. "I'm sorry," Otsoa said to him, but the hunter merely shook his head and took Otsoa's hand, towing him from branch to branch, before disappearing with a happy wave into nothingness. And there above Otsoa's head was the yawning maw of the Spirit World.

There above his head was the smiling face and beckoning hand of Erlea. And although he had been warned not to, Otsoa slowly began to move towards her.

His earthly body took on a chill.

Aresti, his hands on Otsoa's knees, felt his skin take on a chill and his pulse slow. Quickly, he reached out and grabbed Otsoa's hands.

"No," he said sharply. Sometimes the datura could muddle the senses, could make people forget what was up and what was down. It would be different if Otsoa wanted to die, but Aresti had seen the look in his eye, and this was not a man who wanted to die. "Listen to me, Otsoa, I want you to hold onto me. Call to your spirit if you want to live. Tell your spirit to bring you back to your body. You need to come back to your body now, and you can only come back with your spirit."

It was true. Without it, he wouldn't have the strength, as hard as Otsoa was trying to pull him back with his own.

He understood the shaman, and began to sink slowly away from the Spirit World and Erlea. But instead of seeing Erlea's sadness when he looked up to say goodbye, she was instead furious, her dark eyes lit all around with flames, screeching at him. Frightened, Otsoa sank into the safe shades of the tree, and looked around. There was nothing. He was alone, awfully and terribly alone.

But then something Aresti said struck home. He closed his eyes, wrapped his legs securely around the tree branch he was perched on, and called. Otsoa felt his call shake the entire trance world, every leaf and rock and flower trembling in the wake of it. And in the midst of his call, a howl answered.

A wolf appeared -- but not just any, his wolf. The one that had greeted him so tenderly in the forest: Whenever you see the stars and the full moon, I shall run with you. We shall run together always, if in darkness or in light. I am the wolf, I am the hunter. You will be like me. The great grey-black beast that was his, that was him embraced him, and Otsoa felt the brush of fur that was very real as the wolf slipped back inside his body.

The earthly Otsoa stiffened as though struck, relaxing again with a sigh, warm and vividly, vibrantly alive. His eyes opened.

The fire reflected there was warm as Eguzki's face.

He was coming back. Aresti could feel it in the beat of his pulse, the shifting heat beneath his skin, the flow of his blood. He slackened his own grip and began reeling in his spirit. He could feel Otsoa's spirit beating against him like a physical force, like heat, like light. He knew he had succeeded. At last he let go entirely, severing the contact of their spirits, and let Otsoa come back to earth. He tried to find his own way back into his body. It was difficult, more so than it had been when he was young. His spirit was getting farther away, he realized with regret. The sap of his life ran thin. But still, it was quick enough, and soon he felt entirely in his own skin again, though he felt the ghost of the Oak's roots pulling him toward the ground. But that was healthy.

"Otsoa," he said simply, watching the other man as he opened his eyes, gazing into the fire. Yes--there was a spirit in there. "Welcome back." He made a gesture with his hand, knowing that Otsoa might not be comfortable staying here with him, a man he hardly knew, when he still had to get accustomed to his spirit again, with himself.

Otsoa blinked into the fire several times, still feeling the sworl of datura busy in his head, making him woozy, but feeling the more solid companionship of the otso. It was back! Emotion bubbled up in him, filling Otsoa with warmth and happiness. He laughed, pressed a hand to the pulse on his throat and for once felt more than the meager thump-ba-thump of his pulse, but a real live thrumming. The presence of his jainko.

"Thank-you, shaman," he said breathlessly, in a voice that hardly sounded like it belonged to him. But everything seemed new again. "You've done so much. If there is ever anything you need --" The words: You've done so much, brought back the precious memory of Maite and her kindness.

Maite.

Maite! She had done this for him, she had saved him, and he had to thank her. "I have to go. I have to see Maite. Thank-you, shaman, for what you've done for me..." And he was off, moving quickly through the crowds of Ekaini. To be sure that his transformation was complete, he stopped to help a little girl look for her lost dolly, and saw that the fear in her eyes was only the healthy childlike wariness of talking with a stranger.

He went back to the place where Maite had put up her tent, near the woods where he slept, an unused tent kit rested in her belongings. He would have to put it up now.

"Maite?"

Maite heard Otsoa's voice and felt her heart leap. She had hardly been able to think while she sat inside her tent, nervously starting and then unraveling her weaving, only to get up and move restlessly around the tent. When she sat down again, her insides were vibrating. What if Otsoa failed? What if he died? What if he left and never came back?

Maite had not realized she cared so much. Maybe it was only that she had so few other people in the world who were close to her.

She had left Ekaitz with his grandfather, who had cared for him while she was married to Ekain. She would hardly have been able to pay attention to him anyway. So nervous.

But when Otsoa arrived she leapt to her feet and wrenched open the flap of her tent.

"Otsoa?" she said, her heart in her throat, her skin clammy with dread and hope.

When he saw Maite, Otsoa's heart leapt into his throat -- she was here! And then he was presented with a problem. How exactly was she to know that the quest had worked? And more importantly, how could he ever thank her? "Maite--" he began, but stopped.

Otsoa crossed the distance between them in a few quick strides and placed his hands on Maite's shoulders. The buzzing of her erle spirit pressed against his skin, as before -- but now, a shivery rush of coarse fur rose to meet it, thrumming against his palms and pulse. He looked her in the eyes.

"It found me, Maite. My otso. It found me. It's back -- I feel it everywhere!" Otsoa smiled widely, exhausted and exhilarated at once. "I'm whole. Because of what you did."

And with a thrill, the thought surfaced that nothing had ever looked so lovely as her.

Maite saw it when she looked up at him. Then she cried out inarticulately and wrapped her arms around his waist.

"Otsoa, you did it! I'm so happy," she said, speaking into his chest. But she also felt... felt...

She felt lonely. Now that Otsoa had his spirit back he wouldn't need her anymore. He would go back to being the way he had been. She would lose him. And then she would be the last one. "I'm so happy for you," she repeated, her words a little more tentative. And she was, she was. He was back. He could see his friends again and rejoin the tribe. It was a good thing.

He laughed for the first time in ages when Maite threw her arms around him, putting his arms around her shoulders and chuckling joyfully. For a moment, it reminded him of Erlea, and he might have missed her -- but her fiery eyes and rage at his refusal to die with her haunted his mind. Otsoa shook her away, resting his chin on Maite's hair.

"I couldn't have done it without you," he said, a smile still in his voice. Unwittingly, he swayed from side to side in his elated state, rocking them back and forth gently. He could hear the tentativeness in her voice and his brow furrowed -- even worry felt new, and amazing! "Be happy with me, Maite. Or what do you think...? You've done so much for me. I won't -- I won't go away now."

Otsoa hesitated for a moment, then planted a kiss on the top of her head that he managed to convince himself was only reassuring. "I won't even scare Ekaitz now that --"

And then the thought that Garden was here at the Gathering struck him, that he could go and get her. But first... but first he had better talk to Maite.

"Maite, don't worry. Don't worry. What are you worried for?" He leaned back slightly, taking her chin in one hand to tip it up so he could show her he was sincere, concerned by her reaction.

"Well--" Maite didn't want to say what she thought. But then she remembered what Ekain had said. From him it had been cruel, but... Honest. She had to be honest, or she wouldn't be proud. Or happy.

"I'm worried you won't--" She stopped, aware that her heart was beating very fast at his touch. His hand was warm on her face, and they were swaying a little. She thought briefly of Jokin and something hurt for a moment; then it was gone, or mixed with something like pleasure, a pulse that ran through her body. "I'm worried you'll forget me. I mean..." She shook her head a little, one hand going up to her cheek to cover his, holding it there. It was a gesture of need, she was well aware. "Now that you have your soul back, you're a totally different person, I don't even know what you think of... me."

"I won't forget you," Otsoa rumbled, so low it was nearly a purr. "I promise."

But her next words stunned him, and even though her hand on his was warm, and her cheek under his hand warmer still, he faltered for a second. "...I don't even know what you think of... me." Otsoa smiled, laughed in the middle of it, stuttered on the beginning of a word. His mind was not working correctly, still thick with datura.

"What I think of you," he repeated. "Well, I'll tell you. Let's see. Well. You have an incredible..."

Personality. Soul. Heart, his addled brain screamed.

"...an incredible body." was what came out of his mouth. It stunned even him for a second, so much so that he glanced away, furrowing his brows, before shaking it off enough to look back at her.

Maite pulled back, her face flushing brilliantly red. Her hand dropped, and she twisted it with her other hand.

"Excuse me?"

What went through her mind was that he just thought of her like everyone else. Of course. Why wouldn't he? He wasn't really... he didn't really think of her as a person, now that he had his soul back. He just saw her like every else did: as an attractive woman. That was all. Nothing inside, because, Maite supposed, there wasn't enough inside to merit noticing. Oh, she'd thought he had, but probably she had just been like a mother to him, like she was with Ekaitz. Once Ekaitz grew up he would forget her too.

Maybe she was the empty one. Maybe that was why he had liked her while he was a Lost One... and maybe that was why she had liked him.

She jerked back from him abruptly, confirming the knowledge that he had managed to say exactly the wrong thing. Otsoa stumbled, catching himself on his heels. His mouth worked silently, but he couldn't make words come out as he watched her retreat into herself.

"Maite, I --" Otsoa reached out and grabbed her twisted-together hands in his two larger ones. "Maite, I'm sorry, that's not what I meant to say. I'm all mixed up right now, I'm all..."

He looked at her, and could tell that nothing he was saying was helping at all. At least not outwardly. "I'm still all full of that tea, you have to believe me. You're so much more -- you're so much..." Better than that, he wanted to say.

But his mind finished for him.

Better than me.

Maite felt suddenly foolish. He still seemed the same. The way he talked, the bit of hesitancy. But then there was how he had been before, acerbic, joking all the time. She just didn't know. And, well, the tea. She had to give him that. They would see later. But still, nothing he could say would heal the feeling of loneliness that had grown up inside her.

"All right," she said, fighting down her feelings and turning to pick up her spare tent kit. "You should sleep, then. I can help you set up your tent, and you can sleep until the feelings wear off and you can go and talk to everyone, and find Garden. I know you want to." Her voice was quiet. Of course he did--of course. He was still the same person, he must be.

She went outside and started to set up the tent.

It was a hesitant moment before Otsoa followed her outside, helping her to set up the tent he would sleep in. "I think everyone must have forgotten me," he admitted sheepishly, still keeping his head ducked low in embarrassment. He couldn't believe what he had accidentally said. "It's been quite a long -- five years or so. Garden, she'll be almost nine now."

He thought back and found that he couldn't remember her birth, or what she'd been like as a baby. Aside from her frightened eyes, and Erlea's purple and waterlogged body, he remembered little clearly from before he had lost his jainko. He dropped a piece of the tent in his confusion and had to redo it. But the wolf inside him told him to hush, that he would remember with time, with the help of his spirit.

Otsoa looked at Maite, finally, feeling similarly lonely. "I hope she isn't frightened of me -- I hope she doesn't... hate me. She didn't know what was... and my mother told her such horrible stories."

Apain. He hoped his mother was dead by now, otherwise taking Garden back might be a struggle -- but to see his beautiful daughter again! It would be wonderful, a treasure.

Maite bit her lip. "She'll understand. You're her father. And she's old enough now to make her own decisions. Besides, now that you have your soul back... she'll see that. She'll be able to understand how it is."

She wasn't all that sure, actually, but if she didn't tell him her worst fears she wouldn't add to his.

"I know I was scared," she added, "when I had to leave Ekaitz to marry the Warlord... I'm glad it didn't last, even if I lost my reputation. Because now I'm back with him. And he understood that it wasn't my fault, that I didn't want to leave him. I mean, yes, that was definitely less time away." She shook her head and tried to smile at him, and then flapped one side of the tent-cloth, letting him catch it. "There." It was done.

Otsoa just nodded, catching at the loose fabric to finish the tent on his side. His head had begun to pound wonderfully, and he found he really was very tired. Rummaging through the makeshift camp they'd set up, he managed to find some spare furs, however small and dirtied they were, to sleep on.

But before he let the datura get the best of him again, he went over to Maite again. "I'm glad for you and Ekaitz. I hope -- that it will be the same for Garden and me." He tried to smile but it looked more like a wince. Otsoa pressed a hand to his throbbing head and blinked rapidly to try and focus.

"Maite, I'm sorry, again -- I didn't mean it. I mean, it's not that you aren't beautiful, you are -- I'm not making sense." He sighed, exasperated with himself. "And I think I'm... just making it worse. So maybe I can tell you what I really think in the morning. Mm?"

If she wanted him to explain now, it was going to be a treat, since exhaustion had won out over exhilaration and Otsoa was swaying on his feet again, for a different reason this time.