Off-Grid
The Tree House
Tekelia lay in the dark, Padi wrapped close; her head on one shoulder, and her breathing slow and calm. Her pattern would have her not quite asleep, but drifting in that direction.
Tekelia ought also to be seeking sleep, but could not resist one more look within at the several shared threads, tasting the joy, support, and light that each offered, and which brightened every hour. And there among them, the newest, sparkling with courage, strength; love and protection. Broad, close-woven lavender, it was altogether a marvel.
One did not quite feel worthy.
Go to sleep, Tekelia thought, sternly, and felt Padi stir.
“What color were your eyes,” she asked, “when you lived under the Grid?”
Tekelia felt a small shiver in the ambient, as if the question were dangerous, and, Haosalike, smiled into the darkness.
“Brown,” Tekelia said. “They were both brown.”