“Love is warm and close. There should be nothing else.” Sposh

Sposh sat against the tree, his arms around Chic. They kissed, and Chic giggled softly. Sposh said, “You are the most beautiful woman. How did I get so lucky?” Chic placed her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

Lunch sizzled in the fire as Faith stood close, pulling at her wet jumpsuit and trying not to stare. Besh stood to the left of the tree, his vest over a low limb, tucking in his shirt tail and rolling down his sleeves. Marken, on the right of the tree, removed his shirt and draped it over a nearby bush.

Faith, seeing Marken's bare chest, turned her back to the fire. “Showoff,” she said. “I'm not impressed.”

Marken removed his trousers and threw them over a limb. He said, “But, I am always impressed when I see you.”

“Of course!” grumped Faith. “Go ahead. Oggle. That's what pervs do.”

Besh said from his side of the tree, “I think you two are going about this all wrong. Look at Sposh and Chic. Love is not a science, but I think they've got it down.”

Chic said, “There's room. The tree is big. Come, sit beside us while the food cooks.”

Sposh, using his spear, turned crustaceans in the fire. He said, “Love is warm and close. There should be nothing else.”

Faith turned, and said, “You two should find a bush.” Chic giggled.

Marken added, “Think of all the bushes.”

To which Faith replied, “In your dreams.”

Donning his vest over wet clothing, Besh said, “Let's consider the alternatives.” He crouched by the fire to work the aromatic stalks. “On the one hand, you two might make me angry, and I leave you here to argue alone. Eventually, you'll have to get along. On the other hand, if I die, there's no way you make it off this planet. Again, you'll need to get along. If there's a third hand, the world we go to is a desert waste. Somewhere in the future, I see you two coming together.”

Marken sat by the fire and looked at Faith, who, at a loss for words, glowered at Besh. Sposh and Chic took spots beside Marken as Besh divided the meal; he looked up into Faith's eyes and smiled casually.

Besh said, “You can't hold it against Marken that you're beautiful. Marken, tell her how beautiful she is.”

Standing, Marken looked into Faith's eyes, and said, “Faith is the fairest of suns, warming me to my heart and soul. As a moon, reflecting her light, I am moved to ready admiration. I remain in her orbit, a handy and hopeful servant.”

Trying not to look at Marken's tight blue underpants, Faith gaped, unable to answer. Chic gaped, then nudged Sposh, who nodded. Besh sat and crossed his legs, stabbing a crustacean with a stick.

“Wow!” said Besh. “Two poets.”

Sposh, peeling a stalk, and handing it to Chic, said, “Love gives men the wings of verse.”

“Fine,” said Faith with a defeated sigh. She sat and crossed her legs. Marken sat close to her and began peeling a stalk, but she slapped his hand as a teacher might slap the hand of a naughty student. “Spout your verse,” she said. “You may have rhyme, but I have reason.”

Sated, they sat around a dying flame. Stalk shucks sat in a pile near discarded crustacean shells. Sposh wiped beside Chic's lips with his thumb. Besh leaned back on his hands to avoid the occasional spark while Marken, smitten, beheld Faith with a smile. It happened then, reminding all of the overlooked reality that they were in the wild. A shrill howl came from the distant grass to the west. No sooner had they turned in that direction than the beasts emerged. Black and white, with flat faces and dominant fangs, the animals crept forward. The muscular bodies were supported on short but powerful legs, while the feet were padded with splayed toes and hooked claws.

Besh led the mad dash for the tree, helping Sposh and Chic to the lower limb. Marken pushed Faith ahead of him while he and Besh kept just out of the reach of snapping jaws. They hurried to the second tier of limbs, Besh assisting the smaller members, Marken pushing Faith above him. On the ground, the beasts howled and barked.

“Hey!” shouted Faith over a shoulder.

“What?” asked Marken in alarm.

“Stop grabbing my butt!” she said.

“Sorry, my lady,” said Marken. “I was pressed for time.”

Faith settled on a broad limb as Besh placed Chic beside her and helped Sposh up. Marken climbed up and sat, breathing heavily. Besh chose an opposing limb on which to stop and look down. Five slavering animals circled the tree, unable to gain the lowest limb.

“What are they?” asked Faith.

Sposh turned with wide eyes and answered solemnly, “Woeverns.”

Marken said, “I thought they had me. I could feel their hot foul breath.”

Faith replied, “Now you know how I feel.”

“Sposh,” said Chic, hugging her husband. “Are we safe?”

“They can't climb,” said Sposh.

Besh said, “We're certainly up a tree, and my hatchet's by the woodpile.”

Chic said, “And we left our spears.”

Marken said woefully, “My trousers.”

Faith said, “This is a fine mess! What do we do now?”

Marken said with cautious hope, “Maybe they'll get tired and go away.”

The sun set. Five Woeverns circled the tree, keeping their prey high in the limbs. The winds shifted, and blew from the north, a cool breeze that promised to become colder as the night wore on. They sat in the higher limbs and closely spaced. Sposh and Chic found a twisted limb. Faith watched a shirtless Marken shiver beside her, and Besh took the troublesome limb with knots. A rope tied them in place.

Faith said, turning her head to speak around the tree, “Tell me you have something in your bag.”

“I looked,” said Besh. “We've got the rope. Hold onto each other and try not to fall.”

Sposh said, “I'll hold my lovely Chic and never let go.”

“And I will hold the lady Faith,” said Marken.

Sourly, Faith replied, “You're loving this, but I've got the creepy crawlies. Seriously? Tied to a tree with a naked man; what's next?” She asked Besh, “How about a blanket? Give us something.”

Besh said, “Just hold each other. My limb has lumps; be glad you're over there.”

Marken, the shivering noticeable, said, “Sir, I'm cold. Can you loan me your invisible cloak? I promise not to lose it.”

Besh answered, “I thought the fairest sun warmed you.”

Marken responded, “Then, I was inspired. Now, I'm cold. I appreciate the warmth of her body, but my back is to the night.”

“Men!” complained Faith. “Serves you right for stripping down.”

Besh conceded. “Cloaks coming up.”

The limbs were broad but balance was the problem. It was harrowing to truss their bodies with rope and cloak, but they managed. Sposh slept cradling Chic, while Besh found a position and dozed. When Marken awoke entwined with Faith, her legs were balanced over his, and her head rested on his chest. Wiggling his head cautiously, Marken freed himself from the cloak and looked down in the early light. The coast was clear.

Marken announced, “The beasts are gone.” Faith raised her head from his chest and threw off the cloak.

She complained, looking into his eyes, “You should wax that hairy chest.”

Smiling, Marken answered, “Besmirch not the manhood. I had to lift your head from my lap. Wait.” Marken wiped spittle from Faith's face and said, “You still have some on your chin.”

Faith leaned away and replied, “I will rip that smirk from your face.”

Hidden by the invisibility of their cloak, Chic giggled and Sposh shushed. Faith pulled at the rope that bound them while Marken clutched the cloak lest it fall.

Besh said from the knobby limb, “Don't be jumping around. God; my back hurts.”

“Let me up,” said Faith.

“Stopt,” warned Marken. “You'll make us fall.”

Faith called loudly around the tree, “Besh! Untie the rope.”

Climbing down, Faith rekindled the fire against the early chill. Sposh and Chic took up the spears and stood watch while Marken, passing firewood to Faith, looked up into the tree.

Marken asked, “Are you coming down?”

Besh answered, “Pins and needles.”

Handing off the last firewood, Marken quickly dressed and joined Faith by the fire. Sposh and Chic moved close to share the warmth.

Besh said, “Why start a fire? There's no coffee.”

Hands to the flames, Faith answered, “It's cold.”

Besh asked, “Where are my cloaks? I don't see them.”

Giggling, Chic answered, “They're invisible.”

“I have them, sir,” said Marken.

Besh climbed down and sat by the fire, returning his cloaks to the bag. Sposh and Chic kissed while Faith stepped away from Marken.

Sposh said to Chic, “Oh, wait. There's some smooch on your chin.” Sposh dabbed and Chic giggled.

“Really?” asked Faith, offended. “Really?”

The fire died. Besh stood, stretched, and headed north, saying over his shoulder, “Let's follow the stream.”

The sun rose and beat down with unrepentant heat. Faith and Marken walked ahead, holding the spears and an occasional row. Sposh and Chic followed, hand-in-hand, like laughing young lovers on a field trip. Besh was last, hatchet in hand. The hills seemed always out of reach, but Besh was content that the plains were empty.

Faith turned in at a stream to drink, kneeling in the shade of a small tree. The stream babbled as Sposh brought up water in his hands for Chic. Marken fell to his knees beside Faith and drank from a cupped hand.

“You are beautiful on your knees,” said Marken.

Faith turned to him with narrowed eyes, then pushed him away. As he lost his balance, Chic giggled, Sposh laughed, and Besh walked up to extend a helpful hand. He pulled Marken to his feet and then sat against the tree.

“Am I wrong?” asked Marken.

“No,” said Besh. “It's a fact of life.” Faith turned where she knelt to spear Besh with a warning glance. Besh finished, “I mean, she can't help it. She's not trying to entice you. I think you should cool your jets.”

Faith stood, spear in hand. “Thanks for the support,” she said, “but if he gets too stupid, I'll just stab him.”

Marken retrieved his spear from the bank and sat beside Besh; Faith sat on the other side. Marken asked, “Sir, may I ask about your gate?”

Besh said, “It's a big rock.”

“So, how does it work?” asked Marken.

“It gets a microfilm on the surface,” said Besh with a shrug. “You just walk through.”

Faith asked, “Doesn't it feel strange?”

Besh noticed Sposh and Chic had their ears pricked forward. He said, “Take a breath, close your eyes, and take a step forward. You'll be on the other side.”

“How is it,” asked Chic, “you have access to such a marvel?”

Besh scratched idly in one ear. “Oh, well,” he said, standing and dusting his backside. “I saved one of the gate builders. We should continue.”

Sposh and Chic turned to walk, and as they were just ahead of the group, Sposh leaned his head close to Chic, and said, “He's a wonder.” Chic nodded.

Faith looked between Besh and Marken, as she digested the information. Besh saw Marken nodding in agreement and brushed past his fellow Terrans. He said to all, “I'm just a man.”

Chic leaned against Sposh, saying, “And humble too.”

The miles seemed unending; the crest of the escarpment mocked them. Faith complained, “This walking is giving me leg cramps.”

Besh said, “We should make progress before dark. Let's break on that ridge.”

Faith replied, a whine in her voice, “We've been walking forever.”

Marken dashed before her, handing his spear to Besh. He said to Faith, “Climb on my back, milady. I'll carry you.”

“I will,” said Faith as a warning. “I swear I will.”

Besh watched the pair lock eyes. Marken wheeled and knelt. Besh laughed. “Your coach awaits,” he said.

Marken bore his prize heroically, trailing the group, but at the base of the escarpment, he staggered beneath her weight and fell to his knees.

“Whoa,” said Faith, as she might to a horse. Stepping away from her mount, Faith stretched her back and looked up. She said to Besh, who stood nearby, “It didn't look so steep when we began.”

Hand-in-hand, Sposh, and Chic skipped up the hill like happy children. Besh watched them run and turned to Faith with a smile. Leaning on his spear, Besh knelt beside Marken to pat his back.

Marken panted, “Just a moment and I'll be ready.”

Besh replied, “You're a brave soldier..” Rising, Besh handed the spear to Faith and said, “I'll scout the ascent.”

Sposh and Chic called from above, “Besh! Besh! We found a trail.”

When Besh reached them, he answered their smile and stooped to study a print. He drew Sposh down and asked, “Is this a Woevern?”

“Oh, no,” said Sposh, Chic peering over his shoulder. “Woeverns have splayed toes.” He looked at his Terran friend, adding, “This is too big. It's not a Bovern. If it's a Banger, it's a pup.”

Faith joined them, followed by Marken. and asked, “What is it?”

Besh answered, “Banger prints.”

“What's a Banger?” she asked.

Sposh stood and answered. “They're big,” he said raising his hands over his head. “They have drooling fanged maws,” he said making a face. Sposh swayed from side to side then crouched and slapped the bare soil. “They stomp the ground with their long front arms. They have sharp claws and use their short back legs to move the earth.” He stood and demonstrated with his feet, seeming to the Terrans to imitate a snorting bull.

Chic took one of his arms and drew him into a pleased embrace. “My silly bean,” she said to the humans with a happy smile. “He knows everything.”

Sposh hugged his wife and kissed her forehead. He said, “Some hunters brought one in for the Pope.”

Besh stood and looked at the group. Faith and Marken stood with slack faces, seeming overwhelmed by Sposh's animated explanation. He spoke to all. “Let's keep our weapons handy.” He turned to Sposh and extended his arm to the tacky trail, saying, “Sposh, lead the way.”

They found a broad grassy plateau at the top. To the left and right stretched the ridge of the plateau. Trees were small, and rocky protrusions dotted the landscape to the west. The eastern plain rose at a distance into rocky crags. Besh walked to the northern edge and stared down a cliff into a tropical valley filled with forests to the west, rolling plains below, and rocky features to the east. He turned to see his companions gather around him, gaping at the immense vista. Besh left his companions and walked to the first protrusion. Leafy vines clung to the base of it in close competition. He stopped to touch the rock and stared at it in confusion.

“What is it?” asked Faith, suddenly at his side.

Besh shook his head slowly. He answered, “It's not rock.” Sposh and Chic came close to touch it in wonder. Besh said, “It feels like a polymer.” He looked at his Tappish friend and asked, “Does it look familiar?”

Sposh answered, “We have nothing like this.”

Suddenly, Chic ran west, pointing. “Look,” she called. “Water.”

Small fish swam at the bottom, weeds grew along the western bank. Faith squeezed between Besh and Marken with a pleased gasp.

“Water,” she said in subdued delight. “I need a bath.”

Besh turned to study her face; her eyes were as wide as her smile. Marken nodded beside her. Besh said, “Let's not put dead skin in the water we have to drink.” Sposh stooped, sipped, and nodded.