Ava chimes in, the gusty trill of her melodic voice insinuating itself into the intercourse of thought.  It mimics in tone the brush of her hands on the bareness of each woman's bottom.<br/><br/><strong>"Fighting would be ill advised.  It would doom both Miaren and Draque."</strong><br/><br/>Her expression betrays none of the concern that resonates in her deepening tone.<br/><br/><strong>"I will do what I can to keep you together.  We will see about more comfortable attire when we arrive at my home."</strong><br/><br/>Ahead, Draque and Adamion banter heatedly.  Bits of their conversation drift back among the ballet of falling jade leaves and the frothy crush of undergrowth and draping foliage.<br/><br/>"I ... don't think it necessary."<br/><br/><strong>"Necessary isn't the point.  It would be a gift."</strong><br/><br/>"Really, that's more than generous ..."<br/><strong><br/>"I know.  But consider them to be a present when you arrive at my house."</strong><br/><br/>"Is that an invitation?"<br/><br/><strong>"It most certainly is, Cousin."  </strong>Adamion halts.  Draque pauses by him.  The entire errant business of the teeming forest seems to circle about the gravity of their conversation.  Heat circulates tensely; small creatures crest the brush; insects orbit.  The Garden holds its breath.<br/><br/>"I accept your invitation."<br/><br/><strong>"Then accept my gift.  Otherwise, I will be insulted."</strong><br/><br/>Draque glances back at Fern and Miaren.  His expression is grave as a collage of blades.  His eyes smolder.  Adamion skewers him on a fierce stare.<br/><br/>"Accepted.  Nourishment, right?"<br/><br/>Adamion glides the dark crescents of his stare over to slit against Fern and Miaren.<br/><br/><strong>"Nourishment.  I will make them the envy of the Garden's many beauties."</strong><br/><br/>Ava's voice winds its gold ribbon around the crushing stillness.<strong> "You will not be going to my house.  You must be brave all the same.  For all your sakes."</strong>