Nanny For The Alien General by Athena Storm
Serafina
The sudden quiet seems to envelop us. His words, his heartfelt confession, drift past me and are gone. For a moment, there’s just our breathing, the quiet snuffling of the sleeping children, the gentle hum of ion stones, and the wind outside.
I could sink into this silence, I think. Sink into it… with him. That thought suddenly makes me want to fill the silence. Besides, the guy needs help.
“Perhaps they do love nature,” I suggest, turning my attention to another bandage. “But maybe they just need to interact with it differently than you do.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, maybe they need to dig around in it, rather than just sit back and appreciate it.”
“I don’t like getting dirty,” he mutters.
“Nature’s pretty dirty,” I suggest with a light laugh.
“If you roll around in it,” he says, a slight smile on his face, now. “I prefer to appreciate it from afar.”
“Ah. Nature on a pedestal, huh?”
“‘Nature, thou flirtatious mistress, beautiful and laughing, skipping on the wind,’” he replies. His tone has changed, clearly quoting something. “‘My love for thee is as expansive as your lakes, as tall as your forests, as surprising as your deserts. Let me know thy secrets, let me share mine with thee.’”
“That’s lovely. What is it?”
“From an old Kiphian play by Slazbee, As It May Seem.”
“‘Trust in the things around you,’” I say, sharing my own quote. “‘Taste them and let them taste of you. Touch them and let them touch you.’ Rilfa. A human poet from around the time of the first arrival of humans on Kiphia.”
“And Serafina?” he asks. “Does she touch nature and let nature touch her?”
“I think so.” I sit back on my heels, my examination of his bandages now complete. “I work so hard taking care of the stubborn villagers here. Appreciating the beauty is one of the ways I can relax.”
“Yes,” he says, pulling up his blanket up around his shoulders once more. I note the tiny bit of disappointment I have to see that body disappear again. Then I focus on his words as he goes on. “The indifference of nature is calming.”
“The indifference?”
“It does not care about us. It goes on with its processes regardless. Even when we tamper with it, it cannot be bothered, except to try and find a way to go on. I find that comforting.”
“When the leaves change in autumn,” I say, “sometimes I think my heart might burst.”
“And when they fall, sadness. Yet then the chill in the air of winter somehow braces you.”
“Yes!”
“And the myriad of plant life and animal life. The world around us, teeming with mystery and alive with a vibrancy we can barely fathom.”
“You’re quite the poet yourself, Keilon,” I note.
“Am I embarrassing myself?” he asks. It strikes me as an odd question.
“No, you’re not embarrassing yourself.”
“I don’t often talk this way,” he says quickly. Then, more thoughtfully, he adds, “I don’t often have the opportunity.”
I wonder again who this guy really is. The mystery of him only deepens the more of himself he reveals. It’s enthralling and I feel a pull toward him.
“You need to rest,” I suddenly blurt out.
He purses his lips. There’s disappointment in his eyes. But then I see him do a quick internal inventory and realize how tired he is.
I help him to bed. As we cross the cabin, he starts asking me about my favorite sights. I have few to share with him, but I talk about the local landscape. As I ease him into the bed, he starts telling me about some of the views in Evervale. It sounds lovely.
Even more lovely is the sound of him telling me about it. His voice takes on a whole other quality as he talks about nature. It becomes a warm, rumbling baritone that I feel like makes my bones vibrate.
My pulse picks up the more we talk. I want it to stop doing that. I want to only think of him as a patient. I want to maintain the barrier that must exist for me to properly attend to him, undistracted, unclouded by any emotions.
But only a fool would fail to see how incredibly attractive he is. His physical beauty is only enhanced by the intimate revelations he’s making. There’s a seductive soul and a hunky heart beating beneath his powerful, chiseled frame.
It’s a heady combination. Almost enough to make me swoon.
The conversation goes on, despite my intention to get him to rest. We find more and more in common. At one point, when he’s describing the way the dead leaves look on the frozen lakes in winter time, I instinctively finish his sentence. Our eyes meet, then. I can see in them the surprise and intimate curiosity that I am also feeling.
“It’s late,” I say before anything else can be said. Or happen. “I need to go to bed.”
“Yes, to bed,” he acquiesces. Then, as I start to rise, he sits up abruptly, causing me to freeze. “Wait a moment,” he says. “I’m in your bed.” He looks around and sees the pallet I put together, over near the couch where the kids are dreaming away. “Is that where you’ve been sleeping?” Keilon asks.
“Yes.”
“No.”
“No?”
“You can’t sleep on that. I’ll sleep there. You sleep in your own bed, for the Divine Ones’ sake.”
“You’re the patient,” I insist. “You get the bed.”
“I insist back.”
“Well, I’m the one who has the authority here. You need to recover. You get the bed.”
I can see he wants to argue more. I can also see that his body is telling him to shut up and take the bed so that it can continue healing.
“Only because it is the healer’s orders,” he mutters.
“Damn right,” I tell him.
He lies down. I cross to the pallet, turning off the lamps as I go. The entire time I’m moving through the cabin, I can feel his eyes on me. I’m conscious of him looking at me as I bend over and then get into the pallet.
I roll on my side, my back to him. Still, it’s as though I can feel the energy of his gaze. It’s not a gaze I mind. There’s nothing salacious in what I’m getting from him. I’m not worried he’ll make a move on me in my sleep.
On the other hand, would that be so bad…? I think as I drift off.
