It's dusk, and the red light filtering through the window blinds speaks to her of sands, of sunlight falling under desert dunes. Hatari. Land of eternal summer, brighter, ever stronger than those here.

There are things she should be doing back home. There is the drought to consider, the desert's choking grip on her country tightening with every day. The clamoring rebels- Crimea is not alone -will be growing bolder with her disappearance. Clan Calla in particular has grown... loud.

But Tellius needs her as well.

This strange land where water falls from the sky more than a few times per year, where beorc are a majority and laguz are driven into forests and islands. This is supposed to be the land where the goddess walked, but you wouldn't think so to look at it. Nailah longs for sand beneath her paws.

And in this country of Begnion that Nailah has never heard of, a goddess she has never paid attention to threatens her people. (Has the curse hit Hatari? she wonders, with a nauseous guilty feeling) There are enemies to kill, throats to tear, things to do. This little vacation with the boys has become quite the quagmire: quite a few chores are exacerbating her return.

One of them unfolds his wings before her and blots out in the sunlight in a flurry of brown feathers.

"Very impressive," she hears herself say, a grin on her lips, "Is this how your tribe goes about impressing a lady?"

"Lady," he replies as he climbs atop her and presses his bronzed skin against her own, "This is how my tribe does everything."

---

Nailah is no ordinary queen; she is Hatari's queen, and that means she's been in more fights than many men see in their entire lives. She considers them the high points of her reign. The one that cost her her eye is up there. Her battle with the Hawk King is not at the top of the list.

But it's pretty damn close.

He came at her out of the sky, silent as death itself, while around them the men of Daein and the beasts of Gallia gave their lives for a godforsaken cause. The rush of excitement that surged through her body as she rolled out of his grasp was better than any orgasm. Here, at last, was an opponent who could touch her.

They transformed and exchanged words; later Nailah marveled at the same human voice that emerged from his beak. Even then she could hear it in his tone: they were one and the same. The king of the birds and the queen of the wolves, facing each other with war in their stance and lust in their eyes.

His talons raked bloody rows in her fur, clawed across her face, sought her good eye in the age-old strategy of the hawk tribe and avians everywhere. Her jaws tore his chest, pursued his neck, in search of that one, crushing bite that would end it all and spill his steaming bird blood into the snow. The pain was excruciating; she was in ecstasy. This was no trivial contest between kings. This was war. They fought to kill. And even later, Nailah has no doubt that, had Rafiel not chosen to fall at that moment, she'd have torn the Hawk King limb from bloody limb. Politics be damned.

But he had fallen to the ground, as silently and effortlessly as a snowflake, and the murky forebodings swirling in her heart finally overtook the bloodlust raging through her veins and drowned it in a sea of concern. She broke off, panting, tongue lolling wildly, drenched in the hawk's blood. Her eye caught his own, and she saw Reyson in them.

"Go to yours," she snarled, because half of her still longed to rip the life from his bones.

"And you to yours." he answered, and took wing. His blood was hot on her muzzle, its taste richer than she'd known for so long. She licked up every drop and savored it.

There were a lot of ways to judge a man, but the taste of Tibarn's blood told Nailah everything she needed to know.

---

The initial introductions aside, there was no flirting. Foreplay seemed to be popular among the beorc children- the sexual tension running amok throughout the ranks was so palpable she could bathe in it -but Nailah was a woman who knew what she wanted, and so was Tibarn, only minus the woman part. And what they wanted was each other.

He came to her after the fight, once Rafiel and Reyson had both been safely put to bed. (The crow king to Leanne, Nailah thought, and Rafiel to me. Just how close is Reyson to his protector, I wonder?) She doesn't even remember the conversation they'd had. It hadn't lasted long. Talking wasn't important- not yet.

They honored their laguz instincts, and enjoyed it.

Later, he told her of many Tellian things- he delights in her fascination with the sea, the idea of so much water in one place being laughably absurd to her mind. He tries to explain what it's like to fly, and fails miserably. She tells him of her home: of cities carved into golden mountains, citadels towering in the sand.

With Tibarn, she can stop thinking about sand, for a while.

They speak about their herons as if they were erratic pets. Reyson, the antithesis of everything she'd expected from Rafiel's younger brother, enthralls her, and everything about Rafiel boggles Tibarn's mind- the two are as different as deserts and oceans. Reyson has strength- strength Rafiel will never have. Nailah begs Tibarn to tell her how he found it. She feels slightly offended that Reyson has grown so much living with the hawks, while his brother lived with the wolves and seemed exactly the same. He's at a loss, and can only laugh and ask her what it's like to guard a Heron who actually acts his species.

They talk well into the night, his legs curled over hers and one roughed hand resting on her breast. The fire in their blood has dimmed to soft embers, and Tibarn's embrace makes her forget Hatari.

As their conversation dwindles the embers flare up once more. Her hand reaches down and takes him, guides him, and they move again, and she feels more like a wolf than she has for ages.

There is no need for protection, restraint, hesitation. They are wild in each others arms.

---

It can't last.

He has a nation to rebuild. She has a nation to move. Hatari can't last either. The Desert of Death has no mercy. It must be conquered.

There'll be others. Rafiel, perhaps, though after Tibarn it would be a radical change. Volug, who was once just another soldier, has become a close friend. He is certainly enjoying the strong, silent hero act, but she knows him for the witty sarcastic he is. When he knows she is listening he teases his companions in the ancient tongue, and it is all she can do to refrain from bursting out laughing. She loves them both. They are not, however, Tibarn.

Dusk is coming again.

She rolls atop him, presses her lithe body against his muscular frame. His hands automatically rest on her lower back. Their faces are pressed together, cheek to cheek, and the sound of their breathing seems very loud to her ears. His wings beat the scarlet air tenderly, as if frightened of breaking it.

Nailah's voice, made loud by the silence, comes out as a ragged chuckle. "How much longer do you think this can last, o king of the sky?"

His large, stony hands move down. The voice in her ear is a hot whisper. "Long enough."

They roll over as one and are at it again, making if not love then at least something. The world goes red and orange, and the summer sun falls.

Tomorrow will bring more fighting, more death, more responsibility. Tomorrow is another day closer to trip home, where she is not merely Nailah but Queen Nailah. Tomorrow there are throats to bite; live to end; things to do.

But for now there is only a hawk king, and a bed, and something closely resembling love. And for now, at least, it's good enough for Nailah.

To hell with tomorrow.