The trouble was not with finding the spot where I was to meet Sheshef: that was easy. The problem was getting there.


    If I’d had wings, I could have been there in under ten minutes. I could almost see it from my tower room; it was buried somewhere within a sweeping copse of larch, clinging tenaciously to a cliff so steep, even the shrubs forebore to colonize it.


    There was a road that led there, of course. That was how it had been mined in the first place. But it would be overgrown, possibly blocked by rockfall. There was no telling how long it had been abandoned. The old prospecting map didn’t say; as far as it was concerned, that shaft entrance was still active.


    So I set out armed with nothing more than the map, a set of lockpicks and demonstration lock, a cold calzone, and some vague story to Renella about geological study. She had no qualms, other than to remind me to be back in time for dinner.


    By the time I made it to the mine shaft entrance, I was scraped, sweaty, and definitely not going to be home in time for dinner. And there was no sign of Sheshef.


    I cursed aloud, albeit quietly, using a number of the words I’d learned only yesterday. Was I too late? Had she already left? Would she think I was fickle of temperament, or simply terrible at orienteering? Why did I have to be so terrible at everything?


    But as soon as I clambered to the top of a boulder, planting slightly, to get a better lay of the land, a shadow passed over me. I looked up without thinking, nearly blinding myself against the sun. By the time the spots cleared, there was a gentle rushing sound, and Sheshef was there beside me on the boulder, folding her wings neatly against her back.


    “I think there is an easier way for you to come here,” she said, without preamble.


    I was still catching my breath, and not in the best of moods. “You watched me hike all the way up and didn’t say anything?”


    “There was no good spot to land.” She sounded genuinely apologetic. “And I could not call to you.”


    I wiped a trickle of sweat from my brow. “Why not?”


    Wordlessly, she pointed up. I followed her finger. Winged figures circled, far in the distance.


    Intrigued but unnerved at the implication, I looked back down at her. There was no emotion in her storm-gray eyes, but I could see the tension in her frame. “You’re not supposed to be talking to me?”


    She hesitated a moment before saying, almost to herself, “It is not forbidden.”


    I nodded soberly. I understood. “Won’t they see you here now? I don’t want to get you in trouble.”


    “Not if we move quickly.” She fluttered to the ground and gestured. “Come.”


    I scrambled down after her and followed her to the mine shaft entrance. An old minecart lay on its side, one rusted axle stabbing crustily at the sky, wheels half-buried in the turf. The mine track extended from the maw of the cliff, but it, too, was rotted to pieces. We ignored these relics and moved under the spreading branches of a solitary oak. A slab of rock lay there on its side; a most convenient table. I lay out the lock and picks upon it.


    Not content to merely stand by my side, Sheshef leaped up to the surface and crouched down, feet nearly touching the lock, like a hawk subduing prey beneath its talons. A wingtip brushed my ear. I shivered.


    She picked up each tool in turn as I described it, turning it this way and that before her whiteless eyes, feeling its planes and edges, giving them the occasional sniff. She even tasted one, her pink tongue darting out for a brief lick.


    It had never occurred to me to do any such thing. “How does it taste?” I asked.


    “You don’t know?”


    I shook my head. “I generally don’t lick tools, no.”


    “Why not?”


    I was about to give a proper reply, involving grit and solvents and nasty, lubricating grease, but I was seized by a sudden minor madness. Instead, I took the closest tool to hand—a shallow half-diamond—and stuck it in my mouth. Sheshef watched wordlessly.


    I pulled it out again. “Tastes like metal.”


    She nodded seriously. “Not very tasty.”


    “No,” I agreed. And then, struck by curiosity as sudden and violent as the impulse to taste the tool, I asked, “What is tasty, d’you think? What is your favorite food?”


    Sheshef cupped her chin in her hands as she thought, elbows on knees, perfectly balanced on the balls of her feet. She looked like a weathervane. “Eggs,” she said at last.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    I didn’t know what I was expecting, but for some reason, this was not it. “You eat eggs?” I asked, astonished.


    Now it was her turn to look astonished. “Don’t you?”


    “Well, yes, I eat eggs,” I replied. “But I didn’t hatch from one.”


    “You eat cow,” she said reasonably, “and rabbit, and pig, even though they were birthed live from a womb, as you were.”


    I flushed, too embarrassed to do anything but continue on with our lesson. I hadn’t gotten more than one sentence in, however, before she interrupted me with, “What is your favorite food?”


    I thought about it. A number of sweets were certainly in the running, but truth be told, I’d always had more of a salt tooth. “Probably bacon,” I said, somewhat sheepishly. I’d seen a litter of piglets born only last week. They definitely had not hatched from eggs.


    “Bacon?”


    “Pig.”


    “Ah.”


    And here was a new question. “How do you know Romanci? You speak it very well.”


    “I learned it in school.”


    “You have school?” I wished I could stuff the words back in my mouth. I sounded like the most patronizing buffoon to ever walk the face of the earth.


    “Of course.” Now her voice had a chilly edge. “We all do.”


    “Of course,” I agreed hastily. “I’m sorry. I just thought—I’d always been told you didn’t build buildings—”


    “We don’t.”


    I floundered. “Where do you have lessons, then?”


    “Outside.”


    “Don’t your schoolbooks get, um… rained on? Dirty?”


    “Our books are small.” She mimed holding something no fatter than a pamphlet. “Easy to carry, and easy to protect. And there is always more paper, for copying, again and again.”


    “Really?” I was intrigued. We had plenty of paper in the villa, of course, but I was under the impression that it wasn’t the cheapest of commodities. “Where d’you get your paper from?”


    “We make it.” She looked at me curiously. “Where do you get yours from?”


    “We buy it.”


    “From who?”


    “Um.” I rubbed my nose. “Paper makers?”


    Now she was fascinated. She turned to face me fully, gray eyes fixed on mine. “You’ve never made paper before?”


    “No.”


    “No!” She seemed stunned.


    “Have you?” I asked.


    “Of course!”


    We stared at each other a moment longer, equally mystified, when there was the sudden sound of bells tolling below.


    “Oh no.” I grimaced, and looked at the sun. It was setting. “Oh, I am going to be really late for dinner.”


    “You have to go?”


    I turned back to the table of rock and gestured helplessly. “But we haven’t finished…”


    “It’s all right,” she said brusquely, and stood. “I will walk with you.”


    “You will?” I replied, startled.


    “Yes. I want to show you the faster way.”


    “Won’t you be missed?”


    “It’s Hesh,” she replied cheerfully, and did not elaborate further.


    For some reason, the thought of her walking beside me, under the trees, barefoot and nude—walking, not flying, not crouched on her haunches, licking the tools—made me blush. It was too human. I abruptly realized her naked ankles were right in front of me. I turned bright red and looked away.


    But it seemed churlish to refuse.


    “All right,” I said at last, and then, in a slightly steadier voice, “Thank you.”


    We walked together, under the trees in the fading light, down a marginally more clear-cut path than the one I had scrambled up. It was a longer path, dimensionally speaking, but it took only half as long to traverse, now that I was no longer fighting brambles and losing my footing on loose scree. Sheshef did not seem to be worried about being spotted; it was semi-dark, and we were semi-covered. Perhaps that was enough. I wondered at how she did not cut her feet, but was too embarrassed to ask about it. I had exposed enough ignorance for the day.


    So focused were we on making our way down the hill that we spoke only occasionally; to call out an obstacle, or observe some interesting feature of the forest. It was enough for me; I was content, and slightly out of breath. I hoped it was enough for Sheshef, too. It was easier to forget that she was a naked person this way. She was a creature entirely of the twilight woods, moving in silence, using her wings for balance, showing no eye-white when she glanced back at me.


    As the slope shallowed out, and the deer track swelled to a true footpath, I began to slow. We would be out of the woods soon, and visible. I didn’t want to be seen.


    I didn’t want this time to end.


    At last, when we could go no further without breaking cover, I came to a halt. Sheshef stood beside me, still and silent. Human once again.


    “I have to go,” I said, without looking at her.


    “So do I.” Her voice was as quiet as mine.


    Neither of us moved.


    “I didn’t finish teaching you to pick locks.”


    “No, you didn’t.”


    “I’m not sure I’m going to be able to go back to the mine shaft entrance. I might be in trouble.” I sounded like such a wet blanket. Perhaps lording Master Fiore around yesterday had used up the entirety of my boldness. I swallowed and said, trying to inject a sense of certainty into my voice, “But I promise to find another time.”


    I turned to look at her finally, and opened my mouth to ask her when and how we should meet next, when, utterly without warning, she lunged. She was so fast, I didn’t even have a chance to close my mouth. Her kiss landed squarely on my teeth.


    And then she flew away.


    I stood there, mouth still hanging open in shock, and watched her pale form disappear into the twilight sky.


    I broke into an irrepressible grin.


    She was as terrible at kissing as I.