Almost in response, I felt the brush of something soft against my cheek.
“Oh,” I started, swatting at it, accustomed to swatting away insects.
Either the same firebug or another one skimmed my nose and I swallowed back a startled yelp, nearly toppling over. I sensed them swarming all around me.
“No, it’s fine.” He scooted closer, his bigger body dragging across the dirt and grass to sit beside me, so close his arm brushed my shoulder, so close I immediately felt his warmth radiating toward me.
His presence beside me felt so solid and larger-than-life. I knew from memory that muscle and sinew roped tightly beneath his skin. There was not an ounce of fat to him anywhere. How could there be? Out here, living like this, there wasn’t excess to be had.
He took my hands and lowered them from my face. “Don’t,” he murmured.
I trembled slightly, hating feeling all the tiny bugs around me.
“They won’t hurt you,” he added, pushing my hands down into my lap. He kept one hand over mine. That single hand was large enough to wrap around both of mine. His hands weren’t as brawny as Sivo’s, but his fingers were long and tapering, blunt tipped, the nails shorn to the quick.
Suddenly I wasn’t certain what made me more nervous: his touching or a horde of bugs flying around me.
“They’re harmless,” he assured me. “And beautiful.”
He uttered this last word on a breath, so close to my face I could almost imagine he was talking about me and not the firebugs.
Heat crawled up my neck, sweeping over my face and ears. “Easy for you to say. I can’t see them.”
He said nothing for a long moment and I tried not to shudder when I felt the tiny bodies brush my face again.
“They’re like blinking sparks of yellow light all around us . . . around you. It’s magical.”
My chest tightened, sensing his awe. But he was using words I could never understand. He spoke of colors so naturally and easily. “I wish I could see them,” I said. It was the first time I ever wished for sight. The first time I uttered those words.
Frustration welled inside me. I wanted to see what he was seeing. I wanted insight into whatever it was that was making him loosen his tongue and talk to me.
“Wait a moment.” He released my hand and moved away. I curled my fingers inside my palm, trying to ignore how bereft I suddenly felt without him touching me.
There was a slight rustling as he fumbled through his pack. He was back moments later, picking my hand up again. He unfurled my fingers and placed something in it. “Here. It’s like this.”
I cocked my head, feeling the object he placed in my hand. I brought my other hand over it, stroking it. It was smooth in parts but with several tiny prickles that jutted out from the glassy smoothness.
“What is this?”
“It’s granul rock.” He adjusted my grip, forcing my fingertips to stroke the cold smoothness between all the sharp points. “Feel that? The cold evenness?” At my nod, he continued. “That’s the night. The darkness. And this here . . .” He lifted my hand, his touch as sure and deft as his words fanning warmly on my cheek. He brought the soft pads of my fingers down against the tiny protrusions, running the sharp bumps over my skin. “These are the firebugs.”
My lips parted on a choked laugh as I stroked the sleekness of night before running my fingertips over the bumpy dots that represented the firebugs. I smiled. “I understand.” In a way that I had never understood before. He brought sight to me through touch and sensation.
I lifted my face, my smile widening as a firebug brushed my cheek before flitting away.
I glanced down to where our hands still clung together. I flexed my fingers and turned my palm over, bringing it flush with his. I squeezed lightly, savoring the contact. “Thank you.”
“For what?” His fingers tensed around my hand for a moment but he didn’t pull away.
“Caring enough. For wanting me to see this.”
“I . . .” His voice faded. “You shouldn’t have to miss it. There’s not much beauty left in the world.” He touched my face. Lightly at first, then more boldly. His thumb trailed down my cheek. It was just a graze of sensation, but it reminded me of that almost-kiss. Heat crawled over my face. “It’s like they’re drawn to you. They’re all around you.”
“Really?” I breathed, turning my face, letting the little firebugs brush my skin without fear now.
“Almost as though they don’t want you to hide in darkness.”
A breath shuddered out of me. I had never had this before. He made me feel extraordinary and beautiful.
Even if I couldn’t see, I understood beauty as a concept. That some people were especially pleasing to the eye. Perla told me my mother had been beautiful. Countless nobles had courted her before my father won her hand. Perla had shared, in her very direct manner, that there was only a slight resemblance between us. I simply assumed I favored my father more, but now I wondered. Perhaps I looked like my mother a little, after all.