Page 37 of I Married Amreth

“Drying my wings,” he said in a grumpy tone. “I had forgotten how obnoxious it is not to have the proper shower heads specifically set to wash our wings or the dryer to take away all the water between the creases. You have no idea how itchy it gets to try to sleep with damp wings. Flying around would have made it a lot faster. But I doubt our hosts would be overly thrilled to see me circling their village at night like a predator ready to pounce.”

I snorted before slapping my hand over my mouth to keep myself from laughing. “You’re right, I have no idea what it’s like. I’m guessing washing them was also quite the headache. I struggle washing my back without a back brush. I can’t imagine trying to clean those huge wings.”

“I gave up halfway through,” he said dejectedly. “Extreme contortions only get you so far with these things.”

“Poor baby,” I said teasingly. “You know, you could have asked for help.”

“I didn’t want to bother you,” he mumbled.

“It doesn’t bother me, you silly male,” I said in a chastising tone while heading towards the recessed shelves near the shower that held the towels.

To my surprise, he suddenly looked almost shy when I approached him with the large towel. That took me aback. I wasn’t seeing much more of him now than when he had removed his breastplate. The only difference was that he was barefoot and with a towel around his waist instead of the tight leather pants he previously wore.

But I’m about to touch him… more like caress him with the towel…

The moment that wretched thought entered my mind, my stomach instantly fluttered, and my fingers began to twitch with anticipation.

“Any spot in particular I should focus on?” I asked, proud that my voice was a lot steadier than I expected it would be.

“The base of my wings, where they connect to my back, and the creases along the spines, please,” Amreth said.

“All right. Don’t hesitate to tell me if I’m doing it wrong,” I said as I parked myself behind him.

Amreth spread his wings wide. Aside from the fact that they were magnificent, I truly got to admire their impressive span. The muscles of his back rippled and bulged under the effort that position required. Despite that, it seemed effortless for him.

I began to rub the towel on his back, to the left of his spine and along the base of his wing. A shiver coursed through him. It was subtle, but strong enough for me to notice. My stomach did a backflip at the thought that enjoyment of my touch prompted that reaction. I didn’t bring it up and neither did he.

“Your wings are truly gorgeous,” I said wistfully as I admired their obsidian, leathery texture. “But they must be terribly heavy.”

He glanced at me over his shoulder, an amused smile stretching his lips. “Technically, you are correct. But to me, they feel no different than any other limbs on my body. I’ve had a lifetime to get used to them.”

“Still, it must have been challenging at first,” I insisted.

He shrugged. “We’re born with them. We stumble around at first as we adjust to their weight. But it’s not much different than human babies trying to find their balance as they learn to stand up. We just have an extra set of limbs to take into account.”

I ran the towel over the leathery surface, taking a bit more time than necessary to thoroughly dry every bit of moisture in the corners where the spines connected. I was seriously itching to just rub my palm all over it. But it felt a little too bold.

“What about the first time you had to fly? Wasn’t that terrifying?”

“Not for me,” he said firmly. “Some Obosians get very nervous about it. We even have a very small fraction of our people who hate being winged. It goes beyond not wanting to fly or being afraid of it. They just hate having wings, which I truly struggle to comprehend. I love my wings. I couldn’t imagine a world where I would be forever land bound.”

“Oh wow! I never imagined that could be an issue,” I said with genuine surprise as I shifted to his other wing. “What happens to those people? Can therapy help?”

“For some, therapy will help them overcome it. Those cases are usually because the person faced some grievous trauma related to flying. But the very low percentage of people who are truly against having wings normally express that aversion fairly early on as younglings. A majority of them end up having their wings removed.”

“WHAT?! Are you serious?!” I exclaimed.

He nodded grimly. “As the procedure is not reversible, they have to wait until they reach adulthood. If they still want to go through with it at that point, they are required to spend an entire year living wingless in a holodeck simulation. Only then, should they still want to do it, will they receive the surgery. Thankfully, although 8% of our population want to be rid of their wings, only2% actually get them clipped. The others keep them but simply never fly.”

“Damn. Even if I may have vertigo simply standing on a chair, I still highly doubt I would have my wings removed. But I could see myself living as a land bound person,” I said sheepishly.

Amreth gasped and turned around to stare at me in shock. “You’re afraid of flying?”

“I’m afraid of heights,” I said with a guilty expression.

“You realize I will be carrying you in my arms as we fly tomorrow to that village, right?” he said, looking a bit perplexed.

I nodded. “Yeah. I’ll just keep my face buried in your chest, and my eyes tightly closed.”

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