Page 23 of Over the Emerald Valley
Almost.
It was, at least, peaceful and warm—a delightful position from which to tell a story.
“You may fall asleep to the sound of my voice. It won’t hurt my feelings when you begin to snore.”
“I don’t snore.”
“If you say so. Ready?”
“Yes, do regale me with your story.”
“Very well.” Temaj exhaled a long breath for dramatic effect. “Once, a very long time ago, a strikingly beautiful prisoner shivered under a thin blanket on the cold ground of his cell.”
“Wait, I thought you were going to tell me a story from your life.”
“How do you know this isn’t one?”
“Is it?” Solon sounded horrified.
“No.”
“Then—”
“You don’t want a story from my life. It alternates between boring, then sad, and sad, then boring. Until I moved here, that is, and now it’s only boring. Let me make something up.”
Solon didn’t answer.
Discomfort fizzled in Temaj’s stomach. Would Solon insist on a tale from his past? He really had nothing interesting or worthy to share. Only periods of grief, fear, hunger…nothing good.
Then he was saved. “A prisoner?”
“A strikingly beautiful one, yes.”
“Noted. Continue, please.”
“His name was…Lemaj, and he’d been held captive for as long as he could remember. For he’d stolen a bin of grain to feed the starving orphans of the windswept lands of the desert. He’d only wanted to do good, you see, but instead, he was labeled a thief and thrown in the dungeon to rot.”
“A terrible fate,” Solon murmured.
“Indeed.” Temaj snaked his leg over Solon’s thigh inch by inch. He just couldn’t resist the man’s warmth, his solid presence. “But one day, Lemaj heard shouting from above. An argument gave way to a fight.
“Bam, pow, thud!
“Lemaj huddled deeper into the corner of his dirty room, cowering in fear. What if the guards were made angry? Who would they take it out on? Better to be silent and hide than to draw unwanted attention his way. Besides, he’d long since grown hopeless. No one was coming for poor, sweet, strikingly beautiful Lemaj.”
Solon’s fingers were rubbing little circles along Temaj’s hip, distracting him from his tale, but he didn’t want the man to stop. The tender caress—whether or not Solon was aware of it—was pleasant and soothing.
“When Lemaj heard footsteps thud closer and closer, he only ducked further into himself, trembling. Then a voice called out, ‘There’s someone here,’ and even more footsteps clambered in.
“Lemaj shivered in fear, never daring to hope someone would save him. But then he heard another voice. A gentler voice, deep and rumbly. ‘Oh no! What a strikingly beautiful prisoner! I will save you!’”
“But how did he know Lemaj was strikingly beautiful if he couldn’t see his face?” asked Solon.
“Shh. It was plain to see from the fall of his luxurious golden hair,obviously. No more interrupting. You’re supposed to be falling asleep.”
“How could I when I’m on the edge of my seat?”
“I know it’s difficult, but try.” Temaj propped his head up from where it lay on Solon’s chest and looked at his face. “Your eyes aren’t even closed.”
