The Warrior Challenged

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I sat on the carpet fur among the cushions, my eyes closed, feeling the faint, unimaginative sadness brush at me. As sadness it was no more than mild regret, about as compelling as having missed that dull meeting you had decided to go to, but then forgot about. I sighed at the thin-bloodedness of the sadness, then shook my head.

“That wouldn’t be enough to get a blink out of a chronic hysteric,” I told him without opening my eyes. “Try it again, and this time make me cry.”

A surge of annoyance and frustration daggered through the weakling sadness, strong enough to make me flinch if I hadn’t been guarding against it, and then he made a sound that was half growl and half vexation.

“Should it be your wish to weep, wenda, there are other means of achieving that,” he said in that dangerous, deep-voiced way of his. “As my efforts in this manner fail to please you, it shall likely soon become my duty to fetch a switch. ”

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