She poked me with an elbow. "Be serious, Tiger. You?"

I wanted to smile, but didn't. "Trust me, bascha, I have never been more serious in my life."

She closed a hand over one of mine, carefully avoiding the sensitive stump. Her voice was rusty. "Can you?"

"Oh, yes. It will take time-I have to learn new grips, new balance, new techniques and maneuvers; strengthen my wrists and remaining fingers-but yes. I can." I smiled. "It's called discipline."

"And until then?"

I knew she was thinking of Abbu. "Until then," I whispered into her ear, "you'll just have to protect me."

The stud, grazing contentedly on a patch of nearby grass, snorted.

I glanced across at him. "She can, you know. She's better than I am."

This time it was Del's turn to snort, albeit with more delicacy.

"Well," I conceded, "sometimes. Some days, some moments, some particular movements. Other times, not."

Del laughed softly. "That about sums it up."

"And speaking of particular movements …"

In mock disbelief, she asked, "What-again? "

I grinned. Then the grin fell away. I pulled her very tightly against me, held her there. Set my face into her hair. Told her I loved her.

In uplander, downlander, Northern, Southron, Desert, and every tongue in between. All the tongues of the world.

It took a long time.

But Del did not complain.