Dragons of the Valley - Donita K. Paul [30]
11
A Visit
Tipper stretched and turned over in her soft hammock. It swayed dangerously, and she balanced to keep from flipping over. She’d ejected herself onto the hard floor the first morning she woke up in her fancy blue tent. The floor, like everything else in her quarters, was lovely. But it was still hard.
The kimens were artisans of anything practical. They wove exquisite designs into their baskets. The scenes carved on the trunk for keeping her belongings looked fine enough to be in a museum. The tent material glistened as if coated with moon dust. The rug on the floor could have hung in a gallery.
In the three weeks since she and Bealomondore had arrived in the kimen village, Tipper had been royally spoiled. The clothing she wore floated around her and sparkled with lights. She would have to watch her attitude when she returned to the city. Everything would be coarse and dull in comparison.
The soft voices of very excited kimens stirred her from her lazy observations. She swung her legs over the edge of the lofty bed and eased her feet into slippers before going to the flap that covered the tent’s entry.
She listened. Fits of giggles disrupted the chatter to the point that she could hardly make out individual words. She grabbed a robe to cover her nightgown, cinched the belt, and plunged through her doorway.
“What’s happening?” she asked six tiny kimen children.
They danced in a ring, holding hands, chanting, and circling closer to her. When they reached her skirts, they let go of each other and grabbed her hem. As they skipped around her legs, she had to keep up by turning in place or be hopelessly twisted in her clothing.
Their infectious gaiety had her laughing with them, and in a manner of seconds, she joined in their simple song.
A Don, ditty-don
A Don, ditty-don
Fumbee, fumbee, fumbee, fumbee,
Ditty-don-don
A donkey, a donkey,
Fumbee, fumbee, fumbee, fumbee,
Ditty-don-don
Breathless from the quick beat of the song, Tipper called out, “Scoot, scoot, I’m going to collapse.”
The children scattered, and she sat down in a heap. They ran back to climb into her lap.
“Now tell me why we are so happy this morning.”
Out of the chorus of excited voices, she caught one message. “Paladin is coming.”
“Here?”
They nodded, clapped their hands, and chanted, “Today! Today! Today!”
“Oh my!” Tipper struggled to get up, moving the tiny sprites out of her way and shifting to a position so that she could stand. “I can’t be dressed like this with company coming.”
“Why?” asked one little girl.
Tipper stood, smoothed out her robe, and tried to push her long hair into some kind of order.
“Why?” the girl asked again, this time tugging on Tipper’s hem.
“Because a lady doesn’t receive visitors unless properly attired.” Tipper quoted her mother. “ ‘It’s odd, but we don’t admit to society that we become tired and sleep. We must give the impression that we are not tired, but attired.’ ” Tipper laughed as she headed toward her tent. “Never ask my mother about being retired. That one is beyond even me to decipher.”
As she pushed aside the flap over her tent door, Paladin’s voice stopped her. “I understood it. If one tires of doing a task and therefore takes a break, then returns to the job at hand only to grow weary again, then you have definitely retired.”
Tipper whirled around to look at him. He grinned and winked. Her heart did the double-timed beat that only he could summon. She charged across the space between them and threw her arms around his neck. With a strong embrace, he lifted her off the ground and spun in a circle.
Her joy in their spontaneous greeting broke with the awful realization that she had literally flung herself at Prince Jayrus, Paladin, spiritual leader of Chiril. She knew he was something special even if most of the citizens did not yet understand his position.
She started to protest against being slung around like a child but realized both she and the great Paladin were spotted with bits of light. She giggled instead. The kimen children had