by Margaret Killjoy
I can’t sleep with you, you know that.” Ulian ran a few fingers up Neh-te’s collarbones as he spoke. Her striped sailor’s shirt, already wide-collared, was stretched open to expose her deeply tanned shoulders.
     “I know,” Neh-te whispered mournfully, “I remember.”
     The bamboo dock beneath them creaked slowly as the waves of low tide splashed against its posts. Behind them, on the mainland, a bamboo windmill beat the time slowly, churning in the ocean-side winds.

by Margaret Killjoy
Icar relaxed in the shade of the brick store, his long legs stretched out in front of him on the cobblestone, his small pack at his side. He had never seen been to The Vare, and the city was disorientating; people of all sizes and styles hustled their way through mid-day crowds without saying hello to one another, and nobody had yet taken any notice of the gangly, shirtless stranger from the Waste.