Those of you who have read "Strawberries" (redubbed "The Glimmerlands") might recognize Arwyn.
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The dance was there, in the middle of the hall, spinning in its centre and turning slowly towards the ends, like a galaxy.
The air felt warm and electric, like just before a summer storm, only the electricity seemed to be coming from the glowing centre of the dance, the naked bodies of sacrificial fae illuminated from the inside where it snaked and writhed in their veins and shone through eyes already lost.
She could feel it, a faint itch in her muscles that no amount of stretching would relieve. She would have to dance, she knew, or it would spread first to her stomach, then up, through her heart to her brain, filling her with a wild, terrifying joy that would pulse through her, connecting her to the others and throwing her straight through logic and reason into the throes of helpless ecstasy-
"Arwyn."
Of course, everyone knew she was weaker to it than them, out of practise from so much time in Cat's Court. But only Orren seemed to realize just how vulnerable she was.
"I'm here," she said tonelessly. She was still angry with him.
He grabbed her hand and squeezed it. "I'll make sure you are." His protectiveness annoyed her, and distracted her from the itch - she focused on it, stoking her gut into grumbling ire, refusing to wonder if that had been his aim.
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