“Call me Durgan,” he slurred because suddenly words were hard to form. His lips felt soft and pliable, ready for kisses, but not strong enough to say and do everything he wanted, needed, to say and do at that moment.

“My name is Pat.” The large man moved toward him, hand extended in greeting. He was so much larger than Durgan that there was no question of his parentage. This man, this Pat, came from giants. Blessed be!

Durgan stepped forward, fully prepared to take the hand on offer, but then his body acted of its own accord. Instead of meeting Pat’s hand with his own, Durgan brushed his cheek against the other man’s palm like a contented kitty cat.

“Oh.” Pat didn’t move.

Neither did Durgan.

They stood like that forever, but also not nearly long enough.

“Your maul?” Pat finally prompted with soft, curious words, the spoken version of those enchanting curls.

Durgan shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, then what does matter? Durgan, was it?”