"DANCING," Mailah said. "You want to learn dancing."
"I said rhythmic swaying."
"That's dancing, Grayson."
He looked at her with the expression of a man who had made an inquiry and was now regretting the specificity of his phrasing. "The village had music this evening. People were moving to it in a coordinated fashion. It appeared to serve a social function."
"It's called dancing. Normal humans do it."
"I am not human."
"No," she agreed, "but you're trying to be one for a week, so tomorrow we're dancing."
He looked at the fire. "I'll consider it."
"You'll do it."
A pause. "I'll consider doing it."
She closed her eyes and smiled and said nothing further, because she had learned that with Grayson, the second pause meant yes.
The morning arrived clear for once — actual sunlight, the kind that came in off the water and hit the cottage windows at an angle that made everything inside glow amber.
