It was the dawn of Ri'ayala's wedding day.
So, Daniel Jackson was lying full-length across a cold outcrop of rock that hung over a pool in the Kanub River, staring into the eyes of a medium length and not at all sleepy crocodile.
Well, he thought, not really a crocodile. An aks'ean. A river creature with a long, scaly snout, sharp and multitudinous teeth, and a desire to attack anything that even looked like setting foot into its particular domain.
Not a crocodile at all.
From where he lay, Daniel could see nothing at all at the bottom of the pool. The current here was fast, swirling into circles with the black accents of truly deep water, the sinuous ripples only just beginning to lighten with the first hint of sunlight falling across them. The aks'ean were nocturnal creatures, it was said by those who had never ventured this close to the feeding grounds. Safe in their ignorance, they spoke of diving at first light when the animals were weary after a night of hunting, of leisurely searches of the river bottom while crocodiles slept peacefully mere feet away. They smiled when the aks'ean was mentioned, as men will smile at childish monsters in daylight. They weren't here now, staring at an unblinking eye, estimating river depth, tallying up the odds.
Two more aks'ean were almost invisible against the far bank, only the tips of their snouts showing above the water. They were almost sixty feet away, and seemed, even to Daniel's otherworldly eyes, torpid. Not a threat, perhaps. Aks'ean, being the sole predators of any size on Abydos, were not fast through the water. They relied rather more on cunning and patience.
The sort of cunning and patience that was looking up at him right now.
Well, there was no help for it. If Daniel was determined to do this, the time for waiting had passed. It was a three-hour slog through ugly, feet-grasping sand back to Nagada, and the festivities began before noon. What would Jack say? "Time to piss or get off the pot." Hmm. If that beast below became any more interested, there was a strong chance Daniel would do both of those things.
He stood, stretching cramped muscles, and began to take off his robes.
From this height he could see the sun as it breached the line of mountains that formed the horizon. It was a sight so breathtaking that he paused, even with his chest bared in the last of the night's chill. The rays shot up from behind the black starkness of the Mountains of the Sun, many miles away, and Daniel remembered the first time he had seen them, with Jack and Sha'uri and Ska'ara beside him, as they prepared to do battle with Ra for the soul of the planet. That day had ended in victory. Maybe the memory was an omen of good fortune again today.
He stripped down to the wrap of linen about his groin that served as briefs nowadays. His original underwear had long since succumbed to the rigorous use of stones and slaps that constituted Abydonian washing methods. The wrap would chafe against him on the long walk home if wet, but the notion of dangling anything near an aks'ean was not one he liked to even consider. He doubted Sha'uri would thank him for it. And this was all for her.
Somewhere under the glassy swells and sinews of water lay the river stones the young women of Abydos regarded more highly than their sisters on Earth ever viewed the rarest of diamonds. The stones were small and yellow and called daman el raba, "always spring." A suitor for a girl's hand in marriage would present a necklace, an "oqda, of such stones as proof of his courage and devotion, because "always spring" could not be found for sale anywhere on the planet. Daman el raba were only to be gained by diving into the river and risking the aks'ean. A handful of stones was considered a handsome gift, and would almost certainly guarantee a successful suit.
Of course, husbands did not give their wives such a gift. Sha'uri had scorned the thought when Daniel mentioned it. He had not courted her, therefore there would be no "oqda. She had never dreamed of having such a thing. Such a silly custom, and really, the stones were so small. And those foolish young virgins who paraded about the meeting place, stretching their necks with practiced casualness to reveal five or six of the stones glistening against their skin - well, all she could say was thank the good sense her mother gave her she had never had the desire to be quite so ridiculous. She needed no proof of Daniel's devotion. And she sniffed at the idea, beating their bed mat so vigorously the dust made Daniel double over with sneezing.
But Daniel had learned many things in his life as a hand-me-down foster child. He could read and write twenty-three languages. The one never listed on his curriculum vitae was the language he found most useful, the language of hands and eyes and taut bodies as they mercilessly attacked a piece of matting.
There was also the simple matter of Ri'ayala's wedding.
Daniel eased himself to the edge of the outcrop and looked down once more. The aks'ean had remained motionless, its great black eye fixed unwaveringly on the spot where it had last seen Daniel.
Shit.
He checked the small bag tied around his waist, and reached for the other bag beside him. It stank, and that, he hoped, was a very good thing. It was no small matter to sacrifice a whole chicken towards any endeavour - like most desert peoples, the Abydonians were frugal to a fault - but Daniel hoped this bundle of feathers and blood and bone would preserve his own hide. A reasonable trade-off, he presumed, though he knew there were days when his friends and neighbors looked at him in wonder at his ineptitude. On those days, the chicken may have seemed a better bargain.
"Okay, Ugly," he muttered aloud. "Here's your takeaway breakfast." The bag was heavy in his hand; he swung it once, twice, then released it to fly out over the water and drop with a resounding splash into the river below.
The creature below him never stirred.
Well, shit. Again.
"Oh, come on," he snapped at it. "Fresh chicken. Fresh, stinky chicken. What more do you want?"
You, said the aks'ean, unwavering.
Daniel put his hands on his hips, blowing out his breath, considering. Just how much did he want this necklace?
Oh, a lot.
Ri'ayala had come by last night, with her girlfriends, to collect Sha'uri for what was the Abydonian equivalent of a hen's night. The women had all shrieked and giggled as they prepared Ri'ayala's hair, an intricate process of beading and winding and plaiting that would take much of the night. Daniel, of course, was not meant to be anywhere near their little ceremony - he and Ska'ara were enlisted in the task of wrestling wild pigs and drinking fermented mastadge milk and generally boasting about their virility with the other men. But amidst their testosterone fest, and his amused recognition of how similarly so many cultures readied their sons and daughters for marriage, he couldn't help listening for the women's ribald stories coming from the next tent, their boasting and ritual denigration of all things male. There was something so much more incisive in their jests. They used a rapier where the men used broadswords, and he chuckled again and again at their insight into all their men folk and their failings. Knowledge and affection and endless patience were being expressed there, and he had longed to join them.
That would have scandalized everybody, he knew, and humiliated Sha'uri, so he stayed with the men and smiled encouragingly at their coarse gestures, drank as little of the milk as he could, joined in with their oafish songs. Same old, same old, he had thought, picturing locker rooms and football matches.
But there was an undercurrent to the banter in the next tent, too. Sha'uri was a woman of great compassion and wisdom, but she was human. And Ri'ayala was a condescending bitch.
He winced as he dangled his legs over the out-crop, willing the aks'ean to consider Kentucky Un-fried for its early morning snack. Bitch was probably a little harsh; but where Sha'uri was concerned, every protective cell in his body was always in full action mode. He'd heard Ri'ayala as she showed off her six-stone "oqda, as she commiserated with Sha'uri and false sympathy - "Oh, but of course, sweeting, you never had the chance to get an "oqda. I'm sure Danyel would have got you a... he would have tried, I'm sure. Maybe one or two stones, no? From the shallow place. There are very nice little ones to be had, sometimes, for luck. But what need you of expressions of love? You were given a husband. Be glad, Sha'uri." And he could imagine the expression on her face as her hands fluttered to her breast. "You have never had the worry of waiting for your suitor to return in one piece from the river, just to show how much he adored you."
"One piece in particular," he heard another woman say, and they'd shrieked again.
Sha'uri would never ask; it was unthinkable. Ridiculous, as she said. A live husband was worth more than a string of little stones - why would any woman want or need proof of love when she was in her husband's tent?
There was a faint sound from below him, and Daniel sat up a little straighter. The aks'ean was moving. Slowly, with a sort of determined languor that horrified Daniel, the beast was heading toward where the bag of chicken had disappeared under the surface. Daniel felt his guts twist, his skin cooling even more as action was suddenly upon him and he found himself desperately searching through his motives.
Was this all a matter of his own pride? Had he felt threatened or belittled by Ri'ayala's not-so-subtle jibes last night? Was there a part of him that did wonder if the Abydonians regarded him as a little less than a complete man, thanks to his strange provenance and even stranger addiction to learning? If that were the motivation for this adventure, it was pathetic. To risk depriving Sha'uri of her husband - to risk visiting such grief upon her - for so vain and weak a reason would be nothing short of contemptible.
He closed his eyes and searched his soul, with the honesty he had always brought to such inquiries. And he knew, in seconds, that any doubts had long ago disappeared. He knew himself to be a man. He had discovered his strength and pride in Sha'uri's arms, between her legs. The defeat of Ra had been the act of a desperate fool out of his depth. It was in loving Sha'uri, in living with her and learning about her, in forgiving and accepting forgiveness, that he had found his manhood.
No; this was for Sha'uri. This was for that love.
Opening his eyes again, he quietly slipped over the edge of the outcrop to dangle several feet above the water. There was no help for it; he would make a splash as he entered it. Then perhaps a dive would be better? There were risks either way, but a dive held the appealing fact of a speedy passage to the river bottom. He made the decision and hauled himself back up to the top of the rock, assumed the stance, took one last look to where the aks'ean had sunk into green-black invisibility, and dived.
Cold; so cold. It almost robbed him of breath, but he had been prepared for the shock. He allowed the momentum to carry him downwards before adding several powerful kicks that sent him to the sandy riverbed, almost twenty feet under the surface.
It was dark. He knew it would be. He also knew that this was the deepest point, where the water swirled about to create a depression in the river rock and trap the heavier pieces of stone swept down from the distant mountains. With urgency born of fear he scrabbled along the bottom, fingers seeking the smooth amongst the sharp. There! In a second he had snatched it and deposited it into his bag, his other hand already skittering across the mud and rocks. Again - maybe. A handful of silt was scooped up with the possible prize, and his hands were feverishly prying once more. Nothing. . . nothing... He twisted his body in the water, sending his hands in another direction. His throat and chest were tight for the want of air, but he was only doing this once, and he stayed down, kicking against the buoyancy that tried to lift him upwards.
Another! Sure of this one; but a frantic scraping in the vicinity showed him no more, and his time was up. Bringing his legs beneath him, he felt the silt between his toes and pushed off, hard, from the bottom, shooting for the light he strained towards. He could see it, above his head, achingly bright now.
And he was staring directly at it when a black shape came between him and the light.
No!
The speed of his ascent was taking him straight into the aks'ean's stomach. Possibly in more ways than one.
Cuddling crocodiles now? He heard Jack's voice say. Son of a -
To try and avoid the beast would be to surface exactly in its path, he was running out of breath, and Daniel's mind latched onto one idea only. One stupid, suicidal, tactically moronic idea. He kept his eyes open as he surged towards the scaly under-belly, brought his arms rigidly ahead and kicked like hell.
Ramming speed.
His fists impacted with the beast so fast and with such force that he wasn't sure who was more shocked - him or the creature suddenly flipped into the air, its jaws wide in roaring incomprehension. The momentum brought him out of the water, roaring his own need for breath. For one moment of utter clarity, as the river water slapped and foamed about them in their wakes, both he and the aks'ean dropped back and stared at each other, astonished. Then, with cartoon-like speed, Daniel kicked and turned and splashed for the base of the outcrop, possibly swearing, probably screaming. He really couldn't tell. All he knew was a terror that made him want to retract his feet even as he pummeled the water with them, that had his balls disappearing so fast he figured they were somewhere in his throat.
One flailing hand smashed against the rock, and he grabbed it. His other hand reached higher, and higher again, his body swarming up the side without a second's reckoning for the roughness of the outcrop's shoulders. He was still kicking, still powering his way up from the water, when the sharpness sunk into his calf and all upward motion ceased.
He screamed, a sound of anger as much as fear, and turned to see the long snout and longer body attached to his leg. It was a sight so terrible that his courage failed him and he heard himself beg - just once - "Please."
Please. Yeah, that'll do it.
His own absurdity struck him at the same time as the aks'ean's jaws loosened in preparation for taking a firmer grip, somewhere along the thigh still under the water. He thought of Sha'uri; he thought of Jack. Most of all, he thought of how embarrassing a way to die this would be, with his own feeble cry for mercy ringing in his ears, and with a howl he brought one fist down as hard as he could onto the end of the snout.
For the second time in the morning, and possibly in its entire life, the aks'ean was completely startled. It wrenched itself backwards, almost comical in the way it shook its head. Almost.
Daniel scrambled out of the water. The outcrop held an impossible angle outward from this approach and there was no way it could be safely climbed.
Daniel managed it in twelve seconds flat.
He scuttled over the edge, onto the outcrop's surface, and dropped, dragging great whooping draughts of air into his lungs, feeling his body shake as if freezing, wanting to yell and cry and pound the rock with his fist.
And laugh.
The first giggle broke through the middle of an inward breath, making it became a cough and a choke as much as a laugh. And that got to him, too, so that the next giggle came out on top of the mess he was making of recovering from the first, and before long he was laughing and wheezing and howling and letting tears fall unchecked onto the rock beneath his sprawl.
Oh, yeah. Who's the big man now?
He supposed there had been more thoroughly ridiculous moments in his life, but none came to mind at that minute. The fact that he knew he had wet himself when the aks'ean latched onto him, and the image of the disgusted way the creature had backed off, made him howl again. Doctor Jackson's amazing secret weapon. Just give me ball-numbing terror and a loose loincloth and I'm there.
He thought of telling Ska'ara about this, and his shoulders shook with laughing. He thought of Kasuf, and he roared again. He thought of Sha'uri... and the laughter gradually subsided into hiccups, as he rolled on to his side and considered his leg. Ow. And, oh shit.
Sha'uri was going to kill him.
There were four puncture marks on one side of his calf - two neat little pairs - and two larger, deeper ones on the underside. The cold water had delayed their bleeding, but now blood was welling and sliding from each, and Daniel was suddenly aware that they hurt. A lot a lot a lot.
He reached for his robe and the small dagger every Abydonian male carried about him, wherever he went. Daniel supposed it was meant to be a sign of virility and readiness to do battle (interesting concept, for a people who had been enslaved for millennia). The truth was, he mostly used his for peeling vegetables. Now, he held one edge of his robe and hacked at it, producing a long strip of rough material that he wrapped tightly about his left calf. The wound would be hidden when he put his robe on again, and what Sha'uri didn't know wouldn't hurt her. Would hurt him, yes, all the long way home, but not her.
Before he got to his feet to begin that journey he tipped the muddy contents of his bag out onto the rock. Several small, useless river-stones tumbled out, but two daman el raba lay alongside them, sparkling in the morning sun. With small hope, he wiped the mud from the remaining mess - and smiled with delight when his finger slid across vibrant yellow, and a third daman el raba was revealed.
Three. It would have to do.
Tenderly, he replaced the stones in the bag; then, with equal care, he levered himself to his feet, wincing at the scrapes across his chest, the pounding that began at once in his leg. Already the sun held a bite; he pulled his robes over his body and felt cooler for their cover. It would be slow going, but he was determined to make it back to Nagada before the festivities for Ri'ayala's wedding began. Sighing, and then smiling as he waved goodbye to the river and his aks'ean foe, he set off for his home.
It took him less time than he had feared, but long enough for the encounter with the aks'ean to assume gigantic proportions in his mind. His smile had broadened even as his leg had bitched mercilessly to him. After all, it wasn't every day that a man (a man like him, the bookworm, the library mole, the non-jock, non-cool, non-Action Man man) got to wrestle a crocodile and live to tell the tale. And walk away (well, okay, limp) with the spoils of victory. Three daman el raba stones, and he could just see Sha'uri's face when he gave them to her, strung along a line of fine wire.
He called a greeting to the people he met as he entered in at the gates of Nagada, receiving their genial nods and calls in return. Each one brought another puff of macho pride to his gentle soul, so that he imagined their faces too as they heard of his exploit. It was all very silly, of course, and he knew it, and admonished himself for it - but the caution-ary note was half-hearted, and a rebellious little voice told him it wouldn't hurt to be Clint East-wood for a few hours.
Go ahead. Make my necklace.
Sha'uri was not at home when he arrived. She would be with Ri'ayala, naturally. They had, after all, been best friends all their lives. The sort of friendship that had great depth, but was sharpened with rivalry, spiced with competition. Genuine fondness sat side by side with irritation. Daniel wondered if he'd ever negotiate a friendship like that. One that could forgive each other's failings even as it used each other's strengths to fuel achievement. One that held and fascinated and repelled in equal measure. Strange.
Quickly he rinsed off the stones and drilled a hole through each using the tiny auger Kasuf had loaned him all those months ago. They were good stones, well weighted and shaped, and he grinned again in a sudden joy of anticipation. Sha'uri would be thrilled. He knelt on their bed mat and reached into the small cavity beside the headspace, the one hidden by his journal and thus sacrosanct. Sha'uri never looked there. With excited, trembling hands he pulled out the cloth that lay inside, and un-wrapped the prize within.
Three more stones made thirty-one. A long enough string to completely encircle Sha'uri's neck.
Never had there been such an "oqda.
It lay heavy in his hand, shining even in this dull light. He imagined it around her neck, twining underneath her wild black curls - he pictured her eyes, dark and glowing with their own brilliance above her necklace - and his heart began to pound. Nothing he had ever done - no doctorate, no award, no solving of ancient puzzIes - had ever or would ever match this achievement, and it was all for her. All for the smile that would lighten her face as she took it from him - no, better, as he put it around her neck - and looked at him with love, saying, "Thank you, my Danyel, my husband." No better reward this side of heaven, and when he heard her voice calling his name he almost dropped the "oqda in his gladness.
"Danyel?" The flap was pushed aside and she came in, her hair bundled onto her head in the traditional formal mode of Abydonian celebrations. "Danyel! You are here! I woke and you were gone. I-"
"Shh." Daniel grinned at her. "Don't worry. I'm fine."
Her eyes and heart had told her that the moment she saw him, so her tone was sharp.
"I wasn't worried. Did you forget, husband, that you were supposed to help prepare the wedding place with Ska'ara?"
"Oh. Uh - well, I did. I'm sorry, Sha'uri, really, but I - " he got up and stepped close to her, put his arms around her, "I had a really good excuse."
She titled her chin at him. Barely mollified. "Oh yes. Let me see - perhaps a wall that must be written down this very morning or something inside you will go pftft!"
"Nooo," he teased, supremely confident, butting his body against hers. "Something much better than that. "
"Ah?" One eyebrow lifted in skepticism. "So important that it could not be done on some other day?"
Daniel nodded, grinning, and the other eyebrow joined the first.
"Husband? What have you done?"
"I needed," and he gently nipped at her ear, "to get you a wedding present."
She pulled back, frowning slightly. "It is not our wedding day!"
Daniel eased her close again. "No. But I never got the chance to give you a proper wedding present. And I wanted to finish it today."
"You made it?" Her eyes sparkled at him. "It is something from Eart, Danyel? Like my um'brella?" The umbrella in question had been Daniel's first attempt to make something to shelter Sha'uri beneath when she sat at the waterhole, washing clothes. It was a sad looking thing, to say the least, but Sha'uri was fascinated by all things earthly, and proud of her ingenious mate who would think to do and make such things for her.
"Nooo," Daniel repeated, squeezing a giggle from her. "From Abydos. From the Kanub River."
Frowning again, she leaned away from his embrace.
"What do you mean?"
"This," and Daniel's heart swelled as he brought his hand around and showed her what was waiting there. "Sha'uri - wife, beloved, you have an "oqda."
Sha'uri stared at it, her eyes huge in the soft light. There were so many stones that they gave a gentle glow of sunshine even here in their tent, and it caught the lift of her cheekbones, the roundness of her breasts. She raised a lean brown hand to hover above them, her lips forming a word he couldn't quite read. Her head began a tiny shake, a motion of denial, as she pulled away from him even further and his grin widened in response.
Which is when she hit him.
The blow was so hard it knocked him sprawling, his butt landing awkwardly atop a bowl of soaking beans and prompting a squawk of anguish.
"Wha-"
"Na ne! Ki'mawul!"
In his dazed fall from grace Daniel had a moment's struggle to recognize the word. Then it came to him. Mastadge hole. Something equivalent to horse's ass in English.
"Sha'uri, I-"
"What were you thinking?! All these stones!! You are crazy!"
"No, I -"
"Agh!" She stamped her foot at him, her hair coming undone in her indignation, tumbling about her shoulders. "You think I want this thing? You think I care about these stones?" She towered over him and he felt himself shrinking back in shock.
"How many times?"
"I don't understand - "
"How many times did you go to the river?"
"Oh, ah - " he tried to right himself, feeling the softened bean paste oozing into his buttocks, feeling his calf throb with unholy vengeance for the sudden movement. "A-a-about ten, I suppose."
"Ten!" Her hands flew to the tent roof. "Ten! Ten times you were stupid enough to go in the water. Ten!"
Daniel drew in a deep breath. All his visions of melting adoration had vanished, and he was facing a Sha'uri he had never known before. He had seen her angry, but never like this. Her fury was burning the flesh off his bones.
He raised his hands, mollifying.
"Wait, please, Sha'uri. Wait."
"For what should I wait? More stupid plans from my stupid husband?" The words were fairly spat at him, and he felt as though his heart would break. She glared at him, fire in every line of her body, and he bowed his head in the face of her primal force.
Read this one, genius.
Oh, God, he had got it so wrong. All these months of planning, of trips to Kanub, all his risks and hardship, and she was disgusted with him. She was angry and contemptuous and disappointed. She was -
She was crying.
Sobbing as though she would never stop.
His own distress forgotten, Daniel scrambled to his knees to be by her side where she had dropped to the floor. He reached for her, tentatively. His hand found her shoulder, and she didn't move toward him, but neither did she pull back. So he rested it there, and rode out the storm, until she had calmed enough to turn to him.
And then he understood.
"You could have died, Danyel. For these." She gestured to where the necklace lay in glittering splendor on their homespun bedding.
"No, no, Sha'uri." He brought her to him, and to his relief, she came. "For you."
"How could I have borne such grief?" The words were sobbed into his robe, and he stroked her gently. "Who else knew of this?"
Daniel faltered. "Um - Kasuf?"
He felt her nod against him. "I shall poison him. I will bury his bones."
"He thought I was mad. He warned against it."
"He will die before sunrise," she said, dismissively. She was still now, the little tremors going through her and into him the only sign of her passion. "You are a very stupid man, Danyel J'ackson."
"I know," he agreed into her hair.
"You are a foolish, foolish ant. A goat with no head."
"I am," he agreed into her neck.
"You have no beard. You are without salt."
"All true," he whispered. With every word his heart lifted another inch, back from his boots where it had fallen under her tirade.
She sighed, loudly, then sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. He rocked her, very gently, and they waited together for the calmness of belonging that always came to them.
At last, she spoke again, muffled by his robe. "How many months?"
"Ten." And he smiled over her head, hearing a different note in her voice.
Another sigh, and she nodded. "You are a fool. I love you, my Danyel."
Tears, unexpected and stinging, came into his eyes, and he hastily brushed them aside.
"You will never do anything like this again. Ever. Or I will tie your heart into knots with a bird claw and throw it to the crows to eat."
"More than fair," he agreed again. "Sha'uri, I just wanted you to - I wanted you to know how much I... I wanted everyone to know... " Sha'uri reached up to his lips with her fingers.
"I know, " she said.
They sat together - he with bean paste over his butt and a thumping wound in his leg, she with tear tracks and disheveled hair - and listened to the sounds of the people of Nagada preparing to celebrate a marriage. His hands curled around and beneath her breasts. Hers reached about his waist. They were silent, and spent, and happy.
At last, Sha'uri straightened up and looked at the "oqda.
"It is very beautiful," she said softly. His mouth tightened into a tremulous smile.
"Not beautiful enough for you," Daniel replied, earning the look of scorn she gave him.
"Husbands should not speak like that."
"This one does." He reached past her to pick it up. "May I?"
Her eyes widened again, but this time with pleasure. Carefully, he brushed aside the strands of willful hair and placed the necklace around her neck, fastening it at the back. She gave a tiny gasp as she felt its weight on her shoulders.
"You can wear it today," Daniel suggested. "I wanted you to have it for today."
For a moment he saw a light flash in her eyes, something proud and fierce and glorious with battle, but then it was gone and she was shaking her head.
"Not today. Today belongs to Ri'ayala."
And he could only nod in recognition of her kindness, his own selfish desires.
"But tomorrow..." and suddenly she threw her arms around him, causing him to overbalance once more and curse inwardly as his leg screamed a protest, "tomorrow belongs to me. I will wear this in the marketplace and watch all those old women as they cackle and gossip. And those silly girls will look at my "oqda and wonder where they can find such a lover as this."
And she kissed him, and he thought, this is happiness. This is my marriage. Pain and tears and mess and love and such rightness I think I might burst.
He kissed her back, as they stood and she fussed about his messy robes and the spilled beans. She kissed him, neck bare, as they watched Ri' ayala and her chosen one exchange gifts and spill the wine together. He kissed her as they feasted that night, and danced to the wild music of desert and sand and stars.
And she kissed him last of all, after making love and settling to sleep, as she reached up to wipe the sweat from his forehead and whispered the words that would find him in heaven.
"Thank you, my Danyel, my husband."
