I just can’t think of the lyrics. I’ve finally got two decent melodies, but they’re not good enough to stand by themselves. I need to put words to them, and I just can’t come up with any.”“What sort of songs?”“One sounds almost heroic, the other is sort of sad. I tried to write something about Fergus for the sad one, but what can I say? He died when a tree branch hit his head after the snow beasts broke our spear trap. I can’t put that in a song. He deserves better.”Shavala bit her lower lip as she thought. “Why not write about his life rather than his death?”Katrin considered that. The leader of the Jol’s Brook refugees had been a decent person and a hard worker, a man who was just trying to get by in a situation that kept growing steadily worse. He wasn’t some great hero out of legend, but then, he didn’t have to be. He was what the refugees had needed at the time. Maybe she could work with that somehow—a requiem rather than a lament. He deserved to be memorialized. She just hoped. She halted all movement, wanting to delay Wynn’s impending orgasm but she realized he was too far gone to back off now. Janice resumed with vigor, using all the methods together: rotating her hips horizontally, stroking up and down and clamping vaginally. Wynn opened his mouth wide, gasping for breath, arched his back and howled. Janice pushed all the way down and felt his liquid explosion bang against her cervix. Between the crushing in her breasts and the shot in her womb, her ardor peaked as well and she cried out her ecstasy. Feebie hugged Wynn’s reclined body and head tight to her breasts, wanting to add her efforts to his orgasm. Wynn saw fairy lights beneath his eyelids, multi-colored bursts of stars and trails. He couldn’t tell how long they went on and he didn’t care. As his body came down from its high, he fluttered his eyes open. Janice was recovered and watching his face with a concerned little expression. Marcy was peering over her shoulder, smiling. Feebie had one.
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