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sooo, yeah, um... original fic, Chapter 10 of Swept Away
I don't expect anyone to read this, at this point, I'm just mainly posting it so that the next time my computer decides to have a meltdown I won't lose it.
Let's see, what do I need to say, again? I wrote this, it's mine, I claim all rights to these characters, they're not stolen from anyone. Something like that? Eor betaed and I adore him for it, but I lost the spellchecker which I had set to Brit English in the last meltdown, so there might be more errors than usual.
Searching the ground on their way back to the fire for anything that might burn, Tom noted the imprint of a paw, and, as his gaze slowly followed where the claws on it seemed to point, he froze as he saw that the lid was askew on the kettle which held the remainder of the nut porridge.
"I'm sorry I behaved so badly about the food," Phipps said, mistaking the look.
"No, no. I... Do you suppose you bumped that pot when you were on your way out of the tent?"
"No, I don't think so. Why?"
"Look here," Tom offered, pointing. "Earlier I saw a print with claws at about the same placement... I was coming back to camp, before the rain really started. I hadn't seen it when I was leaving the camp to forage. Perhaps something was investigating our food while we were gone."
Phipps muttered something rude and gazed at the thick brush around them. "You're saying that it was here while I was asleep? And that it came back just now? It might be watching us at this moment!"
"Perhaps we've scared if off." Tom heard the tone of his voice and realized that he had no chance of convincing even himself.
Unable to pull his gaze away from the under brush, Phipps muttered, "Let's go back to the raft." He turned a half circle as he tried to take a pace back and scan the underbrush encircling them at the same time. Tom moved along with him and kept a grip on his elbow for reassurance - Phipps's or his own he was not sure just now.
"The storm seems to be passing... It's probably safe. I'll just fetch the gun, first."
Phipps made it back down to the raft without a great deal of trouble, but Tom noted a slight shiver as they alighted.
"Let's see if we can get you dried off, sir, and get you warm. We had better get out of these clothes-"
"Certainly!"
"-but let me get out some dry cloth for us to wrap up in."
"Oh, yes. Of course."
It was not easy getting a bolt of cloth partially unwound while kneeling in the gloom under the tarpaulin which covered the wagon, although the space which he and Pickering had slept in on inclement nights was bigger now that the bolt of velvet had been removed. The next bolt of cloth was a light blue sprigged muslin, and not particularly warming, but in enough layers it would do some good. He laid it back and forth, accordion fashion, as bet he could so that he could crawl between the layers.
"All right, sir" he said backing out and hopping down. "We can take our clothes off and lay them out, then climb in here and be warm for at least a little while. Maybe the sun will come out soon and dry our clothes. Don't take too long, you're turning blue."
Indeed he was, and his fingers fumbled so badly at his buttons that Tom bent to help him, and hung each freed piece of clothing on the sides of the wagon, until Phipps was down to his smallclothes.
"There you are, sir. Now climb on up."
"You are coming in?"
"Be along in just a moment, sir."
The dark ceiling of cloud above showed blue cracks here and there; soon it would be warmer. His own clothing was hung as quickly as he could manage until he was down to his undershorts as well, which he retained for the same reason he had not encouraged Phipps to divest his own - though damp he still needed some modicum of modesty. When he clambered up into the little tarp cave it was to find Phipps curled in a tight ball with the muslin tucked around him. Tom found his way between some of the layers as well, and curled with his back to Phipps. Even through the layers of cloth between them he could feel the young lord, cold as a stone, and his bony back nearly as hard. He didn't think the smaller boy would warm up on his own, and he was just wondering how he should handle this when Phipps asked, very quietly, "Could you... could you put your arm over me? I'm still very cold."
In his surprise, Tom did not answer at once.
"That would not be an imposition, would it?" Phipps asked. "It's just that I'm quite cold."
"No, no, sir. Not at all. I, er... I'm quite used to sleeping all in one bed with my brothers and some neighbor boys." Tom curved his body and arm around the smaller boy, feeling vaguely glad that they had not found their way between the same layers of the accordion folds. The layers of muslin, though not allowing the best sharing of heat, offered some small barrier between them, and regardless of his attempt to put a good face on it in light of Phipps' apparent expectations, he had never had anyone wriggle against him quite like this.
Phipps snuggled closer. "Did you really sleep with your brothers like this?"
"Not quite like this, sir. We kicked each other much more."
A brief chuckle. Was Phipps a little tense, too? "Do you like your brothers?"
"Yes, sir. We get along well, now that we're older. We had some terrible fights when we were younger, but we always liked each other. Joe had to break my nose one time because I was such an ass. It did me good, though." He was talking entirely too much, he realized. Properly, if he were going to defer to Phipps as a Lord he should only speak when spoken to. He had never before been a particularly garrulous person, but he had never been alone for so long in his life as he had been with the other boy unconscious. He found he wanted not only to talk, but more, to hear Phipps talk as well. "Do you have any brothers, sir? If it is not impertinent to ask."
"One. Gerald. He's six years younger than I." There was a long pause. "Father prefers him."
Tom was not sure what to say to such an odd statement. "Oh, sir, that can't be true." He stopped himself short as he realized direct contradiction was a very bad idea when speaking to someone of higher station. How could he save this? "I mean - that is, sir, I mean to say... My mother always said she loved us all as much, but that we were all different and needed different things. Perhaps Gerald needs more attention." He trailed off, unsure how to make this an adequate response, but Phipps did not reply.
However, after a few moments of silence Phipps asked, "The neighbor boys? Why were they in the bed?"
"Well, sir, we only had one big bed for children. My sisters slept at other neighbor's houses, with their girls."
After a moment or tow of silence, when Tom was thinking perhaps he had drifted off to sleep, Phipps spoke so quietly it was almost inaudible. "At school, in the dormatory, we sometimes slept together when it was quite cold. Everyone had their own bed, very small beds, and we weren't supposed to, you didn't want to get caught, it could mean a beating, but we were locked in at night and hardly ever checked on. And it did get so very cold sometimes."
A beating just for huddling together against the cold? It seemed overly harsh to Tom, so he chose the lesser offense to speak to. "They locked you in, sir?"
"Yes."
"But what if there were a fire?"
"Oh, you climb out of the windows on knotted sheets, we had drills for that."
"Ah. I mean, I see, sir."
"Tom?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Do you think possibly... maybe... you could stop calling me 'sir'?"
Tom was quite taken aback. "I... I don't know. I mean, wouldn't that be inappropriate?"
"Inappropriate." Phipps made a small noise in his nose, as though he were clearing it, a delicate snort. "With all that's happened? And there's just you and I here." He twisted under Tom's arm so that their eyes could meet in the dim light. "I can't see how it could possibly matter. Especially if we... Well. If we don't get back. Besides, you said that we were in this together. Somehow it would seem more appropriate, to me. Comrades and all that. Besides, you're driving me absolutely crazy with if. What possessed you to take up saying 'sir' in every damned sentence?"
"I was trying to be respectful. I thought perhaps I hadn't been properly so... that I was being too familiar."
"You listened to me rant in fever. I'm not all that concerned about it at this point."
"How shall I call you, then? Master Ethan?"
"Horrors. No." He paused, lowering his eyelids - thoughtful or abashed, Tom was not sure. "You could call me Phipps, I guess, as my schoomates do. Or. Or Ethan. In the dorms, if you were good enough friends with a fellow to sleep in the same bed you might call them by their given name, between yourselves at least."
"You're sure?"
"Yes." He raised his eyes to meet Tom's very steadily. "Yes. I would like it."
"All right, then." He seemed to need a moment before he could try the name. "Ethan."
Phipps smiled. "I do like it."
He looked up into Tom's eyes for a moment, his smile faded, and he looked for a moment almost scared. "I hope that you will say what ever you may want to me, and never stand on ceremony. I... I like you." He went on in a rush - "I have liked you from the moment I first saw you, the morning the caravan was leaving Victoria City. I'm glad it's you. Here, I mean. If we have to be here."
Then he stopped himself abruptly, bit his lip, and twisted quickly to turn his back to Tom. He curled up tightly and pushed back against Tom's stomach, tense and shivering.
Tom curled around the smaller boy reflexively, trying to still the shivering by stroking his arm, but his mind was unsettled by this revelation. Phipps had noticed Tom, specifically, the morning they had left on their ill-fated journey? He recalled the young Lord frowning at him, that day, just after Phipps and his friend had parted ways so unamicably, and himself wondering what he could possibly have done to make the other boy angry. How odd that now Phipps said he had liked Tom at that moment when he had been glaring.
After a while Phipps became a little warmer, his breaths grew longer and more slow, and his hard back seemed a little softer against Tom's chest. He seemed to have warmed enough to drift off to sleep, which Tom thought a very reasonable reaction in the circumstances. Soon, despite his growling belly, he followed suit, wandering into a dream in which he seemed to be walking through an orchard with Jennie Harmon, the daughter of the farmer who's field they had camped in at Saradell. He had lost something, though, and kept looking around for it, and when Jennie called his attention back her face had changed - darker and fuller lipped. It was not Jennie, he had been mistaken, but he couldn't place just who it was. Someone more intelligent and more passionate, he thought. Someone much more attractive to him. But as he approached this familiar seeming stranger it all dissolved.
Tom found himself awake, although he was not sure at once what had caused his sudden alert. Then it came again - a small rumble, not as of thunder but of something small rolling and bouncing on the wooden deck of the raft. He tried to raise his head without disturbing Phipps and find a view through the gap in the tarp at their feet, where brilliant sunlight showed, but even this small movement disturbed the young lord.
"What is it?" he whispered, blinking, but alert and nervous.
Tom shook his head silently. Through the gap he could see nothing but the edge of the raft and a sliver of water glinting brilliantly in the sun. For the clouds had entirely departed and the sun now baked down upon the tarp above them, making their space in the back of the wagon delightfully warm, almost too warm. Phipps back - hard in some places, soft in others - was still pressed against Tom's front, and he suddenly felt it as all a little too close. The cloth rustled slightly as he shifted away from Phipps, and a sharp whistle sounded outside. There was another rumble and a slap of water, and then all was silent but for the rippling of the river against the raft and the rustle of a breeze in the trees. He held quite still for a long time, with his head up to listen, until his neck ached from the position. As nothing else was to be heard he finally moved, pushing the muslin back and grabbing the gun before emerging, blinking, from the shadows of the wagon into the warm sun.
There were several wet, brown, lumpy objects lying here and there about the raft, a cluster toward one side in their own puddle of water. Phipps stuck his head out from under the tarp, and Tom turned away from him, searching for his trousers among the clothing hung to dry upon the wagon. They were still quite damp and muddy, but slightly less soaking than they had been, and he pulled them on quickly.
"Rocks? I thought we'd had done with construction."
Tom finished buttoning his trousers and pulled on his shirt quickly, not bothering to tuck it, and then squatted to pick up the nearest of the objects in question.
"Potatoes." He spoke quietly, hardly believing the evidence of his own fingers.
"Perhaps we are moored to a potato tree? It's a joke!" Phipps added, as Tom looked up at the bank.
"I was wondering if whoever dropped them is still up there. Watching."
Eyes wide, Phipps shrank back a little under the cover of the tarpaulin. As Tom dipped the one he was holding in the river water and rubbed the small amount of remaining mud off of it, Phipps exclaimed, "But you can't mean to eat them!"
"I can." Tom replied.
"But we don't know how they came here, or who brought them! They may be poisoned. Or they may be something which only looks like potatoes and is not good to eat!"
For an answer Tom took a small bite of the one he had washed, ignoring Phipps's squeak. "There. I've done this already today, while you were asleep - I tried a berry and puked my guts out, so there's nothing left to lose. If I throw up again you'll know I'm wrong, but I'm not. It's a potato, sure as I'm an Arkadee. We know our potatoes!" He was grinning. If you're up there, thank you!" he shouted up to the impassive trees, waving both arms. He then bounded up, grabbing his now-familiar branches and roots, and was halfway up the bank before Phipps shouted.
"Wait! what are you doing?"
"I'm going to stoke up the fire. I'm going to eat! You can't believe how hungry I am!"
"But- Tom!"
Phipps voice - almost plaintive - faded below as he topped the bank. Tom realized that he was giddy with delight at the thought of food. But it was not only his hunger, it was something greater than that. He had darted off the raft leaving the gun behind. He'd had a sudden sense of safety. The gift of the potatoes meant there was some kindly intentioned person watching out for them. They were not alone!
I'd better make a links post. What's the best way to do that?
Let's see, what do I need to say, again? I wrote this, it's mine, I claim all rights to these characters, they're not stolen from anyone. Something like that? Eor betaed and I adore him for it, but I lost the spellchecker which I had set to Brit English in the last meltdown, so there might be more errors than usual.
Searching the ground on their way back to the fire for anything that might burn, Tom noted the imprint of a paw, and, as his gaze slowly followed where the claws on it seemed to point, he froze as he saw that the lid was askew on the kettle which held the remainder of the nut porridge.
"I'm sorry I behaved so badly about the food," Phipps said, mistaking the look.
"No, no. I... Do you suppose you bumped that pot when you were on your way out of the tent?"
"No, I don't think so. Why?"
"Look here," Tom offered, pointing. "Earlier I saw a print with claws at about the same placement... I was coming back to camp, before the rain really started. I hadn't seen it when I was leaving the camp to forage. Perhaps something was investigating our food while we were gone."
Phipps muttered something rude and gazed at the thick brush around them. "You're saying that it was here while I was asleep? And that it came back just now? It might be watching us at this moment!"
"Perhaps we've scared if off." Tom heard the tone of his voice and realized that he had no chance of convincing even himself.
Unable to pull his gaze away from the under brush, Phipps muttered, "Let's go back to the raft." He turned a half circle as he tried to take a pace back and scan the underbrush encircling them at the same time. Tom moved along with him and kept a grip on his elbow for reassurance - Phipps's or his own he was not sure just now.
"The storm seems to be passing... It's probably safe. I'll just fetch the gun, first."
Phipps made it back down to the raft without a great deal of trouble, but Tom noted a slight shiver as they alighted.
"Let's see if we can get you dried off, sir, and get you warm. We had better get out of these clothes-"
"Certainly!"
"-but let me get out some dry cloth for us to wrap up in."
"Oh, yes. Of course."
It was not easy getting a bolt of cloth partially unwound while kneeling in the gloom under the tarpaulin which covered the wagon, although the space which he and Pickering had slept in on inclement nights was bigger now that the bolt of velvet had been removed. The next bolt of cloth was a light blue sprigged muslin, and not particularly warming, but in enough layers it would do some good. He laid it back and forth, accordion fashion, as bet he could so that he could crawl between the layers.
"All right, sir" he said backing out and hopping down. "We can take our clothes off and lay them out, then climb in here and be warm for at least a little while. Maybe the sun will come out soon and dry our clothes. Don't take too long, you're turning blue."
Indeed he was, and his fingers fumbled so badly at his buttons that Tom bent to help him, and hung each freed piece of clothing on the sides of the wagon, until Phipps was down to his smallclothes.
"There you are, sir. Now climb on up."
"You are coming in?"
"Be along in just a moment, sir."
The dark ceiling of cloud above showed blue cracks here and there; soon it would be warmer. His own clothing was hung as quickly as he could manage until he was down to his undershorts as well, which he retained for the same reason he had not encouraged Phipps to divest his own - though damp he still needed some modicum of modesty. When he clambered up into the little tarp cave it was to find Phipps curled in a tight ball with the muslin tucked around him. Tom found his way between some of the layers as well, and curled with his back to Phipps. Even through the layers of cloth between them he could feel the young lord, cold as a stone, and his bony back nearly as hard. He didn't think the smaller boy would warm up on his own, and he was just wondering how he should handle this when Phipps asked, very quietly, "Could you... could you put your arm over me? I'm still very cold."
In his surprise, Tom did not answer at once.
"That would not be an imposition, would it?" Phipps asked. "It's just that I'm quite cold."
"No, no, sir. Not at all. I, er... I'm quite used to sleeping all in one bed with my brothers and some neighbor boys." Tom curved his body and arm around the smaller boy, feeling vaguely glad that they had not found their way between the same layers of the accordion folds. The layers of muslin, though not allowing the best sharing of heat, offered some small barrier between them, and regardless of his attempt to put a good face on it in light of Phipps' apparent expectations, he had never had anyone wriggle against him quite like this.
Phipps snuggled closer. "Did you really sleep with your brothers like this?"
"Not quite like this, sir. We kicked each other much more."
A brief chuckle. Was Phipps a little tense, too? "Do you like your brothers?"
"Yes, sir. We get along well, now that we're older. We had some terrible fights when we were younger, but we always liked each other. Joe had to break my nose one time because I was such an ass. It did me good, though." He was talking entirely too much, he realized. Properly, if he were going to defer to Phipps as a Lord he should only speak when spoken to. He had never before been a particularly garrulous person, but he had never been alone for so long in his life as he had been with the other boy unconscious. He found he wanted not only to talk, but more, to hear Phipps talk as well. "Do you have any brothers, sir? If it is not impertinent to ask."
"One. Gerald. He's six years younger than I." There was a long pause. "Father prefers him."
Tom was not sure what to say to such an odd statement. "Oh, sir, that can't be true." He stopped himself short as he realized direct contradiction was a very bad idea when speaking to someone of higher station. How could he save this? "I mean - that is, sir, I mean to say... My mother always said she loved us all as much, but that we were all different and needed different things. Perhaps Gerald needs more attention." He trailed off, unsure how to make this an adequate response, but Phipps did not reply.
However, after a few moments of silence Phipps asked, "The neighbor boys? Why were they in the bed?"
"Well, sir, we only had one big bed for children. My sisters slept at other neighbor's houses, with their girls."
After a moment or tow of silence, when Tom was thinking perhaps he had drifted off to sleep, Phipps spoke so quietly it was almost inaudible. "At school, in the dormatory, we sometimes slept together when it was quite cold. Everyone had their own bed, very small beds, and we weren't supposed to, you didn't want to get caught, it could mean a beating, but we were locked in at night and hardly ever checked on. And it did get so very cold sometimes."
A beating just for huddling together against the cold? It seemed overly harsh to Tom, so he chose the lesser offense to speak to. "They locked you in, sir?"
"Yes."
"But what if there were a fire?"
"Oh, you climb out of the windows on knotted sheets, we had drills for that."
"Ah. I mean, I see, sir."
"Tom?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Do you think possibly... maybe... you could stop calling me 'sir'?"
Tom was quite taken aback. "I... I don't know. I mean, wouldn't that be inappropriate?"
"Inappropriate." Phipps made a small noise in his nose, as though he were clearing it, a delicate snort. "With all that's happened? And there's just you and I here." He twisted under Tom's arm so that their eyes could meet in the dim light. "I can't see how it could possibly matter. Especially if we... Well. If we don't get back. Besides, you said that we were in this together. Somehow it would seem more appropriate, to me. Comrades and all that. Besides, you're driving me absolutely crazy with if. What possessed you to take up saying 'sir' in every damned sentence?"
"I was trying to be respectful. I thought perhaps I hadn't been properly so... that I was being too familiar."
"You listened to me rant in fever. I'm not all that concerned about it at this point."
"How shall I call you, then? Master Ethan?"
"Horrors. No." He paused, lowering his eyelids - thoughtful or abashed, Tom was not sure. "You could call me Phipps, I guess, as my schoomates do. Or. Or Ethan. In the dorms, if you were good enough friends with a fellow to sleep in the same bed you might call them by their given name, between yourselves at least."
"You're sure?"
"Yes." He raised his eyes to meet Tom's very steadily. "Yes. I would like it."
"All right, then." He seemed to need a moment before he could try the name. "Ethan."
Phipps smiled. "I do like it."
He looked up into Tom's eyes for a moment, his smile faded, and he looked for a moment almost scared. "I hope that you will say what ever you may want to me, and never stand on ceremony. I... I like you." He went on in a rush - "I have liked you from the moment I first saw you, the morning the caravan was leaving Victoria City. I'm glad it's you. Here, I mean. If we have to be here."
Then he stopped himself abruptly, bit his lip, and twisted quickly to turn his back to Tom. He curled up tightly and pushed back against Tom's stomach, tense and shivering.
Tom curled around the smaller boy reflexively, trying to still the shivering by stroking his arm, but his mind was unsettled by this revelation. Phipps had noticed Tom, specifically, the morning they had left on their ill-fated journey? He recalled the young Lord frowning at him, that day, just after Phipps and his friend had parted ways so unamicably, and himself wondering what he could possibly have done to make the other boy angry. How odd that now Phipps said he had liked Tom at that moment when he had been glaring.
After a while Phipps became a little warmer, his breaths grew longer and more slow, and his hard back seemed a little softer against Tom's chest. He seemed to have warmed enough to drift off to sleep, which Tom thought a very reasonable reaction in the circumstances. Soon, despite his growling belly, he followed suit, wandering into a dream in which he seemed to be walking through an orchard with Jennie Harmon, the daughter of the farmer who's field they had camped in at Saradell. He had lost something, though, and kept looking around for it, and when Jennie called his attention back her face had changed - darker and fuller lipped. It was not Jennie, he had been mistaken, but he couldn't place just who it was. Someone more intelligent and more passionate, he thought. Someone much more attractive to him. But as he approached this familiar seeming stranger it all dissolved.
Tom found himself awake, although he was not sure at once what had caused his sudden alert. Then it came again - a small rumble, not as of thunder but of something small rolling and bouncing on the wooden deck of the raft. He tried to raise his head without disturbing Phipps and find a view through the gap in the tarp at their feet, where brilliant sunlight showed, but even this small movement disturbed the young lord.
"What is it?" he whispered, blinking, but alert and nervous.
Tom shook his head silently. Through the gap he could see nothing but the edge of the raft and a sliver of water glinting brilliantly in the sun. For the clouds had entirely departed and the sun now baked down upon the tarp above them, making their space in the back of the wagon delightfully warm, almost too warm. Phipps back - hard in some places, soft in others - was still pressed against Tom's front, and he suddenly felt it as all a little too close. The cloth rustled slightly as he shifted away from Phipps, and a sharp whistle sounded outside. There was another rumble and a slap of water, and then all was silent but for the rippling of the river against the raft and the rustle of a breeze in the trees. He held quite still for a long time, with his head up to listen, until his neck ached from the position. As nothing else was to be heard he finally moved, pushing the muslin back and grabbing the gun before emerging, blinking, from the shadows of the wagon into the warm sun.
There were several wet, brown, lumpy objects lying here and there about the raft, a cluster toward one side in their own puddle of water. Phipps stuck his head out from under the tarp, and Tom turned away from him, searching for his trousers among the clothing hung to dry upon the wagon. They were still quite damp and muddy, but slightly less soaking than they had been, and he pulled them on quickly.
"Rocks? I thought we'd had done with construction."
Tom finished buttoning his trousers and pulled on his shirt quickly, not bothering to tuck it, and then squatted to pick up the nearest of the objects in question.
"Potatoes." He spoke quietly, hardly believing the evidence of his own fingers.
"Perhaps we are moored to a potato tree? It's a joke!" Phipps added, as Tom looked up at the bank.
"I was wondering if whoever dropped them is still up there. Watching."
Eyes wide, Phipps shrank back a little under the cover of the tarpaulin. As Tom dipped the one he was holding in the river water and rubbed the small amount of remaining mud off of it, Phipps exclaimed, "But you can't mean to eat them!"
"I can." Tom replied.
"But we don't know how they came here, or who brought them! They may be poisoned. Or they may be something which only looks like potatoes and is not good to eat!"
For an answer Tom took a small bite of the one he had washed, ignoring Phipps's squeak. "There. I've done this already today, while you were asleep - I tried a berry and puked my guts out, so there's nothing left to lose. If I throw up again you'll know I'm wrong, but I'm not. It's a potato, sure as I'm an Arkadee. We know our potatoes!" He was grinning. If you're up there, thank you!" he shouted up to the impassive trees, waving both arms. He then bounded up, grabbing his now-familiar branches and roots, and was halfway up the bank before Phipps shouted.
"Wait! what are you doing?"
"I'm going to stoke up the fire. I'm going to eat! You can't believe how hungry I am!"
"But- Tom!"
Phipps voice - almost plaintive - faded below as he topped the bank. Tom realized that he was giddy with delight at the thought of food. But it was not only his hunger, it was something greater than that. He had darted off the raft leaving the gun behind. He'd had a sudden sense of safety. The gift of the potatoes meant there was some kindly intentioned person watching out for them. They were not alone!
I'd better make a links post. What's the best way to do that?
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"No, no, sir. Not at all. I, er... I'm quite used to sleeping all in one bed with my brothers and some neighbor boys." Tom curved his body and arm around the smaller boy, feeling vaguely glad that they had not found their way between the same layers of the accordion folds. The layers of muslin, though not allowing the best sharing of heat, offered some small barrier between them, and regardless of his attempt to put a good face on it in light of Phipps' apparent expectations, he had never had anyone wriggle against him quite like this.
Eor had put a question mark next to this paragraph in my original draft, and we'd discussed it, but then I completely forgot what we'd discussed and I rewrote it to this form, more explicit than my original. And then I wasn't happy with it, it nagged at me, and I went back to him and talked with him about it again, today. Actually what he had said was that he thought it was too early in the story to be bringing this up into Tom's conscious thoughts, and that I should just have him cuddle and not really think too hard about it.
What do you think?