"Dye your hair? Why?"

"Why not?"

"I like it just the way it is," Daja said quietly, "and the sun's done the job for you already."

Sandry's hair was soft and sun-kissed when she ran her fingers through them, lazily, because they had all day and Daja didn't want to rush something that had taken this long to be realized.

Sandry... purred. Like Chime, when Tris was grooming her. There was no other word for it, for how she relaxed, how she turned slightly to lounge on her side, propped on her elbow, cast in shadows from the flickering fireplace.

Daja vaguely remembered the sudden roar, half an hour before, when she'd closed her eyes, closed her mind to Tris and Briar, and they'd...

"I hope you're not thinking about something else," Sandry whispered, pouting. She reached out and ran her fingertip down Daja's face.

"You were the one who brought up another subject," Daja retorted, catching the hand in hers and turning it to trace the palm. "Not even pirates could take me away from this."

Sandry smiled, not her joyful beaming, but with quiet, strong, wicked pleasure. "I'm glad to hear that, because I'm not letting you go."