By nightfall, they were again in the desert, riding toward a plant complex far to the East, before the cliffs. Vanessa sat beside him. The many provisions they required on a longer trip filled the cart's back section. She munched on chunks of dried fruit from a first canvas sack. A second sack in her grasp held roasted nuts, products of her first nut-roasting attempt. With a serious expression, she took another dried date from the bag. "I think it means 'energy' or something. It's definitely a word, just not a word that's been used much for a few hundred years. There are many times more words in a dictionary than there are words in common language."

Knives scoffed. "Then it isn't really a word anymore. If someone says, 'I'm full of verve today,' and everyone else says, 'full of what?' then it shouldn't count as a word in the language. That's all I'm saying."

"That's the way language works."

"Human language," he corrected. There was an awkward pause – they generally avoided bringing up humans, and their topics for conversation were remarkably limited as a result. He watched her take another handful of nuts and pick at them. "May I have some?"

"Have some fruit instead," she offered. "You don't want any of these."

"Sure I do, protein."

"No, you really don't."

He grabbed the bag from her lap and looked into it questioningly. "What'd you do to them…"

"I cooked them," she replied. "Not well."

Knives winced as he crunched into a handful.

"See, somehow, I know I messed them up." She reached for them.

"Well, you didn't cook them, not all the way. They're raw." He snapped a peanut in half to show her.

She sunk into her seat. He continued to eat them.

"And the word 'peanut' is another example of language absurdity. It isn't a pea, it isn't a-"

"So what are they called in plant?" she snapped. "Pompous ass…"

He gave the bag back to her and stared forward, silent. Knives supposed he'd angered her, but he hadn't meant to. That was supposed to be a conversation. "Vanessa-"

"Is that why Callisto 'left you' or was it worse?" she continued, face turning a shade of red that offset her scarring. "She wasn't me! What did you do to her?"

"I-I…nothing, I did nothing but-but-" he stuttered.

"She was only a child, even if she did LOOK like a woman, she, how could-"

"I didn't touch her!" he roared, interrupting. Were he observing as an outsider, he'd have marveled that it took him that long for his temper to boil. It was difficult to be angry with her anymore. It was difficult to feel anything much, anymore. Nevertheless, his voice boomed. "I was waiting. She chose the plants over me, that wasn't my fault!"

"What makes you so sure?" she yelled back, scooting to the edge of her seat. "I'll bet she was a smart girl, she noticed the way you looked at her, she knew! Even if you didn't touch her, I'll bet she saw it in your eyes, her father figure, you perverted freak!"

"That's not true; you weren't there!" Knives became truly enraged. What right did she have, to be away for a hundred years and return thinking she KNEW him. She didn't know him! "I'd given up, because she didn't want that! Accusing me of…The nerve!"

Minutes wore into an hour, and he felt his anger melt away. The more he thought about it, the more he realized where she was coming from. He almost understood. Almost.

"I'm not a pervert," he asserted, turning to her with chin held high.

"Don't talk to me," she sneered. She was staring out – he could only see her scarred cheek, her opaque eye. His angel arm had done that to her. But it wasn't his fault.

O

O

"I'm going riding, I'll be back by nightfall," she stated, mounting a tomas.

Knives was already at the complex doors, surprised to hear her speak – finally. He was going to protest, but she was already gone. "Be careful," he yelled.

Within the plant complex, the cool, bright bulbs were silent.

O

O

Gripping the reins fiercely, Vanessa sailed over the sand dunes atop her mount. The breeze felt cool, flowing up her sleeves to dry the sweat. A few hours from the complex, from where she could still see the tallest spire, she kicked the tomas into a faster gallop and growled frustration to the wind. She spoke aloud to herself and her tomas, "superiority complex, selfish, paranoid, egotistical, sexually confused, close-minded," she rattled off, amongst other things.

Her tomas resisted for a moment, and she kicked him forward. "I'll water you in a minute," she reassured, forcing him into another run.

With a yelping squawk and a thud, she fell, tomas and all, face-first into the sand. Rising slowly with her elbows, she looked back to see a thin rope stretched between two rocks she'd just passed.

Someone ran up, kicking sand into her mouth; she had to close her eyes.

Rough hands grabbed her wrists and squeezed them behind her.