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Our love burns ever bright,
For the harvest has been gathered in
And we celebrate tonight.
     
For the harvest has been gathered in,
And we celebrate tonight.
     
     
    There was a soft smattering of applause. The huskaa nodded his thanks and went into another equally soft, sweet song. Jareth rose, carrying Altan. The little boy shifted and his arms went around Jareth’s neck.
    Jareth went to Altan’s house and lay the boy down on his pallet. Altan woke up briefly. Sleepily he said, “I love you, Jareth.”
    “I love you too,” Jareth said, stroking the child’s soft golden hair and pulling the blanket around him. “Now sleep, little one.”
    The cool, crisp air tingled through his body when he stepped outside. Jareth gazed up at the stars, tiny dots in the enormous black sky, and when his feet took him down the path toward the recently harvested fields, he was not surprised. If he could not be with Taya, he wanted to be with the land, to sit on the cold soil, and help it prepare for winter. And, he had to admit, to glean what comfort he could from it.
    His sure strides faltered. Someone was here before him, sitting quietly on a blanket, a cloak wrapped around her. The moon was bright, and he recognized the face that turned toward him.
    “I thought you’d eventually come here tonight,” Taya said.
    Jareth opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Taya patted the space beside her on the blanket and Jareth sat. He felt the warmth of her body where his knee touched hers. His mind raced, but he couldn’t think of anything to say.
    “How is Vikka doing?” he finally managed.
    “She’s fine,” Taya replied, chuckling a little. “Brags to all her little friends about how the Spring-Bringer rescued her.”
    “I’m just glad I could help. The woods can be dangerous after nightfall.” He mentally kicked himself. What a foolish thing to say. Everyone knew that.
    An awkward silence fell. He wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her, breathe in her scent of flowers and sunlight, see what her body looked like when it was clad only in the moon’s pale glow. But he couldn’t move.
    Finally, she said, “I had hoped you would have occasion to return to Two Lakes before now.”
    He turned to look at her, his heart beating even faster. “I had hoped so too,” he said. “Or that you might have cause to come to the valley.”
    She turned toward him. Her face was a white oval in the moonlight. “I’m here now.”
    Jareth was having trouble breathing. “Taya…”
    “Do you like the blanket?”
    He blinked. “What?”
    “The blanket. I made it myself.” She hesitated, then said, “I made it for you. If you will accept it.”
    She was offering a bride price. He suddenly recalled standing in front of the blazing bonfire a few hours ago, and tossing in his sheaf with the silent prayer of being free from doubt. Like a weight physically lifted from his shoulders, he felt all uncertainty vanish. He knew what he wanted… who he wanted.
    “It’s lovely,” he said, with the words accepting her offer of marriage. “You honor me. Thank you.”
    He reached for her hand and closed his fingers over it. Impulsively, he pressed it gently down into the earth, over the cool soil, the bits and pieces of harvested wheat.
    “Do you feel anything?” he asked. He hoped…
    She smiled. “Only your hand on mine,” she said. Then, intensely, she asked, “Jareth…what do you feel when you do this?”
    Haltingly, he said, “I feel the earth. The living things it sustains. All of it, all at once. Like some great giant heartbeat.” The words sounded foolish in his ears, and yet at the same time they failed to capture even the smallest fragment of the sensations that coursed through him when he permitted himself to open to them.
    Her hand was still beneath his, on the ground. Slowly, she lifted it and curled her fingers around his. She raised their entwined hands and placed them between her breasts.
    “Now what do you feel?”