Paradise Project

By Daniel A. Roberts

A lonely Elerian woman discovers a human man without memory. He clearly isn't of her people. Follow their discoveries in this epic adventure that spans twenty years. Discover a unique culture through human eyes. As his surprising past catches up, consequences for events both past and present define not only their future, but threaten the lives of everyone on their world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Daniel A. Roberts
• Release date: May 1, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524297442

Book preview

Chapter One - Waking Up

THE PALE MORNING LIGHT accompanied the soft kiss of cool fresh air.  Tall white-bark trees stretched towards the sky with majestic strength, their dark green leaves loose enough to create various dancing shadows on the forest floor.  The rustle of the grass granted a calming, tranquil effect on the naked man who was laying on his back, staring up at the world in confusion.

His bronze skin was a testament to years of working in direct sunlight.  Bright blue eyes remained unfocused and wandered, thick muscular limbs unmoving.  The wind increased its announcement, stirring long wavy brown hair that spilled around his head in a wide swatch.  Unseen birds gave him a sweet song, their voices unnaturally accurate in their harmony, laced with beauty and a touch of happiness.

He knew his memory was gone.  Despite the serene setting, a knot of sheer panic untied itself, roaming his mind while looking for an identity.  It can be extremely difficult to examine one's self this way, and he knew it.  What is a part of you is there, and only answers when you mentally call for it.  He just didn't know what to call for. 

An eternity of self-examination later, he decided to try for a name. 

Who am I? 

More uncomfortable time passed.  He frowned.  There was no answer from the center of his being.  No rush of knowledge that begged to give even the slightest relief from the scary situation.  His thoughts whirled before resettling on a new resolve.  It was time to try for something different. 

Where am I?

An answer rushed forward, immediately presenting itself, but he was unhappy with it.  He knew he was laying on the grass of a forest floor.  His mind searched for locations, names for landmarks, type of trees.  A point of arrival.  None of these got found, his conscious keenly aware that his brain was only reporting back absorbed information after his eyes opened up.  Now it was time to focus on the current situation, since his long-term history preferred to hide, remaining stubbornly dark.

While he didn't suffer physical discomfort, the fact that naked was not good danced across his conscious with deliberate slowness.  That discovery almost made him happy.  It was amazing how good it felt for a mind to recall something, anything, even as rudimentary that being naked wasn't proper.  He felt the beginnings of a smile.  Emboldened by the small successes, even for that low-level of self-knowledge, he braved his own lack of self awareness by deciding to speak.

Hi, he carefully verbalized.  There was no need for volume, but he didn't want to whisper.  His own voice sounded new to his ears, a deep baritone that possessed an interesting timber to it.  At the point he decided that he liked his own voice, a wholesome world shattering shock coursed through his entire being.  He got an unexpected answer! 

Well, hello there.  It was a much lighter, higher pitched voice with a musical accent, coming from somewhere out of his field of vision.  This was so unexpected that it unnerved him.  He knew he couldn't have replied to himself.  He was more than sure that he would have noticed. 

He refused to move.  Even his eyeballs stopped roaming.  Focusing on a piece of white tree bark for a sane point of reference, what was he supposed to say now?  Who spoke to him with such a melodic accent?  The voice returned, this time with mild concern.

Are you hurt?

No, he honestly shared, surprising himself again.  His eyes remained on the bark.  A previously entertaining thought came back to haunt him, like some tattle-tale child from a forgotten youth.  You're naked!  His heart started to race, causing his breathing to increase.  Myriad thoughts found truth and acceptance happily having a party, coupled with the urgent need to provide an explanation, especially with the seriously limited facts he currently owned.  I don't have any clothes.

I can see that, the pretty voice replied, concern growing.  Who are you? 

She picked that moment to walk into his line of sight. Her footfalls made no sound as she moved, carrying a wicker basket with a cloth over the top, hanging from an arm. Green silk and golden thread made up a simple dress that swooped low over an ample bust line.  It complimented her long light blue hair.  Large almond shaped lavender eyes sparkled with kindness above naturally rose colored lips.  Her slender nose slightly turned upwards on the tip.  She was petite, yet shapely.  He found her highly beautiful. 

Yet something didn't seem right.  His eyes roamed again, finally settling on the high points of her ears.  This seemed odd to him, though he couldn't place why.  She also moved with a natural cat-like grace, getting a little closer.  When he didn't reply, her head cocked slightly to the left.  This increased her beauty, making him briefly chew his bottom lip.  His lack of memories forced his mind to race for a suitable reply. 

Something is terribly amiss, she accurately observed, then repeated more slowly, as if she needed him to understand that this was highly important, Who are you?

Finally, an inner voice popped into his head that he knew to be his wiser side.  It advised of complete honesty, as there was a serious shortage of reliable advice on the virtues of a lie, thanks to amnesia. 

I don't know who I am, he explained softly.  I woke up here, looking up towards the trees.  Forgive me for not knowing what to say.  I don't even know how I arrived.

While he regarded her, he found her regarding him right back.  Her lavender eyes took in his entire naked frame.  She even noticed the slow blush that climbed his cheeks from such a close inspection.  Her own gaze jumped upon realization that he couldn't hide noticing her own gaze.  As the mild blush colored her pale cheeks, she pulled back the cloth from her basket.  Slender fingers reached inside to pull out a larger square of thicker material. 

Here, she kindly advised.  Unfold my sitting blanket, wrap it around you.  Follow me.  I'll see about getting you something to put on.

He reached up, pausing for only a moment to marvel at the amount of muscle on his arm.  His mind wrestled with the thought that this couldn't be the first time he has seen his own arm, yet that is exactly what it felt like.  The gesture felt weightless when he turned his arm.  A feeling of movement in his body was the announcement his brain needed to start-up the reflexes.  That puzzled and intrigued him as he sat up.  He couldn't even grasp how long he slept, but he sure didn't feel tired.

He almost jumped at the feather-light sensation from his long brown hair.  It fell around his muscular shoulders, almost touching his collarbone.  Unexpected and strange, yet hauntingly familiar.  His fingers started to unfold the square piece of cloth.  The sitting blanket was much larger than it first appeared, enough to wrap around his middle more than once.

Thank you, he gratefully said, adding a smile.  He stood, wobbled and almost fell.  He didn't care for the awkward moment of being a stranger to himself.  It took him time to catch his balance on seemingly brand new athletic legs. 

Her hand shot out to steady him, firmly touching his forearm.  Those long slender fingers felt reassuringly cool against his skin.  In addition, he noticed she was much paler than he was, as if she was accustomed to a cooler, pale-sun type of environment. 

You're welcome, she replied, her eyes growing wide while looking up at him.  She couldn't help but notice how tall he stood.  His size didn't seem to intimidate her.  The top of her head came up to his chin.  She took a step back, taking a better look at him as he steadied his balance.  He took a few extra seconds to get used to his legs.

Please lead the way, he finally suggested, his best friendly grin reaching his light blue eyes.  I'm completely lost out here, where ever we are.

She inhaled deeply, returning an understanding nod.  She glanced around to get her bearings before starting to walk.  Her legs were powerfully quick, soft stepping with confidence across an uneven forest floor.  He needed to strain his ears to hear her footfalls, making his own seem loud and clumsy.  As he followed her through the foliage, he focused on her back, kept his thoughts silent.  He would have to take this entire situation one step at a time.  Hopefully, he could get his memory restored before he would be too much of a burden on her good will.  It would be several years before he would realize just how nice it would have been to remain blissfully ignorant.

Chapter Two - Home Sweet Home

HER COTTAGE SEEMED LARGE for only one person, even after his muscular frame stood inside.  The bold architecture was intricate, each line giving a delicate curl near its end, displaying a unique style of artistry.  Candles in small glass pillars stood in each corner; the buttery glow a smooth blend from one area to the next.

You have a very nice home.  His deep voice was loud, but respectful.  He needed to keep the volume high while clinging to the cloth around his waist.  At least his sense of his modesty remained intact, even if his memories were significantly flawed. 

She was seated at a large table, foot pumping a pedal near the bottom of a contraption that owned lots of circular parts.  Thread from various spools along one side trailing into a gyrating metal ball of various needles in the middle, the device was a mechanical wonder to witness.  The contraption rapidly stabbed the material from a bolt of dark blue cloth with different threads, passing through a slot underneath the device.  It was making a significant amount of noise.

Thank you, she replied over the racket, both of her hands busy while she fed more of the dark blue cloth into the weird sewing machine.  It took me almost a full year to build it the way I like it.  She casually flicked her long light blue hair to one side as she leaned her shoulder into the push, revealing the side of her slender neck and pointed ear.  Her focus was so intent on working the device, she didn't see his own eyes growing wide.  He couldn't help but notice her elegant lines, a delicate beauty she radiated by her mere presence.

I'm impressed, he admitted, knowing she would take the compliment for her construction skills.  While her natural appearance continued to affect him, he realized she was serious about her capabilities.  He tried to picture her petite arm swinging a heavy hammer, or using a large saw.  The mental picture almost made him laugh.  He wore a silent smile instead, watching as she pushed the final pieces of cloth through the machine. 

It's a good thing I didn't build closer to town, she explained, nothing but good intentions riding her voice over the clacking machine.  Or you would have freaked out everyone with how different you are.  Her volume was lowering along with the sewing contraption as it wound down its moving parts.  There, all done.  Let's see how these turned out.

He was momentarily speechless when he realized she was pulling actual clothes from a receiving basket from under the table.  She had been pushing the cloth into the thing for only ten minutes or so, and out came a pair of comfortable looking pants, an elastic waist band along with a pullover short sleeve shirt.  She beamed him a happy grin of accomplishment.  His inner voice created sweet comments he felt too shy to voice.  You industrious pretty little thing.  Look what you did in no time at all.  His more well grounded thoughts poured out even more things to say, but he didn't dare verbalize any of them. 

I don't know what to say, he confessed, well before the stretch of embarrassing silence became an issue in itself.  He gratefully accepted them from her.  The material felt soft as silk with a slight velvet texture.  It was obvious she used expensive materials for the sewing.  He wasn't sure what her goal was at first, when she sat down at the odd machine.  He didn't realize it would be something for him, and made from scratch so quickly.  When she had mentioned finding him something to put on, he envisioned old clothing.  A hand-me-down, not something that was brand new. 

Say my name then, she offered, still smiling brightly up at him from her chair.  I'm Myra.  She held out her slender hand, offering a clasp of friendship.

His own much larger hand engulfed hers, gently shaking while replying with as much kindness as he could muster.  Myra.  That's a pretty name.  It fits you well.  You have my deep gratitude and honest thanks.

Her cheeks got a slight rosy glow as she gestured to the bundle he held.  I hope that fits you.  If not, I'll make adjustments.  Please try them on?

Sure, he replied, looking around.  She started to giggle, stopped herself.  He gave her a puzzled expression, trying to find somewhere private to unwrap the sitting blanket so he could try the clothes on.

I've already seen you naked, she happily explained, lavender eyes giving a playful flash.  It was there and gone again before he could blink.  Put them on here, so I know where to make corrections if I have to redesign anything.  Go on, I have no dressing room.

All right, he replied neutrally, trying hard not to appear modest.  As he quickly got dressed, he pretended that he didn't notice her eyes roaming his form.  Was her concern for the fit of the clothes, or because she actually found him attractive?  He wasn't sure.  He wouldn't mention it even if he was. 

After a few minutes of quick stepping into pants and tugging a shirt down over his head, he finally got the clothes on.  The fit was excellent, extremely comfortable.  He held up his arms and did a slow turn.  When he was facing her again, her eyes were wide, completely innocent, with hands clasped together on the tabletop.  He gently prompted, Well?

Perfect, Myra said, and it wasn't the word so much as her tone that put a warm feeling down the back of his neck.  He would have given much to know if she was talking about the clothes, or about him personally.  She continued in a more casual voice, I can't make the boots, that's a skill I don't have.  I'll go to the boot maker after we eat.  I'll also have to measure your soles.  You're lucky I picked enough fruit to feed us both, just before I found you. 

You've done quite a bit for me already, he stated with only a touch of self complaint.  I don't have any money.  I don't even have a name.  The solution rushed forward in his thoughts.  He seized it, mentally kicking himself for not offering it sooner.  I'll work for it.  He gestured towards the white wood door where the sunlight streamed through the small stained glass window, giving the hearth a rainbow warm quality.  I noticed your small farm, barn and fence when I followed you here.  Some of it needs work.  Repairs.  I could help out in payment for everything you've done, as a start.

He regarded her reaction carefully, as it was not what he expected.  He could have understood better if she gave a satisfied look.  Or a glance of acceptance.  There wasn't anything in his mind that said things were free.  He could have argued if she refused his offer, letting her know he didn't take charity.  Instead of any of those situations, she wore an expression way different from anything he could have imagined.

Her mouth opened and closed several times, trying to talk, but nothing was coming out.  Her whole frame shifted back into the chair, one hand coming to rest on her upper chest as her eyes roamed about the room, a thunderstruck look crossing her sharp features a heartbeat later.  Finally, her musical accent kicked in to produce actual words.  You would do that for me? 

Myra, how could I not? he replied, surprise swelling his deep voice.  I'd be glad to work for what you've done.  How else could I repay you?  Look, don't even bother measuring my feet.  I'll go with you to the boot maker so he can do it. 

Her head snapped back up, those lavender eyes wide with alarm.  What he casually suggested refocused her with an important urgency.  The change was so quick, the switch made him blink several times.  Even more astounding to him, the first sounds of a lecture from that sweet musical accent charged into his ears.

Oh no you're not, don't even think about walking to town with me.  The news of a town perked his ears.  He realized with interest there was indeed a bigger civilization beyond her small farm.  He internally cursed his darkened memory over the lack of providing critical facts.  He continued to listen to her scolding.  Her ire, no matter what caused her to react in this manner, didn't bother him.  In fact, he found her resolve highly cute.  You hear anybody coming, you duck into this house.  Don't show yourself until they're gone.  If anyone saw you now, there would be a ruckus.  A frightened crowd could show up, a dangerous situation with my people.  It might take me a long time to break the news about you.  I have to get them acclimated to the idea, then maybe invite one at a time... but until then, please stay here, well out of sight. 

Why? he calmly demanded, more than a little bewildered.  As he listened to her, carefully considering her body language, he realized there was more to this than a mild scolding.  She was concerned for his safety, as if there was something about him that would make people afraid.  While his memory was terribly dark, there were common sense feelings he still found reliable.  He couldn't fathom why any people should be afraid of him.

She went across the room to the far wall where a tapestry hung.  Come here, she offered.  The weave on the tapestry made it appear to be a sunset with a mountain in the distance.  As he approached, she tugged on a corner near the low ceiling,  It partially fell to reveal a wide full length mirror.  Their images were sharp, the quality of the reflection high in detail.  He stood next to her slender form, noticing his hard chiseled face, coupled with a body that spoke of strength training. 

With his broken memory refusing to share information, this felt like the first time he actually seen himself.  That bothered him on several levels, but he didn't let it show in his expression.  Being no judge of men, he didn't know if he would be considered handsome or not.  At least he didn't look ugly to himself. 

The outfit she made looked comfortable while hugging his frame, a V pattern stitched from the right side of his chest, down to the left side of his waist.  His muscular build pressed through the material as it clung to him, from the collar down to the pant cuffs.  Not overly tight, like stockings.  Just noticeable.  He started to shake his head when she frowned deep.  He didn't like that upset look on her exotic features, but there wasn't much he could do about it at the moment.  Her level of suspense in the mirror didn't go away either, packing all of her concerns into one word.  See?

I'm afraid I don't... he started, but she cut him off. 

You look nothing like anybody I have ever seen, she pointed out.  Her finger addressed every part of him in the mirror.  Your long hair is dark.  Wavy.  Your eyes are the color of a summer sky, which has never been seen before among my people.  You have huge muscles.  I have never seen arms so big in all my life.  Your skin is like bronze.  Look how tall you are.  I was always teased for being the tallest girl ever among my people.  Men are actually unhappy with having to look up at me.  You... even compared to me you're a giant.  Your voice is so low, I can't even begin to describe the effect that has.  Your ears are round!  Somehow it fits you, instead of looking like a defect.  Nobody in my town, or the whole world for that matter, as far as I know, looks or sounds anything like you.  Is your memory so far gone that you didn't realize this?

Now, his own mouth began to open and close several times before he got out his one worded reply.  Yes.

For crying out loud, she exclaimed, his condition being more serious than she first realized, loaded more stress on the second word than intended.  He staggered, almost fell.  He put both hands on his head, vision clouding up, clearing and getting fuzzy again.  His senses were swirling, back and forth, causing unwanted mental pressure.  It wasn't anything in her tone or expression.  It was that word she used! 

What? he muttered to her, astonishment robbing his deep voice of volume, making it almost a whisper.

Her slim form attached to him instantly, a slender shoulder going under his arm.  She supported him with the quickness of thought, helping him to stagger towards a couch.  Concern and surprise chased itself across her pretty features while his weight made the white wood frame creak.  She detached herself when he was sitting at last, but remained close, her hand going to his head to feel for a fever.  He didn't have one, but his eyes weren't focused.  What's wrong? she asked quickly.

You said a word, his voice staggered out.  He leaned his head back, placing both hands on each side again, his long brown hair spilling over the back of the couch. 

For crying out... she tested slowly, and her hands shot out to steady him as she realized the word 'crying' had done something.  He writhed as if in agony.  She had no idea what to do.  I'm sorry! she added, hoping it would reach him through whatever misery he suffered.  She started to feel responsible for his pain, and also frustrated in not knowing why that word was making him thrash. 

He gave no notice he heard the apology.  He couldn't.  Something about the sound thundered through his mind, something close.  There was no physical surface pain, but a horrible shifting pressure, as if something wanted out.  A deep massive pulse pushing forward from the center of his head.  A mental squeeze that was high in volume.  He knew what that something was, and even as he fought it, he hoped it would win. 

It was a lost memory trying like hell to break out. 

A deeply buried and powerful memory was drilling through the cold black barrier in his mind.  Hands pressing on each side of his head, they tried their best to squeeze the memory out.  Realization set in that they were his own hands, as he thought for a crazy moment that Myra was doing the squeezing.  He barely felt her long cool fingers on his chest, pressing him back, trying to steady his thrashing. 

Crying.  That word was so close to the front of his thoughts.  Why?  What was so damned special about it?  He mentally repeated it to his striving mind again, and the barrier in his head heaved again.  A damn common word, as far as he knew.  What was it?  What!  There was an internal popping sound only his ears could hear, as if he was adjusting to a different altitude.  This time, it was a good change. 

The crushing, squeezing internal pressure was instantly gone.  He felt better than normal!  He also found himself sitting on the couch with hardly any recall as to how he got there.  Then he became aware of Myra and her beautiful lavender eyes, filled with fright.  A small tear was about to fall from one corner of those almond shaped eyes.  Her light blue hair was in disarray around pale shoulders, slender hands remaining palm down on his wide chest, as if expecting him to start thrashing without warning. 

Unexpected feelings for Myra exploded throughout his entire being.  Like a star in the night sky going nova, turning the darkness into bright daylight.  Skills he didn't know he possessed at masking his thoughts clicked into action.  His expression smoothed.  He felt, not knew, just felt that there wasn't anybody more caring than this gentle woman. 

The fact that she was physically attractive enhanced her features into a serene beauty, reflecting the force of her caring spirit.  It pulled at him like a magnet pulls on iron.  If the situation had been normal, if he was one hundred percent certain that she felt the same about him, he would have taken her into his arms and kissed her with every fiber of his being.  He knew better.  Acting on those feelings without warning could backfire in a tragic way.  He didn't want that, especially during this moment of near personal crisis.

He finally knew why the word 'crying' affected him like it did.  With her musical accent, it sounded close.  So very close to something he tried in vain to recall, when he first woke up in the forest.  His new found calm finally reached her.  She was searching his face for an understanding.  Though he was falling deeply in love with her, he needed to guard that feeling.  To hide it as much as he could, until the time was right to let her know about such feelings.  Now however, she needed an explanation as to why he struggled so hard with himself. 

You said crying, he calmly explained.  He placed his hands on hers, politely removing them from his chest.  It wasn't because he didn't want to be touched by her, it was just the opposite.  It was too distracting to his thought process.  He needed to focus.  With your accent, it's close.  Almost sounds just like it.  It hurt my head coming out.  Why, I don't really know.  Because you said crying, I know my name.

Her hands reversed themselves in his, clasping his palms.  She nearly whispered, What is it?

My name is Ryan, he gently informed her. 

She pleasantly surprised him again.  Her arms went around his thick neck.  He hugged her back, suppressing a rising groan.  If only she knew what she was truly doing to him now, but it wasn't the time for anymore revelations.  She smelled so dang nice!  He was so distracted by his own churning thoughts, that he almost missed it.  She was trying not to laugh!  She finally let him go, leaning back with an amused expression.  What's so funny? he mildly demanded, following up with a friendly smile.  He wasn't offended, and he made sure she could see that on his features.

It's such a short, funny name, she admitted, laughing a little louder.  She sat back into the far corner of the couch, probably realizing how close she was to him.  Now that he was feeling better, she established a normal level of personal space. 

Her laugh was delightful and natural, inviting him to share the humor with her, which he gladly did.  It was a few minutes before they laughed themselves out.  She wanted him to know why his name got the reaction it did.  Short names are unheard of among the men of my people.  If anyone ever learns of your existence before I can prepare them, and it may take some time, believe me, then you'll need a longer name.

Why? he carefully asked, cocking an eyebrow at her.  It was a hard mental battle to recall his name, so he felt the need to defend it.  Ryan is who I am, what I was given at birth by a mother I can't even recall.  That should be good enough for anyone.

She sighed, trying again to help him understand.  Because names are what defines respect among men.  Not just length, but the sound, how it flows from the lips.  Your name must reflect your strength and size.  She closed her eyes for a minute, concentrating on the issue.  Too long of a name indicates a braggart.  Too short, you would be considered a fool, your words would have little to no value.

It really hurt my head to remember my name, Myra.  He really didn't want to sound rude, making sure his baritone wouldn't drop into the realm of sarcasm.  My name is Ryan, that's important to me.

I know, she said, eyes still closed, light blue brows furrowing in deep thought.  Hush for a moment.  Trust me.  If she had said that in any other way than the caring tone she used, he would have been highly offended.  He regarded her lovely features, light blue hair and ample breasts on her slender form.  His heart started to ache.  He could visualize himself reaching out and gathering her into his arms.  This took him by surprise again, these sudden feelings of his that played tag with his surface thoughts, just to hide again. 

Being in her presence for less than half a day wasn't a truly sound argument for falling in love with a woman.  However, Ryan felt as if he knew her for far longer, which made no sense to his logical side.  He knew that she wouldn't accept any affection this soon, if at all.  Being made aware of his different features from her own people, he may actually look like a freak to her.  Any unwanted attention might make her scream in fright.  That was something he didn't want to happen.  Ever!

When she opened her eyes, that intense lavender glance interrupted his chain of thought.  My uncle was a warrior in the far west, part of the frontier army called Defenders of Justice.  His name was Za'Dajor Ven'kur.  With a little twist, we could call you Za'Ryan Ven'Krue. She paused to study his face for a moment.  I will call you Ryan when nobody else is around.  I'll use the longer form when you finally meet and talk with my people. 

He took a moment to think about it.  It did occur to him that her generous nature was part of the attraction he felt for her, but was he starting to take advantage of such innocent goodwill?  Upon further examination of everything else that happened, he was lucky she was taking the time of day to even help him, big as he was, compared to her.  To her credit, she didn't seem intimidated or on edge, accepting his good behavior at face value. 

He respected her for that.  Now she was trying to help him to fit in socially.  Since she took him at face value, then he would do the same for her.  He would also make good on his offer to work for her.  He smiled at her quickly, since her face was starting to cloud over by thinking he disapproved.  He took a long while to analyze the situation. 

I like it, he told her, genuinely pleased.  My real name is part of it, that makes a big difference.  You must respect your uncle, too, to share it with me like that.  So I'll take your suggestion.  Za'Ryan Ven'Krue.  She started to perk up under his praise until he asked, What's your surname?  Is it the same as your uncle, or different? 

Her happy expression faded away.  Her smile vanished.  He sat up straighter, trying to think of the best way to apologize, but she directly informed him of how it was with her people.  Women aren't allowed to have surnames until they're married.  Men don't like me because I'm too tall.  It's the only reason why I built my home close to the deep woods, far away from town.  She looked down, ashamed.  He was completely shocked.  He recalled hearing her mention it before, but this is the reason why she secluded herself?  Height made her unattractive to the men of her people?

The words were out of his mouth before he could think.  Those men are fools, doubly so.  You're beautiful, gentle and ever so nice to people you don't even know.  Oh no, his heart and mouth were collaborating together to speak before his brain could reach down to slap them both into saying something else.  There's nothing wrong with you.  Any man should be proud to hold you in his arms.  Maybe one day, I'll have the honor of proving it.  Finally back in control of the speech center, he immediately stood, pacing before the couch.  He needed a diversion away from the unintended exposure of his feelings.  He caught her luminous lavender gaze looking up at him through light blue bangs, slowly coming back up from feeling ashamed.

He had no idea how to read that expression, fearing he said far too much.  Maybe he frightened her somehow.  As he continued to walk back and forth, searching for words to fix his blunder without sounding stupid, she flicked her head back up the rest of the way, light blue hair whisking away from her face.  He finally found the subject change he wanted, which softened her expression.  I'll work for you as long as you want me to, Myra.  Since you made it obvious that I'm one heck of a stranger around here, I can't go find a job just anywhere.  The moment you're satisfied with my work and want me to leave, I'll do so without complaint or hesitation.  Deal?

This earned him a warm smile.  She stood up and stopped him from pacing by looping her arm around his elbow.  It's a deal, Ryan, she happily replied, gently pulling him into another part of the cozy farm house.  I'm starved, let's have dinner and get you measured for those boots.

Chapter Three - Mild Culture Shock

RYAN'S DARK LEATHER BOOTS sank a half-inch into the soft earth with every step he took.  He was also whistling a made up tune while carrying the four tied fence posts across his shoulders, hands on both sides to keep them balanced.  The wood they were made out of was dark and heavy, unlike the softer white pine.  He guessed they weighed about four hundred pounds altogether, which was one log more than last week.  Good.  As he earned his keep with Myra, he felt the workouts improving him even more

He arrived at the edge of the property where he was extending the fence, shrugging the fence posts backwards.  They thudded to the ground. 

Myra's exclaim of surprise reached his ears.  Is there no end to your strength, Ryan?  He turned, smiling as she approached with the water pitcher. 

He wore the same type of leather work pants and tank top that she did, having them handed to him a few weeks earlier, so he wouldn't ruin any of his comfortable clothes.  Yes there is, he admitted casually.  I couldn't carry five.

Her expression darkened while handing him a ladle.  He spooned the water and sipped, giving her the moment she needed to scold him.  Don't injure yourself, I mean it.  I hired two men from town to carry one at a time several years ago, when I saved the gold to build a fence.  I would have to hire twice that many just to carry you into your bed.  Her expression didn't change when he laughed out loud.

No, you wouldn't want to do that, he finally got out between chuckles.  The town would learn about me mighty quick, then.  He winked at her.  He recalled the first time he performed the simple social signal.  She stared, asking him to do it again.  Myra was mystified by the idea of a wink, nor was it anything her people did.  It took him almost two weeks to teach her how to do it, because the gesture was so alien to her people.  Today, she winked back when he returned the ladle.  She took a drink for herself.  This time he held the pitcher for her. 

Even though it was only a little less than a month when she first found him, Ryan felt huge amounts of respect for her ability to work hard.  She couldn't lift as much, but what she lacked in volume, she more than made up for it in small doses of speed.  It also helped him to learn about her society, and from his basic feelings that would surge from time to time, he knew they were totally different from his own.

Her large luminous lavender eyes regarded him as she scooped a second helping to sip.  He knew he could watch those eyes all day and night.  Only one time did he see them fill with tears, and it ripped into his heart.  He politely offered to make a meal, so she could take a break from cooking.  She always prepared the various fruits and vegetables she would pick from the wild and her small farm. 

It took him several hours to calm her down.  She cried her heart out at the mere suggestion that he would cook for her.  Among her people, women did all the preparing of food.  It was an extremely serious form of culture among her people.  If the man wants to cook the meal, it's telling her she's a total failure.  Worthless.  When Myra finally understood the meaning of culture shock, and that he hadn't intended to insult her, she felt much better, to his immense relief.

They both took a major amount of time to discuss his possible origins.  There were far more questions than answers.  He also didn't suffer anymore freaky memory explosions, either, even if it meant some form of progress.  The buildup of stressful mental pressure in his head was just too horrible to go through again. 

After Ryan thought about it some more, he realized that if he was prepared for a memory push of that type, it might not be so bad this time around.  Myra agreed, so they both sat down one night and went through every word they both knew.  Nothing else triggered.  Then they both stood in front of the mirror side by side, repeating every word they could think of, hoping to loosen up more hidden memories with a visual clue.  It didn't, but at least they tried.

All of those thoughts danced within his mind while she finished her drink of water.  Myra took the pitcher back from him.  He smiled.  She smiled back.  Bringing him water three times a day was a routine she established.  He learned quickly not to question her routines, but to just accept them for what she intended them to be.  Ryan never wanted to see her devastated to tears ever again. 

How long? she wanted to know, gesturing to the fence posts that were on the ground. 

Four days, he replied easily.  Then you'll have enough fencing to plant twice the amount of food by next spring.  He stretched, feeling his muscles ripple.  I better get back to it, or it'll be five days.  He winked again before turning back to his work.

He was quickly drenched from head to toe.  She had soaked him from the three gallon pitcher with a happy laugh, squealing unexpectedly while hopping from one foot to the other.  He made an exaggerated pivot on his heel in mock anger, genuinely surprised.  He started after her. 

She dropped the pitcher onto the soft grass while on the run, allowing him to scoop it up, exhilarated and delighted at the same time.  While she enjoyed playing small little pranks on him before, this one topped them all.  As he passed the water trough where they pumped it up through an iron spigot, he filled his new water weapon.

He already knew she was fast as lightning when she ran, all but flying to the rear of the cottage.  He got to the front of the house as she veered left, vanishing behind the structure.  He stopped to make stamping noises with his feet, creeping up on the opposite corner near the front.  He knew he was challenged at this, her footsteps were naturally light.  She was more silent than a soft breeze.  Without warning, a new thought from the center of his being pushed forward.  It felt like an instinct rather than a memory.  He knew exactly what to do! 

Mentally measuring the amount of time it took for her to reach the back side of the house, he counted off three short seconds.  He sloshed the water in an underhanded swing at the far front corner.  It worked!  She ran right into it, light blue hair plastering back, dripping all down the front of her work clothes.  Her loud gasp combined with the shocked look only registered for an entire second before transforming into an expression of revenge.  He dropped the pitcher and ran like hell for the barn.  She scooped it up and refilled on her way after him, determined not to miss.

As Ryan got soaked again going up the ladder to the loft, he dropped back down to sit in the hay.  She sat next to him, sharing a good chuckle.  They playfully regarded each other.  Even with his memory dark and silent, he knew deep down in his gut that he never experienced such a good life before.  It was an odd feeling of freedom, which almost confused his searching mind.  Was it odd because he couldn't recall his past life, or was it odd because he never owned this much freedom before?  Ryan simply didn't know. 

He felt a large compulsion to give up any quest for recall, to not look back, to focus on building new memories.  Here and now, with this gorgeous woman who loved to play as much as she enjoyed working.  A woman who took compassion on others, no matter how afraid she might be, sharing with ample generosity.  A wiser, more realistic part of his personality told him that while he may wish to never remember who he was or how he got into that forest, there would be no going back to being ignorant when those memories did choose to resurface. 

Two days later he finally finished the new fence.

They stood by the barn, both back in their comfortable clothes, looking out over the small farm.  He casually crossed his muscle thick arms.  Her slender hands were palm down on each side of her small curvy hips.  He wore a smug but happy look on his face.  She cocked a light blue right eyebrow as her head swiveled left, then right. 

The whole farm was completely refurbished.  The new fence was twice as wide as the old one, almost three times as long, all of the pesky rocks completely cleared away.  The fertile ground was ready for next spring.  Every vegetable was harvested, stored in the fruit cellar out back.  Two entire cords of chopped firewood was sitting next to the large cottage, neatly stacked and ready for the fireplace. 

Look at you, she stated in a matter of fact tone, eyes settling on him.  I can tell.  You're still full of energy and ready for more, aren't you?

Show me what to do and I'll get started, he replied casually, still wearing his happy look, ready for any project that came to her mind.

Here I am, she started to complain mildly.  I'm exhausted.  My arms ache, my back is a little twitchy.  My feet are sore.  I have a crick in my neck.  She gestured as he changed his expression to apologetic, but she wouldn't let him get a word in edgewise.  Everything is done.  I'm never done.  Snow comes when I still got food in the field.  Or I let the hammer and wood to repair the fence sit under three feet of winter, until the snow melts.  I always run out of fire wood just before spring, and you cut five times as much as I could.  I got enough for three winters there.  I'm impressed, yes sir.  Her voice started to rise.  She was getting angry at herself!  I work you and work you and work you.  I made you a whole new wardrobe and you gave me a new freaking fence.  Clothes are cheap!  I give you food and you give me a whole new roof on both the barn and house.  I'm the one who owes!  Why did I do that to you?  Now she was almost at a full tirade.  I worked too damn it, but you... HEY! 

He picked her up and slung her over his shoulder.  He carried her to their shared home.  He did this the last time too, when she started to bicker and fuss, then yell at a section of her farm that wouldn't grow no matter how much she tended it.  Once he got her away from the problem, she calmed down and started to shake her nerves off.  On a farm, frustration leads to anger, which can lead to mistakes that could ensure a hungry winter.  He quickly examined the source of his confidence, writing off such knowledge to common sense, rather than any memory leaking back to the active part of his mind.

Put me down! she demanded loudly.  He didn't put her down even after he took her inside the house.  Unlike the last time he pulled her hollering self off the job, there wasn't a load of work to finish that was subject to angry mistakes.  This fueled her anger even more this time, instead of leveling off.  You big monster, you know I'm angry!  I'm also sore!  Put me down this instant or I'm going to bite you! 

That threat carried a touch more value than anything else she could have come up with.  Myra possessed canine teeth that were naturally longer than his.  Her bite could cause more than average damage, but he blew that threat off.  It wasn't in her nature to hurt anyone on purpose.  He knew what was needed, she did work extremely hard.  He also noticed her ankles started swelling earlier, but she hadn't complained of any pain, walking around normally.  As for now, there was no insult she could throw at him that would stick.  You walking tree, unhand me this instant!  You hulking miscreant!  Now I'm really mad!  Whoa!

He marched into her bedroom and plopped her down onto the feather mattress.  She bounced lightly on the large flower patterned quilt, next to a large comfortable looking feather pillow.  The last time it was the white wood couch, where he took her to speak in soothing tones.  Now it was her bedroom, which surprised her into a passive silence.  The trip to her current situation was done while hanging upside down over his shoulder.  She could only see his back and feet, there was no way she could have known where he was taking her. 

Myra stared up at him with her wide, luminous lavender eyes, all the complaint and anger from her face quickly evaporating.  She didn't say a word as he raised a thick dark eyebrow at her.  He slowly turned, finally sitting down at the edge of the bed. 

Ryan's strong hand grabbed her ankle, flipping her quickly onto her side.  She must have weighed all of a hundred pounds, so this was easy for him.  Her gasp at being handled so casually disappeared when he peeled off her shoe.  He started to massage the bottom of her swollen heel with a surprising amount of gentleness.

His thumbs traced the lines of her insoles up to the ball of her foot, then all the way back down to the pad of her heel.  She developed a thick callous all around the edge, so he massaged carefully, knowing he needed to work out the soreness without hurting her delicate tendons.  Her back was almost against his back while on her side, legs in a bent position that placed both feet easily on his lap.  As he took the other foot and peeled off that shoe, he was glad he decided to do this.  The tendons felt spongy, ready to sprain with the slightest wrong step. 

Ryan couldn't see her expression, but knew this was beneficial.  Something inside of him reached out for this knowledge and it came easily.  Another instinct welling to the surface, or some well honed skill that silently dwelt deep within?  He couldn't tell for sure which it was, so he didn't question the source.

She remained completely silent.  He took that as a good sign.  He felt that if he rubbed her feet wrong or too hard, she would let him know with a yelp.  Once he was sure he completely relaxed both feet from toes to ankles, he returned to the first foot to massage the top.  This was the part of the foot that met her ankle and was a little more swollen than the heel. 

He was more careful in that spot as he got the feel for her muscles, knowing exactly how hard or gentle to go.  Those muscles were absolutely knotted, it took his fingers several minutes to release them, allowing any anguish to vanish.  He needed to get enough blood to circulate a healing flow to the right area.  Yes, she had been in pain for quite some time and never said a word.  No wonder she got so stressed out, allowing her temper to flare up over nothing. 

Her foot was completely limp by the time his large capable hands finished with it.  He picked up the second foot, repeating the performance.  That one was swollen along the ankle joint as well.  He spent around fifteen minutes kneading the knotted muscles back to their original shape.  He also knew from her breathing that she was deep asleep.  He carefully stood up so she wouldn't wake, grabbing the spare blanket from the open side closet.  He gently covered her. 

Ryan watched her sleep for a few minutes, wishing his heart wouldn't go out to her so effortlessly.  He was certain she was clueless about how he felt.  Her carefree playful nature made him forget that she didn't know he was in love with her.  Sometimes, he would accidentally slip out a phrase or gesture that would point to deeper feelings.  As he practiced though, he got better at covering it up until he could figure out a few important details.  Was she so nice to him because of pity for his situation, or because she shared deeper feelings for him as well?

The sun started to set, so he lit all the candles in their glass pillars throughout the small house.  The design was brilliant, easy to light and blow out.  If one fell over, it would extinguish the flame automatically, even if the glass broke.  He went to his own makeshift room; a blanket hanging to partition an area for his bed, near the back door.  He slipped under the covers with a tired sigh.  Before he could ponder his identity or origins yet again, or begin seeking any internal clues as to his knowledge of foot massage, sleep fixed its grip on his brain and squeezed. 

Ryan woke up to bright morning sunlight shining through the little stained glass window of the back door.  The smell of cooked vegetables and hot spiced apple cider made his belly rumble.  He rapidly put on teal shorts and a pullover tank top.  He found her in the kitchen, setting up the table for breakfast.  She wore a brilliant green and gold patterned knee-length dress, which she knew was his favorite. 

Good morning, Myra, he greeted her, no different from any other morning since his first day in her house.  She always greeted him back in the same fashion, but not today.  At first he thought she was pissed off at him, but that vanished along with one of the largest, kindest smiles she ever produced.  Her smiles before had often been soft or lopsided.  This time he saw her pearly white mini-fanged teeth, those large lavender eyes narrowing at the edges with everything she put into the moment.

She placed a plate filled with more than the usual portion before him, pouring the steaming apple cider into a larger mug than he usually got.  Then she served her spot at the small table, directly across from him.  She sat down, eyes flashing at him again, along with that brilliant smile. 

I take it you slept well? he asked, returning the large smile, a happy chill going down the back of his neck. 

Yes I did, thank you, she whispered back. 

Whispered?

He started to eat and found everything far more flavorful than before.  This puzzled him until his eyes found the reason on the shelf above the wood burning stove.  Jars of spices, labeled and sealed, lined the entire length from one side to the other.  He never seen them before.  He also couldn't understand the significance of this new behavior.  Ryan didn't let his eyes linger on them for too long, he didn't want her to notice that he noticed, in case it would upset her.  Then he rethought that.  He should notice since she went through the extra effort. 

This is the best breakfast you've cooked yet, Ryan honestly complimented.  He took another big bite, winking at her, wondering if at least their occasional winks were still functioning as before.  She actually gave a full blush, then as if in afterthought, winked back while smiling again. 

My lord, she started to say softly, barely louder than a whisper, we're ready for winter, but the winter isn't here yet.  If there's anything you wish of me, ask and it's yours.  Then she started to eat, her eyes watching him, measuring his reaction. 

My lord?  He wanted so badly to ask, but knew that some of her society's foibles were based on ritual and routine.  Break that routine for any reason, and she would naturally feel insulted.  It was how she was raised.  How all of her people were raised.  Yes, she knew he wouldn't know better, as he was clueless about a lot of it, yet the pattern of her behavior that was set by his previous day's actions couldn't be ignored, or turned off for a verbal lesson.  His status with her changed somehow.  Now he needed to figure out how much for the better... or for the worse. 

Anything? he verified, keeping his tone light, infused with good intentions.  Well, as lightly as possible for a deep baritone voice.

Anything, she whispered back.  She stopped eating, pausing with her hand halfway to her mouth.  Those lavender eyes locked with his light blue gaze.

Tell me if you enjoyed your foot massage, he happily requested.  Again, her entire demeanor changed.  Her blush returned for an encore performance. 

You can do that to me anytime you like, my lord, she said, almost breathless.  But next time, you don't have to carry me over your shoulder, I promise.  Her expression softened.  Her whole body relaxed.

Ryan suppressed a chuckle, fought with his gut to keep from cracking a loud laugh.  No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't hide the fact he was trying not to lose it.  Myra noticed all right.  She started to giggle, which was all the hint his funny bone needed.  They both ended up expressing their shared humor again, and it felt good.  After they calmed down enough to finish breakfast, and while she was slow at getting back into the swing of their casual friendship, she always referred to him as her lord from there on out.

Two weeks later, winter arrived like a bulldozer out to bury the warmth forever.

There was no warning.  The air didn't grow cooler by the day or give a brisk announcement.  The wind simply had a sultry warm breath when it blew across his face one day, then it was all gone by morning.  The world was covered in white. 

The large cottage was icy until he pulled in some logs and lit them with the flint wand.  The device was designed to have the wand inserted into an iron hole under the pitch filled dry wood.  When he quickly pulled the rod out, the large sparks would go up through the grille to ignite the thin slivers that supported the logs.  It took only a few strokes to get the desired effect.  The small flames licked outwards from under the load of dry white pine.

Even though they dressed warm with a good fire going, Myra grew more silent, shivering unless she was very close to the fireplace.  When she cooked meals, she hovered over the wood stove longer than usual.  Winters were rough on her, Ryan noticed, and only after a few days of watching her silently suffer, did he decide to do something about it.

It was shortly after breakfast when he approached the fireplace with his thick blanket.  The roaring blaze filled the whole room with dancing yellows, greens and reds.  Myra stood way too close, as far as he was concerned.  He would have felt uncomfortable in such a wash of heat.  So he opened his blanket, holding two corners up high over his head.  Ryan stepped between the fireplace and her body while innocently saying, Excuse me, please.

Her eyes went wide!  He casually cut off her source of refreshing heat, quite on purpose.  He smiled back at her over his shoulder, letting her know that all was going well.  Her return stare was painfully blank.  He realized that she should have been angry with him, or at least asking what in the hell was going on.  Instead, Myra remained silent, as if rebuking him was now against whatever rules her people socially designed.  That did coincide with her new title for him whenever she wanted to talk, or get his attention. 

His fingers felt like they were about to be burned off when he finally turned towards Myra.  She didn't back up, but planted her feet, quite unsure of his motivations.  She figured it out rapidly when he wrapped the ultra warm blanket around them both, scooting her to the low couch against the wall, opposite of the fireplace. 

The lavender pools in her eyes was absorbing everything about him.  She didn't say one word as their shared body heat, with the help of the ultra warm blanket, kept them both comfortably warm until it was time to prepare dinner. 

Myra's desire for conversation was still light, much to his annoyance.  Soon after dinner was finished. she went back to standing close to the fireplace.  She thanked him on a regular basis, however, when he ventured outside to grab more wood for the fireplace.  If the slight nip in the air of the warmed room did this to her, he could only imagine how she would suffer by going outside into the snow. 

Later that night, as Ryan lay atop his own feather mattress, he was beginning to wish he could get back his previous status with her.  She was chatty and liked to laugh before, but now it seemed like she was more... formal.  That was it.  Everything was more serious.  Things needed to be perfect for him.  He got larger portions of food