High summer heat baked the white stones of the causeway, glittered off the canal. Along the weed-choked bank, the children ran, their laughter drifting through the warm, languid air. Atop a hill overlooking the water, in the pleasant shade of a spreading cinderwood, Cthilian found a more comfortable spot on the blanket. The distant tarn was stark against the sun-bleached backdrop of the Wall, its thousands of tiny, etched patterns transforming the grim fortress into a glittering, onyx jewel. If one looked very hard in the other direction, one could see the towers of l'Shylian, now the Terran Embassy.
"He's late," came a sleepy voice on the ground beside him. Cthilian looked away from the frolicking youngsters as Shieann sat up, yawning. Her gown lay in a rumpled heap beside her, a casualty of the sultry afternoon. Shining hair fell, straight and heavy over slim shoulders. Beneath the sheer fabric of her under-shift, he could see the swell of her belly, the fullness of her breasts. His wife slipped her arm through his, rested her chin on his shoulder.
"He's late," she repeated, "and I'm hot."
A sudden shriek from the canal made the Lady Mzara straighten anxiously, but Djan had the situation well in hand. The youth hoisted his little sister from the water and tossed her into the air until her wailing changed to squeals of delight. Shieann relaxed against him again.
The afternoon's tranquility was momentarily disturbed as a transport sped by overhead, heading north. Probably carrying materials for the Exiles who labored now to rebuild their ancient, ruined tarns. Another transport came after it and was quickly lost from sight. Cthilian sighed, reminded that this idyllic moment was all too brief. By tomorrow, he was to be in Sidhain to supervise the transfer of last of the Exiles' technology into the new Fastigium data base. There would be the usual arguments over what should be included and what proscribed. Some things, it seemed never changed. Fortunately, it was his last such trip until after the baby's birth -- he had been adamant about that and the Fastigium, reluctantly, had agreed.
"What are you thinking?" Shieann asked, smoothing an errant lock of hair away from his face. Cthilian grinned and slipped his arm around her, pulling her close. "Too hot," she complained, but made no move to draw away.
"I'm thinking that life could not possibly get any better," he said simply. "I'm thinking that I love you insanely."
"Good," she said, pleased. "I just wanted to make certain."
"As if you doubted me."
She laughed.
"Papa! Mama!" Little Palas' high, light voice followed a sudden breeze up from the water. "He's here! He's here!"
At the bottom of the hill, at the water's edge, a heat shimmer hovered improbably above the ankle-deep grass. A moment later, the blue box materialized on the bank, startling a flock of ducks into panicked, quacking flight. The door opened. A figure emerged, red-gold hair gleaming in the bright sunlight, and was promptly bowled over by two enthusiastic young people.
"Oh, dear," Shieann murmured. "The poor Doctor. I suppose we will have to go and rescue him."
"Probably," agreed Cthilian, watching as the Timelord swung his daughter onto velvet clad shoulders, turned and waved at them. The iri'dan waved back and stood up. He pulled his wife to her feet and, hand in hand, they went down to meet their guest.
The End