Zocite halted, hand on the handle as Malachite searched for
something to say to cover his chaotic, exhausted thoughts.

	"I appreciate the efforts you have made to ...*cover my mistakes,
keep me alive...he couldn't say that*...help me."

	He winced again both mentally and physically. *Stupid youma! Why
did you say that? Get up! Zocite will carry tales of your weakness...*

	He growled at himself as he tried one more time to get to his feet
as Zocite stood as if frozen, back straight and hand still on the handle.

	Zocite stood stunned, hurt fury warring with the desires of his heart.

	*Don't turn around. Just leave. He's only going to hurt you again
and you know it!* he told himself firmly, forcefully.

	His hand was pushing down on the handle when he heard the rustle of
movement, then the hissed cry of pain. His body turned by itself, his hand
coming off the handle.

	Malachite had managed to wobble to his feet, had reached out to the
worktable to try to steady himself as his vision dimmed, didn't realize it
was just out of reach. He went back to his knees hard as he overbalanced,
the jar forcing a cry out of him as he flung out his hands in front of him
and almost passed out from the pain as his shoulder and arm took the brunt
of his fall. A small tremor of fear went through him. He'd never been this
damaged before. This weak. If any of the youma found out, he was dead.
They'd descend on him like a pack of Earth hyena's and tear him to pieces.
This was what Beryl was looking for, to see if he was this weak and too
vain to flee to Mender. Yet he had fooled her with Zocites help. If he
could only get to his bed and sleep under the protection of his Wards.
Sleep was what he yearned for. He could not pass out here on the floor for
any to find. Zocite. Was he still here? Of course he wasn't. You've driven
him away, like you should.

	The arm that wrapped around his waist and carefully moved his arm
up to drape across slender shoulders startled him out of the daze he was
in. He opened his eyes, looked over to see Zocite next to him.

	"Malachite, Sir, I can't carry you. You're going to have to help me."

	Zocite? Beautiful Zocite? Why are you still here?

	"Sir, you need to try to stand up. I'll help you."

	Zocite was trying to lift him. He groaned but struggled to get his
feet under him as Zocite steadied him. He didn't remember how, but he was
sitting on his bed, Zocite's gentle hands guiding his arms carefully out of
the uniform top. Beautiful Zocite who was being so stupid in his adoration
of a High Youma. Malachite knew he should say something harsh, something to
drive him away but the words would not come as Zocite continued to undress
him, helped him settle back onto his pillows. Such gentle hands. Beautiful.
Why did he have to be so beautiful?

	*I have no desire for male flesh,* his mind reminded him even as he
sighed as Zocite's fingers whispered across the skin of his forehead to
brush back that lock of hair that always tried to fall into his eyes.

	*Why?* he wondered for the first time as Zocite's touch followed
him down into the healing depths of sleep.

	Zoe sat on the edge of the bed for a while, his heart beating fast
and his body aroused from just the simple task of getting Malachite
undressed, hands knotted in his lap to keep them from reaching out to
touch, just watching Malachite sleep. He didn't know what to think, tried
to ignore the soaring flutter of hope that had taken up residence in his
chest. Malachite's silent acceptance of his help, the turn of his head to
press his cheek against his palm when he had finally reached out to brush
that lock of hair away from his face had startled him. Malachite was asleep
when he had reached out to touch that silken hair, he was sure of it. Did
he dare hope that his Mentor held some feeling for him that he was hiding
behind that cold hard mask of the High Youma? He did, even as the youma
part of his mind told him he was being stupid. Youma did not know how to
love. He knew that was the Name for this thing that he felt for Malachite.
Why did he? What had gone wrong in his creation that he felt this thing
that none of the other youma could grasp, could understand?

	He sighed, felt his own exhaustion flood over him in a rush. He had
had no more than a few snatches of sleep in the past two days. He wanted a
bath, a change of clothes, something to eat and then to crawl into bed and
sleep beside Malachite. He smiled sadly. The bath, clothes and food were
something he could have. That last thing...well, that would never happen.
He sighed again as his erection twitched and demanded. He ignored it, hoped
that it would just go away. He was too tired. He'd re-enforce Malachite's
Wards of Protection around the bed then go to his room and get a change of
clothes, then come back and bathe and send an order to the kitchen. And get
someone to take a look at his back. It wasn't a priority though, the wounds
had stopped hurting a while ago. It took a lot of effort to form the Gate,
but form it he did, then stepped through into his own chambers.

	*What in Darkness?*

	There was someone laying on his bed. He crossed the room quickly,
angry that someone dared invade his sanctuary, eyes narrowed and glowing
with lambent light in the dimness.

	*Who was here?*

	The dim light caught a glimmer of deep red hair and outlined a
strong long male form relaxed with one arm up over his eyes as his eyes
adjusted.

	*Nephlyte? What was Nephlyte doing in his room? On his bed?*

	He stopped as that arm slid up with languid ease and Nephlyte
locked his green eyes on his own blue ones.

	"Ah, Zocite. I've been waiting for you," Nephlyte rumbled, a soft
cruel smile coming to his lips.

	Zoe held his ground. That was one of the things he had learned
early. You never gave ground. Especially not to a High Youma.

	"Nephlyte. May I ask what you're doing here?"

	Nephlyte chuckled as he sat up and swung his legs over the side of
the bed. This was the first time Zoe had ever seen him out of his uniform.
What he was wearing send a flicker of unease through him even as it made
him draw a breath of appreciation and he felt the hook of arousal. It was
basically two long pieces of dark shimmering fabric, one over each shoulder
held together in the middle with a wide black belt which brought the fabric
to hide crotch and buttocks. It was very erotic and he had a quick image of
Malachite in such a garb.

	"The Queen has assigned me to take on a part of your training that
Malachite has neglected," he smiled as he flowed off the bed and was in
front of him in two long strides.

	"What part?" Zoe was confused, his exhausted mind not connecting
the obvious.

	Nephlyte took his chin with hard fingers and tipped his face up.
His lips were hard and demanding against his own as the other hand reached
down to press against the hard length of his member through his pants.

	Zoe's eyes flew open in shock. No! Not with Nephlyte! He didn't
want Nephlyte! He brought up his hands, pushed hard against the broad chest
and forced Nephlyte a step back.

	"What are you doing?" he hissed.

	Nephlyte grinned as the fingers that had held his chin snaked
around to the back of his neck, tangling painfully with his long hair and
jerked him back against him. Again his mouth covered his own and that other
hand reached down to cup around his balls firmly.

	*NO!* Zoe panicked, shoved again as he brought his knee up,
intending to put Nephlyte into pain that would negate whatever madness had
taken him.

	Nephlyte caught that bent knee, swept it out from under him and
sent him crashing to the floor. He was reaching down for the front of his
uniform, intending to yank him back to his feet when the ball of power from
Zocite's hand hit him and knocked him back into the wall.

	Zoe rolled and was scrabbling to his feet, heading for the door, to
stunned and panicked to summon a Gate. The returning attack caught him
square in the back, slammed him forwards into the hard wood of the door. He
slumped to his knees. The next one hit him from the side, he felt ribs
creak in protest and sent him flying into the wardrobe. A tingle coursed
all over him. A Binding spell. No. He couldn't let Nephlyte hold him. He
cast against it as he was lifted from the floor, his arms forcefully
extended out to his sides as if crucified. Too late. His power turned on
him, arcing through his body. He shrieked as his body arched, then hung
quivering as Nephlyte limped over to him slowly, wiping the blood from the
corner of his mouth with the back of one hand.

	Nephlyte looked at the blood on the back of his hand as he narrowed
his eyes, hard as the emeralds they resembled then reached out and ran the
back of that hand gently across Zocite's cheek, leaving a streak.

	"You want to play rough? Fine with me, pretty little youma."

	Zoe felt tears sting his eyes, tried to hold them back. Tears of
fury, tears of pain, tears of fear. He tried to flinch as Nephlyte leaned
forwards, but the Binding kept him motionless, Nephlyte not touching him
with anything but his lips to kiss his forehead.

	"Tears, Zocite?" he whispered in a surprised tone as a little
shuddering sob escaped Zocite as he straightened. "High Youma don't cry."

	With that he backhanded him twice, once across each cheek, with a
closed fist. The only thing that kept Zocite upright was the Binding.
Nephlyte stepped back and smiled.

	"Nor do they love, Zocite."

	Zoe looked at him in shock as his face throbbed.

	"Oh, yes. I know what you think you feel for our Malachite. He
should have beaten this nonsense out of you weeks ago. Shown you that sex
is about domination, power. But he has that aversion to males. But I do
not," his smile was harsh and promised pain.

	Zoe hung, frightened and helpless as Nephlyte raised one finger,
moved it. Power followed to rip a tear through his uniform top, through the
shirt underneath and left a red welt of fire across his skin, wringing a
cry out of him.

	"Go ahead and scream, Zocite. I like it," Nephlyte smirked as he
gestured again.

	 Zoe saw the material over Nephlytes' crotch move out as his
tormentor grew excited. It terrified him.

	*Malachite! Please, help me!*

	He whimpered and bit his lower lip hard enough to draw blood,
determined not to cry out again as the power whipped over and over,
touching legs, belly, chest, shoulders until his uniform was cut into
pieces and floated to the floor around him leaving him quivering and naked
in the cold air covered with fine red welts.  Nephlyte turned his back on
him, walked toward the bed. Zocite floated behind, struggling against the
power that held him frozen in a living cross, struggled uselessly.

	Nephlyte stopped him a foot short of the front of the side of the
high bed, walked around behind him. Finger tips traced the hoof prints on
his back, making him twitch.

	"Ah, so you did get graced by Shadow-spawns hooves. You should have
someone look at those, Zocite. They're getting infected."

	"Stop it, Nephlyte. If you want me, let me go. I'll do whatever you
say," Zoe begged.

	"Ah, but you're the one who wanted to play rough, Zocite. And you
will do whatever I say."

	Nephlytes breath was hot against the back of Zocites neck as he
planted a soft kiss. Zoe felt the softness of the fabric and the warmth of
skin as Nephlyte stepped up close behind him, pressed his body against his
back. He felt Nephlytes erection, hard and hot push at his buttocks.

	"Please, Nephlyte!"

	He didn't want this. Not this way. Not with Nephlyte.

	Nephlyte didn't answer, but reached around to run his hands up and
down Zocite's body, starting at the shoulders, down over the chest,
pressing at the sensitive nipples hard with his thumbs as he passed, soft
across the belly, parting to avoid his genitals and went instead over the
slender hips, down through the silky hairs of his thighs then back up to
stop over the quivering muscles of his belly. Zocite's skin was soft,
softer than any female he'd ever lain with. Nephlyte liked it. He ran his
hands over it some more as the beautiful young youma quivered beneath his
fingers like a high strung horse.

	Nephlytes breathing became faster as he ran his lips along the back
of Zocite's shoulders as his hands reveled on the soft skin. Then he ran
his hands back down, bringing them together to close on the soft limp organ.

	He 'tsk'-ed in Zocites ear. "What, don't you like me Zocite?"

	Zoe didn't answer, focused on trying to keep his body from becoming
aroused as pain mixed with pleasure as Nephlyte's hands ran over his body.
Nephlyte might take him, but he wouldn't give him that satisfaction.

	Nephlyte chuckled as he ran his fingertips through the silken curls
that surrounded his penis, one hand going to cup his balls and press and
roll them together softly. He'd bring this beautiful one up and to release,
whether he wanted it or not.

	Zoe shuddered as the sensation rolled through him, sending little
tingles of pleasure to mix with the pain of the welts.

	*No. I won't.*

	He closed his eyes. *I won't.*

	Nephlytes other hand had gone to his organ, was teasing with soft
strokes, his thumb brushing over the sensitive tip, making him jerk like
he'd been hit with an electric shock.

	*NO!*

	He groaned as his organ came to life in Nephlytes hand.

	"That's my bo,." Nephlyte breathed in his ear as his fingers grew
rougher as Zocite's erection grew beneath his teasing.

	His hands closed around his scrotum, still pressing and rolling and
pulled it down and back as he made a sheath with his other hand and stroked
with a slow, maddening rhythm.

	"Yes, that's my boy," he chuckled as Zocite's body started to move
in what little ways it could to meet the rhythm of his hand.

	Zoe's breath came faster and faster as Nephlytes hand tormented
him. He had gone past the point of trying to keep his body dull, now he
wanted release from the passion that sang through his frame. Yet Nephlyte
wouldn't give it to him, slowed or stopped when he was on the verge of
orgasm. He didn't realize that Nephlyte had loosened the Binding so he
could move his hips, throw back his head to rest it against Nephlytes broad
chest. Again he pumped, again Nephlyte stopped, easing his grip to
maddening lightness.

	He moaned, a pleading sound. "Please."

	Nephlyte grinned. "I thought you didn't want it."

	Zoe pushed out his hips, trying to make contact with that
tormenting hand.

	"Please, Nephlyte. I can't stand it anymore."

	Nephlyte chuckled as his hand tightened on Zocites member, kept it
motionless as Zocite pumped in and out of the sheath of his fingers.
Finally, he came with a groan, sagged in the Binding and back against
Nephlyte.

	"Now, my turn," Nephlyte whispered.

	Before Zoe could react, the Binding was gone and he was on his face
on his bed, feet still on the floor, right arm wrenched back and pinned,
head pulled back by his long hair which Nephlyte had grabbed with the hand
that pinned his arm. He tried to wiggle free, over the bed, fell forwards
as Nephlytes fist cuffed the back of his head. Three more times he struck
him until his head rang and bright sparks danced in front of his eyes.

	He didn't have time to do beg, to prepare himself. Nephlyte's free
hand was pushing at his buttocks, then he felt the hard tip against his
opening, cried out in pain as Nephlyte rammed into him. This wasn't how it
was supposed to be! He groaned as Nephlyte moved, felt impaled by the huge
girth of this High Youma. Nephlyte moved slowly at first, Zocite hot and
tight and virginal around his member as he wiggled in the most erotic way,
trying to buck him out and off. Malachite didn't know what he was missing,
he thought as he stopped moving and let Zocite squirm, reveled in the
sensation, the forlorn sobs that escaped the young High Youma's throat.
Yes, this was wonderful! The sensations became to powerful to resist and he
grabbed Zocites left hip with his free hand and pounded into him, pushing
deep as his member contracted and shot his seed as he orgasmed.

	"There now," he murmured soothingly as he stroked Zocites trembling
back as he stayed sheathed in his flesh, "there now..."

	 Zocite lay limp underneath him, too exhausted, too wounded, too
far gone in shock to move anymore. Nephlyte considered one more round as
his erection re-hardened in Zocite's warmth, then decided that Zocite would
no longer be a usable partner this evening. He pulled out of him, wringing
another groan out of Zocite, sat next to him on the bed.

	"This is what sex is Zocite, beautiful youma. And you're too pretty
to waste. Get used to it."

	With that he leaned down and kissed Zocite on the cheek again, then
stood and Gated away, going to hunt a female to finish his love play,
leaving Zocite to crawl onto his bed, naked and shivering in the cold, body
and mind full of pain as he slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

	Malachite Gated into Zocite's room, stood with arms crossed and
eyes narrowed. He was angry that Zocite had ignored his summons. He had
woken foul tempered yet feeling much better, somewhat surprised that Zocite
hadn't been hovering. His temper had improved once he'd eaten and summoned
his pupil. He had changed the bandages on his arm and shoulder as he
waited,  and looked over the work that had piled up around his table. That
half it had been completed and was just waiting for his mark had astounded
him. Zocite had done well. Very well. But as he had waited, that
improvement had faded back into temper. So now he stood gazing at his
errant pupils back. Zocite, immaculate as always was trying to put the
silver clasp that he used to hold his hair back around the gathered
pony-tail in his other hand. Why were his hands shaking like that?

	"Zocite!" he snapped, demanding an explanation.

	"Sir, I'm sorry. I had a little trouble..." the clasp fell from his
fingers as his senses reeled again.

	Malachite's summons had woken him, brought him back into the
torment of his abused body. Darkness, he hurt so much! He had managed to
get dressed, tried to focus on the pain and away from the nightmare
memories of Nephlyte, yet they spun around in his head making him dizzy and
light-headed. He was frightened. Nephlyte had said he would come back. He
had no hope of keeping that High Youma away from him. He knew it. He had no
one to turn to. Malachite would only laugh or sneer, tell him that it was
his own fault.

	Malachite. He had almost let the tears come as his fantasy of
pleasure with the High Youma he loved was blasted away by the harsh reality
of youma ways. They threatened again as Malachite's hard voice rang out
behind him. He would not let his mentor see how hurt and damaged he was
from one night of sex. The fabric of his shirt and pants pressed
mercilessly against the welts that adorned his frame and his bruised ribs
stabbed with every breath. The hoof prints were radiating burning fire
across his back in throbbing waves even as he shuddered with the coldness
that had taken possession of his body.

	*Oh Darkness, I'm going to faint!*

	He reached out, tried to grab the bed post but missed. His
out-flung arm hit the bed, kept him from going flat on his face as his
knees buckled.

	Malachite growled as he watched Zocite go to his knees. What was
wrong with him? He had a busy day planned and he needed his pupil to run
the trivial errands for him.

	"Get up, Zocite. We're late enough as it is."

	"Yes, sir," Zocite's voice was barely audible and trembled as he
tried to push himself up.

	Malachite frowned as he watched Zocite try once more only to sink
back down and rest his forehead against the side of the bed. He moved with
furious steps to his students side, towered over him, hands on his hips.

	"Zocite! What is wrong with you?!"

	"Nothing, Sir. I'm sorry," Zoe mumbled back as he focused, willed
himself to his feet.

	Malachite stepped back as Zocite clung to the side of the bed, yet
got to his feet, his hair hanging forwards in a golden curtain before his
face.

	"Good. I need you to..." Zocite sank back to his knees before he
could finish.

	His hand went out without conscious thought to grab his shoulder as
he listed sideways towards the floor. Zocite flinched violently away, that
motion sending him sprawling in the other direction with a soft cry of
pain. That sound settled in Malachite's mind, snuck past the fury that was
holding power there. What was wrong with him? Was he sick? He went to one
knee beside Zocite, who had gotten one elbow under him and was trying to
gather himself up to roll all the way over to his hands and knees.
Malachite went to place his arm around his lower back, planning to help him
sit up as he told himself what he felt stirring in him was nothing more
than worry over Beryl's reaction to his letting her new High Youma become
unwell and annoyance over lost time.

	Zocite arched away from the pressure of his arm with a small shriek
and collapsed forwards to lay panting and shivering. That movement also
flipped the hair back from his face, letting Malachite get his first look
at the fierce bruises that marred his beautiful face.

	*What?* he hissed as his fingers went out to touch one, to confirm
it's reality.

	It was then that he felt the heat radiating off of him. Darkness,
he was burning like he was on fire. What had happened?

	"Zocite, what happened? Are you wounded?" he asked firmly, hoping
for a response.

	He got none, Zocite apparently to far gone in fever and pain to
hear him or if he heard, answer. He had to get the uniform jacket off and
see. He debated for a minute in trying to get Zocite upright and take it
off, then decided it would be too much work. He'd just cut the thing off.
He pulled the knife out of his boot, started to carefully cut through the
fabric at the bottom of the side seam.

	"NO!" Zocite's eyes snapped open, unfocused.

	"Please! I'll do what you want! Stop, please!" his voice was full
of panic as he tried to wiggle away, almost causing Malachite to cut him.

	"Zocite, be still!" he commanded with a growl.

	Zocite focused on him, terror and pain on his face and in his eyes.

	"Malachite? Don't let him, help me!" Zocite whispered, his shaking
hand reaching out to touch Malachite's arm.

	"I will, Zocite," Malachite answered harshly, just wanting this
youma to hold still.

	He had some glimmering now of what had happened, but a rough night
shouldn't have brought on this fever.

	"Now, be still. Where are you hurt?" he tried again as Zocite
obeyed his command and lay still even though violent shivers ran through
his body.

	*Everywhere,* was what Zocite wanted to answer as he tried not to
twitch or cry out as the knife blade brushed against welts, tried to keep
the room from fading out.

	His back. That's were the hurt was concentrated at the moment.

	"Back..." he managed to mumble before everything went gray again.

	Malachite knew he'd lost him again as that hand on his forearm
slide off to fall limp against the floor. Damn Nephlyte to the Light. It
had to be him, no other youma would dare such a thing. Yet even Nephlyte
wouldn't have hurt him this much, would he? Finally he got through the
seams, pulled the jacket away and lifted the shirt.

	*Oh, Dark Presence!*

	He was stunned for a moment at the damage on Zocite's back. Hoof
prints. Black and oozing with dark red lines of poisoning radiating out in
squiggles to cover most of the area between his flank and the top of his
shoulder blades, starting to reach around his sides.

	Zocite had taken the blow meant for him. Stupid youma! He cursed
him for his foolishness even as he felt pride, wonderment and something
else. Something that he didn't understand but it made him hurt that Zocite
was so hurt. And it made him fear. Not fear of Beryl's reaction to Zocite
being lost, but Zocite being lost to him. Zocite was hurt and badly. Beyond
his power to tend. He yanked the blanket off the bed, wrapped Zocite's
fever racked form in it carefully, then lifted him into his arms as gently
as possible, trying to avoid putting pressure on those awful wounds. Even
so, Zocite still cried out and twisted.

	"Hush, youma. Bear with the pain. I'm taking you Mender, now. It
will be over soon," he said it with an unknown softness.

	Zocite whimpered, but settled into his arms, limp except for those
racking chills. He Gated to his own chambers, placed Zocite on the bed on
his side as he went to one of the locked chests, took out a small fluted
bottle. He had stashed this cache of amber liquid away for just an occasion
like this. Mender was addicted to this wine. Zocite was awake again when he
went back to gather him up, those blue eyes glinting with fever.

	"Sir?" He sounded so young, so confused.

	"I'm taking you to Mender, Zocite. Put your arms around my neck, it
will help take the weight off your back," he instructed as he tucked the
bottle into the blanket over Zocite's stomach, then gathered him up.

	Zocite did as he had said, clung fiercely as he rested his head
against Malachites shoulder as Malachite summoned the Gate.

	He kicked the door to Mender's House hard, cursed as Zocite's arms
slid loose from around his neck and his breathing grew more labored and
uneven. He was like carrying a small blast furnace.

	"Mender!" he bellowed and kicked the door again.

	*Don't die, Zocite. I don't want you to die,* he whispered over and
over in his mind.

	Finally the gray youma opened the door, a stern frown on his face.

	"That temper will be the death of you yet, Malachite. Go away. All
the pools are full."

	*What?* "Wait, please!" he modified the snarl at the last second,
made it into a plea as Mender started to shut the door.

	Mender blinked at him, startled. Malachite, the Champion of the
Darkness, begging? He pushed the door back open, wanting to hear what this
High Youma had to say.

	"This High Youma," he held the bundled form out towards him, "needs
your help. Surely there is something you can do?"

	Mender wondered which one it was. From the shape and color of the
hair, he assumed it was Jadite. Now, what had Jadite gotten into, huummm?
Then he shook his head. He was too busy.

	"Take him to the Queen. She can do it faster and better than I if
she chooses to keep him. Besides, I have no place to put him," he added
with a much put upon sigh.

	"Mender, I've got Ambrosia to trade for his life," he threw out his
last hope.

	If Mender refused, he would take Zocite to Beryl, but he had little
hope that the Queen would mend such a fragile youma. She would take one
look into his soul to see if he was worth the bother and Malachite feared
that she would consider him a mistake to be erased. He had wondered what
had possessed her to make this creature in the first place ever since he
had first laid eyes on the delicate figure.

	Mender licked his lips. Ambrosia. He hadn't had a drop of that rare
stuff in thirty years. Worth at least a look.

	"Put him down. We'll see."

	Malachite went to his knees, laid Zocite on the ground at Mender's
feet. Mender moved the blanket aside with his over long fingers, squinted
at the wounds on his back, placed that crab-like hand over his chest and
cocked his head as if listening.

	"Close to dust, this one. But fixable. Better if I could put him in
a pool but won't have one open for at least two days. You'll have to tend
him, Malachite. I'll give you the medications and instructions and still
might go to dust. Worth that bottle of Ambrosia?" Mender asked with a
fanged smile.

	Malachite looked at the bruised face and the shivering body and had
a moment of disgust. He'd have to tend him? He didn't have time. Zocite
opened his eyes, saw Mender and hissed and struggled to push himself back
and away. His slight movement brought him up against Malachite's knees. He
flinched away from that contact.

	"Sorry, Sir," he murmured, eyes glassy as he turned his head so he
could see his Mentor's face.

	Malachite's moment of disgust fled under that adoration and the
trust that filled those blue eyes, leaving confusion and fear in it's wake.
Fear that Zocite might die. Fear of these strange reactions that where
making him act so foolishly.

	*I should kill him. He's dangerous to me!* The High Youma growled
to himself even as he heard himself say, "Yes. It's worth it."

	Mender nodded, pleased and surprised. My, Beryl was going to pitch
a fit when she found out her strongest High Youma was breaking his
programming. He giggled to himself as he wrapped the blanket back around
this newborn and started to lift him easily in his big hands. Zocite
struggled and shrieked as Mender lifted him, his eyes wild with terror as
his muddled brain registered that he was going into the House of Pain.
Registered that it was Mender and not Malachite that held him.

	"Keep this up, youma, and you'll burn yourself up!" Mender chirped
at him as he simply tightened his grip around the writhing youma.

	Malachite grabbed one of Zocite's flailing arms, captured that
hand. He had to get Zocite calmed down or he would use up the last of his
lifeforce.

	"Zocite! I'm right here. Now, be still or I'll leave," he
threatened, that being the only thing he knew how to do.

	Zocite's fingers closed around his own and he quit struggling.
Malachite wondered what he was doing, cursed himself for being a fool even
as he returned gentle pressure to those fingers as he matched his long
stride to Mender's own.