The specific, dense-jiggle quality of giantess tribe proportions receiving an impact — both of them, forward and settling, the weight of her chest moving with the momentum and coming to rest — and she was on her back looking at the ceiling with her hair around her and her heart somewhere in the vicinity of her throat.
He was standing at the foot of the bed.
Undoing his robe.
She sat up.
"'—Wait—'" Both hands forward, the specific, please-stop, both-palms-out quality of a girl who has just been thrown onto a bed by an immortal. "'—I do not — I only — I was just guiding you — please—'"
"'—Do you really think,'" he said, the robe coming off his shoulders with the specific, unhurried quality of every movement he made, "'—anything can be given for free?'"
She stared at him.
"'—The herb,'" he said. "'—The breakthrough. You thought that was a gift.'"
Her breath caught.
"'—I — you said — you didn't say—'"
"'—I never said it was free,'" he said. "'—I said eat it. You ate it.'"
