The night returned, darker and more intense than the last. Outside, Hasani let out a low, protective rumble, a sound that would usually comfort Amamihe but now only served to remind her of the terrifying, massive MALE presence sharing her room.
Nguvu finished his final set of push-ups—a thousand repetitions—in the Western Courtyard. The shendyt loincloth he wore was soaked, and steam rose visibly from his obsidian black skin tone as he cooled down. His Blue Aura was an aggressive, satisfied hum.
He entered the master bedroom to find Amamihe standing near the bed, a look of grim determination on her face.
"I have addressed the Article II situation," she announced, holding a massive, ornately embroidered cushion.
The bed had been transformed. She had commandeered every spare cushion, pillow, and bolster in the estate and stacked them down the center of the mattress. It was a barricade, a miniature mountain range running from the headboard to the footboard. The Wall, as it should be called, was nearly two feet high.
"We cannot just share it, Nguvu," Amamihe explained, gesturing with exasperation. "We are two high-Ase individuals with a diplomatic mandate hanging over us. We need a physical, visible barrier to establish our respective territories and dampen any unintentional contact."
Nguvu stared at the wall. It looked ridiculous. It looked exactly like the metaphor for their entire marriage.
"Amamihe," Nguvu said, his deep voice carrying a hint of bewilderment. "I am a Warrior. You are a Cultivator. We are not made of fragile glass. This is unnecessary."
"It is necessary for my peace of mind!" she retorted, tossing the cushion onto the top of the pile, causing the whole structure to list slightly toward his side. "I am not sleeping next to a human furnace with the muscular mass of a god and constantly wondering if one of us is going to accidentally initiate State-mandated procreation! This is the DMZ. Do not cross it."
Nguvu slowly walked to his side of the barrier. He placed his hand on the cushion closest to him. It was soft. He didn't like it.
He liked things that resisted.
He sighed, his Blue Aura dimming to a resentful flicker. "Very well. But know that if assassins breach the compound, this 'DMZ' will make my response time exactly one second slower."
Amamihe settled onto her side, pulling the sheet up to her chin. "I'll risk it."
Nguvu lay down, sinking the mattress slightly deeper under his weight. His shoulder was pressed against the soft wall. He could feel the warmth radiating from the other side, even through the pillows. He could smell her hair—today was lemongrass and night-blooming jasmine.
—'This is the stupidest thing I have ever seen. Why not just sleep in separate houses? Humans overcomplicate everything.'—
Imani, the Sand Cat, suddenly appeared on the top of the pillow wall, surveying Nguvu with supreme judgment. She yawned, then curled up directly on the peak of the barrier, placing herself exactly halfway between them.
"Imani!" Amamihe scolded. "That's the border!"
—'I am the mediator. I secure the perimeter. Sleep.'— Imani flicked her tail in Amamihe's direction.
Nguvu closed his eyes, his immense body tense. He was now separated from his wife by 24 inches of mattress, a two-foot wall of pillows, and a small, hyper-judgmental feline.
He lay there for two hours, unable to relax. The tension was palpable, a sticky Orange Huenergy pressing in from all sides, mixing with his own frustrated Blue and Amamihe's nervous Indigo.
Finally, Nguvu couldn't take it. He was a creature of action. The sheer effort of lying still was harder than fighting a giant cryptid.
He sat up. Amamihe jolted awake.
"What is it? Assassins?" she whispered, her brown eyes wide.
"No," Nguvu growled, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He reached down and yanked a sword—a massive, seven-foot Konda—from its scabbard leaning against the wall. It was an Aura-construct made of Blue-tinged Ase, shimmering and terrifying.
"I need to train," he declared. "I cannot maintain stasis. I will be in the Western Courtyard until dawn."
He walked out, the great sword strapped to his back.
Amamihe watched him go. She looked at the abandoned pillow fort, then at Imani sleeping peacefully on the border.
"Two Pillars, One Bed," she whispered to the cat. "And neither can stay in it."