From some carefully hidden place, his stereo system was quietly playing the Eighteenth Variation from Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini, Opus Forty-Three. Tegwen guessed it was a compact disc featuring Rachmaninov's works. She wanted to ask but was so apprehensive about killing the mood Steelbeak obviously went to such great lengths to create, that she figured such questions could wait until Christmas morning.

It seemed, however, that Tegwen's subconscious was quite content in ruining the mood on her behalf, and without her consent. While he was kissing her neck, the words came out of her bill before she could stop them. "You did something bad to someone I loved very much." She didn't even know what that meant.

Steelbeak leaned away from her, shocked that she would say anything like that. Especially then, of all moments. "What?"

"I -- I --" Tegwen's face flooded pink. "I don't know where that came from!"

She stood from his bed, retreating to the kitchen, letting him watch her go. It was cold outside the bedroom, awash with the heat of their bodies and however many candles he'd lit. Tegwen grabbed the box from the table and brought it back to him, standing in the doorway. "This is for you. I. . . I couldn't afford anything nice, so. . . I made this."

He most certainly wasn't looking at the box when she was standing there the way she was, but accepted the gift. "Don' worry about it. I was going ta get ya somet'in', too, but when dat money went missin' --"

She put a hand to his beak. "Please -- don't. It's. . ." Tegwen glanced at her clothing as it lay on his pillow. "It's fine you didn't get me anything."

"Really?" Steelbeak asked cautiously. "Dis isn't one'a dose cases where you don't really mean dat? Girls are notorious for playin' dat game."

Tegwen nodded. "I was -- " She smiled, forcing a laugh. "I was thinking about coming here with a bow on my head."

"Now dat woulda been a nice gift."

She smiled, patting the top of the gift box. "Open it, open it!"

With a slight hesitation, Steelbeak pulled the gift wrap from the box and opened it. Inside was a small pouch made of red and blue suede, that looked like fire meeting with water. It had a heavily beaded fringe full of red, blue, black and white Indian seed beads. He looked up at her, wide-eyed. "You made dis?"

Tegwen nodded. "Do you like it? I know it's not really a. . . guy's. . . gift, but. . ."

"You made dis." He repeated in awe. "Fer me?"

Again, she nodded.

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