Ailchas slipped the skay into the cup with an uncharacteristic silence knowing intuitively his throw would turn Clear Sky, but he was loosing on purpose tonight and markered opposite with Forest Fire. He shook and emptied the cup on the table: all six skay showed blue side up.
“Bees, maybe. Hornets or wasps, assuredly. But butterflies?” Ailchas asked. “It’s impractical.”
“You equate speed with practicality. You should not,” Kimberelle said.
“No?” Ailchas gestured to her marker, “What’s yours?” Kimberelle revealed Forest Fire, the same as his. Ailchas sniffed. His wife was winning, but keeping the margin narrow. “You and I should not play this game.”
“Bees have no single mind and are therefore corruptable; wasps and their kind are nothing but single-minded and cannot be swayed. Butterflies may be indirect, but the are willing and capable. More important, they are discrete.”
“Fair enough. But still…”
Kimberelle stood up from the small table and crossed their suite to the hearth. She waved a trio of candles to flame and took a wooden box down from the mantle. Ailchas cleaned up the game and stayed seated.
“Quit being a bull and come over here. Please? The light is better.”
“I like you better in the dark.”
“Later.” When she say his frown, “Later, but soon. We need to do this other thing now.”
Ailchas stood but stalled to cinch the cap onto the skay cup, securing the pieces and markers inside. He pushed in the chairs and dusted some crumbs off the table. When he could find no more excuses not to join her he went over to her better light.