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Michael Daughton introduced himself and handed out the class syllabus, Claire found it almost difficult to concentrate on much more than the man standing in front of the class. But as he began the lecture she forgot about his amazing face and body and was swept up in the swirl of the new school year. She would not forget for long. That Friday, Claire found herself at her usual place, the small on-campus café, snuggled into a corner booth with a thick novel and a steamy, pungent mug of tea. She was engrossed with the plot, and barely noticed the shadow that spilled over the pages. She slowly glanced up, and as her eyes left the page they came in contact with a long, lean figure. She raised her face up to his, her emerald eyes meeting his deep sapphire ones. She cocked her head to the side, intrigued by the appearance of her teacher in the café. Before she could speak, he grinned and spoke first. ‘I just stopped in to get a cup and I saw you sitting there, curled up with that book. But she'd soon excused herself and Igwanda from their company on the walk back to the pavilion, pleading that the two of them needed time for a private talk about the matter Gagugakhing had put before them. Rather than rejoining the group on the meadow she and her husband had, by unspoken mutual agreement, turned obliquely through the undergrowth until they were at last by themselves. Only then did she give vent to her feelings."A familiar tale, is it not?" he said dourly."On Earth, sure, I used to wade through this crap all the time. 'They're wrong, we aren't, they're bastards, we're the good guys, we gotta fight, fight, fight for what's right, right, right, ' and on and on. I listened a lot, I said 'I see your point, ' all that shit, it's what mediation is. But here? I mean, they can think together but they just won't?" You seemed to accept that rather rapidly," he pointed out."I wasn't getting anywhere, and I wasn't going to," she said. "All I was doing was getting her even more.
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