Sighing, I do as I am instructed.With my back to you and my eyes closed, I wait to feel the fabric against my face. I feel the seat shift as you scoot...closer. I smell the soft hint of vanilla and lavender before the soft, supple silk fabric settles over my eyes. Even with my eyes close I sense the deepening darkness once the blindfold is in place. Your fingers gently trail through my hair, skimming the base of my neck and caressing my shoulders. I stiffen at your touch but try to stop the moan. "Indeed, John. A lot of skill has gone into it, which suggests that the incident with the Huldran was simply a diversion or perhaps an attempt to see off mundane intruders," Morgana mused.I had to admit I'd been worried about Morgana since the incident at her Manse. Her normal poise was well off and I suspected that like a burglary victim, the breach of her privacy had affected her deeply. Still at least she was coming out of it a little and taking more note of her surroundings ... at least I. Why? The amazing amount of anti-American bigotry spewed forth by Canadians of all colors amazed me. This kind of fierce anti-American rhetoric is something I would expect from a Russian veteran from the Cold War days, or a radical Islamist. Not one of our supposed allies and neighbours, the Canadians. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Canadians dislike everyone who isn’t Canadian, and they dislike us Americans for our strength, diversity, power, resilience, size, beauty, individualism,. "So, what's next?" She asked."I dunno, it's barely 4 o clock, we could hit up the thrift shops, butI'm guessing that's not wear you do most of your shopping." She was in agoth-raver number, the kind that gets custom ordered."No, but I'm guessing you do. Hipster!" she said playfully, winking atme."I am not! I'm...Indie. I'm also poor." I pouted jokingly.She smiled, took my hand, and dragged me into an open subspace door thathad just opened.We ran through a black-and-white desert, with her.