Ventus by Karl Schroeder

Karl Schroeder / Ventus / Page 253
wasn’t an ordinary person--but she had always assumed the
Winds were better than people. Armiger, strange morph that
he was, was worse much of the time.
Men, after all, were usually wrapped up in their own
schemes, and thought about the things that mattered rarely if at
all. She was used to having to prod them into remembering the
basic duties of life. Armiger, though! On the day she took him
in, Megan had taken on a responsibility and burden greater
than any woman should have to bear. For it quickly became
evident that Armiger was not really a man. He was a spirit,
perhaps a Wind, one of the creators of the world.
Many times during the week-long ride here, he had gone
from seeming abstracted to being totally oblivious to the world.
He had leaned in the saddle, eyes blank, slack-jawed. This sort
of thing terrified her. He forgot to eat, forgot to let the horses
rest. She had to do his thinking for him.
Megan had come to understand that Armiger needed his
body as an anchor. Without it, his soul would drift away into
some abstraction of rage. She had to remind him of it
constantly, be his nurse, cook, mother, and concubine. When
he rediscovered himself--literally coming to his senses--he
displayed tremendous passion and knowledge, uncanny
perception and even, yes, sensitivity. He was a wonderful
lover, the act never became routine for him. And he was
grateful to her for her devotion.
But, oh, the work she had to do to get to that point! It
was almost too much to bear.
She had thrown her lot in with him, and this was still
infinitely better than the loneliness of rural widowhood she had
left. Fuming about him was an improvement over brooding
about herself or the past. He was coming to appreciate her, and
the vast walls of his self-possession were starting to crumble.