Arris prowls the length of each meridian and peruses every nexus, her travels leaving a soft torrent of honey running in her wake. ‘And it’s all mine you say?’ I nod softly at the pillow, a mere depression and relent leaving barely a dent. ‘All mine,’ she says, and measures the ley with eager precision, deft fingertips plotting each pressure point and planting a tender flag. ‘I still can’t believe it,’ she says, though doesn’t pause her territorial assertions. I sigh and close my eyes. It’s yours, I say, now and forever. I never knew its worth before you.