STEP NINE

Small Tokens of Your Affection Are Always Welcome

Teddy interrupted them and there could be no more confessions that evening.

Faith and her cousin hailed a public conveyance to get home. Faith spent the drive vibrating with repressed wanting, and shared fears, and nerves too tight. She thought, slightly hysterically, that Channing might pluck out a tune upon her. He could once have been a musician, before he became a werewolf. All those with excess soul had gifts that must be given up with the bite; what had Channing sacrificed? Too much, she suspected.

Faith felt purged and free, empty and weak, and terribly needy. She was so many things all at once, it was a wonder she did not collapse.

Fortunately, Teddy somehow understood. She sat close and clutched one of Faith’s hands in both of hers. Silent for a change. Faith wondered at that; in all their months of intimacy, she had never known Teddy to be silent for more than five minutes together.

At home, Teddy shepherded Faith upstairs and saw her delivered safely into Minnie’s worried care.

“I will explain everything to Mums,” said Teddy, closing the door behind her.

Faith wondered what that meant, exactly, and what form such an explanation might take.

“Oh, miss,” said Minnie, “you look awful.”

Faith gave a dry chuckle.

Minnie also looked somewhat shaken. She moved awkwardly and her cap was pulled full forward over her head, so it shadowed her eyes. Maybe she, too, had been crying, or was exhausted and overworked.

“I’m fine, Minnie dear, a little upset by some things that happened tonight and definitely ready for bed. Are you all right?”

“Yes, miss, just tired.” Minnie began to help her with her dress. Her hands shook a little.

“Minnie, are you sure? You can tell me anything, you know. I won’t judge. And I’ll help you in any way I can.”

“I shouldn’t, miss, not when you’ve had a bad night yourself, but I’m sorry, I have to tell you something.”

Faith suddenly remembered before the gallery, what her mother had said. “I should warn you. Mother is looking for you. She’s annoyed about you working for a seamstress. I don’t know why. She might come to see you tomorrow. Unfortunately.”

“I know, miss. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

“Never say she tracked you down already? She must have gone straight to yell at you after yelling at me. I’m so sorry.”

“No miss, not her. Your father found me.”

Faith was utterly flummoxed. “Papa? But why? You mean he came to see you, at the modiste? What…”

It made no sense. Papa had never set foot in a modiste’s in his life. He didn’t involve himself in the domestic running of a household. What on earth was he doing, tracking down Faith’s maid in her secondary place of business?

“Please, miss. Just let me speak. If I get it all out now, then maybe I’ll actually say it all. But if you interrupt me…”

Faith nodded, eyes wide, mouth firmly closed. An evening for confessions, I see.

Faith had her nightgown on now and was sitting on the edge of the bed while Minnie paced in front of her in nervous agitation.

“Miss, did you know my father was killed by vampires?”

Faith shook her head.

“During the war. He fought for the Union and didn’t make it back. They found him, drained and punctured. It forced me into service. Before he died, he earned enough for me not to have to work. But after…”

Faith nodded again. Ashamed she had never asked about her maid’s circumstances. She knew some of the generalities but not the particulars.

Minnie took a deep breath and blurted, “Your mother came to me with a task. She gave me something and asked me to deliver it, well, them, to a business associate of your father’s here in London. Anti-vampire, she said.”

Minnie lifted her sewing kit then. Faith knew it well; she herself had given it to Minnie several years earlier. It was one of the hatbox-shaped models, designed for high-end seamstresses. It had special extra-sharp scissors in varying sizes, a fancy iron (one of the self-steaming models), and all the best micro-gadgets to come out of the European domestic service inventors over the past decade. It hadn’t come cheap, but Faith knew how much Minnie loved to sew.

“Your tool kit?”

Minnie nodded and set it on the floor to pop it open, lifting out the accordion shelves. It was constructed like a sewing basket but modified heavily to specific technologies. It had lots of nooks and crannies to stash both gadgets and supplies and was Minnie’s pride and joy. It also had a hidden compartment that only Minnie, Faith, and the original maker knew about.

Minnie popped open this secret drawer and pulled out what looked to be two or three dozen tiny bobbins, each one loosely wound with yarn.

Minnie handed one to Faith to look over.

The yarn was clearly a disguise, because the small bobbin was far too heavy to be a real bobbin, and not shaped at all correctly upon close inspection. Faith pulled off the yarn. Underneath, it looked like an elaborately filigreed version of…

“A bullet?”

Minnie nodded. “Sundowner bullets.”

Faith gasped and dropped the deadly little thing onto the bed. “Oh, Minnie.”

Faith stared down at it, innocently resting on her coverlet, horrified. There before her was the only thing that could reliably kill a vampire or a werewolf. It was the standard brass color of most bullets (not that Faith had a great of familiarity with projectiles), only this one was pretty and jewelry-like – caged, patterned, and cored with threads of grey and shards of blond. Incredibly expensive and complicated to produce, a Sundowner bullet incorporated both silver and rowan wood, yet could be loaded and shot like any other .36 caliber. Sundowner armaments were strictly patented and production was tightly controlled, even more so in England than in the Union. In fact, only a few people in all of Britain were authorized to use them, let alone make them, and most of those were supernaturals themselves.

Faith suddenly knew. “Major Channing was looking for these, wasn’t he, when he pulled aside my specimen case? I thought it was his fierceness that scared you, but you had these with you all along. That’s why you were so nervous.”

Minnie nodded. “Yes, miss. Lucky for me, the higher the rank, the more likely they are to forget servants are people, not property or furniture.”

Faith winced. “I take it you failed to deliver to Papa’s associate. Why?”

Minnie grimaced. “I thought I could sell ’em myself. Turn a tidy profit, use the money to emigrate to Europe. I didn’t know how hard it is to fence bullets in a foreign land, especially when one is only a lady’s maid.”

“Did you take the work with Mrs Honeybun in an effort to pursue this illicit activity?”

Minnie hung her head. “Yes, miss, in part. I mean, I do like it. The money from the sale would have gone into me starting my own dress shop. But it’s too hard for someone like me to sell something like this. I’ve never done it before, miss. Please believe me.”

Faith could understand wanting independence. She could understand hating the supernatural set. She didn’t blame Minnie.

“We’re all sinners, Minnie, in some form or another. But why confess now?”

“Your father wants his bullets back. And he didn’t ask nicely.”

Minnie pushed at her cap, revealing what she’d been hiding under it. One of her eyes was dark and swollen. She’d clearly been beaten.

“Mrs Honeybun yelled for lawmen and he ran. But he’ll return.”

Faith nodded. “You’re safe here tonight, I think. The Iftercasts have taken against my parents, thank heavens. I don’t know what we did to deserve the care of such nice people, Minnie.”

“True, miss.”

Faith patted the counterpane, and Minnie put the bullets away and came to sit next to her. Still trembling a little.

“And tomorrow, miss, what then?”

“Did you hear that I’m engaged, Minnie?”

“No, miss. Felicitations?”

“To a werewolf.”

“The grumpy one from after we landed, who you yelled at?”

“Yes, Minnie, that’s him.”

Minnie gave a small smile that might have been approval. “Very good, miss.”

Faith said, “Here’s what I think we should do…”

Channing believed that Biffy would come to talk to him about his hasty choices, but it was Lyall who found him.

Channing was in the library of Falmouth House, his favorite haunt when he must be at home. Which wasn’t often but, he supposed, with a wife, might become more frequent in the future. He’d claimed one of the small tables for his desk, and most of the rest of the pack left him be. Children were not allowed in the library. Not until they could actually read.

He was examining a set of shelves in the brightest corner of the room. Or what would be the brightest corner, with the curtains open and the sun above the horizon.

The shelves were sparsely populated with only the cheapest of volumes. Book spines were too likely to fade on these particular shelves, since the staff had orders to open all the downstairs windows in the summertime and to draw the curtains year ’round. Just because werewolves could only be awake at night did not mean they allowed a gloomy, cheerless, stuffy habitat like that of the vampires.

After long consideration, Channing began removing those few books that were on the shelves and rehoming them elsewhere in the library.

The London Pack didn’t boast a particularly vast book collection. In fact, it might be called embarrassingly petite. Channing thought that he ought to put a concerted effort into improving it. It had dwindled considerably since he joined the pack. Most of the political, historical, and technical manuals had migrated to BUR over the last half century. A great many books had been abandoned by the pack in the library at Woolsey Castle when they’d been forced to relocate to London. They were now the property of the resident vampires. Once a hive got their fangs into something, it was easier to buy another than demand it back.

“What are you doing, Channing? Cataloging?” Professor Lyall came into the room.

“Oh, it’s you. No, reorganizing.”

Lyall watched him for a moment. “You have plans for those now-empty shelves?”

“I do.” Channing was churlish. “I trust you don’t object, Beta?”

“Depends on the plans.”

Channing did not answer the unasked question. “Lyall, what do you want?”

“I understand you have sealed the deal with Miss Wigglesworth.”

“Faith. Yes. You’ve come to put me off?”

“Certainly not. Biffy approves. You know the rest of the pack all like her very much. Those who have met her, at least. I think she’ll fit in well here. And we will, of course, look after her should you run away.”

“You think that likely, do you?”

“The odds favor it.”

“You haven’t much faith in me.”

“Channing, I’ve known you for a hundred years, give or take a decade. You’ve never kept a woman for more than a few hours, let alone the span of a mortal lifetime. Frankly, I do not know what to expect. Up until this moment, you were nothing if not predictable in your loneliness.”

“She needs us rather badly.”

“Yes, I know. It does not have to be you who marries her.”

“Yes, it does.” Channing’s lip curled and he bared his teeth.

Lyall rolled his eyes at this display of possessiveness. “You’re sure you’re good enough for her?”

“Most assuredly not. But she seems to think so, and I want to try for her sake.”

Lyall gave a tight little sigh. “Channing, you must tell her about Odette.”

“I know.”

“And Isolde.”

“Don’t say that name.”

Lyall stood before him then, stopping him from pacing and fiddling with books and shelves.

Channing nearly walked right into him.

Lyall didn’t flinch – small, sandy-haired, self-effacing and urbane, infinitely powerful. A great deal stronger than Channing in every way. His enemy, his friend, his stabilization over the decades. There was so much time shared between them that they had become two thirds of a whole. Two thirds unchanging over the course of three Alphas now.

Channing remembered his howler training from when he’d first been metamorphosed. He thought on it often. The balance of the pack, the rule of three. Alpha for the head, evolving, shifting, holding too many tethers, burning brighter than the rest of the pack until he snuffed himself out in madness. Beta for the heart, beating a steady rhythm of care, love, resilience, ever steadfast. Gamma for the strength in arms, the warrior, the challenger, the weapon, to remind the pack of what they really were – hunters, trackers, fighters. To remind them to survive first.

Lyall stepped close, placed his hands to either side of Channing’s face, and breathed with him. Beta calm. Balance and focus. Lyall – my opposite in all things. What the Beta gives to the pack, the Gamma takes away. Challenge to support, fight to acceptance, peace for a time, until challenge comes again. The cycle of the wolf.

“Channing.” His Beta’s voice was mellow. “If she is in love with you, and I think she is – although you can’t have made it easy for her, poor little thing – then she deserves to know all of you.”

Channing could not deny this. Faith had spread herself raw and tenderized before him this very evening, cut herself open like fresh meat. He had craved her before he knew all her story, and now? Now he hungered for her, ravenous, and it was just possible he loved her a little. Even a lot. Which was truly terrifying.

“If you want to keep her for yourself – and I think you need to keep her – she has a right to know all of it.”

The next day, during early evening visiting hours, no one was surprised to see Mrs Iftercast, Miss Iftercast, and Miss Wigglesworth call upon the werewolves of Falmouth House. Or, to be precise, since the sun was not yet down, they were visiting the daylight support staff and clavigers of Falmouth House.

Everyone had heard the wildly romantic and mildly horrific story of the gallery the night before. More important, it was now understood and officially reported that Miss Wigglesworth had netted herself a werewolf. The fact that it was Major Channing was a surprise only to those who had not been watching his deranged courtship of her over the past few months.

Those who had, nodded wisely and said that while it might have looked peculiar from the outside, the major was an old-fashioned type, and perhaps it was a werewolf courting ritual of some seventy years gone. The very old (the howlers, the record-keepers, and the vampires) wondered about Major Channing’s first wife. But they did not say anything, because they were also old enough to know when to hold their tongues.

The fact that little Miss Wigglesworth brought her maid along with her to call at Falmouth House was thought a trifle odd. Suggestions were made that this was, most likely, an American custom. Others thought perhaps she intended to inspect the household and the running thereof, and that the maid would provide assistance in the matter of downstairs staff. Miss Wigglesworth would be the first proper wife to enter the London Pack since Lady Maccon. It was expected that she would take over the running of day-to-day concerns (or night-to-night, as it were). Of course, she would wish to visit during daylight hours if she wanted to meet the children and see the clavigers.

Faith and Minnie hid in the safety of the pack house until after sunset.

Whether her parents would try to get ahold of either of them was a moot point. Falmouth House did not open its doors to just anyone, visiting hours or not. After all, during the daytime, the pack had no one high enough ranked awake to receive. Also, in England it was not done, as a general rule, to call upon werewolves; one waited for them to call upon you.

Faith and Teddy had a very pleasant time of it. They played with the two children, gossiped with the clavigers (a cheerful, rowdy bunch who nevertheless tried to put on a few airs and graces in the presence of ladies). Faith had her work cut out for her with them – actors and opera singers and such. She enjoyed the challenge. Mrs Iftercast knitted and watched them all indulgently (no doubt imagining her own future grandchildren) while Minnie paced and tried not to look nervous.

The children were sweet. Robbie was a dear little fellow with a perpetual smile. He sat on Teddy’s lap, cooing and drooling in the manner of most small infants. Occasionally, he emitted a garbled word or two. Gracie played on the floor with Mrs Whybrew. Mrs Whybrew was a frank, chatty female whom Faith instantly liked. She seemed to have developed a certain adaptive pattern of habits, or possibly pseudo-supernatural abilities, being the only female in the household. Well, her and Gracie. Faith hoped they could be friends; they would likely need to form an alliance.

An hour or so after sunset, as was right and proper, Lord Falmouth descended the staircase and entered his drawing room with both hands extended in welcome.

“Miss Wigglesworth, delighted to find you here!” Biffy drew her forwards to bestow a kiss upon either cheek in a manner that young people adopted after visiting Europe.

Very modern, thought Faith, pleased by the familial intimacy.

“I cannot tell you how happy I am to officially welcome you to my home as a soon-to-be pack member. Things couldn’t have turned out better. Really, they couldn’t. I am so very pleased.”

Faith blushed and wanted to hug him but thought maybe that was taking things too far. We might get there eventually, she hoped. The werewolves seemed a physically affectionate lot. Always bumping into each other and throwing arms about shoulders.

Biffy grinned. “Have you come to inspect the place? I assure you Lyall runs a tight ship. Although he’ll be delighted to shunt some of the household burdens onto you. He is eager to resume the full scope of his former duties at BUR. Were you aware that he was once an investigator with them?”

Faith shook her had. “I thought Major Channing…”

“Ah, no, Channing took over from Lord Maccon. Lyall held the secondary position, but he has been away these twenty years and his post has remained vacant. The two of them have already departed for Fleet Street, as a matter of fact. First thing this evening out the back of the house. Didn’t smell you here, I’m afraid. Terrible hurry. Something to do with Channing’s current case. It’s giving him some stick. Lyall has an excellent nose, you know?”

Minnie gave a little squeak.

Biffy’s attention shifted to her. “And who have we here?”

“This is my maid, Minnie. I’m sorry to say we need to speak to Major Channing right away.”

“Ah, the eager bride.”

Faith tried to give Biffy a significant look that neither Teddy nor Mrs Iftercast could see. “It is a matter of urgent business. Very particular business.”

Biffy looked impressed. “Oh, is it, indeed? My, but you are full of surprises, lovely Faith. Urgent, you say? Well, if you will allow some of the other pack to entertain you, I’ll go fetch him back myself. I could use a run. It’s getting on towards full moon, we all get a little restless about this time of the month. But we will tell you all about that sort of thing later. Don’t want to keep you waiting.”

Biffy was clearly eager to hear her information but guessed that she’d speak only to Channing.

He bowed himself out of the drawing room. As if this were some sort of signal, Mr Quinn, Mr Ditmarsh, and Mr Hemming came in. Quinn and Hemming clearly wanted some time with the pack’s children before they were put to bed.

Quinn lifted Robbie up out of Teddy’s lap and swung him high. The boy squealed in delight.

“How’s my little man?” He buried his face in Robbie’s round tummy and made a steam engine noise.

Robbie shrieked in laughter.

Hemming scooped up Gracie and took her on a dirigible float, as he called it. This involved Gracie lying splayed on his stretched-out arms while he bobbed about the room, making a whooshing noise.

Mrs Whybrew said to Faith, “Aren’t they ridiculous?”

Faith said, “I think it’s adorable.”

Mr Ditmarsh came to stand next to them, shaking his head. “Big, fearsome werewolf brutes indeed. Should this get out, the pack’s reputation would be in ruins.”

Faith and Teddy both grinned.

Mr Ditmarsh looked at them in all seriousness. “Miss Wigglesworth, Miss Iftercast, we depend upon you not to breathe a word of this to anyone.”

Teddy and Faith exchanged amused nods.

“We will take it to the grave,” vowed Faith.

Teddy giggled as Hemming and Gracie bobbed by her.

Mrs Whybrew rolled her eyes. “Oh, now, boys! Don’t you go an’ rile them up so afore bed. Get along now, take the ladies away and feed them. Leave me to my business, do!”

At the nanny’s insistence, the gentlemen put the babies down and filed out, leading Faith and her cousins into the dining room.

There, Faith and the Iftercasts sipped tea and nibbled bread-and-butter sandwiches while the werewolves, and those few clavigers still around, ate vast quantities of roast mutton and chopped liver on toast and tried not to be too bawdy, although it was clearly a trial for them.

Faith was in heaven. It was fun. They were fun.

Minnie stayed with the children in the guise of helping put them to bed. Faith hoped that her keeping busy would put her mind at ease. It wasn’t entirely effective; Minnie eventually slipped into the dining hall to stand in one corner, clutching her sewing tool kit and watching the raucous werewolves with wide, fearful eyes.

Teddy stretched over at one point to grab the butter, almost across Mr Zev, who was leaning far back in his chair in order to throw a roll at Mr Bluebutton for being “that much more of a pompous twig than usual.” Teddy’s own breach of etiquette was wholly disregarded (except by her mother, who glared and hissed, “Theodora, resume your proper seat this instant!”).

Another bun flew across the table at Zev and missed Teddy only because she lurched aside to hiss at Faith, “Do you think this is what goes on at a gentlemen’s club? Oh, would you look at Mums! She doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I guess they were very much on their best behavior when we were all here for dinner before.”

Faith swallowed down a grin. “Either that or the absence of the three top-ranking wolves leaves a vacancy in proper conduct.”

“Oh, do you think? Of course. That is possible.”

Mr Ditmarsh gave them a wink.

Oops, thought Faith, supernatural hearing, I forgot.

“Sadly, ladies, we are always like this. Lyall threatened us with turnips for a week if we didn’t behave when you first dined with us.”

“We hate turnips.” Hemming grabbed the next flying roll right out of the air and took a huge bite out of it.

“To a man,” added Quinn.

“To a wolf, shouldn’t it be?” wondered Faith.

At which juncture the door to the dining room burst open, although from where Faith was sitting, she couldn’t see anything come through it.

Then Minnie screamed as if she were being murdered.

Faith saw his tail first, white and fluffy; it swayed back and forth like a banner. Then a massive wolf trotted around the table and stalked directly towards her.

She barely noticed there were two other wolves behind him, both smaller, one dark, one light.

But this wolf was magnificent – pure white, enormous but lean, a true predator. His eyes were icy blue and his pink tongue lolled out one side of his mouth, panting. He must have run very fast to get back to her so quickly.

He trotted to Faith and without pause placed his saucer-sized front paws, most likely dirty from running the streets of London, onto the side of her chair and stood up.

He leaned forward and pressed his head into her neck and huffed at her.

Which was when Faith unfroze. It was not that she’d been afraid, only that she had prey instincts exactly like any other human. Here was a wolf, hunter, and if Mr Darwin was to be believed, somewhere inside her, way back, was a monkey, small and afraid. All she had been able to think, for those first few moments, was that she was sitting in the dining room and a wolf was charging at her. But now she realized who that wolf was.

“Good evening, Channing.” A new instinct kicked in, that of beloved, and Faith twisted in her chair to bury both her hands in his thick fur. It managed to be both soft and coarse at the same time, and it was very warm and lush.

“You got here quickly. Did you hear that I brought you a present? A sort of engagement gift.” She didn’t know if he could understand her when he was a wolf. He’d mentioned something once about not being entirely himself when he was in his shifted form. But he must have some level of intelligence, for he clearly recognized her.

She pushed back from the table and stood. He pressed against her side, almost herding her, separating her from the rest of the men in the room.

She allowed it, resting her hand on his head as he led her through and away from the others into the hallway.

A squeak of horror gave her pause.

Minnie had followed them, barely breathing, almost petrified with fear. It was one thing to know that werewolves existed; it was another to be confronted by incontrovertible proof.

“Join us, please, Minnie.” Faith tried to sound encouraging.

The wolf growled.

“Now, now, Channing, Minnie is instrumental in this. She has your gift.”

Minnie whispered. “Please, miss, don’t make me.”

Faith closed her eyes briefly and sighed. “Give them to me, then.”

Minnie delved into her tool kit and handed over the velvet drawstring bag in which they’d stashed the bullets. Faith had to lean forward and grab them from her maid, as the wolf, teeth bared, stood between them.

Minnie turned and fled the house.

Faith wondered if she would ever see her again.

Channing nudged her towards the back of the hall, stopping expectantly in front of a large and imposing door.

“In here?”

He chuffed at her. He really was a particularly fine-looking wolf, with that lovely white coat and those beautiful blue eyes. Faith didn’t find him fearsome in the least, now that she was accustomed to the idea.

A little hesitant – after all, this was not her house, not yet, at any road – Faith opened the door and pushed into the room.

It appeared that this was the pack library. Faith instantly adored it. The room was generously proportioned with bookshelves against practically every wall. There was space for a large fireplace in one corner. Here and there stood a small table or a desk, or a cluster of comfortable looking leather chairs and couches.

There were not a great many books. Faith remembered that the pack had only recently moved to Falmouth House. She wondered if they would let her add her own books to the collection. She hadn’t managed to bring many with her from America, only her favorite mineral identification manuals and geological treatises. She thought maybe Channing would let her buy more and expand the library further. Her husband-to-be seemed utterly unperturbed by her unladylike scientific pursuits. She wondered if he might even encourage her in them. He’d courted her with gifts of rocks, after all. Suddenly, she had a million questions for him, about domestic arrangements, about her future, about their future together, in this house with this pack. There were so many possibilities. So much she needed to know.

“Would you change back into a human for me, please?” she begged the wolf.

The wolf only chuffed and led her to the far side of the room, where a beautiful bay window stuck out. There were thick, heavy curtains to keep out the sunlight. This was the house of immortals, after all. But behind the curtains, the window boasted a cushioned seat and a beautiful view of Blackheath under the stars. Faith instantly imagined spending many a rainy evening curled there reading, a crackling fire in the hearth, and a white wolf asleep at her feet, or a tall blond man with a snobbish expression cuddling her close.

“Oh!” said Faith. “It’s perfect.”

The wolf woofed at her, softly, and seemed to want her attention on some empty shelves nearby.

“You know, I could understand you better if you spoke actual words.” She stroked him, running her hands through the thick fur, tracing the wolf bones underneath, marveling that he could transition between the two. She played with the velvety softness of his ears and he trembled against her in pleasure, massive tail wagging back and forth, hitting a puffy hassock behind him with a rhythmic thumping.

She looked into his blue eyes. Exactly the same ice blue as when he was a man. “You’re so beautiful,” she told the wolf and the man, in case he was in there, hidden behind the eyes. “Come back to me now, please, Channing?”

He stepped away from her with another one of those pleasant chuffing noises.

Then the noises became entirely unpleasant. Faith winced at the sound of breaking bones and shifting flesh. Her eyes welling with sympathetic tears, she watched, both horrified and fascinated, as the white wolf shifted. He transitioned smoothly from beast to man, but it was no doubt an agony. His white fur seemed to crawl along his body towards his head as the man emerged. Fur became hair, snout shortened to nose, blue eyes bled into bigger blue, pointed velvet ears shrank down, becoming small, round, and human.

There was a dimorphic moment when Faith believed the wolf was the real Channing and the man was merely a temporary manifestation of the beast. She wanted the wolf back because she knew that form comforted him. But that was pure fancy; he was both, and neither.

Finally, he stood before her, all pale skin and long lean muscles, tall and lanky, and fit and very naked.