Remembering the frozen, awkward, breathless kiss on the gravel riverbank, Natsumi was seriously tempted. Her skin still tingled from the brush of his lips; she was fairly sure all the blood not pooling in bruises had flooded to her cheeks. He was feverish, she reminded herself firmly, and she--

And she had a dead woman's head bumping against her thigh with every step, reminding her not to waste time.

"A proper one," she agreed. "When we get to the monastery, and my teeth stop chattering. Besides, I'm not terribly experienced. You'd probably be bored by the fifth mile."

She'd bet he was a good teacher, though...

"Anyway," she added hastily, "anticipation is usually better than the real thing. You'll just have to make it there."

They both would. They both could. Natsumi kept a close half-step behind Asuma, and tried not to think about how far they had left to go.