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Fred hid himself as much as possible from the growing hurricane, as did
the little dog. Sylvia, however, relished each drop of rain that fell
upon her. Then, as the storm began to peak, she snapped her fingers once
and the rain stopped. The gray clouds still hung over the confused, wet
island, but the water stopped. "Ah," sighed Sylvia, "I haven't felt this good in many years." She walked over to where Fred lay hunched against the storm, and now against her. "So, we going to get off this island?" Fred nodded. "Good, where is your boat?" "I fear it was destroyed upon landing." "No matter. We'll take care of this in the morning." Sylvia walked with Fred down the the luxurious strip of beach on which he landed and began to strip. She then sat upon a rock and washed her clothes with salt water. She kept up this process for a couple days as she and Fred talked about Latin and what they had done since while Fred played with her dog and gathered them food to eat. They slept together for warmth, and warmth only, at night. Though Sylvia was a little playful, Fred was too terrified to go further. At the week's end, Sylvia's clothes looked nearly new while Fred looked his rugged, usual self. "I've given up on the type of experimentation that brought me here," explained Sylvia. "Maybe we could go visit your good King and he could grant me asylum. If not, there is a good sized trading town not far from here." "How do you intend to get there?" inquired Fred. "We have no sailing craft." "Well," replied Sylvia with a smile, "you choose and leave the details to me."
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