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Okay, so she wasn't Martha Stewart. She dumped her purse, keys and mail on the small bar that delineated the space between the kitchen and living area, hung her coat in the coat closet and proceeded to pour the first of what would be several glasses of wine. She took her first sip even as she was still setting the bottle back on the counter. She was halfway through the first glass when she started sorting through her mail. There wasn't much. Some solicitations, the requisite monthly bills, and a small package wrapped in nondescript brown parchment paper and tied with generic twine. Quirking her brow at it, she set her glass down and proceeded to untie the twine. The return address left her no clue as to who might have sent it. It was a simple P.O. Box with no name attached to it. Probably some 'bs' free samples, she thought. Oh well, maybe a free mud mask and moisturizer would at least perk her up a bit with some self indulgent pampering. With that thought in mind, she tore the. When the two species had first collaborated on the original structure they'd simply built over bare vegetation, which in time had been trodden down to dirt. Then the natives overlaid the dirt with their own concrete, which had been extended to the expansions and annexes Igwanda had added as the planetside human contingent grew and which had been the status at the end of the first visit.Now the entire area had not only been resurfaced but was covered with padded ... well, carpeting, material overlaying a thin cushioning of some sort. And on closer examination Igwanda was flabbergasted to find that the material mostly in use was the swatches of cloth that had originally overlaid the floor and provided the roofing of the original pavilion.He knelt down for a closer look; not only had the swatches been laid down, they'd been sealed and cut to fit."How did you do this, Akakha?" he asked in utter bafflement. "It takes our lasers to work this material, and I think we did not leave you.
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