He turned slightly, snuggling closer to her, his cheek buried against her neck, his shoulder tucked under her arm, her arms warm around his body. He paused, then reached out for words and found that the words were there.
"If you want to be rational about it—that is, if we can be rational about it—I guess it's what you'd call a wild talent."
"Wild is right," she said with a shaky laugh.
"Psi power, I guess you'd call it—I can make things move, or—things happen.
"I had a dream last night. It was a very strange kind of dream—you know how sometimes you have dreams about flying? Like, you're running along on the ground, and sometimes you can jump, and pull your feet into the air, and then you paddle yourself along with your hands—? I dreamed I'd done this and I was floating and weightless, pulling myself around with handholds like an astronaut in a spaceship, only the handholds were the branches of a tree. I was floating, and pulling myself into the tree.
"Things began feeling strange. Like they were happening in double—like the dream was fading out into sleepwalking. And then I woke up.
"Fran, I was holding on to the curtains of the window next to my bed, and I was floating about even with the top of the open window!"
He felt her arms tighten around him, but she neither moved nor interrupted him. Blessing her, he went on;
"It scared me silly, but my first thought was; Migod, I nearly flew out the window—just as matter-of-fact about it as if I'd been sleepwalking and woke up and said, Oh, I almost walked down those stairs. And then I guess I woke up the rest of the way and really realized what was happening, and the next thing I knew, I was lying cross-ways on the bed, with all the breath knocked out of me."