She laughed, and stretched her arms wide on the sand.
"But I am young," she said. "And men have told me I am beautiful. It
is good to be young, for youth has nothing to do with ashes and empty
skulls."
She touched his arm, and little darts of fire went through his flesh,
warm from his fingertips.
"Forget your dreams, wild man. They're madness, gone with the morning."
He looked down at her in the clear pale light, and she was young, and
beautifully made, and her lips were smiling.
He bent his head. Her arms went round him. Her hair blew soft against
his cheek. Then, suddenly, she set her teeth cruelly into his lip. He
cried out and thrust her away, and she sat back on her heels, mocking
him.
"That," she said, "is because you called Fianna's name instead of mine,
when the storm broke."
Stark cursed her. There was a taste of blood in his mouth. He reached
out and caught her, and again she laughed, a peculiarly sweet, wicked
sound.
The wind blew over them, sighing, and the desert was very still.
For two days they remained among the ruins. At evening of the second
day Stark filled the water skin, and Berild replaced the golden cover
on the well. They began the last long march toward Sinharat.