Flane opened his eyes wide and put out a hand. The flesh he touched was
yet warm, but--
He sat on his haunches for long minutes, numb. The key was gone now.
Only Vawdar knew what it was like, and he could never tell.
Flane buried him beneath a hillock of sand, with flat stones from a
small mesa to mark the spot. Weary, Flane stood and stared at the
grave, quiet with grief. He had buried the hope of all Klarn here in
this lonely spot. Without Vawdar, the Klarnva were a lost race.
Light glimmered on the horizon. Flane stared at it uncomprehendingly, a
still, lean figure leaning on a sword.