SON OF THE WIND
last night?" With his instinct for managing unreasonable creatures he had hit upon the right argument. He could see it working upon her. Then he added the last touch. "And next week you will be gone."
That brought up her eyes as if they saw the future in one wide flash, an unknown landscape stretched out before her and beneath her, into which she must descend, through which she must travel. She shivered. He felt her relax. Her weight rested upon him. The color between her lashes was wet blue, and reflected him—a little purer in line, and finer than he was in fact, still himself. Her promise was not made in words, but he understood her well enough not to exact that. It was a curious thing, beautiful and rather awesome, to have a creature whose unspoken thought was a sworn oath. It was more than most men could circle with two arms. He thought this as he held her.
She raised her hands, resting them on his shoulders, and smiled at him. "I'm glad we did see him together, though. Remember the white moth—how he hated it, even that weight?"
Carron did not know why such a simple sentence should make him uncomfortable. He took her hands from his shoulders. "My dear," he said, "you are far too good!"
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