They were close to full now and their light was sufficient to show her the brief interruption in the line of surf beating against the base of the cliffs. She sailed into the short tappata, the finger of water, dropped anchor in the middle of the channel-the tides around Moongather were extravagant. When she was as safe as she could make herself, she collapsed onto the wet deck, too tired to worry about soaked clothing and chill air.

And the nightmares came; over and over she replayed her flight. Over and over she saw Tayyan’s face, her pleading, accusing eyes. Over and over she heard, “Help me, Serroi, help me.” And saw herself running like an animal. And over and over she saw the Norid’s smiling face, the solid line of brow running handsomely over dark warm eyes, the triangular white face with its finely drawn lips, its beaked nose, delicate nostrils, pendant ruby-not the Norid in the street, not the worthless brass imitation, but the other one, the first one, Ser Noris, her Noris.

Serroi woke panting, her heart choking her, terror possessing her-until she saw the sail slapping idly against the mast. The boat rocked under her, blown about by the wind, tugged at by the receding tide. She sat up, groaning and sore, still part lost in nightmare.

The early morning sun was a squashed orange, bit off at the bottom by the mountains called the Earth’s Teeth. Last night’s stormclouds were crowding around it, sucking up red, gold and purple light. The wind brushed at her hair, plucking loose coils from the sorrel mass and tickling her face with them. She touched the green oval, closed her eyes, stretched out the invisible feelers she always felt went out from her in this kind of search and swept as far as she could reach. No thinking being within her range. She stroked the spot delicately, shivering with pleasure, remembering the caress of other fingers. Tayyan…