The strange, swift figure glide-ran, with chin tucked down and eyes bent away from the Snow Women, as if fearing to meet their wrathful blue gaze. Then, as he swiftly knelt by the felled actress, long reddish-blond hair spilled from his hood. From that and the figure's slenderness, the black-turbaned man knew an instant of fear that the intercomer was a very tall Snow Girl, eager to strike the first blow at close quarters.

But then he saw a jut of downy male chin in the reddish-blond hair and also a pair of massive silver bracelets of the sort one gained only by pirating. Next the youth picked up the actress and glide-ran away from the Snow Women, who now could see only their victim's scarlet-stockinged legs. A volley of snowballs struck the rescuer's back. He staggered a little, then sped determinedly on, still ducking his head.

The biggest of the Snow Women, one with the bearing of a queen and a haggard face still handsome, though the hair falling to either side of it was white, stopped running and shouted in a deep voice, “Come back, my son! You hear me, Fafhrd, come back now!”

The youth nodded his ducked head slightly, though he did not pause in his flight. Without turning his head, he called in a rather high voice, “I will come back, revered Mor my mother… later on.”

The other women took up the cry of “Come back now!” Some of them added such epithets as “Dissolute youth!” “Curse of your good mother Mor!” and “Chaser after whores!”

Mor silenced them with a curt, sidewise sweep of her hands, palms down. “We will wait here,” she announced with authority.

The black-turbaned man paused a bit, then strolled after the vanished pair, keeping a wary eye on the Snow Women.