The man jumped quickly from the animal; his long cloak snagged briefly on the high saddle, and he landed awkwardly on the glass surface, almost falling. His mount was making sudden lurching attempts to get back up, paws skittering over the slick surface. The man collected his cloak about him and strode purposefully to the woman who was standing with one hand under the opposite armpit, the other hand up at her forehead, as though shading her eyes while she looked down at the beach. She was shaking her head.

The man was tall, thin beneath his riding breeches and tight jacket, and had a pale, narrow face, topped with black curls and edged with a neatly trimmed black beard. He walked up to her. He looked, perhaps, a few years older than she was.

“Sharrow,” he said, smiling. “Cousin; thank you for coming.” It was a cultured, refined voice, and quiet but nevertheless assured. He put his hands out to hers, squeezing them briefly then letting go.

“Geis,” she said, looking over his shoulder at the bellowing mount as it finally got shakily to its feet. “What are you doing with that animal?”

Geis glanced back at the beast. “Breaking it in,” he said with a grin that slowly faded. “But really it’s just a way of getting here to tell you…” He shrugged and gave a small, regretful laugh. “Hell, Sharrow, it’s a melodramatic message; you’re in danger.”

“Perhaps a phone call would have been quicker, then.”

“I had to see you, Sharrow; it’s more important than some phone call.”

She looked at the saddled animal, sniffing experimentally at the anchor-grass lining the nearest dune. “A taxi, then,” she suggested. Her voice was soft, and possessed a heavy smoothness.