“We have always been large. I think it is the cold zone; its slow revolution causing it. The torrid, as Charley says, with its far revolution is very hot.” A flush on her face as she raises her serpentine head.
“It gets more sun and the people there are larger, too,” I correct.
Their eyes, my surprise increasing, turn brown as she steadfastly gazes.
“Then it is not the cold that makes us grow, but preserves us, giving us great age. We are millenniums old,” she breathes gently, chestnut-haired.
I am transfixed. When able to look up I see a halo round her head; a slight toss and it is dislodged in a ring leaving her in violet.
Going on with her deductions a dawn color follows her words.
“Our great size is due to our daylight.”
“But we have as much as you, tho’ more subdivided,” I correct again.
“You have not counted our winter daylight,” she persists.
“Winter daylight? What is that?” I inquired.