The colors chased each other rapidly beneath her skin. “Oh, why do you say that? What pleasure is greater than loving-kindness? I rejoiced at the opportunity.... But now we must exchange blood.”
“What is this?” he demanded, rather puzzled.
“It must be so. Your blood is far too thick and heavy for our world. Until you have an infusion of mine, you will never get up.”
Maskull flushed. “I feel like a complete ignoramus here.... Won’t it hurt you?”
“If your blood pains you, I suppose it will pain me. But we will share the pain.”
“This is a new kind of hospitality to me,” he muttered.
“Wouldn’t you do the same for me?” asked Joiwind, half smiling, half agitated.
“I can’t answer for any of my actions in this world. I scarcely know where I am.... Why, yes—of course I would, Joiwind.”
While they were talking it had become full day. The mists had rolled away from the ground, and only the upper atmosphere remained fog-charged. The desert of scarlet sand stretched in all directions, except one, where there was a sort of little oasis—some low hills, clothed sparsely with little purple trees from base to summit. It was about a quarter of a mile distant.
Joiwind had brought with her a small flint knife. Without any trace of nervousness, she made a careful, deep incision on her upper arm. Maskull expostulated.