“Go catch your fish,” he returned, pulling down his brows.
The broad, clear waters flowed past them with swelling undulations, from the direction of the mountains. Oceaxe knelt down on the bank, and peered into the depths. Presently her look became tense and concentrated; she dipped her hand in and pulled out some sort of little monster. It was more like a reptile than a fish, with its scaly plates and teeth. She threw it on the ground, and it started crawling about. Suddenly she darted all her will into her sorb. The creature leaped into the air, and fell down dead.
She picked up a sharp-edged slate, and with it removed the scales and entrails. During this operation, her hands and garment became stained with the light scarlet blood.
“Find the drude, Maskull,” she said, with a lazy smile. “You had it last night.”
He searched for it. It was hard to locate, for its rays had grown dull and feeble in the sunlight, but at last he found it. Oceaxe placed it in the interior of the monster, and left the body lying on the ground.
“While it’s cooking, I’ll wash some of this blood away, which frightens you so much. Have you never seen blood before?”
Maskull gazed at her in perplexity. The old paradox came back—the contrasting sexual characteristics in her person. Her bold, masterful, masculine egotism of manner seemed quite incongruous with the fascinating and disturbing femininity of her voice. A startling idea flashed into his mind.
“In your country I’m told there is an act of will called ‘absorbing.’ What is that?”
She held her red, dripping hands away from her draperies, and uttered a delicious, clashing laugh. “You think I am half a man?”
“Answer my question.”