After that, there was the long swim back to shore—a swim against the current, this time. By the time Burke made it, Theseus' ship was toy-size in the distance.
For his own part, and what with fatigue and pain and loss of blood, Burke wasn't at all sure that he cared whether he lived or died. Stumbling up from the water onto a narrow strip of beach, he crumpled face-down before he'd gone ten steps.
Half in delirium, thinking of Ariadne, he almost sobbed aloud.
The delirium grew. He knew it did, because now he could even hear her calling to him dimly, as from afar.
Only then the voice came closer: "Dion, Dion! Please, my lord Dion, speak to me!"
Hands lifted his head; cradled it in soft arms. Tender fingers smoothed his hair and brushed the sand from his face.
With a tremendous effort, Burke opened his eyes.
And there was Ariadne.
It took him a full minute to know he wasn't dreaming, or in that dark half-world between reality and hallucination.
Then, at last, incredibly, it was true, and she was with him, her salt tears spattering his face faster than she could wipe them away. "Oh, my lord Dion ..." she whispered, again and again, "My Dion, my Dion!"