She said something in her unfamiliar language.
"Who are you?" he asked, this time with gestures.
She pointed to herself. "Krasna," she said.
He pointed to himself. "Eldon. Eldon Carmichael."
"El-ve-don?" she asked just as eagerly as when she had found him, half as though correcting him.
He shook his head. "Just Eldon." Her eyes clouded and she frowned.
After a moment she spoke again, and again he shook his head. "Sorry, no savvy," he declared.
She snapped her fingers as though remembering something and hurried from the room, returning with a small globe of cloudy crystal. She motioned him to lie back, and for a minute or two rubbed the ball vigorously against the soft, smooth skin of her forearm. Then she held it a few inches above his eye and gestured that he was to look at it.
The crystal glowed, but not homogeneously. Some parts became brighter than others, and of different colors. Patterns formed and changed, and watching them made him feel drawn out of himself, into the crystal.
The strange girl started talking—talking—talking in an unhurried monotone. Gradually scattered words began to form images in his mind. Pictures, some of them crystal clear but with their significance still obscure, others foggy and amorphous. There were people and—things—and something so completely and utterly vile that even the thought made his brain cells cringe in fear of uncleansable defilement.