Starke's hands began to open.
They opened slowly. Muscles stood like coiled ropes in his arms and shoulders, as though he moved them against heavy weights. His lips peeled back from his teeth. He bent his neck, and sweat dropped from his face and glittered on Beudag's breast.
Starke was now barely touching Beudag's neck. She began to breathe again, painfully.
Starke began to laugh. It was not nice laughter. "Rann," he whispered. "Rann, you she-devil." He half fell away from Beudag and stood up, holding himself against the wall. He was shaking violently. "I wouldn't use your hate for killing, so you tried to use my passion." He cursed her in a flat sibilant whisper. He had never in his profane life really cursed anyone before.
He heard an echo of laughter dancing in his brain.
Starke turned. Faolan of the Ships stood in the tunnel mouth. His head was bent, listening, his blind dark eyes fixed on Starke as though he saw him.
Faolan said softly "I hear you, Starke. I hear the other breathing, but they don't speak."
"They're all right. I didn't mean to do...."
Faolan smiled. He stepped out on the narrow ledge. He knew where he was going, and his smile was not pleasant.