The scarlet fire burned and writhed. Shafts of joyous gold pierced through it. The Sun-child trembled, and its little foaming flames, were sheer glory, the hearts of Sun-born opals.
It rose in the rainbow air, higher and higher, rushing in a cloud of living light toward the black crystal of the vault.
Once more there was a blinding flash and a quick sharp rush of air. Faintly, in Falken's mind, a voice said,
"Thank you, human! Thank you for waking me from a dying sleep!"
A last wild shout of color on the air. And then it was gone, into open space and the naked fire of the Sun, and the rocky roof was whole.
Three silent people stood on the raw red earth of a new world.