"But I am young," she said. "And men have told me I am beautiful. It is good to be young, for youth has nothing to do with ashes and empty skulls."
She touched his arm, and little darts of fire went through his flesh, warm from his fingertips.
"Forget your dreams, wild man. They're madness, gone with the morning."
He looked down at her in the clear pale light, and she was young, and beautifully made, and her lips were smiling.
He bent his head. Her arms went round him. Her hair blew soft against his cheek. Then, suddenly, she set her teeth cruelly into his lip. He cried out and thrust her away, and she sat back on her heels, mocking him.
"That," she said, "is because you called Fianna's name instead of mine, when the storm broke."
Stark cursed her. There was a taste of blood in his mouth. He reached out and caught her, and again she laughed, a peculiarly sweet, wicked sound.
The wind blew over them, sighing, and the desert was very still.
For two days they remained among the ruins. At evening of the second day Stark filled the water skin, and Berild replaced the golden cover on the well. They began the last long march toward Sinharat.