The figure moved slowly out from the gloom of the hut, bending to get through the low door, half straightening up outside, and Eric saw that it was an old, old woman. She couldn't straighten very far. She was too old, bent and twisted and brittle, feebler looking than anyone Eric had ever seen before. She hobbled toward him slowly, teetering from side to side as she walked, her hands held out in front of her, her eyes on the ground.
"What is it, Mag?" Her voice was as twisted as her body.
"A boy. Valley boy. Just the age for our Lisa, too."
Eric felt his face redden and he opened his mouth to protest, to say something, anything, but Mag went right on talking, ignoring him.
"The boy came in an aircar. I thought he was one of the normals—but he's not. Hasn't their ways. Good looking boy, too."
"Is he?" Nell had reached them. She stopped and looked up, right into Eric's face, and for the first time he realized that she was blind. Her eyes were milky white, without pupils, without irises. Against the brown leather of her skin they looked moist and dead.
"Speak, boy," she croaked. "Let me hear your voice."
"Hello," Eric said, feeling utterly foolish and utterly confused. "I'm Eric."
"Eric...." Nell reached out, touched his arm with her hand, ran her fingers up over his shoulders, over his chest.
"It's been a long time since I've heard a man's voice," she said. "Not since Mag here was a little girl."