When have the gods denied me anything that I asked for your sake, Arrow-Maker of Sagharawite?
Simwa
The Padahoon hunts on a cold trail, and there is nothing for me to do?
The Chisera
Beloved, there is much to do, for before the shadow which lies between my feet has grown tall again, I must make medicine for the sake of this war; and I have spent so much on you, the power goes from me. Now, you must put your hand upon my heart, and nurse it warm, so that the people lack nothing of their Chisera.
Simwa
Is that good, Chisera? (Puts his arm about her.)
The Chisera
Very good, Friend of my heart. (She leans upon his arm.)