But Wilm shook his head.
"That?" he exclaimed. "Pah! What Man would want such a wobbly thing? I like a strong Woman; a Woman with arms like a weathered oak. A fighting Woman. A Woman like—" He paused breathlessly. Then, "A Woman like—you!"
"Me!"
The Warrior Chieftain gasped. Then the slow crimson started at her throat, spread slowly upward until it mantled her cheeks. And her voice was choked. "Like me, Man?"
"Not just like you," said Wilm staunchly. "You!"
Meg waited for the Chieftain's reply, atingle inside with wonderment and tickling little fun-bubbles. Then Lora spoke, and her answer was the answer of all womankind to the new regime....
"You must be mad, Man!" she declared. "But—but I think I like your madness. We'll discuss it further if you'll go bathe the smell from your body. And shave off that awful beard...."
Meg looked at Daiv; he looked back at her, and a happy-look was on his lips. He whispered, "The change has begun, Golden One. The change for which I hoped. We will live in a new world soon. Surely the poet of the Ancient Ones wrote truth."
"Poet?" asked Meg. "I do not understand, Daiv."