He felt vaguely overwhelmed by the return of his senses. He had never before appreciated their infinite variety. The walls were yellow, lemon yellow; the floor cool and firm underfoot; the air had a faint odor of bitter almonds; and Ileth....
He said, "Open your eyes, Ileth. You'll be able to see better that way."
The girl's eyes popped open. She took one look at Saxon, then at herself. Her eyes grew rounder, her throat flamed.
She gasped, "Oh! You should have let me keep my eyes shut," and whipped her back to him.
She must have realized instantly that the view she presented was no better screened, for she sat down with a thump, saying, "Oh!" again. Then, in an embarrassed voice, "This is just like a dream I had once. Only everyone but me wore clothes in the dream, and there isn't a fig leaf between the three of us."
"The three of us?"
Saxon glanced around, discovered the Alien rummaging in one of the cabinets, from which he produced three of the gleaming kilts, tossed them each one.
"You humans," he said in an amused tone and perfect English, "have odd notions about concealing yourselves. Here."
Saxon gratefully buckled his kilt in place, examined the material. The threads were almost weightless and glowed like strands of light. With a start, he recalled where he had seen them before.
The man and the woman had been wearing kilts like these in his vision during the Little Death. Then....