The running form stopped as though it had hit a wall.
"Come back, now! Come back!"
The figure turned, and docilely started back, the movements so lithe and swift a moment ago, now mechanical.
"It's just a kid," Urson said.
He was a dark-haired boy, naked except for a ragged breech. He approached staring fixedly beyond them toward the boats. And he had four arms.
Now they turned and looked also.
She stood at the base of the ship's gangplank, against what sun still washed the horizon. One hand held something close at her throat, and wind, caught in a veil, held the purple gauze against the red swath at the world's edge, and then dropped it.
The boy, like an automaton, approached her.
"Give that to me, little thief," she said.
He handed her the purse. She took it, and then suddenly dropped her other hand from her neck. The moment she did so, the boy staggered backwards, turned, and ran straight into Urson, who said, "Ooof," and then, "God damn little spider."