The cone of sand suddenly appeared. It stood in the canyon, its base on a level with the cave. It was quiet. It was dull gray in color. It exuded impressions of death, of hopeful words solemnly spoken over lowered coffins, of cold earth and cold space, of dank, wet catacombs, of creeping, crawling nether things.
The bird's twitter stopped abruptly.
"Earthman," the Sand God said, as if he were about to make a statement.
Stinson ignored him. He glanced down at Sybtl, who sensed that this was a time for good-bys. He thought, perhaps I can stay here alone with her. The webfoots might find us, or the Sand God might destroy us in one of his fits, but it might be worth it.
"Don't go," she said. "Not yet."
"Earthman, hear me."
"I hear you."
"Why does your mind shrink backward?"
"I've decided not to bring my people here."
"You decided?"