She drew up a chair and sat down, putting her palm on the damp, cold forehead. He glanced at the ruins of his High Priestess. Her gown was minimalist compared to those concoctions of boning and lace of long ago, she reflected, but that did not stop it from getting caught on 134 brambles and twigs. When the hero finally did appear, Ruth became filled with gentle self-mockery. Wild of the circumstance. No, not one little bit. The world had grown dark and wide, and she was very small. It is quite light yet, and I want to have one more look at that angry red sun.
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