Ayan seems frus­trated at the sug­ges­tion. But she acqui­esces, and the three of them sit against the slope of a cool dune.

Gil is glad to lay on his back. It’s eas­ier to gaze up at the stars that way.

The pain is gone, but Gil’s mind seems to swim in his head, slosh­ing against the sides of his skull. He lis­tens patiently as Jaruna tells him all about the soma, but he finds it hard to con­cen­trate.

Time seems to move dif­fer­ently. Each moment seems to bob back and forth, as if it were float­ing on a wave.

Ayan sits cross­legged, glow­ing faintly in the light of her stone. Her eyes are shaded, but she seems to be star­ing right at Gil.

Finally, she coughs, and inter­jects.

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