And he didn’t like it. Maybe, after the war. Maybe he could come back to the hider’s place, Maybe⁠—it is a long time till after the war And this is now⁠—you took a girl when you found her⁠— A girl with flags on her garters or a new girl⁠— It didn’t matter⁠—it made a good campfire yarn⁠— It was men and women⁠—Bailey⁠—the weaver’s tune⁠—

He heard something move and rustle in the close darkness. “What’s that?” he said. He got no answering voice But he knew what it was. He saw a light-footed shadow Come toward the nest where he lay. For a moment then He felt weak, half-sickened almost. Then his heart began To pound to a marching rhythm that was not harsh Nor sweet, but enormous cadence. “Melora,” he said. His hand went out and touched the cup of her breast.