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“You know what I’m reminded of?” she said, coming forward and taking the cloak. “Of the old tale about the lovely village maiden who marries the handsome stranger and promises she’ll never look into his eyes. And then one day she forgets and looks into his eyes and sees—”

“What does she see?”

“The worst thing of all, the greatest horror. She sees nothing. She sees emptiness.”

He laughed. “The moral’s clear. She shouldn’t have looked into his eyes.”

“But how can you help looking into the eyes of the man you love? Maybe that’s the moral—that it was an impossible task he set her.”

“In those tales it’s always the man’s fault, isn’t it? Not much doubt who made them up. Now, Belsir, please, I’ve got to finish packing. It’ll be just my luck to have today be the day the bus to Zrig’s on time.”

“A couple of weeks ago I was in Zrig shopping and I saw an Earthman,” she said, folding his cloak into the kit. “The way he walked, the way he moved, reminded me a little of you.”

It was a long moment before he could speak. “Do I look to you like a dark-faced, dark-haired, brown-eyed—”