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"For about four hours in the middle of the day Branchspell's rays are so hot that no one can endure them. We call it Blodsombre." "Is Branchspell another name for Arcturus?" Joiwind threw off her seriousness and laughed. "Naturally we don't take our names from you, Maskull. I don't think our names are very poetic, but they follow nature."
"This we call the 'magn," she said, indicating her tentacle. "By means of it what we love already we love more, and what we don't love at all we begin to love." "A godlike organ!" "It is the one we guard most jealously," said Joiwind. The shade of the trees afforded a timely screen from the now almost insufferable rays of Branchspell, which was climbing steadily upward to the zenith.
Climbing back over the hills, they now without further ceremony began their march across the desert. They walked side by side. Joiwind directed their course straight toward Poolingdred. From the position of the sun, Maskull judged their way to lie due north. The sand was soft and powdery, very tiring to his naked feet. The red glare dazed his eyes, and made him semi-blind.
"May I look?" asked Maskull; and, without waiting for permission, he picked it up. It was a delicately beautiful egg-shaped crystal of pale green. "Where did this come from?" he asked queerly. Panawe turned away, but Joiwind answered for him. "It came out of my husband." "That's what I thought, but I couldn't believe it. But what is it?" "I don't know that it has either name or use.
It is merely an overflowing of beauty." "Beauty?" Joiwind smiled. "If you were to regard nature as the husband, and Panawe as the wife, Maskull, perhaps everything would be explained." Maskull reflected. "On Earth," he said after a minute, "men like Panawe are called artists, poets, and musicians. Beauty overflows into them too, and out of them again.
"Won't you help Maskull out of his difficulty?" said Joiwind, pulling her husband's arm. He smiled. "If he'll forgive me for again trespassing in his brain. But the difficulty is small. Life on a new planet, Maskull, is necessarily energetic and lawless, and not sedate and imitative. Nature is still fluid not yet rigid and matter is plastic.
"What food is it?" "Fish from the river." Maskull recollected his promise to Joiwind. At the same time, he felt hungry. "Is there nothing milder?" She pulled her mouth scornfully. "You came through Poolingdred, didn't you? All the people there are the same. They think life is to be looked at, and not lived. Now that you are visiting Ifdawn, you will have to change your notions."
"Possibly you are acquainted with Joiwind there?" "She's my sister. I'm on my way to see her now. Why, do you know her?" "I met her yesterday." "What is your name, then?" "Maskull." "I shall tell her I met you. This will be our first meeting for four years. Is she well, and happy?" "Both, as far as I could judge. You know Panawe?" "Her husband yes. But where do you come from?
She touched Digrung on the arm and gave him a strange look. "The dead man is my husband, and Maskull murdered him. Now you'll understand why he wishes you to hold your tongue." "I guessed there was some foul play," said Digrung. "It doesn't matter I can't falsify facts. Joiwind must know." "You refuse to consider her feelings?" said Maskull, turning pale.
"Well, Maskull, our water is good water," replied Joiwind, smiling. As soon as he could see again he stared around at the landscape. The enormous scarlet desert extended everywhere to the horizon, excepting where it was broken by the oasis. It was roofed by a cloudless, deep blue, almost violet, sky. The circle of the horizon was far larger than on earth.
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