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"All creatures that resemble Shaping must of necessity resemble one another." "Then sporting is the blind will to become like Shaping?" "Exactly." "It is most wonderful," said Maskull. "Then the brotherhood of man is not a fable invented by idealists, but a solid fact." Joiwind looked at him, and changed colour. Panawe relapsed into sternness. Maskull became interested in a new phenomenon.

Without losing time, Panawe led the way up the mountainside. The lower half was of bare rock, not difficult to climb. Halfway up, however, it grew steeper, and they began to meet bushes and small trees. The growth became thicker as they continued to ascend, and when they neared the summit, tall forest trees appeared.

The moment she got in, Joiwind fell down in exhaustion. Her husband tended her with calm concern. He bathed her face, put drink to her lips, energised her with his magn, and finally laid her down to sleep. At the sight of the noble woman thus suffering on his account, Maskull was distressed. Panawe, however, endeavoured to reassure him.

But it was invariably postponed, he never understood and yet somehow he did understand. Late in the afternoon they came to a clearing, and there Panawe ceased his recitative. He slowed his pace and stopped, in the fashion of a man who wishes to convey that he intends to go no farther. "What is the name of this country?" asked Maskull. "It is the Lusion Plain."

She was evidently tiring, but she refused all help, and was in fact still the nimbler of the two. She made a mocking face at him. Panawe seemed lost in quiet thoughts. The rock was sound, and did not crumble under their weight. The heat of Branchspell, however, was by this time almost killing, the radiance was shocking in its white intensity, and Maskull's pain steadily grew worse.

The strange light had gone, the music had ceased, Dreamsinter had vanished. He fingered his beard, clotted with Tydomin's blood, and fell into a deep muse. "According to Panawe and Catice, this forest contains wise men. Perhaps Dreamsinter was one. Perhaps that vision I have just seen was a specimen of his wisdom.

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.

I can't say if I am really speaking your tongue by instinct, or if you yourself are translating my thoughts into your tongue as I utter them." "Already you see that Panawe is wiser than I am," said Joiwind gaily. "What is your name?" asked the husband. "Maskull." "That name must have a meaning but again, thought is a strange thing. I connect that name with something but with what?"

His face was working convulsively, and he began to stagger about. Then he put his hand to his mouth and took from it what looked like a bright-coloured pebble. He looked at it carefully for some seconds. Joiwind also looked, over his shoulder, with quickly changing colors. After this inspection, Panawe let the object whatever it was fall to the ground, and took no more interest in it.

"There's no need," replied Maskull. "The way is plain." "But talking shortens the road." Maskull turned to go. Joiwind pulled him around toward her softly. "You won't think badly of other women on my account?" "You are a blessed spirit," answered he. She trod quietly to the inner extremity of the cave and stood there thinking. Panawe and Maskull emerged into the open air.