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Snake too. Snake began
to tremble again, and they held her while she cried.
     
    Later she slept, exhausted, alone in the tent with Stavin, holding his hand.
The people had caught small animals for Sand and Mist. They had given her food
and supplies; they had even given her sufficient water to bathe, though that
must have strained their resources.
    When she awakened, Arevin lay sleeping nearby, his robe open in the heat, a
sheen of sweat across his chest and stomach. The sternness in his expression
vanished when he slept; he looked exhausted and vulnerable. Snake almost woke
him, but stopped, shook her head, and turned to Stavin.
    She felt the tumor, and found that it had begun to dissolve and shrivel,
dying, as Mist’s changed poison affected it. Through her grief Snake felt a
little joy. She smoothed Stavin’s pale hair back from his face. “I would not lie
to you again, little one,” she whispered, “but I must leave soon. I cannot stay
here.” She wanted another three days’ sleep, to finish fighting off the effects
of the sand viper’s poison, but she would sleep somewhere else. “Stavin?”
    He half woke, slowly. “It doesn’t hurt any more,” he said.
    “I’m glad.”
    “Thank you … ”
    “Good-bye, Stavin. Will you remember later on that you woke up, and that I
did stay to say good-bye?”
    “Good-bye,” he said, drifting off again. “Good-bye, Snake. Good-bye, Grass.”
He closed his eyes.
    Snake picked up the satchel and stood gazing down at Arevin. He did not stir.
Both grateful and sorry, she left the tent.
    Dusk approached with long, indistinct shadows; the camp was hot and quiet.
She found her tiger-striped pony, tethered with food and water. New, full
water-skins bulged on the ground next to the saddle, and desert robes lay across
the pommel, though Snake had refused any payment. The tiger-pony whickered at
her. She scratched his striped ears, saddled him, and strapped her gear on his
back. Leading him, she started east, the way she had come.
    “Snake—”
    She took a breath, and turned back to Arevin. His back was to the sun, and it
outlined him in scarlet. His streaked hair flowed loose to his shoulders,
gentling his face. “You must leave?”
    “Yes.”
    “I hoped you would not leave before … I hoped you
would stay, for a time … There are other clans, and
other people you could help—”
    “If things were different, I might have stayed. There’s work for a healer.
But … ”
    “They were frightened—”
    “I told them Grass couldn’t hurt them, but they saw his fangs and they didn’t
know he could only give dreams and ease dying.”
    “But can’t you forgive them?”
    “I can’t face their guilt. What they did was my fault, Arevin. I didn’t
understand them until too late.”
    “You said it yourself, you can’t know all the customs and all the fears.”
    “I’m crippled,” she said. “Without Grass, if I can’t heal a person, I can’t
help at all. We don’t have many dreamsnakes. I have to go home and tell my
teachers I’ve lost one, and hope they can forgive my stupidity. They seldom give
the name I bear, but they gave it to me, and they’ll be disappointed.”
    “Let me come with you.”
    She wanted to; she hesitated, and cursed herself for that weakness. “They may
take Mist and Sand and cast me out, and you would be cast out too. Stay here,
Arevin.”
    “It wouldn’t matter.”
    “It would. After a while, we would hate each other. I don’t know you, and you
don’t know me. We need calmness, and quiet, and time to understand each other
well.”
    He came toward her, and put his arms around her, and they stood embracing for
a moment. When he raised his head, there were tears on his cheeks. “Please come
back,” he said. “Whatever happens, please come back.”
    “I will try,” Snake said. “Next spring, when the winds stop, look for me. The
spring after that, if I haven’t returned, forget me. Wherever I