With a final hasty mouthful Umin abandons, with a quirk of reluctance, the bowl and skitters after the heedlessly receding crimson cloth and girl-shape.
"Then I've found the Shore..."
The thought was softly breathless. A lingering apprehension, as though fearing the acquisition at last of something long sought.
Sweet boy...
The shore hard by the sea.
Longs for thee and me...
Like a thin ribbon of smoky perfume, the words stretch and are swallowed by the black nothingness embracing them both.