h. Dis didn't seem to have a pole
star; however, a boxlike constellation turned slowly around the
invisible point of the pole. Keeping this positioned in line with
his right shoulder guided him on the westerly course he needed.

When his arms began to grow tired he lowered Lea gently to the
ground; she didn't wake. Stretching for an instant, before taking up
his burden again, Brion was struck by the terrible loneliness of the
desert. His breath made a vanishing mist against the stars; all else
was darkness and silence. How distant he was from his home, his
people, his planet! Even the constellations of the night sky were
different. He was used to solitude, but this was a loneliness that
touched some deep-buried instinct. A shiver that wasn't from the
desert cold touched lightly along his spine, prickling at the hairs
on his neck.

It was time to go on. He shrugged the disquieting sensations off and
carefully tied Lea into the jacket he had been wearing. Slung like a
pack on his back, it made the walking easier. The gravel gave way to
sliding dunes of sand that seemed to continue to infinity. It was a
painful, slipping climb to the top of each one, then an equally
difficult descent to the black-pooled hollow at the foot of the
next.

With the first lightening of the sky in the east he stopped, breath
rasping in his chest, to mark his direction before the stars faded.
One line scratched in the sand pointed due north, a second pointed
out the course they should follow. When they were aligned to his
satisfaction he washed his mouth out with a single swallow of water
and sat on the sand next to the still form of the girl.

Gold fingers of fire searched across the sky, wiping out the stars.
It was magnificent; Brion forgot his fatigue in appreciation. There
should be some way of preserving it. A quatrain would be best. Short
enough to be remembered, yet requiring attention and skill to
compact everything into it. He had scored high with his quatrains in
the Twenties. This would be a special one. Taind, his poetry mentor,
would have to get a copy.

"What are you mumbling about?" Lea asked, looking up at the craggy
blackness of his profile against the reddening sky.

"Poem," he said. "Shhh. Just a minute."

It was too much for Lea, coming after the tension and dangers of the
night. She began to laugh, laughing even harder when he scowled at
her. Only when she heard the tinge of growing hysteria did she make
an attempt