That little, she could and
had done for he who never knew her.
There was something between them now, spanning the spiritual chasm like
a bridge of their two kindred souls. She would mourn him forever in the
secret places of her heart. It was like gruel without milk and fruit
which, if one consumed nothing else, would eventually lose its slight
taste of bitterness and ground husks, and become at least indifferent
to the palate. Nay, worse. For the rest of her life, she would mourn
this stranger long after she had left behind this desolate far-away
place, in which he must forever remain buried.
But henceforth she would feel closer to him in her heart, than to any
living person or location. She could not forget the memory of this
place, though she might never return.
She rose up finally, looking cautiously about her. It was evening. The
thickening mists were rolling over the land, spilling their whiteness
across the hills into unseen, hidden valleys. Such beauty--such
emptiness. The gentle wind had a lonely, desolate sound.
The last of her tears had already dried, but she wept anew when she
finally turned to remount her horse for the journey back to camp.
She rode back to the campfire burning in front of Emperor Euphrates'
splendid tent, and near his tent was her own, where she halted and
dismounted drearily.
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