When she spoke, a lilt in her voice seemed to imply that Anglic was somehow limiting. Still, Robert was certain her frown conveyed genuine puzzlement. Of course, as the daughter of a diplomat Athaclena might have been taught to assume carefully tutored expressions at certain times when in the company of humans. Her slightly curved, delicate jaw and angled brow made the expression appear faintly ironic. They're amazing things."Īthaclena's frown looked very human, in spite of the wide set of her oval eyes and the alien gold-flecked green of their large irises. "What can be trained, Robert? All I see there are vines." She spoke carefully in accented but clearly enunciated Anglic. She followed his gesture, peering past the bright, slanting columns of light. The young Tymbrimi looked up from an orchidlike bloom she had been inspecting. "You might want to examine those, Athaclena," he said. Robert Oneagle pointed in that direction. One shaft of daylight spotlighted a fan of multicolored vines, dangling in apparent disorder from the branches of a giant tree. History had not yet written the final chapter on Garth, but the planet was already on a list. Indirectly, that sadness was what had brought Earthlings here. It did not take an empath to know that this was a sad place.
Though the air carried a wealth of fecund odors, one of the strongest was a subtle hint of decay. The woods were lush, and yet their superficial beauty masked a sickness, a malaise arising from ancient wounds. Perhaps more silent than a forest ought to be. It was quiet in the mountains overlooking the Vale of Sind. Droplets made fat, plinking sounds as they landed in little shaded pools. The fierce gales of mid-winter had ebbed some weeks back, but a stiff breeze served as a reminder of those days, causing boughs to dip and sway, and shaking loose moisture from the prior night's rain. Dappled sunlight found gaps in the rain forest canopy, illuminating streaks of brilliant color in the dim, vine-laced avenue between.
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