Gendahl tried to unstrap his helmet. To feel a bit of the cool breeze through his sweaty hair would be a final mercy. But his gloved fingers lacked any dexterity, and he gave up after a feeble attempt. Groaning, he clawed at the stone. He tried to move his legs, but flexing his muscles smacked him with terrible pain.
“Come get me. I’m here,” he called, thinking that he was shouting, but his voice was really only a hoarse mumble.
Water dripped on his face, and he opened his eyes lazily.
Over him stood a vision of some spirit daughter of Gyhwen. Long black hair, shiny like spider web strands of spun volcanic glass, hung wet around her face. Water dripped from the spiraling ends of her hair and splashed onto him like sweet rain. Her eyes were black and seemed as if they could see all the secrets that darkness had ever hidden. Her skin was blue, like the sky, no…. like the mountains. She was a spirit daughter of the Tymelo Mountains that had looked over the world of men since their beginning and would be there to watch their end. Her body exemplified feminine beauty. Her perfect shoulders, her breasts, muscled stomach, curving hips and thighs possessed no flaw, and droplets of water sprinkled her skin like dew on morning glories.
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