Io A Thief and His Sister AITUATEA SHIFTED the bend in his legs to ease his aching hip, careful as he moved to keep the bales piled under him from squeaking, the bales of raw unwashed fleeces that were a stench in his nostrils but sheltered him from noses and teeth of the patrollers ratheunds. He raised his head a little and stared at the curls of mist drifting across the calm black water of the bay, A wandering breeze licked at his face, tugged at his slicked-back hair, carried past his ears just enough sound to underline the silence and peace of the night. \"This is a bust,\" he whispered to the one who stood at his shoulder. \"She won t come. \" The man on the mountain said . , \" His sister s voice was the crackling of ice crystals shattering. \"Look there,\" She pointed past the huddling godons beyond the wharves, their rambling forms lit from behind by torches burning before the all-night winestalls, the joyhouses, the cookshops of the water quarter. The Wounded Moon was rising at last, a broken round of curdled milk behind the spiky roof of the Temple. She swung round an arm colorless and transparent as glass, outlined with shimmers like crystal against black velvet and pointed across the harbor. \"And there,\" she said. She was all over crystal, even the rags she wore. \" Out beyond the Woda-an. A blind ship from Phras, dropping anchor, \"
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