E. Tubb: Web of Sand

"Of Yunus? Should I be?"

"It would be nice if you were."

"It would be nice if we could all be born again," he said. "To know all that we know now so as never to make the same mistakes. How can I be jealous of things which happened before I met you?"

"And since?" Her eyes held his own. "Do you blame me?"

"For doing what you had to do?" His shrug was impatient. "The past is dead-forget it. Only the present is important."

"And the future?"

"That has yet to come. It may never come. All we can be sure of is the present moment."

The fact that he was free and safe and able to travel as he wished. The fact that he was alive. That he was with a woman with hair a scarlet glory and eyes of limpid emerald. One with the voice of an angel and a body made for passion. One with her own fears.

"A ship may land after the storm," whispered Ellain. "Within a day or a week. When it leaves?"

"I'll be on it."

"And me?"

She might be on it too, traveling with him, loving him, wanting him as now he wanted her. But not for long. A journey, maybe two, and her art would draw her as his quest drew him. They would drift apart, she to the stage and he to other worlds. Moving, always moving in his endless search for the planet of his birth. But, for now, they had each other.

And, for now, that was enough.