Thick square columns of dark marble held a square-vaulted ceiling ten paces above floor tiles that alternated dark blue and deep gold. On one path, he would marry her, on the other, not. At least a dozen lay stretched out in a row, groaning, and seven more were still, shawls laid over their faces. When we were children, he pushed a friend—a friend!—down the stairs and broke his back because De-rowin rode his pony without asking.
Putting herself to sleep would be no problem—the Wise One dreamwalkers had taught her that skill early on—yet finding any rest in it was another matter. It was too much. So they make a figure and set it on a rise. She had always liked order.
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