Night had fallen. Winter was past, and the gray haze of a spring evening covered the city. The stars were barely visible. A faint chill still lingered, but neither of them shivered in the coolness.
“This world has no place for us,” Burris said.
“It would only try to eat us. As he tried.”
“We defeated him. But we can’t defeat a whole world.”
“Where will we go?”
Burris looked upward. “Come with me to Manipool. We’ll visit the demons for Sunday tea.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes. Will you go there with me?”
“Yes.”
They walked toward the car.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“Very tired. So tired I can scarcely move. But I feel alive. More alive with every step. For the first time, Minner, I feel really alive.”
“As do I.”
“Your body—does it hurt you now?”
“I love my body,” he said.
“Despite the pain?”
“Because of the pain,” he said. “It shows that I live. That I feel.” He turned to her and took the cactus from her hands. The clouds parted. The thorns gleamed by starlight. “To be alive—to feel, even to feel pain—how important that is, Lona!”
He broke a small limb from the plant and pressed it into the flesh of her hand. The thorns sank deep. She flinched only for a moment. Tiny droplets of blood appeared. From the cactus she took a second limb, and pressed it to him. It was difficult, breaking through that impervious skin of his, but the thorns did penetrate at last. He smiled as the blood began to flow. He touched her wounded hand to his lips, and she his hand to hers.
“We bleed,” she said. “We feel, We live.”
“Pain is instructive,” said Burris, and they walked more quickly.