The shade was no illusion. She fell into the scorched luxury of it, and for a while, time ceased. The blistering sun on bare skin roused her. The shadow had moved. She listened, certain of voices in the distance, until she realised it was her wheezy breathing. Crows wheeled overhead. People must be around, cooking, and throwing out refuse. She caught the delicious aroma of roasting meat, a sumptuous suggestion of fat sizzling and spitting. So great was her relief she unstoppered the leather bottle and watched the last few drops splash blistered toes. She limped out of the shadow and into a hellish heat, the blanket held high over her head.
The headland curved on and on. Scorching winds stole away the smell of roasting meat. Then she saw him, a tall figure standing in the heat-shimmer, wat
