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Book Three: The Prophet
Thiswasreal,notbornoutofitstimeandsubjecttochange.
PaulrememberedhehadrushedouttofindChanistandingbeneaththeyellowglobesofthecorridor,cladinabrilliantbluewraparoundrobewithhoodthrownback,aflushofexertiononherelfinfeatures.Shehadbeensheathinghercrysknife.Ahuddledgrouphadbeenhurryingawaydownthecorridorwithaburden.
AndPaulrememberedtellinghimself:Youalwaysknowwhenthey’recarryingabody.
Chani’swaterrings,wornopenlyinsietchonacordaroundherneck,tinkledassheturnedtowardhim.
“Chani,whatisthis?”heasked.
“Idispatchedonewhocametochallengeyouinsinglecombat,Usul.”
“Youkilledhim?”
“Yes.ButperhapsIshould’velefthimforHarah.”
(AndPaulrecalledhowthefacesofthepeoplearoundthemhadshowedappreciationforthesewords.EvenHarahhadlaughed.)
“Buthecametochallengeme!”
“Youtrainedmeyourselfintheweirdingway,Usul.”
“Certainly!Butyoushouldn’t—”
“Iwasborninthedesert,Usul.Iknowhowtouseacrysknife.”
Hesuppressedhisanger,triedtotalkreasonably.“Thismayallbetrue,Chani,but—”
“Iamnolongerachildhuntingscorpionsinthesietchbythelightofahandglobe,Usul.Idonotplaygames.”
Paulglaredather,caughtbytheoddferocitybeneathhercasualattitude.
“Hewasnotworthy,Usul,”Chanisaid.“I’dnotdisturbyourmeditations
withthelikesofhim.”Shemovedcloser,lookingathimoutofthecornersofhereyes,droppinghervoicesothatonlyhemighthear.
