The grass rippled in the evening wind, like the crimps in Ithra’s hair.
Ithra’s horse glided through the blades like a fish through water. Luvros followed in its wake, parting the rough fronds before him with his bare hands as he walked.
Ithra halted on a rise and gazed towards the west. Luvros stopped, too, and watched her from the foot of the hill. Her eyelashes, the strands blown free of her long braid, her forearms bared by the billows of the wind, all shimmered in the light of the dying day; and when she blinked her lashes glittered, as did her arms whenever her horse shook its head and she gave it rein.
Then Ithra swung her braid over her shoulder, and dropping her reins unloosed it; but even as her hands had unworked it halfway, her hair was caught up by the wind and thrown into her face, and her hands became entangled.
So Luvros wove his way towards her and said, “Let me help.” With swift nimble fingers he unloosed the braid the rest of the way, until her hair all blew free.
In that moment she looked like a creature wild, or a princess out of a legend, or some spirit of a race more powerful and more beautiful than mankind; for as the wind lifted and fanned her hair out, it all glowed golden, and its length and thickness became all the more manifest, indeed seemed still greater than they were. And as the sun sank and grew more fervid, the flank and buckles of her horse glowed, her simple woollen kirtle glowed, her whole being shone with every movement…
“It is so beautiful,” breathed Ithra.
“Yes, it is so beautiful,” said Luvros; but his eyes were upon another Sun.