did not answer, and we knew it.

"Our dearest one," we whispered.

Never have men said this to women.

The head of the Golden One bowed slowly,
and they stood still before us, their arms
at their sides, the palms of their hands
turned to us, as if their body were delivered
in submission to our eyes. And we could
not speak.

Then they raised their head, and they
spoke simply and gently, as if they wished
us to forget some anxiety of their own.

"The day is hot," they said, "and you have
worked for many hours and you must be weary."

"No," we answered.

"It is cooler in the fields," they said,
"and there is water to drink. Are you thirsty?"

"Yes," we answered, "but we cannot cross the hedge."

"We shall bring the water to you," they said.

Then they knelt by the moat, they gathered