of himself came first: he was small and angular, sitting several feet
below Horng's--or his own--eyes; but more than that, he was not merely
light, but pallid, not merely small, but fragile. The alien's view of
reality, even through his direct sensations, was not merely visual or
tactile but interpreted automatically in his own terms.

The odor of the hall in which they sat was different, the very
temperature warmer. Rynason could see himself reeling on the stone bench
where he sat, and Mara, strangely distorted, put out a hand to steady
him. At the same time he was seeing through his own eyes, feeling her
hand on his shoulder. But the alien sensations were stronger; their very
strangeness commanded the attention of his mind.

He righted himself, physically and mentally, and began to probe
tentatively in this new part of his mind. He could feel Horng too
reaching slowly for contact; his presence was comfortable, mild,
confused but unworried. As his thoughts blended with Horng's the present
faded perceptibly; this confusion was merely a moment in centuries, and
soon too it would pass. Rynason could feel himself relaxing.

Now he could reach out and touch the strange areas of this mind: the
concepts and attitudes of an alien race and culture and experience.
Everything became dim and dream-like: the Earthmen possibly didn't
exist, the dry wastes of Hirlaj had always been here or perhaps once
they had been green but through four generations the Large Hall had
stood thus and the animals changed by the day too fast to distinguish
them even under Kor if he should be reached ... why? there was no
reason. There was no purpose, no goal, no necessity, no wishing,
questing, hoping ... no curiosity. All would pass. All was passing even
now; perhaps already it was gone.