The khemeis of the pair dismounted… a smallish man, his dark hair much streaked with silver. An iron ring was on his finger. He looked into the Gate, which only looked through into more of the grassland and the flowers, and stood staring at that until his arrhen came walking up behind him and set his hand on his shoulder.
"What must it have been?" Sin wondered aloud. "Ellur, what was it to look on when it led somewhere?"
The qhal had no answer, only stared, his gray eyes full of thoughts. And at last he pressed Sin's shoulder and turned away. There was a longbow bound to the saddle of Sin's horse. Ellur loosed it and brought it to him.
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Sin took the aged bow into his hands, reverently handled the dark, strange wood, of design unlike any made in Shathan, and strung it with great care.
It was uncertain whether it had the strength to be fired any longer; it had been long since its master had set hand to it. But one arrow they had brought, green-fletched, and Sin set that to the string, drew back full, aimed it high into the sun.
It flew, lost from sight when it fell.
He unstrung the bow and laid it within the arch of the Gate. Then he stepped back and gazed there a last time.
"Come," Ellur urged him. "Sin, do not grieve. The old bowman would not wish it."
"I do not," he said, but his eyes stung, and he wiped at them.
He turned then, and rose into the saddle to put the place behind him. Ellur joined him. Four days would see them safe in forest shadow.
Ellur looked back once, but Sin did not. He clenched his hand upon the ring and stared straight ahead.
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C. J. Cherryh, Fires of Azeroth
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