Arthur is overcome by a sense of bliss, as if her presence were some kind of benediction. Even when his mind is busy deciphering the cuneiform, his senses are alert to the smallest signals—the crack of a twig under her feet fusing with the swishing tides of the Tigris in the distance. The sounds blend so seamlessly that he could almost believe she was walking into the river, that she herself was made of flowing water.
