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The heat, the light, the humidity—these were constant and had remained constant for … but nobody knew how long. Nobody cared any more for the big question that begin “How long …?” or “Why …?” It was no longer a place for mind. It was a place for growth, for vegetables. It was like a hothouse.
“My fruit skin chafes my thighs,” Poyly said, with a womanly gift for irrelevance that eons of time had not quenched.
“When we’ve explored, we will catch fish in the pool and eat them with fruit,” she said, with a woman’s talent for producing comfort when it was needed.
