The sacrifice lives, but the sun’s still shining. — Tanith Lee

At some point, Dekteon saw, his own world had come close to such a religion, where women ruled and men died—but the road had taken a different turning. Now the hints of the ancient mystery remained only in songs. It was the men who were the masters. Maybe not for the better, and not for the worse, either. But all this was unimportant.

The moon walks east of midnight,

The sun walks west of noon.

And though I love you, sweetheart,

I will not sing your tune.

Rewa was brave. At least, she was thick-witted enough to be able to ignore personal danger to a great extent.