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. A sudden gust of
wind blew the blanket aside. A flurry of snow hissed and
danced on the glowing embers.
"I feel myself growing strangely weak, as though my
life were being drained off," the mage said, huddling into
the wet blankets. "Is that a result of the spell?"
"Yes ... I feel it, too. And it isn't a spell," Amberyl said,
doing what she could to stir up the blaze. Coming around to
sit in front of the mage, she clasped her arms around her
legs, looking at him as intently as he stared at her.
"Take off your scarf," he whispered.
Slowly, Amberyl unwound the scarf from her face,
letting it fall about her shoulders. She shook out her snow-
wet hair, feeling drops of water spatter on her hands.
"How beautiful you - " He broke off. "What will happen
to me?" Raistlin asked abruptly. "Will I die?"
"I - I don't know," Amberyl answered reluctantly, her
gaze going to the fire. She couldn't bear to look at him. The
mage's eyes burned through her, touching something deep
inside, filling her with sweet pain. "I have . . . never heard
of this . . . happening to - to a . . . human before."
"So you are not human," Raistlin remarked.
"No, I am not," Amberyl replied, still unable to face
him
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