Beside it Ruth's fair skin was like some sun-and-wind-roughened country lass's to Titania's.
She studied us as though she were seeing for the first time beings of her own kind.

She spoke--and her voice was elfin distant, chimingly sweet like hidden little golden bells; filled with that tranquil, far off spirit that was part of her--as though indeed a tiny golden chime should ring out from the silences, speak for them, find tongues for them.

The words were hesitating, halting as though the lips that uttered them found speech strange--as strange as the clear eyes found our images.
And the words were Persian--purest, most ancient Persian.
"I am Norhala," the golden voice chimed forth, whispered down into silence.

"I am Norhala." She shook her head impatiently.

A hand stole forth from beneath her veils, slender, long-fingered with nails like rosy pearls; above the wrist was coiled a golden dragon with wicked little crimson eyes.