Chokyi let Pasang take the lantern, then shuffled to his bed-chamber, which was so familiar that he could pick his way onto his sleeping roll in the darkness. He lay down and closed his eyes, chanting Om mani padme hung softly as he drifted to sleep.

He woke to the sound of a low, keening melody. As Chokyi opened his eyes, he saw Pasang.s shape, outlined by the low golden light of the lamp he had lent her. She knelt by his side, rocking back and forth, eyes closed, singing an ancient Tibetan song. She was naked.

Pasang lay a finger on his breast, tracking its rise and fall. With both hands she pushed Chokyi's robe away from his chest. He gasped at the sensation of her palms across his flesh, raising shivers and pricking his nipples. Lightning flashed, illuminating her face briefly with silver-blue light. Her eyes were heavy as her mouth formed the vowels of her wordless song. Chokyi, still half-asleep, did not think to stop her.

Still singing, Pasang lifted Chokyi's hands to her breasts. He cupped their warmth in his work-worn palms, his calluses catching on her smooth skin. He had not touched a woman's breasts since his mother weaned him, and quickly became aware of an insistent throbbing between his thighs. Chokyi's breath grew deeper and louder as he held her. Pasang's song died away into stillness.