Island of the Sirra.

“Take us to your ruler,” said the second legate to the first person they met upon coming ashore. The dirty and emaciated young woman, wearing only a ragged loincloth, her hair hacked short, stared torpidly at him then turned and pointed. The two legates and their party passed by her, and when she saw that none desired her services she sank down on the stone quay to resume staring with vacant eyes out to sea. Between her shoulders a huge Sirra hung…