Anilitak didn’t know how to begin, and so after some thought, she tried to describe a sunrise. She struggled for the right words.

“After it’s been dark for a long time, like this, the sky will slowly lighten.” She stopped, realizing how unhelpful this description was. “What I mean is, the sky will become lesser shades of blacker. It will be gray, but lighter and lighter….” This wasn’t going to work. “How long have you been here? Do you know what colors are?”

“I know that what I see is called black and that there is a thing called sight by which things are recognized at a distance. I do not think any still alive has seen light, unless some old, old man wanders the deserted passages as a ghost. But we are taught of light and vision. At least, I was. Fewer of the youth are taught every year. The darkness is seeping into our souls. But, tell me, what is it like? I always imagined that to see was something almost divine.”

“I don’t know what to say. I wish I did.” Flit’s blindness made her feel ashamed. “I take it for granted.” She wanted to help him understand. She had spent only hours in this place; she could not imagine spending her entire life blind—more than blind, because here, no one saw. “Green is like…green is like grass in the spring.”

“There is no grass here, only stone,” Flit said.

“Then green is, is like the touch of a hand.” It wasn’t quite right, but it was the best she had. “And yellow is like a laugh, a real, full-bellied laugh. Blue is silence, but a happy silence, and red is a punch in the face. Sometimes it’s a kiss. It depends. Brown is good advice and orange is a surprise, sometimes pleasant, sometimes unwelcome. Pink…well, pink is something half-realized, and white is smooth and clean, like a clean conscience. Black is—”

“Black is emptiness,” Flit finished. “It’s the end of the guide rope, the open space without walls, full of ghosts.”

“Yeah,” she said softly.

“Thank you,” Flit said. “Now I believe you are from the lighted world. I want to take you to some people I know. You may be able to help us.”

“I….”

“Can I ask you to trust me?”

“Is it safe? I mean, out there. Outside the Knot,” Anilitak said, avoiding the question. She had no reason to distrust Flit, but it was a leap too far to answer with a yes.

“Not yet. I don’t know how long it might wander the halls. After a few hours, the passages around here should be safe.”

“Why do you call it an ‘it’?”

“When I trust you with my name,” he said seriously, “then I will answer that question.” After a moment, he asked: “Are you hungry?”

“Yes.”

“I have some pitimeal with me. Here.” He handed her a large wafer. “Eat it.”

She took a bite. It was something like bread, with a touch of honey. Dry, but not bad.

“I have decided to call you Pink,” Flit said. “Is that all right with you?”

“Pink?”

“Because you are a stranger to me, but a welcome one.“ He laughed. “Half-realized. You get it, right?”

“Yes,” she said. The name made her smile. “Pink’s one of the better names I had.”