that and the scarf's pattern. He had not wanted to think of her, though, or of what message she might have left him. But now he had no choice.
Beside him, her body pressed against his. Her presence, her smell enveloped him. She leaned back, biting her lip. Quite handsome.
His name. She might have included his name.
He searched for different ways she might have encoded it within the weaving. She could have used the numerical equivalents to the letters: seven for G, one for A. She could have used the pattern of the rune he had chosen to represent him. She could have translated his name into different languages. She could have used one of many complex codes that had been developed by various species over the years, or a code of her own. Time passed. He did not find it.
He must search for another word.
The scarf clenched in his hands, he stood, shivering. He turned up the temperature control as far as it would go, then stumbled back to the bed.
The word he didn't want to look for, of course, the word that he had never wanted to look for, was love. The word she had said to him as she lay dying. The word he had never said to her.
When he searched for patterns connected to that word, he found them everywhere. The word, in different forms, was embedded throughout the scarf, on the small scale and the large, one pattern intersecting the next.
The scarf did not hold some super-complex code, as he had thought. It held many small, simple patterns woven one on top of the other. He didn't know how he'd failed to see it. When he'd sat beside her in the training hall on Soom, when he'd examined her shield, the most striking thing about it had been its simplicity. It had been the order and elegance of her thought that had first drawn him to her.
Now that he understood