Sucasa is shading her eyes to look out at the sun as it gets lower, studying the colors of the light as it changes. Wrema, too, looks up to appreciate this spectacle, but then stiffens, reaching out to take Hera's hand.

"They're looking again," she says, very quietly.

And that, of course, is precisely when a blue-skinned woman steps out from the shadow of a side street, crimson eyes gleaming in the fading light.

"I do hope you were expecting me," the woman says mildly, one eyebrow raised. "It seemed as if your day long parade might have been intentional."