“Far within the fortress citadel, so deep within that the sound sometimes lost itself in the flow of city noises, a ten-string rebaba tinkled with a song of the Jihad, a lament for a woman left behind on Arrakis:
‘Her hips are dunes curved by the wind,Her eyes shine like summer heat,
Two braids of hair hang down her back-
Rich with water rings, her hair!
My hands remember her skin,
Fragrant as amber, flower scented…
I am stricken by love’s white flame!’ ”
Dune Messiah, Frank Herbert
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