Two knights lie asleep in one bed chamber, one's arm draped across the other's stomach. The castle is drafty even in summer and now, pressing on towards fall, it is moreso, so the two are pressed close together against the cold. It could go ill for them both if they are caught, but one leaves tomorrow for his death and so, for the first and last time, they will pass the night together. That action, more that any word, speaks their goodbye. One will depart. The other will keep his rooms for him. Neither expects the departing to return, but it is never too much to hope. It is why, in the morning, they will say "Fair travel" and not "Farewell."
