The bed is cold and the ground is hard, numbing him to the bone. The starlit sky is shadowed by the dark awning of the tent, and yet he feels that communication between himself and his reason for living that lies inert in a soft bed miles away, his side flattened, not indented by his presence that comforts his wife deeply. A yawning gap awaits him, a gap that separates him and her, with every step he takes. What is to be lying in wait for him when he steps out onto the battle field? What is there to stop him falling into darkness? Only the thought of her. The thought of her that can keep him going through the dirty, shattering days ahead. The thought of her warm body that can lie beside him again once this nightmare is over. Why he ever went up is beyond him, now. Why he ever chose to venture forth, causing her pain and troubles; heaping his duties upon her weakening back.