As the men were settling themselves around the dying fire, preparing to sleep, Chaucer knelt himself down beside Will. His expression held nothing in it but extreme disapproval.

"What?" Will asked, slightly offended.

"What is bloody wrong with you, boy?"

Will was too tired to start in with these games, so he simply asked, "Just tell me what you think it is I've done wrong now, would you? And let me get some sleep."

"How could you say that? To Kate? Do you actually think she's better off leaving us? Is she of so little importance to you, that you really want to see her go?"

"No, of course not, Geoff. Of course I want her to stay here with us, but what could I have possibly said to change her mind? You heard her, she wants to be with her family."

"We are her family. You could have at least said that."

"You're the poet, Geoff, not me. If you want to hear such elegant things, say them yourself," Will grumbled as he settled himself down.

"It's not elegance, it's simply the truth; something you seem to be having a hard time recognizing these days." And with that Chaucer rose and continued around the fire to settle himself down on the opposite side.

Will didn't know what to think of Geoff's words. He was having a hard enough time coming to grips with the news Kate had just laid upon them. It was unfathomable that they would be continuing on without her. They had accepted her so naturally into the group that her presence seemed an ideal fit with everyone else. Will couldn't imagine how the dynamic would change with her gone. Putting aside her incredible ability with a hammer and anvil, he enjoyed having her around. She was a quiet presence in the group, who often acted as the voice of reason, the moral compass and even at times the chastising tongue. He couldn't believe he hadn't realized all this about her until now, right when he was about to say goodbye to her forever.

He stretched out on his back, hands behind his head, and heaved a sigh. Maybe Geoff was right; maybe there was something he could say to make her change her mind, make her stay. But how could Will live with himself if he did that? If he convinced her to stay, would she always regret it, and dream for the life she might have had instead? Will felt guilty but he didn't want to picture Kate happily married to some man, with 3 or 4 children underfoot. He didn't want to picture her anywhere else but on the sidelines as he competed in his jousts. He wanted her around their campfire each night as they shared each other's company and celebrated his victories. He didn't want to feel guilty, but he also didn't want her to go. The more he considered the situation, the more it angered him. He was being put in this position where if he were to be a good friend, he would convince her to stay with them, where she belonged, with those that cared about her. But also, if he were a good friend, he would support her decision, and wish her luck as she made her way back home. How in heavens was he supposed to pick a side? And damn her for forcing him to choose! He turned on his side, punching the bundle he was using as a pillow. Why did she have to do this to them, anyway. Why would she join them, spend all this time getting close to them, hell, give him dance lessons, if she just planned to abandon them a few months later! It infuriated him that she could so easily just toss them aside, decide that she wants to go and never see them again. What kind of a person does that; did she never feel true friendship toward any of them? How could he, Will, have been so blind that he misread the closeness he thought they shared?

Now, having worked himself into a state of real anger, Will knew he would not be able to sleep. He had to speak with Kate, and it could not wait until morning. He had to make her understand how selfish her decision really was. He got to his feet and stomped off in the direction of the wagon. Chaucer smiled to himself as he watched Will go.