The shadows under his eyes are far deeper than those cast by the lamplight that flickers around the two of us, over the rough furniture of his room. Little light comes through the window as of yet, seeing as it is only barely dawn - too early for him to be awake, much less breakfasting. Often enough he skips the morning meal anyhow, stating quietly that eating too soon in the day does not agree with him.
After yet another of his dreams, however, it is impossible for him to sleep again, and therefore we chose to begin the day early. I've brought bread and butter and a bit of fruit, and now we sit together at his small table, eating in silence. There is nothing I can say to him, and no reason to say it even if I would. He knows.
I wonder what will become of the world, when it ends as he has seen. Will we see it coming from a distance, or will calamity come upon us too quickly to acknowledge? Will we who follow him die one by one, or will we all perish at once and all mortal life with us? Will I die quickly, or slowly, watching our brethren pass before me? Will we burn in the fire of the stars falling - or as he says happened long ago, will the earth be covered by a cold and a darkness so severe that it cannot sustain life as we know it?
I could ask him these questions. But he would not answer, or he would have already - for by even thinking the questions in my own mind, I am asking him. I need not interrupt his meal to ask such things aloud, when I know he will not speak.
He breaks our silence with a sudden quiet chuckle, and I look up. "Such a morbid topic for pondering over breakfast," he murmurs, bitter, but not exactly reproving. Not exactly.
I mumble an apology regardless, reaching for another slice of apple from the platter between us. "After so long, I fear such ponderings have become mundane to me."
There is a pause, and when he laughs again, the sound is tinged with honesty and frustrated tears.