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CHAPTER THREE

Light Steps and Heavy Words

I gave the stallion his head, and he flew down the Great Stone Road like the hounds of hell were at our heels. For my part, I would gladly have taken hounds over what I knew was headed our way. I guessed it would take Ambrose no more than an hour to roust the constabulary in Imre. Nothing could spur men to action like the distemper of a rich man's son.

Gut instinct aimed me towards Vintas, which is just a kind way of saying I had no better ideas. Denna's patron was a member of the Maer's court in Severen, and while I felt that his protection was worse than no protection at all, I knew Denna felt differently. There simply wasn't much point to a patron if his power and coin couldn't protect you, on the road or off of it. Besides, he had commissioned her to write that thrice-cursed song. Surely he would expect her to play it now at court. How else could he be congratulated on everything from the genius of her phrasing to her voice and bearing, as if she were a statue he had carved from bare earth? I gritted my teeth and dug my heels into the horse's ribs.

We galloped several miles before I forced the Vaulder to slow to a trot. In spite of the fair weather and the empty road, I felt ill at ease. I wasn't particularly thrilled to be running from the constables, of course, or to be running towards the Chandrian. But that wasn't the source of my frustration. I couldn't help but feel that I had forgotten to do something terribly important.

I rode in an increasingly wretched silence for the better part of an hour before I figured out what was nagging me. I didn't know the horse's name.

I pondered this a while as we trotted through the dappled shadows of the long road. Eventually, I decided the beast's name was Dularion. If pressed, I would have said it meant "strong spirit." In truth, I simply named him this because it seemed to fit. Clearly the horse agreed, for he hardly needed any direction from me at all once I named him. We rode on with a single-minded purpose, a figure shrouded in shadow astride a horse as blindingly bright as sunlight on snow.

The road sloped into a gully limned by a jumble of jagged rocks, and I was forced to dismount. I eased all my weight onto one leg and nearly fell out of the stirrup. Hours of hard riding had turned my legs to rubber. I seized Dularion's reins, and we made our careful way down the hill of loose stone.

I felt a pricking on the back of my neck as we picked our way down the path. I froze and looked up sharply, but there was nothing there. Nothing ahead or behind but trees and stone, and yet I had the odd sensation I was being watched. I shrugged to ease the tension in my shoulder blades and fixed my attention on my feet until we made it down the hillside. These days, the sixth sense I'd developed on the streets of Tarbean led me wrong more often than not.

Still, I couldn't help thinking that the path before us, half-hidden as it was by shadow, was a fine place for an ambush. I cursed my own anxiety as I led Dularion into the darkness. We ducked beneath the reaching branches that lined the broken path, circling a tall sandstone bluff.

A branch cracked behind me, and I jumped nearly a foot in the air. I whirled, drawing Caesura. Dularion followed my lead, high-stepping in a tight circle.

"I know you're there," I called, though secretly I suspected I'd only startled a hart or hare. "There's no point in hiding."

Denna pushed her way out of a thicket. She stilled when she saw me, her eyes going wide.

I don't honestly know which of us was more surprised to see the other, but she recovered her composure more quickly than I did. She turned to untangle a twig that had snagged on her dress, then stepped forward into the road. She picked a few leaves out of her dark hair and smoothed her skirts. Then she folded her arms and looked up at me expectantly, one eyebrow raised.

I was abruptly aware that Caesura was now dangling limply at my side. I blushed furiously and sheathed the blade in what I hoped was a serviceably heroic manner.

"I heard you were in some trouble," I said, "so I thought I'd come and help." They were exactly the same words I'd used in Trebon. At the time, I had been lying.

"I see," she said. She looked me up and down. Her eyes took in my horse, my heavy cloak, my hand resting lightly on the pommel of my sword. She looked into my eyes, and she shivered. Then shook herself, briskly, and the strange look in her eyes disappeared.

Her gaze darted back to the horse, and her eyes narrowed. "That's a beautiful horse," she said. Her tone was suspicious.

"That he is," I agreed. I patted Dularion's neck fondly.

"You didn't buy a beast that fine on short notice." She stepped closer and her eyes caught on crest on the saddle. "Jakis?" she hissed. "You borrowed from that bastard?"

"Of course not," I said hotly. "I stole from him."

Her jaw dropped open. Her hand flew up, half-covering her face. "You ... stole from him," she repeated faintly.

I nodded. A crooked smile crept onto my face. "Right under his nose. His expression ..." I shook my head, my smile turning wistful. "I could get rich selling cartoons of it to all the women he's slighted."

Her expression changed from bemusement to horror. "That's not funny, Kvothe. Horse theft is a hanging offense. He'll have you executed."

My smile slipped a notch. "Only if he catches me."

She gave me an odd look. "Of course he'll catch you, as soon as you return to the University."

I squared my shoulders and looked her straight in the eye. "Well, in that case, it's a good thing I'm not going back."

Denna's eyebrows rose. I shrugged casually, even as my heart clenched. "I thought I'd head back east for a while," I said. "Chase the wind. You know."

She did know. She knew more about burning bridges than anyone I'd ever met. She considered me for a moment, then nodded. "Fair enough," she said. She didn't push. That was the root of our relationship, of course, our blessing and curse.

I glanced around. "I expected to catch up to you ages ago. How did you come so far so quickly?"

"Oh!" She ducked back into the bushes. She returned with a travelsack thrown over one shoulder and her harp case in one hand. In the other, she held the reins of a placid, short-legged roan mare. The mare didn't much care for the briars, and it took Denna a few minutes to coax her out into the open.

"She's a far sight sturdier than she looks," she said, patting the mare. She shrugged and gave me an apologetic half-smile. It was a tiny gesture, and the most beautiful thing I'd seen all day. "She's no Vaulder, but she's best I could manage heading out of town on short notice."

"She looks like she could pull a wagon or three," I agreed. I turned back to the stallion and sighed. "I only needed Dularion to find you. A Vaulder won't be worth half a damn to either of us if we get hauled back to Imre in irons. Still, it's good to know we won't be horseless."

She raised an eyebrow. "We?"

I realized abruptly that I hadn't asked if she would mind my company. I blushed. "Denna, I ..."

My voice trailed off. I hadn't thought about what I would say once I found her. Did she know the Chandrian were after her? If I told her that they were, would she believe me or send me away? I planted my feet and took a deep breath.

"Denna, there are men after you."

"I know that. How do you?"

"I came looking for you this morning. The innkeeper told me he'd turned two men away earlier. He said they were armed." I paused, fighting off the urge to smile. "He saw you sneaking out the window."

She blushed. "How embarrassing," she said, but the corners of her mouth quirked upwards. She gave me a considering look. "So you stole a horse and hammered down the road after me. A bit of an overreaction, don't you think?"

"I doubt it." I said grimly. "Do you know who is looking for you?"

She shook her head. "No, and I'm not sure I want to." She frowned. "Why, do you?"

"I've a fair idea," I admitted.

She looked up at me, her face expectant. "Well?"

I drew a breath, then paused, wishing there were a gentle way to break hard news. "The Eolian caught fire just after you left town." Her hand flew to her face. Her eyes widened. I took another steadying breath. "Denna, the fire was blue."

Her knees gave out. I dashed forward and threw an arm around her waist. She clung to me for a moment, then stepped away. She closed her eyes briefly. When she looked at me again, her gaze was almost calm. Almost. She walked over to a wide rock and sat down, arranging her skirts carefully. I sat down next to her.

She stared into the trees for a while, her expression studiously blank. "You're quite certain?" she said finally.

I nodded. "I saw it. I ... I tried to put out the fire, but I couldn't. It burned too hot."

"Are Stanchion and Deoch safe?"

I stared at my hands. "Deoch got out. Stanchion ..." I swallowed tightly against a sudden lump in my throat.

"Oh, gods," Denna whispered. She hid her face in her hands.

I sat frozen in place, uncertain what to do. I had no idea how she would react if I tried to hold her. I hovered uncertainly for a moment, then reached out and rested my hand lightly on her arm.

She stared up at me through her fingers. "I don't understand," she said. "Why would the Chandrian come after me?" She lifted her head from her hands and gave a sudden laugh, breathy and wild. "Gods, I feel so foolish just saying that."

"You've heard the stories," I said. "They kill anyone that sings of them."

She shook her head. "But I didn't sing of them," she said. "I sang of Lanre."

I hesitated, remembering our fight in Severen. I had told her then that the stories said Lanre had become one of the Chandrian. I didn't want to bring it up again. In fact, I wanted desperately to erase every sharp-edged memory of that day. Half a year had passed, and it was still a shadow between us.

I think Denna sensed my distress. Her dark eyes narrowed at me briefly then lost focus, turning inward. "You knew," she said slowly, remembering. "You knew this would happen. That's why you were so angry with me in Severen, when you heard me sing."

"I suspected," I conceded. "I ... "

I fell silent. Part of me wanted to tell her about my parents, but I knew that words would fail me if I tried. That secret was etched into my bones now. It was as much a part of me as my own name. In any case, how could it help Denna to know that my troupe had died no more than a three day ride from this place, at the hands of the creatures who hunted her now? Over two dozen of my people had died that day. My family. What chance did we have, travelling alone?

"Kvothe?"

I glanced over and found her staring at me. "I spoke to a girl from Trebon last year," I said hastily. "She'd seen what the Mauthen family had found under the foundations of their farm. It was a vase with the Chandrian painted on it. When I heard your song ..." I shrugged. "I'd heard that Lanre became one of the Chandrian. I was afraid they would come after you."

She nodded. There was a long pause. "So, what do you suggest we do?" she said at last.

"What we're doing," I said. "We run, and we hope they can't find us."

"And if they do?"

"Then I will protect you," I said fiercely. "Or die trying."

She nudged me playfully, but her eyes were grave. "My knight in shining armor," she murmured. She gave me a wry smile. "I hope you didn't steal the sword, too."

I ran my fingers along the smooth grip. "Caesura is mine. And I know how to use her."

She nodded. "You look like you do. I wouldn't have said that a year ago. Now it suits you." She paused. "I don't know how I feel about that, all things considered. But I suppose, right now, I am glad of it."

I nodded absently. I looked down the path before us and sighed. "We'd better get started. I want to get as far as possible before the light dies."

We picked our way around the stone bluff, horses in tow. The road widened and straightened until it was once again a proper road, well-worn by wheel ruts and the imprint of horseshoes left during the last rain. Without a word, we mounted our horses and spurred them to a fast trot. Denna's face was a weary mask, a reflection of my own.

We cantered through abandoned fields ajumble with purple flowers, through cheerful stands of yellow beech and dark swaths of pine forest. Eventually we reached a cluster of farms. Beyond, orderly rows of autumn wheat swayed in the wind, ready for the harvest.

I called out to Denna and reined in just past the largest farm. Horses grazed in a paddock nearby. They were simple plow beasts, no match for my white stallion, but they looked well-cared for.

I dismounted. "Time to part ways," I told Dularion. He blinked at me, unconcerned. I unsaddled him, stifling a twinge of regret. I rubbed him down, then slapped his rear.

"Head back towards Imre, you great beast." He gave me a baleful stare, and I laughed. "Fine, then find yourself a fine mare to rut with. And stay out of sight of the constables." He whinnied. His stance told me he wasn't planning to go anywhere anytime soon.

I shrugged and turned away, staring down at the saddle in my hands. I wondered what on earth to do with it. Fine as it was, we couldn't possibly take it with us.

Suddenly, I smiled.

I used my small dagger to pry away the semi-precious stones embedded in the flap, taking care to slash up the finely tooled leather as much as possible. I tucked the stones into my purse. Then I added a few embellishments to Ambrose's house crest. Denna peeked over my shoulder, reading aloud as I carved. "Jackass?"

I grinned at her. I whistled the chorus of "Jackass, Jackass" as I picked up the saddle, slung it over my shoulder, and marched towards a stand of trees.

"Where are you going?" Denna asked, her expression startled.

"I have a sudden need to relieve myself," I announced.

I held the saddle with considerably more delicacy on my way back. I set it in the middle of the road, a present for the constables.

"Very mature," she observed. "What did Ambrose do to set you off, anyway?"

"He exists," I said firmly. "Saddle or cantle?"

"Saddle," she said, and stepped into it. I settled in behind her, grabbing the back of the saddle for support. I doubted Denna would be well-pleased if I took the opportunity to seize her by the waist. For that matter, the horse would not be well-pleased either.

Denna smiled wickedly at me as she gathered the reins. "I hope you have good balance," she said.

"I'll manage," I said, trying to look more confident than I felt. I hadn't ridden double since I was a child.

Denna spurred the horse to a quick trot. Every step bounced me up into the air, rattling my teeth and forcing me to clutch the horse's flanks with my thighs to avoid falling off. Denna half-turned and laughed out loud at the intent expression on my face. I narrowed my eyes at her, but inwardly I glowed. Her laughter had the ring of temple bells on a winter morning, warm and inviting.

We spoke very little as we rode. She told me about her time in Anilin, and I told her about my summer term. But our pauses grew deeper and wider, until we did not speak at all. We rode on in silence, lost in dark thoughts. As the afternoon waned, the sky grew heavy with the promise of rain. The changing weather suited my mood.

We left the road as the sun fell behind the tree line, seeking safety in a vast tangle of woods, and followed a meandering creek to a stand of towering spruces under which nothing grew. Dead pine needles made a smooth mattress of the forest floor. It was a calm, quiet place.

I hunted for stones and built a small firepit in the center of the clearing while Denna looked after the mare. She was good with horses. I suppose that was no surprise, given her restless nature.

She pulled two apples from her bag. She threw one to me and fed the other to the mare. I smiled, remembering an apple she and I had shared in Trebon.

She gave the mare a considering look. "She's quite red, isn't she? Not as red as you, of course ..." She stroked the horse's muzzle. "Maybe I should call her Apple."

I made a face. "By that logic, you should call me Apple too."

She laughed. "No, it doesn't suit you. You bite back when bitten. Besides, I'm not sure you're sweet enough."

"I'm plenty sweet," I objected. "When I want to be."

"You do say the sweetest things," she conceded.

I stiffened. She offered me a quick, apologetic smile and turned back to the horse, speaking quickly to fill the silence between us before it could become tense. "Okay, not Apple then. What about ... Placid?"

I walked over, chewing this over as I chewed on my apple. "I think we can give her more credit than that. She came a long way today."

"That she did," she agreed. "What would you name her, young Taborlin?"

I smiled. I tucked the apple into my pocket and stepped to the mare's side. I pressed my hands against her barrel-like chest and closed my eyes. I breathed deeply, in and out, three times. Then, for good measure, I chanted the first few lines of a song Felurian had taught me in the language of the Fae. If I remember correctly, the song was about a goosegirl who fell under the thrall of the Prince of Twilight. I'm sure I mangled it horribly, but it sounded impressive enough if you didn't know anything about the Fae.

I opened my eyes to find Denna staring at me. Her expression was half shocked, half incredulous.

"You're full of shit," she said finally.

A grin broke out on my face. "True enough. But I did give her a name. She's Roah." The horse nickered softly, as if in approval.

Denna looked puzzled. "Roah?"

"It's a wood," I explained. "Dark and beautiful, sturdy and long-lived, strong as iron. It's stubborn, too, a hard wood to work."

She ran a hand through the horse's mane. "Roah. I like it."

I started a small fire while Denna laid out food from her travelsack. She'd brought bread and sausage as well as apples, proper food for a long journey. I supplemented this with blackberries and hickory nuts foraged along the road. I was surprised, and more than a little embarrassed, that I had not thought of food once during my flight from Imre.

After we ate, I doused our fire with water from the creek and used the last light of the day to hunt down a rabbit beat. Denna sang to me as I laid out snares using wire I kept in the pockets of my cloak. She bounced from one song to another, her voice low and lovely. She lay on the ground, her hair spread out behind her in a dark fan.

"What's your favorite song?" she asked.

I thought about it for a while. "The Raggle Taggle Ruh," I said finally.

She grinned at me, and her smile was like sunshine on my heart. "I've never heard of it. It sounds silly."

"It is, a bit. You wouldn't have heard of it. It's the sort of song we sing around the fire, among ourselves. It's not for others." I paused. "My parents wrote it."

"Oh? What's it about?"

I sat down beside her. "It's about a noble lady who runs away from home to live life as a trouper."

She smiled. "It sounds like just the song for me. Sing it to me?" So I did.

Afterwards, I practiced the Ketan. I stepped through it twice, with and without Caesura. I went more slowly than usual, determined not to misstep. Threat hung over us like a storm on the horizon. It was not a night for half-measures.

Denna watched me in silence, her dark eyes curious. At first I felt self-conscious, recalling how strange Tempi's slow dance had once seemed to me. But Denna's gaze held no hint of mockery, and I soon became used to the feel of her eyes on my back. For a brief time, I found some peace in surrender to the hypnotic focus the Ketan required.

It was full dark by the time I finished and sat cross-legged beside Denna on the forest floor. I rested Caesura across my knees.

Denna stared at the sword, her lips pursed. "Well, you've convinced me you know how to use that thing," she said. "For all the good it will do either of us." She stared into the darkness. "The two of us against the Chandrian," she muttered, "armed with only a sword."

I ran a hand along the flat of the blade. "She's not just any sword," I said. "She's five thousand years old. She spilled blood at the Battle of Drossen Tor. She's older even than the Chandrian."

Denna gave me a look of profound disbelief. I smiled crookedly. "Besides, I'm not just any swordsman. I'm Kvothe the Arcane, remember? I know the names of all things."

She snorted. "Pardon me if I don't feel entirely comforted."

I gave her a serious look. "I may not be Taborlin the Great, but I've got a few tricks up my sleeve." I glanced away, my expression darkening. "They don't call it blood magic for nothing."

She stilled. There was the barest of pauses, but to me it was frighteningly deep. "What kind of tricks?"

I hesitated. I was afraid of what she would think of me if I told her what I could do. What I had done.

I knew, when I dared think about it, that I wasn't like other students at the University, that I wasn't like other men. I suspected something inside me had broken when I was a child, the night my parents died. Or maybe it had broken in Tarbean, the day a boy tried to rip off my clothes, and I bit off his fingers. Maybe it had broken the day I doused Pike in alcohol and set him on fire.

I abruptly felt cold inside. I'd killed so many men since then. I'd killed women. I'd killed them in cold blood, from deep within the Heart of Stone. I was up to my elbows in blood, just like the tattoed Ciridae in the old stories. Unlike the Ciridae, I was not always certain that everything I'd done was just.

I wrapped my arms around myself, and shivered, and kept my silence. I couldn't tell Denna of the things I'd done. She would never love me if she knew. She would run away.

"Kvothe? What kind of tricks?"

I looked away, hating my silence even as I embraced it. I would carve a hole through an army to protect Denna. I would summon demons and shatter mountains. She would know that soon enough, when the Chandrian came. Surely I should warn her now. Surely the time for secrets was past.

"Kvothe?"

Three times, she asked for truth. I closed my eyes. When I spoke, my voice sounded hollow and cold. "I can break a bowstring or a blade without touching it. I can cut one man, be he dead or alive, and make another bleed. I can make a doll of a man, and kill him by destroying it. Sometimes I can summon a storm, and call down lightning from the sky."

She said nothing for a long time. "Have you done these things?" she said at last. Her expression was carefully blank.

I fixed my gaze on the blade in my hands. "Only to protect myself, or others."

She stared at me, her eyes wide and uncertain. She looked as if she might say something, then shook her head and looked away. Her fingers twirled her ring nervously.

"I don't want to frighten you," I said quickly. "I just want you to understand that I can protect you. I will protect you, Denna. Always. No matter what."

Her eyes widened. "I know that," she said. After a moment, she rested a hand on my arm. "I trust you, Kvothe. I do. It's just ... well, it's a shock, is all."

She stared down at the sword lying across my knees and shuddered. "Put that thing away, would you? It gives me the all-overs."

I sheathed Caesura and placed her at my side. I shifted uncomfortably under Denna's gaze. I opened my mouth, then closed it again. What could I possibly say?

A faint laugh escaped her lips. "You blush very prettily for a stone-hearted killer," she teased. And just like that, the tension between flowed away. Not entirely forgotten, perhaps, but put aside for the moment.

We sat in silence for a long time, shoulder to shoulder, and watched the stars appear through a gap in the trees. Or, more correctly, she watched the stars, and I watched her.

Her cheeks were flushed from the cold. Her hair was tangled. Her eyes were dark pools. I sat and stared and stared.

She caught me staring and glanced away. A knowing smile danced at the corners of her mouth. Tension built between us, like a chord pulled taut, not yet released. It was sweet and shy and hungry and wild, all at once.

We filled the silence with small gestures and brief touches, a careful dance. I shifted slightly to the side, so that our shoulders brushed. She stretched, her back arching so that her breasts swelled against her bodice. I swept a stray eyelash from her cheek. She leaned over me to pick up a small yellow leaf at my feet. She fingered the leaf absently, then rested her head against my shoulder and tucked it in my cloak pin. She stared at the leaf, then sighed.

"What's wrong?"

"Now it's just waiting to die."

"It's just a leaf," I said gently, "I don't think it's waiting for anything."

She shrugged. A wind blew up around us, and she shivered. "It's cold."

I froze, uncertain. Was she asking me to hold her? I couldn't. What if I tried, and she startled? Now, more than ever, that was a risk I couldn't take.

I untucked the leaf. I wanted to tuck it into her braid, caress her face, run my fingers along her lips. I tossed it aside instead. I unpinned my cloak, quickly working it to its full length. I held it out to her. "Here."

She sat up. "Don't be stupid. Then you'll be cold."

I shrugged. "It wouldn't be the first time."

She stared at me. "Always such a gentleman," she said finally. She sounded exasperated.

She took the fabric. She turned it over in her hands, and frowned. "It feels odd," she said. "As if it's heavier than it should be. No, not heavier. More like ... darker. Not the color, I mean." She ran the cloth through her fingers. "It's almost like it's not a cloak at all. Like its ... a sliver of the night sky." She gave an embarrassed laugh, her hand flying to her mouth. "Gods above, what a foolish thing to say."

I stared at her. "It's not foolish at all," I said quietly.

She snorted and shook her head. "Listen to me. Like some doe-eyed village girl, swooning over Kvothe the Arcane and his cloak made of shadows."

"I'd never mistake you for doe-eyed," I said, smiling.

She cocked her head at me. "A woman could take offense at that."

I blushed. "I meant it as a compliment."

She smiled too then, slowly. There was something wicked about it. Playful. Secret. She looked down at my cloak. "Why don't we share?"

She threw it around my shoulders and curled up against me. Slowly, she molded her body to mine. She was warm and solid and impossibly soft. She buried her fingers in my shirt. She made a soft, contented noise in the back of her throat. "Mmm, that's better." She wriggled, rearranging her skirts.

I froze, cursing myself for a fool. I should have kept my wits about me, shouldn't have let things come this far. I couldn't protect her if she ran from me now. "Denna, I -" I steeled myself, preparing to say ... something. Something about not deserving her, about having nothing to offer.

"Shhh," she whispered. She rolled over, straddling my hips. She covered my mouth with her hand. She pressed her forehead to mine. "Let's just ... breathe."

Her voice was earnest, even desperate. I could feel her trembling. She wasn't just cold. She was afraid.

I didn't know how to comfort her. I was afraid too.

I closed my eyes and breathed her in deeply, slowly. She smelled faintly of perfuming scents, sandalwood and jasmine. Underneath that, I could smell road dust and sweat. I rested my forehead against her chest. She sighed. I placed my hands on her hips and nuzzled her throat. My fingers strummed the laces at the small of her back.

Her chest rose and fell, faster now. My heart fluttered in my chest. I could barely hold my thoughts together.

She shifted, pressing herself warmly against me, and my last shred of self-control vanished. I buried a hand in the loose tangles of her hair and crushed her mouth to mine. She gasped quietly, her legs clenching around my hips.

We became a tangle of tongues and limbs, of bare skin and little moans. I lifted her off of me and laid her down on the soft forest floor. I pressed my body against hers and kissed her long and slow, sweet and short. It was a dizzy duet with an ever-changing tempo. Legato, accelerando, crescendo-and refrain. That night I gave her something no other man had ever offered her, a love that gave instead of took.

Afterwards, we lay naked beneath my shaed, and spoke of nothing. We pointed out constellations and sang the choruses of half-remembered songs. We spoke too, haltingly, of things we'd lost, things we wish we'd never learned. She spoke of summers by the ocean and an old stone house with blue shutters. I spoke of songs around the campfire and the jolt of wagons on the road.

She told me her name. It was a long name, a name of many parts. The sort of name that could burden a soul. It tasted strange on my tongue, after years of knowing her as Denna. But it also tasted good, like a bite from one of the thick-skinned spinefruits the traders bring through Tarbean from the southern coast of Yll. I used to filch them from wide-mouthed barrels as the sailors emptied their holds. I told Denna all of this, and she laughed.

We slept, and woke, and made love again. We clung to each other as if each brittle, perfect second was the last we would ever share. And it was.