What is Life??

[Tristan]

Ever known as a lone wolf, even in peace, the man always portrays the mysterious and deadly scout accompanied by only his hawk for company. His youth in Sarmatia long forgotten, and knowing no true home, except the saddle upon his horse. Cognizant of nothing but death and war in his life, he has made killing an art. His sword, a scimitar, and his Sarmatian-style reflex composite bow have left battlefields stained with the blood of those he has killed or mortally wounded and left to die a lingering, painful death.

Some find him a bit disturbing; some regard him a hero of Baden Hill, one of the few foreigners that remained in Briton to ensure the people lived free. Regardless of what people think or feel about Tristan, no one argues the fact of his trust and loyalty as a member of King Arthur’s Knights of the Round Table. Despite caring for his brethren knights, the battle comes first. Some would wonder if he would give his life to save his friends… his view point is, make the enemy give his life… then his brothers would be safe.

Civilians… Training civilians no less… and at this thought made Tristan shakes his head. What was Arthur thinking…?? Tristan spat saliva on the ground, as he thought of the fight he and Cerdic had at Baden Hill, those many years ago.… Why did Arthur stop him from killing that Saxon? Yeah so he was wounded… but as Cerdic swung his sword at him, the dagger was aimed at Cerdic’s lungs… but Arthur and Excalibur prevented both from killing one another. Cerdic eventually led the Saxons to control the western territories… and began to formalize their lands… And now… his son Cynric and his brood rule the Saxons… Good thing Merlin still reigns his lands to the north. All this left a bad taste in Tristan’s mouth. And with a hefty drink of the goatskin, he resumed his duties.

The Knights were training civilians… They had bent their plowshares into swords. And their picks into axes… He breathed a deep sigh as the potter swung too high… “No no… like this…” and Tristan demonstrated the proper way to swing a heavy blade… Frustrated with the potter, h snatched the sword away from him. “This is too heavy for you… it will do nothing but get yu killed… come…” and the pair walked to the weapons wagon. Choosing a sword… “Here hold this upright… when yu think yu can no longer hold it, hiold it some more… when I tell you, switch hands…” Then Tristan walked back to the others and added some more instruction.

Riding, sword fighting, and target practice… day in and day out… and luckily, this day was over… When Lancelot dismissed the civilians… it was time for a drink… Ah the beautiful Vanora would serve them all drinks and sing, just as she did so many years ago… Good some things do not change.

Hours later, and the gathering still continued, Tristan had enough, and preferred to be alone… so he went out the gate and into the woods… and sat by the stream, flicking stones across the water.

As the knight sat alone, his mind traced thru the years, picking events to focus upon… His mother and father’s deaths by the Uralic horde, warlike tribes that would invade Scythia and Sarmatia to attack Roman legions, when he was little… the training he endured as he grew to an adolescent… and then servitude… servitude to the Roman legions in Briton. Two good things came from this… Arthur and his knights… Then his mind flashed to the Saxons, standing by a girl at Hadrians Wall… ready to reap her innocence from a mere 11 year old… and Tristan smiled at the thought of his blade ripping their intestines from their bodies… He eventually carried the girl to Arthur, where he ensured she would live, heal, and grow up.

He tossed a stone across the stream, skipping it several times, wondering what happened to the little girl. He leaned back against the tree by the stream and set his sarmation hat beside him… his braids hanging haphazardly loose.

[Pandra]

Pandra was known as a rather silent person. She had become more so since she was kidnapped at the age of eleven. She had come home for a time to take lessons for Aberth the druid of sacrifice and death for her tribe. It was a high chance were she to stay for all her life like was originally planned she could be the first female chief druid of her time as the old chief took a liking to her in his old age. Still she would not take the position. She was obligated in so many ways to represent the tribe and Gaul if she could to Arthur. Her position had changed thanks to being kidnapped by the Saxons. It was a blessing and a curse in many ways that she still could not see. She was sixteen after all and had just taken her woman hood ceremony like the guys. She could be trained as a warrior as well because of the war she had seen. She choose to stay with Aberth though. He was the only father figure in the tribe that she had and there was nothing that was going to change what she felt her called was. She could fight but that was something that she would not do unless she had too.

Aberth turned to her as she meditated on nothing and he placed an amulet around her neck. She opened her eyes and smiled. Words were not something that they had to exchange. They both knew that it was time for her to go back. It was cold out and she had stayed longer then she should have. He kissed her on the forehead and sent her on her way. She wrapped up in her cloak as the trek would be rather long. She left out of the tribal land and headed towards Briton. She continued until she came to a stop to take a rest. It would take her a few days to get where she needed to go but something did not seem right. There was something out there that was wrong. She started up quickly again.

She slept under the trees until she got to the wall of Hadrian. She smiled as she entered. She could hear singing and partying as it seemed. Though she could not find who she wanted. There was a man that she had not seen since she was little. A man that had it not been for him the Saxons would have killed her. She looked around and finally decided to go to the stream. It didn't take her long to get there. She heard a stone on the water as she advanced towards it. She smiled when she saw a Samatian hat on the ground and braids. She walked up to him quietly. It took her another moment before she opened her mouth up. "Tristan?" That was all she said before she sat down taking off the cloak she had on revealing a white dress.

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[Tristan]

Had fate played a part in their lives? What brought Tristan to the stream? Solitude? Possibly, in the guise of it, if nothing else. But his search of solitude would be thwarted by a visitor. What brought the girl back? Back to Hadrians Wall? Back to this very stream… at the same time he was there?

“Serendipity. Look for something, find something else, and realize that what you've found is more suited to your needs than what you thought you were looking for.”

He heard someone in the distance, yet he showed no concern. The footfalls were too light for anyone carrying a weapon… It was a woman for sure… though women were also dangerous, he slid the dagger from his boot and stayed prepared. She walked up behind him, and though his senses were tingling, they were non-threatened.

She called his name and he slowly turned around… “Yes? That is me…” his words limited, his eyes looked upon someone familiar. When she removed her cloak, he saw a young, beautiful woman… and the white dress highlighted her red hair, he neither flirted, nor spoke, nor even seemed interested… So much for outward expression. He was not one for speaking too much nor showing how he felt inside.

There were many things that brought Pandra to the stream. By no means of her own did she realize she would find who she was looking for there. No, she had gone there because, like a few others at times, she liked to be alone. The stream however was usually one of the first places she went to when she returned. After the stream, it would be Badon Hill to get lost among the trees in the distance. Even at this far away from her tribe, the trees called to her. She was a druid first and foremost and everything else after. She was pleasantly glad that there was someone by the stream that she knew. Someone she had not been able to thank so many years back. She hadn't seen him again after she had been taken to get healed. Knights always seemed to be out doing something and it was true for the warriors at home.

As silent as she was coming up to him, she knew that he would know she was there. She carried a weapon or two with her but nothing anyone would actually consider thinking about because after all she was a woman. It took him a few seconds to turn around when she called his name. To her he had not changed since she saw him at the age of eleven. He just looked a little older. She looked around for his hawk which usually wasn't too far behind him. It didn't take long for her to see the bird as he swooped down onto her arm that she had stretched out for him. It was Tristan the man she owed her life too. Not something she took lightly she would do anything for him as it was the way that she was.

His words were limited and somehow she knew why. It wasn't like words really needed to be spoken. She was wondering however what he was thinking of her at the moment. She had grown older over the time they had been apart. She was not the same little girl that he had found. She was however one like him who enjoyed solitude. She liked the little surprises that happened when one did not exactly get as the seeked. A small smile came to her face as she looked at him. "I never got to say this but thank you very much for saving my life. I owe you a deep debt." She looked away toward the bird now seated on her arm. She used her other hand to pet it slowly.

“Phoenix does nay like people…” he turned facing the stream again, patting the ground next to him, then flicking his wrist sending the hawk to the air. The aeronaut left her arm with only a slight push, his large wings carrying him aloft, leaving the pair alone. And as she neared him, he glanced quickly… eerie eyes spoke much while words evaded the conversation.

His comment about the hawk not liking people actually meant that she was favored. His patting the ground was actually an invitation to sit and visit. “You owe me nothing… twas my duty…” again he looked at her. Looking away, he speaks softly… “Your thanks is well appreciated.” The girl of eleven was pretty then, but now she was a grown woman… aged for marrying and bearing children. “Your husband?” he asked… Encryptic sentences asked questions, his mind forced the words to retreat.

“You enjoy being alone?” Being a loner, one chooses to be far from crowds… to live a solitary life… Canting his head he smiles briefly and speaks ever so softly, almost to the octave the stream would surely drowned out... and he looks to the stream. “When I dance, I dance… when I sleep, I sleep… yes, and when I walk alone in a beautiful orchard, my thoughts drift to far-off matters for some part of the time… then I bring them back again to the walk, the orchard, to the sweetness of this solitude, to myself.”

Was that his way of interrogating her… finding out if she was married… if she liked solitude… and alas, to tell her she had been on his mind time to time? Tristan was not a complex man… though many would perceive him such. It only took someone time to try…

Pandra looked at Phoenix as the hawk took off on command by Tristan from her arm. She loved to watch the hawk fly. He left them and she returned to looking at Tristan. The simple thing such as a bird taking flight always had fascinated her and always would. She liked to stop and take time to truly look and watching something grow or rather fly in this case. She could sit there in silence and yet hear so many things all at once. It was amazing and at times a bit overwhelming to the point where her mother and then Aberth had to take her out of her trance because she would pass out which could be dangerous for her. She was never angry when they pulled her out of it either. She was listening to Tristan's words, as little and almost encryptic as they were. Her smile grew a bit wider as she heard him say that her thanks were appreciated regardless of that fact that it was his duty. He didn't have to save her, duty or no. She could have been a Saxon child left behind but they both knew at that second she wasn't. It was Phoenix after all who had guided Tristan to her.

The next words caught her off guard. He was asking if she was married and then seconds later asking if she liked to be alone. She had no husband that was for sure. She was a marrying age. She just didn't want to marry anyone in her village. Many men had asked for her hand but Aberth turned them down or she did. Most others let her be because she was so interested in the death of things as well much like Aberth was. She had been practically raised by him so what did they expect out of her. No she did not know of one that could take her heart like that. None other than Tristan had it completely and she was sure that another would be bidding for affection and his hand. After all he was a warrior strong and handsome. He just happened to truly be her knight in shining armor because of saving her. She has seen a Saxon camp when she had entered the wall but she had not been spotted by them which made her happy. Saxons were something she did not want to deal with ever again.

Her mind wandered only for that second before Tristan's voice came to her ears again. She had only ever loved him in the truest sense of love for a man that is. She waited for him to be done speaking before she let silence fall for only a moment because she was moving to sit closer to him. She knew that she was favored in a sense because Phoenix liked her and the patting of the ground next to him had her moving before he even finished the gesture. She opened her mouth to speak softly but loud enough to be heard over the stream. "I have no husband though I am of marrying age. My village and tribe have not made it mandatory for me to take a husband as a female I get to choose." She did not want to be married to anyone there, as she had gone through her mind wanting to forget how much love she felt for someone that was so much older than herself, but she did not care.

"I like to be alone. And most people leave me alone for I understand more about death then most do. Even my teacher. I'm a Druidess of Death. Though I have not formally taken over that position. I am an ambassador to Arthur for my people and with great thanks because you saved me. You who will not leave my mind. The softness of your touch and kindness in your voice that I don't believe you realize you have. Death is all we both know." The battlefield for him, and her own for herself. "Oh how I have missed you." The last was in almost a whisper. Easily heard if you knew how to listen. Being a loner one would know how to pick up things barely said and meant only for their ears.

No words, only a hint of a smile, when she said she was not married. From what she said, she was a stalwart type… her feet upon the ground, and more intelligent than the usual girls of her age. Was it her teaching, or in her physiological makeup? Only thing Tristan knew, was he was comfortable around her and they had only been together mere moments in their entire lives.

His brow quirked when she mentioned her profession… and both brows narrowed when she spoke of him upon her mind and the uniqueness of his touch an voice. She missed him? How could she? She barely knew him; unless it was she who would enter his dreams… for Tristan slept little… and when he did, it was usually either of his early youth, or of a girl, dressed in a black robe and hood, her face never revealed to him. In the dream, she always handed him either a flower or bread… no matter the scenario, she handed him something nice. The brows widened a bit, those eerie brows eyes softened into a whiskey tint.

“I love to be alone. I never found the companion that was so companionable as solitude.”

She was beautiful… and much younger than he… and her whisper sent chills to his spine, and he smiled. Tristan was no virgin… never married, for his life was too violent for most women. He was a man with a desire for the women… but his selection of the female gender was a bit unusual… for it took the unusual to cope with him. Canting his head at her, his eyes seem to sparkle.

If she had been a tavern whore of his choosing, he would indulge himself in carnal knowledge right here upon the stream bank… pleasured himself and sent her back… but this girl, as beautiful as she was, was no tavern wench… she was much more, and his unique senses told him so…

Pandra did not mean to make herself sound high and mighty with her words. It was the mere fact that most of the girls her age were starting to settle down and becoming house wives, and doing other things in the village that she did not. Sometimes she wished she was normal but the sad thing was she was different since the day she was born. Life held a different meaning from her then some of the other girls. She'd been kidnapped. Her parents had died when she was very young and she had no one until Aberth took her in and started to teach her. Sure part of her intelligence was due to his teaching; the rest came from her own experiences. She could not explain what it was in Tristan that made her heart soar and her mind wonder what he had seen in his life. She was curious naturally but Tristan made her want to take him in her arms and wash away what ever it was the ailed him. She was protective of him and it didn't matter that it was only mere moments that she saw him before she was taken to heal.

She knew that it was odd that she had missed him with only their few moments together. Pandra was one to follow her instincts and her logic. It happened to be a part of her Druid training. Every time she thought upon memories when she was meditating Tristan and Phoenix were there. Phoenix would take flight and Tristan would remain. She had dreamed of him many times. In dreams, she was almost always in black. It was the part of her that came out during death ceremonies. She remembered in one dream that she had given him a flower. It was native to her home land but at the moment its name seemed to vanish from her mind. She had no clue why she dreamed of him, but she was sure it had to do with the fact that were it not for him she would not be on this earth at the moment. She had a strong will yes, but it had been beaten down to nonexistence by the Saxons and the cruelty towards her.

She looked straight into Tristan's his eyes. She was getting lost in them and she didn't want this to end though she knew it would at some point. They both had duties to attend to. She had not realized that she was moving closer to him with each passing moment. Solitude was something the both of them enjoy and knew very well. Could it be that they were the best companions for each other? She did not know, but she rather liked the words said within the silence. The things no one realized were said. He smiled and she smiled softly back at him. Her eyes sparkling much like his. Those eyes of his that kept her captivated. Sure he was much older then she was but she knew there was something about him that was so unique. Something that made him irresistible to her. "Tristan...Why have you not married if I may ask? I would think that you could have whomever you choose." She was hoping she did not put him off with her question. The thought of dying with no one to hold some tender memory of you did not suit the young lady at all. A sort of tenderness shone through her eyes directed at him.

Tristan’s eerie eyes would veer from her to the water, watching ripples of the water from a tossed stone, then back to her. His silence ended in a soft whisper… “I am a man… and have had my share of women… not like Bors, or Gerwain… but if marriage is what you refer to, I have never found the one who could endure a man like me…” offered with a following shrug of the shoulders.

Taking some jerky from his jacket, he offers her some… then he bites off a piece and begins to chew… A screech from above caused him to look up… a smile, then a glance back to the water’s edge, and another tossed stone. “Is it not amazing how a stone, tossed in water, causes the water to move forever unless acted upon by land… That is Arthur… As for me, I am a stone tossed on land…” Again his reasoning was encryptic… Was he telling her that he was a man that made no difference in life? Or was it no one seemed to care?

“Pandra… why did you seek me out? Of all the lands between us… you venture a return… for what reason?” This was not encrypted… straightforward… then silence… He turned his head to look directly at her and his mind seemed to wander…

Dreams invaded his sleep far too often… and the lack of sleep would gestate irritability… but the girl seemed to pacify his irritation… and the distance between them grew less and less each time she spoke… Her scent, he could identify in a windstorm… but now, as close as she was, was intoxicating… and the eerie brown eyes focused upon her face.

A stirring of emotions inside his psychological wall unsettled him… he felt the stirring of desire… but not those like the tavern whores… different… an odd sensation… “Dreams…” and he looked away from her. Softly, he spoke… “I have seen you a hundred times in dreams… some that you lay in a puddle of blood not your own, looking up at me… some of you in a field of flowers, red-stained hands handing me a yellow flower… some, you are dressed in black… as if mourning…” he glanced at her, then back to the water’s edge… “Bors teases me… Gerwain mocks me… and Galahad… well Galahad thinks I am born to fight and die… and Arthur… well, Arthur thinks I need to marry, settle down, and have children…” he looks at her… “I shant offer my children to serve any man… not even Arthur… I have killed enough for glory and state…” he chuckles… “but I have nothing to offer as skills to my descendents but a sword… so…” he quieted for now as he once again looked away.

He had not spoken his thoughts like this to any, save the close friends… and few times to them. Now he told her true inward thoughts… and what would she do?

Pandra looked to the sky and to the water watching the ripples cascade outwards. She looked back at Tristan as a soft whisper floated up to her ears. He had not found someone who could endure him? That was like an unknown language to her. How was that possible? What women would not want a warrior of his statue, to give him a place to lay his head? She though on his words a moment and the way she was raised. A warrior in her mind held something different in the world of the knights and Arthur.

She grew up believing that warriors should always have a place to lay their heads and in a way be honored. Even the most humble of the lot deserved that. Her village however was far different from the second life she chose to have in hopes of brining harmony. She felt out of place in the palace at times but she knew she was welcomed. She let the silence fall giving a small nod to his first set of words.

She took a bite of the jerky he offered. "thank you" She had not eaten in awhile so the jerky went down into her stomach rather nicely. A screech was heard and she looked up and returned her gaze back to the water moments later. Simple pleasures were so wonderful. She let Tristan's encryptic words wash over her as she analyzed what he could mean by them. She nodded to the first part. "It is a simple wonder indeed. Water and land can be manipulated. A stone tossed on land just needs to wait for the ground to shake beneath it and roll it towards the water allowing it to be picked up and tossed into the water."

She cared and in a rather cryptic way that was her saying it. A person comes by and shakes up the life of the stone dwelling on the land. She was brought out of her musing by her name and Tristan's question. Her name sounded so nice coming out of his mouth that she almost melted away. There was however a question to be answered. "I seek you out because I feel we understand each other more than the others understand us. You have always been my saving grace since that day. You are the reason I live."

She focused her eyes on his brown ones. They were not eerie to her they were sparkling in their own intoxicating way. He smelled of rain and wet dirt. There was a faint smell of blood in that but she liked it. Her shoulder was now brushing against him and she gave off a faint blush as she moved just a little away.

The silence was peacefully unsettling. Then again his voice washed over her as he explained his dreams. Dreams she knew so very well. Meditations of waking dreams even.

She waited until he was done speaking. She smiled when he chuckled. Pandra was a smart young woman and she knew she was privileged with this particular knights inner thoughts. She was glad that he was open with her. It brought this warm and fuzzy feeling to her as his words sank in. She had heard another warrior say a similar thing about only being able to give his descendants the knowledge of battle. Even the most hardened warrior wanted something better for their offspring. Still in her village the young men wanted to make a name for themselves that way.

The dreams he spoke of did not trouble her for she knew what they held. The one of her in a puddle of blood not her own was a male warrior who had come home and she had tried to help heal but could not and had to perform a death ceremony for him as she grew up rather closely with him in a sense. The red stained hands in a field of flowers she was still trying to figure out but it made sense with the death that had always been around her. "Mourning for those that have been taken from my life and the old life I once had." She knew that mourning for too long was a bad thing.

Pandra didn't like the fact that he was mocked by his fellow knights. It just did not seem right. As to the last of his comments she could understand. "You have done much for state and glory and I can understand not giving your children to serve. But your children would love you that I am for sure because of what you could teach them." He was a creating a legacy and she held tender thoughts of him she could pass on because of how he touched her. She hugged him not being able to help herself.

[Tristan]

“Aye, land and water can be manipulated… but a warrior should not…” his voice low, as he rubbed the dirt from the stone. Oddly, when he spoke, he did not look at her. Was he teaching her? Would she learn of him and how he was? Was this why she sought him out?

As a warrior, Tristan is assertive, disciplined, active and energized. He is clear-minded, strategic, and alert. He uses both body and mind in harmony and cooperation and assesses both his own skills and resources and those of his opponent. Despite being a loner, he is devoted to causes he judges to be more important than himself or any personal relationships or gain. As a member of the Knights, he is a servant of civilization and its future; guiding, protecting, and passing on information and wisdom. Having confronted death, Tristan knows how precious life is and does not abuse or disrespectful to it. “You live, because I wished it… I saved you because it was my duty…” he whispered.

Life is combat. Tristan’s choice is to relish this existence, using the risk to heighten his appreciation of life. To maintain serenity while in danger and cultivate this awareness, he must find his self within and exercise dominion over his body. This is done by practicing his skills. The kind of physical exertion is not as important as the level, and the mental aspects overshadow all that is physical.

Calm and quiet, always be ready to see the humor of an annoying situation, he stays in control… bending when he must, and knowing when to stand firm.

Duty, honor, discipline, and control are his foundation. He values his awareness and sense of humor, and the concept unifying it all is love. It is not the possession of any of these traits which distinguishes him from others, but the combination and application of them. Much effort is spent in developing physical and mental skills in joyous anticipation of life-threatening combat, yet a simple example of nature's beauty can absorb him utterly. By accepting the inevitability of death and the risks of life, Tristan need not worry about the minor troubles which detract from life's beauty.

Death is. Suffering is. To deny either requires a truly immense effort at self-delusion. Death is a valued ally. To regain his perspective he need only remind himself of the inevitability of Fate. To Tristan, the taking of another's life, when by his actions he has forfeited it, is a duty. To be ready at any time to meet his fate in the performance of duty or in helping a stranger is also considered a duty. He is a firm believer that Fate is the same for everyone; the only difference is in what one does before it and how one meets it. “I do not mourn… I take life when necessary… and protect it when it needs protecting…” he whispered as he glanced to look at her, then refocusing back on the water’s edge.

Death is not a goal. Tristan is not a glory-hound seeking a meritorious death. Death is something to be resolutely accepted, while fulfilling his duty or defending his ideals. The purpose of this acceptance is to free his mind for living. If the right thing to do leads to his death, he would do the right thing. He will not seek death on its own ground for he knows he would find it earlier than necessary.

Death and suffering. Both are pillars of Tristan’s ethics; upon these are many of his attitudes and achievements are based. He knows neither is a goal in itself; neither should be inflicted on another needlessly, or suffered needlessly. The key is to know when and why it is necessary and then being able to inflict or suffer as needed. This is Tristan’s way... and the true self of the man.

“I know Sarmatia is no more, and mourning shall not bring it back…” then he began to explain what he was talking about by giving her a bit of history. Over centuries, the conquered people from the hem of the Roman Empire were conscripted as auxiliary troops… all adolescent males were indentured to serve 15 years fighting for the Romans. With the majority of males reduced, the nomadic people were enveloped into other societies, thanks predominantly to the Romans. With every male child forced to serve the Romans, it belittled the people to survive the best way possible, turning their women into strong-armed huntresses and fighters. This presumed fact was engrained in Tristan. For all he knew, he and several members of Arthur’s knights were the only ones left. He knew not what become of his brother and three sisters, even close friends… all his siblings were babies when he, as an adolescent, left to serve his mandatory service. The females, his age, were probably married off to other tribes… the males possibly in servitude somewhere in Briton. His people, and himself personified the gods. Those gods of nature were the sky, the earth, and fire. Gods pertaining to social concepts were the domestic hearth and war. The Roman’s called their religion paganistic. Arthur allowed them to retain it. Still, despite this, and the subsequent wars he would endure, his initial upbringing and his training over the years, held him in the balance, now as a man.

She had hugged him… and it felt good. He wanted to remove her clothes and taste her sweet skin… and he breathed deep to control his emotions. What he did, and wanted to do, were two entirely different mindsets. He simply allowed the hug, his hands hovering above her waist. He was not afraid of her… so why was he so hesitant? When she released him, he smiled and looked at her.

“Love? What do you know of love?” he asked softly. Love is the single concept which overshadows all others in the development of a warrior and life. Without it, despite developing all of the other traits, a warrior can never achieve full development. Love of self; of others; of combat; of truth; of honor; but above all: LOVE. It is very hard to believe in a higher ideal without believing in yourself. It is not necessary to love, or even like, everyone, but to not love anyone dooms one to a tragic and boring existence, definitive in its futility. Love is that which makes all ideals possible. It is one of the few things that the more one gives away the more you have to share. He recalled his Father speaking of the Sarmatian women… “Marry no woman who has not killed in battle.” He mumbled as he looked at Pandra and smiled, a slight wonder roaming his mind. She would understand by the history he had told her.