At the last name, Raoul's face changed—memory of old grudges, but common cause above personal.
— To Esten? You've been sharpening teeth since academy. Maybe I go?
In the offer—readiness to take unpleasant mission, understanding friendship more important than pride. I shook head:
— No, you to Taln. I'll handle Esten. Times like these—old scores like dust in the wind.
Handle... Simple word, but how much hidden in it. Handle pride, grudges, demons. When kingdom in danger, personal scores—background.
— Good luck, old fox. We'll meet again?
In the question—all bitter wisdom of war. No one knows if tomorrow. Every farewell may be last.
— You too. We'll meet. Definitely.
I stepped out under starry sky indifferently gazing at human tragedies. Night embraced with cold scented of pine and coals. Stars burned impassively—guards who've forgotten whom they watch.
Ahead awaited new roads, meetings, farewells. Deep in soul warmed a thought: maybe meaning lies precisely in such moments—riding a night road with important mission? Not in great victories, but in simple readiness to do what's due.
In chest stirred bitter thought: how strange it all is—to live, fight, choose when world laughs at efforts. Freedom—a cage you build yourself. Duty—the key locking it. Yet you must go, even if darkness ahead.
Gather along the way everything: friendship and betrayal, joy and grief. From this motley bouquet folds what we call fate.
Duty called. I moved on, leaving the tent's warm light and friend who saw me, perhaps, for the last time. The path ahead was long.