(See OOC thread for details.)

Since (sadly) my 'prelude' is invisible to the group as a whole, I think I'll start posting some of it here. I had a lot of fun with it.

Back at First Hall (GM).

The dwarves who employed Taija insisted on calling the ramshackle fortification "First Hall." It wasn't much of a hall...when this Delve had been at the peak of its power, it had been an antechamber accessible from a side entrance. Too small to house the whole motley regiment sent to "reclaim" the Delve, the original stonework comprised only half the hall. The remainder was wood and stone--dwarf-built--but hardly as comfortable or warm as the portion inside the mountain. Dhazjun swore that this would be the first of many halls that would know their dwarven masters.

As far as Taija and the other mercenaries were concerned, the oath meant rather less than Dhazjun's fortune.

Morn had sent them out on a long forage, out around the mountain all the way up to the treeline. There hadn't been much to find: a few scrawny orcs, a sleepy dire bear the ranger had managed to calm, and a brief but bloody tussle with a band of snowchilder. Taija's hip was still black and blue beneath her armor from that one.

But they'd all made it back, which meant hot food and warm beds and another fistful of silver.

Dichotomy (Taija)

She had certainly been in worse places.

So Taija kept telling herself, leaning against the wall near the eating area.  Quite a few, in fact; her mentor would tell her to take heart, to hold to hope, to keep strong against despair.  Things, after all, had been much worse.  Things could be much worse, now.

It didn't help the cold one bit, though.

The other mercenaries complained about meager pay and dangerous duty.  Out in the field, their voices rose sharply, their tempers flared.  Here, their anger simmered, like the pot of stew before which they lined, jostling with elbows and shoulders for better placement.  Dwarves, Taija had noted, were not terribly sympathetic toward malingerers and bellyachers.  This suited her well enough - she received an earful of her compatriots' grousing every day on the trail.

"Not so bad a day, was it?"

Well, most of her compatriots.

Keeping her hood up, she turned her eyes toward the young man, studying him with wary curiousity.  'Young' - he could be over a hundred, for all she knew.  Half-elven, from the look, and somehow unsurprisingly, a forestwalker by trade.  Probably the best of the bunch, she felt, cheerful, bright-eyed, always ready to step into the cold, scouting ahead, diving into the heart of trouble.  So to speak - he certainly took risks getting into the best possible place to loose his arrows, rather than hanging back and potting shots over his shield-mates' heads.

She tried a smile.  Stiff, awkward, it was nonetheless real.  "Thanks."  A fumbled offering, an opening she hoped he would take.  Gods, what was his name?

Being half-elven, by nature convivial, he did.  "For...oh, the bear.  Or was it the snowchild?"  The latter had come in on her flank, struck hard, then received a clothyard shaft in the side.  That had given her an opening of her own - Taija, slow in conversation, hesitated not a whit when it came to steel.

"That one," she replied, still groping for a line to hold.  "Got a piece of me, for sure."

The boy - man? - smiled fair to split his cheeks; he opened his mouth, but one of the mercenaries last in line beat him to it.  "Kid wants one as well, I bet."  That drew guffaws from the knot of men around the armored man, put colour in the ranger's - Amras, she suddenly recalled with abysmal timing - cheeks, and woke up something bored and dozing within.  Her birthright suddenly burning hot within, Taija pushed herself off the wall, drawing herself up to fix her eyes on the base of the lout's skull.

Her voice rang out over the hall.  "I missed that."  The smile was less of amusement than it was a baring of teeth.  "But a good joke is worth its weight in silver.  Let's hear it - if it makes me laugh, I'll give you today's purse."  The words dragged him around like barbed hooks; he faced her, chin tucked, brows lowered.  No coward this, for all his bluster.  The men around him, so briefly amused from their funk, shifted back, clearing room; the potential for more excitement banished their fatigue as a strong wind did the lowland fog.  Oh, this should be fun.  The whisper swirled in her thoughts like threads of blood in clear water as she studied the man.  Waiting.  Watch his eyes.  See the hate.  Breathe in, smell the fear.

In her thoughts.  But not hers, not completely.

"Something wrong?"

The deep, easy voice cut the silence; eyes turned down to the heavy, rock-hard warrior pushing his way through the crowd.  Not Dhazjun, their employer, but the calmer, more flexible garrison captain: Morn Bronzehand.  "Better not be a fight," he said, stopping dead between Taija and the other mercenary.  "You get your pay to fight outside, not in here.  I figured you'd have enough of it, and be professional enough not to do it for free.  Was I wrong?"

Taija's fist clenched, trembling in her gauntlet.  For a moment, her vision blurred with the effort.  Then, like heat from a dying coal, the anger slowly began to bleed away.  Shaking off the whispers, she blinked her lambent eyes back into focus and lowered her gaze.  "Nossir."  Like as not, he wouldn't understand the truth - the dark-kin did most of her work for free.  Peasants didn't exactly have stores of silver saved up.  The other mercenary muttered something unintelligible - it must have satisfied Morn, for the dwarf turned away, pausing only for a snap of the wrist in Taija's direction.  The small, leather purse nearly hummed in the air as it flew across the distance, but a twitch of her own hand plucked it from its flight.

A small game between them - one of the only things making the work bearable.

Morn's small smile hung in the air as he pushed his way back through the crowd, and the line of mercenaries began to move again.  Taija shook her head.  "Come on," she muttered to Amras, turning to glance at the ranger.  "There'll be nothing left."

"I..."  Something had changed.  Amras' smile, formerly friendly, hung on his face like a rotted fruit on a branch.  "I'll wait.  You go ahead."  He made a quick motion with one hand toward the line, a jerk of his arm that seemed more waving away than offering.  Her stomach rolled and Taija opened her mouth to speak, but the half-elf turned away.  "Care for my arrows," he muttered, heading for the bunks.

The dark-kin bit her lip as the ranger hurried off, turning back to face the backs of those in the line.  None turned to smirk.  None chuckled.

But inside Taija, laughter welled.  Not hers...not completely.

Rumination Over Stew (Taija)

The stew - bland to her, spiced for a palate decidedly not human - did fill the hole in her gut, warming Taija from the inside as the warmth of the fire did the outside.  She had met a handful of dark-kin in her travels, and at least two seemed armored against the wind's chill, their blood running like molten iron through their veins.  Something I missed.  It was probably a blessing, but at the moment Taija felt a pang of jealousy.

I could have it, though.

That wasn't her - not really - and she shut her mind against the thought.  Another spoonful of the stew, another sip of the hot, watered wine.  Feeling the weight of eyes, the young woman tugged her hood a touch lower, knowing full well people could still see its unnatural shape, bulging out at the back of her head.  But the hood protected her from them, so she kept it up.

Amras returned in short order, sans his equipment.  Too quickly for a thorough examination of his arrows, but then Taija already knew he had made an excuse.  Avoiding her eyes, he hurried to the pot for whatever remained.  Someone muttered something about 'bent shafts', to a general round of laughter.  Taija closed her eyes and ears, taking another sip of the hot wine.  There were no other women in the garrison of mercenaries, and small wonder - the few who joined up with sellswords knew better than to take this sort of duty alone, without a group for backup.  Oh, they would have been safe in the dwarven halls - regardless of their feelings toward whiteshields, the dwarves would never tolerate that sort of crime.  The offender would likely find himself in a circle, naked, facing his intended victim, armed and armored.  But outside?  Too many chances for a group of men to get a woman alone, especially after a wild fight against marauding beasts.  Too many excuses as to why she had not returned.  Too many men in this sort of company who knew only of their base desires, and nothing of honor.

Taija, on the other hand, knew she was safe.  It would take a brave man to approach her - the sort of cowards who might assault a woman would likely wither before touching her.  And after seeing her fight?  In the language of its creator, her weapon was a 'surf-breaker', for good reason - it was meant to battle against hordes, rather than in duels.  Taija used it well.  Probably, she gloomily considered, because of who I am.  Blood calls to blood.

At least she was making coin.  Possibly enough to pay for the next step along the path she and her mentor had discovered.  Spell-casting was expensive to purchase.  Spell-casting from clergy, for one such as her, even moreso.

I'd have the money if I didn't keep giving it away.

Her teeth ground.  Shut up! The wooden spoon creaked in her fingers, and she relaxed, one at a time.  She was doing some good, here.  Taija didn't much like their employer - her mentor would have called him arrogant.  Herself, she would have thought that a trifle extreme, but 'blowhard' sprang to mind.  But dwarves seemed to be good people.  One, a friend of her mentor, had bothered to teach her their language several years before, and it stood her well, here, garnering grudging respect from the rock-stubborn people.  They weren't malicious, simply disinterested - insular - and their presence would make the area safer.

She liked them.  They may not have liked her, but they were fair, and that counted for a lot.  Her actions, her work garnered her as much as her appearance, her bloody, cursed aura lost, which beat most of her experiences among her own people.

Humans are not my people.  They sure don't believe I'm theirs.

Shut up!

More of the same...

Hawk

It was not much of a surprise when Taija found herself summoned (via a secondhand and rather brusque "'Ey, devil-girl") to Morn's "office" after supper. Morn, along with the other thanes, quartered inside the mountain, though their walls were mostly wood and clearly meant to be removed as soon as the irksome business of clearing the Delve was complete. Here, it was warmer. And stuffier. The mercs didn't pass into the mountain unless invited or ordered. The only guards were a pair of Dhazjun's pet paladins, looking deadly serious and particularly wary in their steel coats and decorated helms. Taija knew that another small contingent watched the gate that led out of First Hall. The dwarves, though, trusted stone to shield them until an alarm could be raised. They were, she supposed, probably right. The whole contingent seemed ready to spring into battle at a moment's notice, and everybody (the mercs included) kept weapons close at hand when sleeping.

Which brought her back to Morn's office. It was really just his quarters, but they were spacious enough to hold a rough desk along with his campaigner's gear.

"Ah. Taija. Come on in." Morn kicked his extra chair her way. Thankfully, it was proportioned as a compromise between human and dwarven physiques. Morn's own stool was exceedingly short. The captain looked up at her from under his bushy black brows.

"You shouldn't let them goad you, you know. The cleverer ones have already figured that you're too hard to have an 'accident,' and would just as soon have Dhazjun kill you himself. My lord would not look too hard for excuses to spare you, either." Morn stared speculatively at his pipe, then packed and lit it. "But we needn't have that discussion again. I wouldn't pull you away from a well-earned rest just to give you warnings you've already heard.

"Warnings I've got, though. Tomorrow, we're sending you inside. Rhonab came back this morning, pale as a Khu'Marin bedsheet. Says he had to hide from shadow demons, and that they rule the halls as far as he dared explore. Naturally, my lord has decided to test this information with the freeswords, and he specifically asked that I put you on the roster for it. 'See that the dark-kin goes with them, captain, and don't fret yourself over her return.'" Morn's imitation of the paladin's aged rumble was quite good.

"I don't know for sure what's down there, Taija. Everything about the Delve's fall is muddled and confused. But it's evil enough that I can almost feel it here, and I'm no chosen of Moradin. If you think there's something down there that might give you trouble, because of...what you are...well, I wanted to warn you. You can take the money you've earned and go back to Helmsgold, an' I won't think a pebble's less of you."

Taija - Cowards Die A Thousand Deaths

The summons didn't raise Taija's hackles - coming from a dwarf, the indifferent comment was more identifier than insult and far better than the norm.  She duitifully trundled to Bronzehand's quarters, sparing the guards a quick nod, nothing more.  Paladins had the sight, she knew, to see evil within a man or woman.  It caused her no end of trouble in the past, and she had no desire to attract their attentions now.  With effort, they or a priest could see past the shadow on her spirit to the truth, but sometimes holy knights thought with their blades.

She couldn't blame them - it was part and parcel of the training, the whole 'smite evil where it is found' thing.

Relief flooded her at Morn's greeting, and she ducked her way into the room, relaxing slightly.  Safe.  For now.  And from the sound of it, not apt to be chucked out into the cold as of yet.  She settled her heavy weapon against the wall and gratefully took the chair - tall for a dwarf, small for a human, and a touch smaller for her.  To her surprise, Bronzehand didn't leap directly into business; instead, he started with advice, and she ducked her head, ashamed he needed to speak on it at all.  Should have had more control, Taija.  Remember who you are.  Biting her lip, she nodded, letting her breath out in a sigh.

He wasn't finished, though.  Her ears perked up at his segue into the current situation, and her brows knotted together in thought as he outlined his lord's feelings on the matter.  Tactically, she couldn't fault him - the fact was, Taija would be a good choice.  But that he likely made the choice as much from ill-will as he did from a strategic standpoint?  That hurt.  It hurt because Dhazjun was a paladin, not some fool with an axe to grind.  To him she stank of darkness, and it coloured his feelings enough to set him against her on a personal level.

But again...Paladins were the last line of defense against the darkness, more often than not, the ones who didn't back down, didn't give way, didn't believe in 'acceptable losses'.  She had nothing but respect for his calling.  Which, of course, was the source of the hurt.

She forced a smile and a laugh at his imitation of his lord, though.  Morn's common sense and pragmatism endeared him to her, and Taija had no desire to drag rainclouds into his quarters.  Moping about never served any good cause.  But her amusement, half-real after several heartbeats, died at his final words, and she stared at the dwarf for long moments following his offer.  The broad smile thinned, twitching now at one corner of her mouth - dimmer, but more real than before.  Glad suddenly for the shroud of her hood, Taija blinked to clear her eyes, nodding to give herself time.

Moments like this made it all worthwhile.

As was her custom, she spoke in his own language.  She liked dwarven, with its slow, strong syllables, its formal cadence, and it offered respect, besides.  "Captain -" and gods, she meant that word "- you offer a great gift."  Raising her head, she stared into his hard eyes, willing him to understand the gift was not the grant of leave.  Clumsy in conversation, as always, she struggled to find the proper words.  "But if I'm needed below, then below I'll walk."  The smile twitched again, and she waved her hand around the room.  "What you do here has weight on the world.  Could make a change for the better.  I'll stay."

Settling back slightly, she scratched her hair under her hood, the base of one horn fiercely itchy.  Danger's coming. "If something down there might be trouble, trouble akin to...well, that sort of trouble," she said, stumbling over the embarassment of her heritage, "better it tries with me than a with dwarven miners, I say."  Her smile grew into a grin as Taija relaxed a touch more.  Gods, he wouldn't think less of me?  Morn Bronzehand, Dhazjun doesn't know what he has in you. Oh, the paladin certainly appreciated his second, but in Taija's eyes nothing could be enough right now.  Her grin broadened.  "And I take your words to heart.  But Captain, it's I who wakes up to myself in the mirror, not you."  She chuckled, with not even a hint of rancor.  "And that's hard enough some days without me always running from trouble."

Sari smiled and took her leave then, following the whistle to Elec. She stopped in the shadows, looking at him as he put arrow after arrow into the target. She was once again reminded of that day on the cliff, Elec's whistle into the wind as he put arrows to the demon assassin.

She unwound her braid quietly and shook her hair out, letting it flow loosely over her shoulders, then stepped softly forward.

"Elec..." she spoke softly, clasping her hands in front of her. "I think we need to speak..."

Oh gods. Not now. Elec lowered his bow. He needed more time to sort himself out, more time to get the wine clear of his system, more time to find the right words. But apparently he wasn't going to get it. There Sari stood, a vision of dark beauty in the dim light of Usar's palace. He wanted her. Badly. At least part of him did. The same part of him that had chased merchant's daughters in Helmsgold and parts various. The part of him that was dashing rogue, the elven rake. But there was more than that to it. There was the part of him that realized just how much he'd sold the drow short. He had judged her. Misjudged her. Filed her away as a companion to be held at arm's length, to be trusted with guarding his back but not sharing his secrets. So badly I've treated you, he wanted to say. Moonlight suits your hair, he wanted to say. You deserve better, he wanted to say. But he didn't manage any of that. Not yet.

"Yes. Talk." Elec wasn't ready for this. He hadn't really settled into his grief, and now here was Sari. Dark where Alanha was pale, strange where Alanha was familiar, new where Alanha had been with him since childhood. How was he supposed to choose? The ranger took a step closer, closed his eyes, tried to be more sober than he was.

"I'm sorry. Sorry for everything I haven't done. Sorry for letting my eyes stop at your skin and your robes and the way the sun makes you squint. You deserved better of me and I've been a fool not to realize it."

Sari paused as Elec turned and stepped forward, and noticed his eyes close. So...he cannot still bear to look upon me. Does he truly find me so repulsive now that he cannot even stand the sight of me? Her heart sank, and then he began to speak. And...apologize? But...she was here to apologize to him.

"No...it is I who should apologize to you. My actions were inappropriate, and I...I did not mean to hurt relations between us by saying things that should not have been said."

She looked down at her folded hands before looking back up.

"I am sorry for suggesting anything...untoward...between us. I should have given more thought before speaking. You are Darthiir, I am Ilythiiri. There is much history between our peoples. And you are a lord among your people. The thought of entertaining relations with...a Drow..." her voice trails off for a moment, then she continues. "I did not mean to be insulting to you. Especially with others around. I should not have spoken about my feelings, and for that...I am sorry. I am sure your advisors are waiting to speak to you about me as it is."

She forces her voice to be steady. "I assure you, I will not trouble you any longer with that. I will continue to help as best I can, or if necessary I will withdraw my offer to accompany you back to Tirisel and I will remain here instead, to wait for everyone's return or find my own way in the world. I do not wish to be a bother to anyone or harm your cause."

She thought the words would kill her inside, but she used every lesson she learned at the Matron's lash to remain still. Sometimes one needed to keep their own feelings put away.

"I...I just wish to know what you would like. I cannot take back what I have said or have done, and I will not say false what I have said, because I spoke truth. But I will go if you find me so repulsive now that you cannot bear the sight of me."


"Repulsive?" Elec said, stunned. "Sari, you're beautiful. I'd been a blind fool not to notice. But..." He shook his head. "How could you think I find you repulsive?"

The ranger didn't give her time to answer. "That is my problem, Sarilinesstra of Pelor. That you are beautiful and strong and this new want for you makes me hurt. The fact that you were born a drow is mere complication." He spun and began to pace, punctuating his words with gestures. "So much has happened here. Alanha, who I thought lost to me forever. And 'Drin...gone." The pause hinted that he might know more about that than he'd initially let on. "And now you...you whom my advisors will call a foul witch. And if I touch you they will say I'm ensorcelled, though their own spells will find no evidence of magic. And if I don't touch you, something inside me will break." His steps had carried him back to her, and he stood close, close enough that she could smell the leather and wood of him..

Sari looked down at her hands, then back up. "Throughout time, there has always been a magic between males and females, which no spell can find." She smiled, but it was a sad smile. "But you are a lord now, and your heart must guide you to where it must. So much has happened, in such a short time. But this...between us..." her voice trails off, and she looks down again at her hands.

"The fates can be cruel, can they not? How many of those on the surface would you call black of heart? How many Drow would come to love the world that we abandoned so? Yet I will always be looked upon as of the Underdark, and they of the surface. No matter their actions, or my own. All because of the color of my skin, and not what is in my heart."

She looked up then. "I wished you to know what was in my heart, Elec Mourngrym. Because I have promised I would go with you to your homeland, where all will look upon me with contempt and hatred. Because for all I have been judged, for all I have endured, for all the pains I have suffered, I would suffer them all again to come back and travel again to the surface, to meet the sister of my spirit, the honorable kobold, the musical halfling. But most of all, to be by your side again, even if this voyage is, as I expect, the final part of my journey. If nothing else, I have spoken these words, and I know that in some measure, my feelings are not all for naught. And for that...I thank you. Even for something that perhaps can never be, I thank you."

She reaches out and touches his hand, gently, tentatively, in case he pulls away again.

"Thank you, milord. With all my heart."

Almost, Elec kissed her. He was just drunk enough to damn the consequences. Instead, he took her hand and sighed. "Lord. Pfeh. I never wanted this. I've never really told you what my life was like before we met in Helmsgold. But I will. For now...for now I suppose we'll just have to feel things out. It isn't the respect of my people that I care for. But I owe Alanha a long talk. I have to know where things stand. I almost stayed in Tirisel for her. As for now..." He sighed again, frustrated that speaking wasn't helping him sort through his feelings. "I don't know. So many things I don't know. But I promise you, Sari, that I will do everything in my power to keep you safe in my homeland. I cannot shield you from hateful eyes or barbed words. But I will grant you the aegis of the Minayathallon name. You'll enter Tirisel as part of my household, just like the others. And to attack you will be to attack me."

He released her hand and took a slow step backward. "...and now I have to ask you to go. I don't know what will happen if you stay. Or maybe I do. I'm torn up inside. We all are. And it's all too easy to reach for the comfort of another's arms..." The elf's voice tightened. "I don't know if I'm ready to face that yet. But I do know that if you stay, I will reach."

Sari did smile then. It was her normal, natural smile, so very out of place on a Drow.

"And you have drank too much I believe. But you are correct.Too much has happened, and it is too easy to seek comfort with another right now."

She sighed, running a hand through her bone white hair.

"I know you have unresolved matters with this woman. I will not lie and say that I do not hope that fate will steer you in my direction, but moreso, I hope that things resolve themselves for you. So you can make a decision with a clear heart, and a clear mind."

She took a step backwards, letting her hands fall to her sides. "I do not wish to be a replacement for another, no matter how I ache. So goodeven, milord. If you need me, you know how to find me. For anything."

She turned then, and walked back toward her room, her form swallowed by the darkness except for the shimmer of the moonlight on her hair until that too, was gone...

To wrap up this scene....

Hawk

"I figured you'd say somethin' like that." Morn mirrored Taija's sincere but wary smile, then fished something out of his belt pouch. "Take this." The short dwarf proffered an amulet of crossed hammers. It was iron, and had a few flecks of rust on it, but gave the impression of permanence nonetheless. "It's just a charm, and not one with dweomers piled on. Wear it close, under your armor. If you face demons, will it to work. If it gets warm, it's working. It'll protect you, at least a bit."

"You won't be in charge, of course, but it's your blade they'll lean on. Don't take chances you don't have to. Bring them back alive if you can. Got any questions?"

Taija - Plans For the Future

Taija's eyebrow shot up again as the dwarf waved the amulet in the air between them.  Her fingers hesitently gathered up its weight as she listened to Morn's explanation.  It felt...heavy, despite its size.  "Good thing," she murmured.  "I wouldn't know what to do with a pile of dweomers."  Her fingernail scraped at the rust for a moment, then she glanced up, the tentative smile growing into a grin.  "I'll do that."  Without thinking, Taija slipped off her hood to tie the amulet around her neck, then froze.  For two, perhaps three heartbeats she dithered between two choices, finally giving up and finishing the job before gingerly pulling her hood up over her head. Idiot.

Nervously studying her hands, she took in the rest of his instructions.  A jerky nod of her hood demonstrated full agreement with his exhortation.  Alive.  Many as I can, sir Morn.  I'll be last out.  It could prove impossible to come back with a full complement of whiteshields, but cursed if she wouldn''t try.  "Questions.  I guess if I'm going, I'll have room to swing this -" a tap on the surf-breaker "- and not be crouched."  Mulling the orders over, she bit at a fingerknuckle, then rubbed a thumb over her lips before fixing the dwarf with a glance from the corner of her eye.

Taija didn't often meet people's eyes.  There were reasons.

"My coffer."  Every whiteshield had one at the foot of their bed.  None had locks.  No locks were needed.  Dwarves took their possessions very seriously - most wouldn't dream of stealing from each other, and those that did knew the risks.  They expected the same from their mercenaries, but knew full well how the scales balanced expectations against reality.  One mercenary had been caught riffling through his fellows' coffers on the first night.  After that, those who didn't want to be badly beaten and unceremoniously kicked out into the cold (with warnings that if they returned, there would likely be a branding) kept their fingers to themselves.  Which meant, everyone.

Taija bit her lip, considering, then nodded.  "If I don't come back, there's a bag in there.  I'd like to get it to my family, but they're too far away, I expect.  So maybe what's in there ought to go toward the cost of this venture.  It's not a lot, but..."  She shrugged.  "I'm planning on coming back, mind.  I've help, now."  Two fingers plucked at the amulet's cord, now looped around her neck.

"Thank you.  It means a lot."  She tried a smile - it came out lopsided, but real.  "I'll bring it back along with the men, safe and sound."

Hawk

Morn's nod was suddenly tired. "I've heard too many good soldiers say that down the years and turn out wrong. I hope you're right. But remember the hard truth: sometimes you have to sacrfice the few to save the many. There's no harder decision for a leader to make. Then again, you won't properly be in charge. Omar will. I don't know what drove him out of Khu'Marin, but he's got a level head and a strong voice. The men will listen to him. More important, he'll listen to you. I spoke to him earlier. He's getting the rest of the team together now. Gather up any gear you need tonight. You'll get a good breakfast tomorrow. Last meal, or so Dhazjun likes to think of it. He's not sure any of you will make it back. Prove him wrong."

It was clearly the end of the conversation, and there wasn't much left for the veterans to say to each other.