Brothers in Arms; the re-awakening

The rock was never completely silent. It had it’s own ancient voice and even when the sun was warm, the sea serene and calm, and the wind at it’s most limpid and lifeless, a capricious little breeze would dance and scud among the cliffs, ruffling the feathers of the torpid sea-birds, and whistle among the walls of the tower. The lighthousekeeper listened to the music, his face reposed, his heart

gentled and comforted, reassured by the familiar sound.

Events had again swum far beyond his ken; once more he had been unable to control the wild magic, to force upon it his intention, to direct it with his will and compel it to satisfy his most desperate need. This time, however, there had not been the same sense of sheer wrongness he had felt on the last occasion. Then he had known at once that his plans had gone seriously awry, and that his wild gamble had unleashed an even greater ill upon them. The intervening years had confirmed

the disaster; the malign will he had unleashed had seen the Mfecane launched, and then grow immeasurably in strength, scouring a bloody path along the borders of the Free Nations.

But the resonance he had felt this time suggested that something though something bizarre and unexpected had happened it was not necessarily evil; wild and random, but, he was sure, not necessarily evil. However bad it was, he knew, it could not be any worse than what had happened the last time. Once again he had gambled; the die had been cast, the stake proffered and the wager taken. What would happen, would happen, and the new forces he had set in motion would take their own course, as regardless and uncaring of his wishes or his design as the stars in the sky.

In the morning Jac was quite sure that they were no longer being pursued and they permitted themselves a more leisurely breakfast before continuing westward, so by the time they started on their way again the sun was already high in a radiantly blue sky.

The air was crisp and fresh and bright, and they talked and laughed together as they rode. Ethan had always loved good company, and his spirits were high; he felt the time pass quickly. The terrain became more rugged with rocky walls rising sharply on either side. The wildlife was now much less wary; Jac pointed out the chipmunks and squirrels which scampered in the trees on either side and exclaimed at the many wolf tracks which crossed their path regularly, although in response to

Ethan’s questioning look, he assured them that the wolves, even in a large pack, were not dangerous.

Crossing a stream they disturbed a huge otter feasting on a salmon almost as big as itself. Looking up from it’s meal, it watched them for a long time without fear, it’s bright intelligent eyes alert with curiosity, and it allowed them to come close before slipping gracefully under the water and disappearing like a ghost, barely a ripple disturbing the surface. Jac was slightly disconcerted, once again looking askance at Ethan and Donal.

“The wild creatures do not fear me, as I have trained as a healer and have a bond with them; they can sense I wish them no harm. But they have accepted you as well,” he said, sounding surprised, “You look dangerous enough, but clearly they see something deeper, something which wishes them no ill nor harm. Usually we would not have even caught a glimpse of such a clever creature as an otter; they are shy and elusive and very wise, and are only seen when they permit themselves

to be.”

The trees nearby were ringing with birdsong; there seemed to be nests in every crevice in the rocks, and they could see many birds circling far overhead. Once a huge shape swept across the sky at a bewildering speed, only in view for a moment before it passed over the mountains and out of their sight again.

“That’s a helluva big buzzard,” said Ethan.

“A dragon,” breathed Jac, gazing after it raptly, “I can hardly believe it, but it must have been a dragon; I have heard of them, of course, but only seen them at a much further distance, high up, far away in the sky. Like a lion with eagle’s wings, they say, a strange, half-sentient creature. No-one knows where they nest, or where they breed, or what they eat, or how long they live. They are supposed to be very fierce when roused, but no-one who has roused a dragon has ever lived long enough to tell the tale, so that particular information is as yet unconfirmed. Let us hope it is not hunting; even the three of us together might be vulnerable, especially as,” he looked sideways at his companions, “it would surely consider Ethan rather plump and appetizing.”

“Hey, I’ve been working out,” said Ethan, flexing his biceps in protest, “I’m a lot tougher than I look.”

“I have also heard of such creatures,” said Donal, “In our world dragons were said to live in the islands of the furthest east, and to breath fire and live for thousands of years. A famous legend indeed, and pictures of them abounded in all the sacred texts. But then I saw a real dragon in a bazaar in Arabia. It was huge, true enough, but it could not fly, and instead was as fat and slow as a pig. Rather than flames it breathed an awful stench, so I am convinced it must have been an eater of carrion. Like many legends, it had grown much in the telling, I think. In the East, accordingly, I grew to be suspicious of any thing I did not see with my own eyes; even at that, the desert would often torment travellers with visions, so I became suspicious of anything I could not touch with my own hands. The Saracens called me an unbeliever, and they spoke the truth for many reasons,” he smiled,

“So I am still not sure if I believe in dragons.”

“If you’re gonna have to touch it first, I sure hope you never get close enough to believe in that brute,” said Ethan, “and if you do, I hope I’m still not hanging out with you.”

They came to a fork, and Jac led them on the steeper, less travelled path. They began to encounter more briskly-flowing mountain streams, but fortunately all were shallow and easy to ford, though the footing for the horses was treacherous, and they often had to dismount before crossing. The path had once been well-tended; Donal saw occasional finely-crafted stone signs at the side of the path, now almost completely hidden in the undergrowth. Jac told them that it had once

been a much busier thoroughfare but that in these uncertain times it was used only by wary travellers with the most desperate and urgent business, and so had fallen into sad disrepair. Now unchecked bracken and thorny brambles converged busily at the roadside, and every so often they leant out and across the path, until both sides would meet and entwine and block the way altogether, though the horses pushed through these flimsy barriers with ease.

The trees began to grow more scarce and clumps of heather beds now appeared frequently among the rocks. These beds were full of softly-scented blue and yellow flowers and there were clouds of bees and wasps murmuring around them.

The lavender scent and the gentle humming was very pleasant to Donal, stirring up as it did some old and treasured memories.

It reminds me of the gardens of the Levant, he thought, closing his mind to their other uncertain realities for a time, and remembering with deep fondness the sweet fragrance of the great cedars.

At one of the brooks a natural pool had formed below a little waterfall and Jac and Ethan took the opportunity for a bath while Donal stood guard. The pool was icy cold but refreshing. Splashing and laughing and diving in the water and ducking under the waterfall, they were like boys again, and even the brook seemed to chuckle along with them.

“Get those damn rags off and join us, Irishman,” called Ethan.

“Rags, Ethan?” laughed Donal, “You dare to call these well-travelled and honourable garments rags? At least I prefer them to that grotesque shirt you wear.”

He lifted up the offending garment, which Ethan had draped on a thorn bush to dry after a very cursory wash, and assumed an air of incredulity and distaste.

“Designed for hunting butterflies, I surmise,” he said.

“Are those decorations flowers?” asked Jac innocently, “It could be good camouflage in a lady’s rose garden.”

“You guys reckon you’re pretty funny, don’t you, but you don’t know a good lumberjack shirt when you see one; the gals love ’em, I can tell you that for sure, and if you were really smart you’d be begging me for the lend of it,” said Ethan, scrubbing vigorously at his armpits. “Now how the heck did I get dirt under there?” he mused.

They travelled deeper into the mountains, climbing ever higher, and more and more often having to lead the horses up the more severe gradients. There was no evidence of hostility but Jac became wary once more, watching the road ahead with concern.

“We are entering Dran territory,” he reminded them, “and they are just as dangerous, perhaps even more so, than the shrikes we encountered.”

“Real friendly country you got here, Jac,” drawled Ethan again, “It should get an award.”

It had grown much colder, and a chilling, soaking rain had started to fall, so they were relieved to find a cave for shelter as darkness closed in. Even as they found the shelter, it began to snow, soon laying a carpet of white outside the cave.

“Ain’t that nice,” said Ethan, “sort of Christmassy, don’t you think?“

Jac felt a small fire was again permissible, so hot coffee was passed around for the first time in the day and the conversation continued to flow freely.

As a result of their battle with the shrikes, Donal had become much less suspicious of Jac’s intentions and motives.

“I was impressed by your skill with the blade,” said Donal, “In my world monks and friars would hide behind their skirts at the first sign of danger. It was rare indeed to encounter one who could defend himself except by pleading for mercy or offering indulgences, or, much more likely, by hitching up his robes like a woman’s dress and running away.”

“I can see you did not have a great opinion of them,” said Jac, “Although I would emphasize, in case we meet any pretty girls, that I am no monk. But I am glad that you now hold me in higher regard. Being a healer does not protect from bandits and robbers, whose assaults are undeterred by any respect for our noble calling, and neither does it prevent you starving to death in the wild. As part of our

training we were taught how to survive and how to defend ourselves, with the proviso that we should cause as little harm to our assailants as possible – I always found that particular instruction rather hard to accept, and very difficult to obey in practice.”

“We were often sent out with trading caravans as apprentice healers-cum-guards, and of the two, our fighting skills were far more often called upon. It was then that I discovered that I had a considerable aptitude for, how shall I phrase it, defending myself against uninvited attacks. My tutors were unhappy at the skills I displayed; “inappropriate”, they called them, but by then I had found them indispensable, so I trained on my own whenever I could.”

“Your training has certainly been most effective,” said Donal, “But I will need to observe you in single combat before I can judge your skills properly.”

“Well, we’re gonna have to wait awhile before we see that, I hope,” Ethan interrupted, “Meanwhile, I know I keep going on about this, but I’d like to find out where we are exactly; we were going to discuss it, remember? We don’t know why we’re here, we don’t know where we came from, we don’t know where we’re going to; hey - how come I feel so darned happy?”

Jac spread some ashes from the fire on the floor of the cave, took a half-burned twig and began to draw a rough map in the ashes.

“As to the cause of your happiness, I have no idea, apart from the excellent company you keep and the well-known benefits of regular and vigorous exercise, but at least I can show you where we are. We are here,” he said, indicating with the stick, “in border country. To the north and west are the Free Nations; free republics which are independent, and waste their time bickering with each other over

trivialities. Further to the west is the Sea and the Fractured Isles.

“To the south are the wild countries; deserts, swamps, and beyond that the jungle - the Heart of Darkness. There the Inquisitors have their capital, from where they rule their empire of slaves and savages. They threaten the free republics constantly, though until recently only in sporadic raids. We - the Free Nations – have a common military, well-trained and vigilant, under a single leader, the Seneschal, although in recent times their vigour has been seriously diminished by internal politics and dissension. The military also provide internal security, against shrikes, for instance.”

“So where the hell were they when we needed them,” grumbled Ethan.

“We are far out of their territory,” said Jac, “And, even so, shrikes are rare here, and especially rare in packs.”

“But in the last few years the number of slave raids have greatly increased, and their tactics have changed too, and become even more malign and brutal, if that were possible. The Inquisitors will suddenly attack and completely overwhelm a small village or town, close to or even across our borders - they call it the Mfecane, the Crushing, or Smiting. The fit and healthy are taken, to slavery and lives of great hardship and suffering, and the young, the old, and the sick are grievously mutilated and left to die.

“No-one knows why they have become more active; a more aggressive leader, perhaps, or maybe a need for more slaves for whatever new mischief they are planning, but the raids, although frequent, remain isolated and sporadic and apparently utterly at random and are therefore impossibly difficult to guard against. So every town must protect itself, especially in border areas; but when the Mfecane come in force, only the largest and best-defended towns can even temporarily resist them. Most towns capitulate immediately, in fear of the reprisals that any resistance might bring, but the Mfecane despise such weakness, and wreak their havoc on cowards and brave men alike. Unless there are great changes, it will not be long, I fear, before the Free Nations themselves are over-run and enslaved,” he

finished, staring sombrely into the flames.

“Why do they do these terrible things?” asked Donal, “Although I should not be surprised; I have seen plenty of the like in my own world. Mindless savagery and persecution of those unable to defend themselves, and usually driven by religious fervour; religious madness I would call it, and it came from Crusader and Saracen equally. “God is Great,” they cry, and blood runs in the streets.”

Jac laughed grimly; “Unfortunately we cannot blame supernatural forces for the misery of our own human condition. There are no “gods” in this world anymore; we realized long ago that they are just a device to explain that which we do not understand. As if by simply naming something we could make it comprehensible, or control it in some way! The whole idea was absurd. No, our differences with the Inquisitors run much deeper than mere gods. We believe in the common and individual good, and in the rights of man, and freedom and choice; they are amoral, believing only in the rights of the strong to dominate and subjugate the weak.

“Although they do not consider it evil, it amounts to the same thing in the end; it is beyond evil, I believe. And, Donal, I suspect that our visitor in the forest was someone of great authority, someone very high up indeed in their organization, maybe even their Chieftain. Surely only someone with great power could have conjured up an image and controlled the shrikes from a far distance in such a way. But fortune was with us; he did not see that Ethan and I were also there - so he may

consider you already dead, as one man alone would have had no chance whatever against three shrikes, no matter how strong and brave a warrior he might be. He also probably does not realize that Ethan has also come over from your world.”

“Why should he want me dead - again? I have done nothing to rouse anyone’s anger - not as yet, anyway,” asked Donal.

“I have no idea,” said Jac , “But obviously he perceives you as a some form of threat and you are of deep significance to him; as well, of course, to whoever it was that summoned you in the first place, a summoning that could only have been performed by someone of equivalent skill and power. But now I know you are in such demand, I would like to hear your full story, so I may judge for myself why you are so popular.”

“You can go first, Irish,” said Ethan, “I’m obviously only a piece of excess baggage in the great scheme of things; they wanted you and they got me as well, but hey, don’t worry, no offence taken, my feelings aren’t that easily hurt.”

“I would venture a guess that you are a soldier,” said Jac to Donal, “Your swordsmanship was most effective, if a bit crude, and you seemed calm at all times during the chase and the fight. You were also quite stoical when I treated your wound; a ragged gash like that must have been exquisitely painful.”

As he spoke he flipped a knife up and down with a practiced hand, a habit that Ethan found unnerving. The knife’s edge gleamed in the firelight and he could see how wickedly keen it was; one slip and Jac could easily lop off his own wrist.

“A soldier?” Donal smiled wryly, “Close enough, perhaps, but call me rather a pilgrim, one who is doomed to wander forever on the face of the earth, for that, it seems, is my fate if not my choice. I was born in the kingdom of Ossory in the ancient land of Erin, a verdant green and misty isle which sounded to the chants of monks and the lowing of cattle.”

“Ireland,” mused Ethan, “I once met a prospector, from County Kerry; the guy was panning for gold in the Rockies. Never found the price of a mule, but he taught me a rhyme, too, a sweet little verse, and I remember it well;”

“For the great gaels of Ireland,

Are the men that God made mad,

For all their wars are merry,

And all their songs are sad.”

“What pretty doggerel,” Jac was sarcastic, “Obviously a most sophisticated country.”

“The man must have been a fool,” declared Donal, unamused, “For my country was rich in gold. It adorned my mother’s hair and my father’s shield. Erin was a land close to heaven; we never knew hunger, nor pestilence. Our women were fair, our children plentiful, and we bathed in the light of God’s benevolence, and the word of the true church.

“But Christendom was to prove my scourge. The word came to us that Jerusalem, our most holy citadel, had been conquered and profaned by the Saracen. The pope cast his arms abroad in agony, and called the knights of Christendom for swords about the cross. As a young knight I answered his call, believing then in a simpler world, that just as there is black and white, and night and day, that there was good and that there was evil, and only one truth. I now know that to be a great lie; there are many truths, and good and evil both take many forms. The armies of the crusade marched with the holy book in one hand, and a mace of iron in the other. We sowed pestilence and famine and bloody slaughter, we reaped grief and sorrow and loss.

“I found also that many of our sworn enemies, the infidels, far from being the heathen savages and barbarians that they had been portrayed by our mother church, were men of integrity and honesty, and of great learning and scholarship; but for accidents of birth, we could have been brothers. Indeed, after I left the Crusade in disgust and shame at it’s brutality I made many good and decent friends from among the ranks of the Saracen.

“So I bartered the soft mists of my homeland for a foolish dream, and my only reward was the rocky desert and stony soil of Palestine. And then, one day, in fair combat, I slew a Janissarie.”

“A Janisarrie?” Jac raised an eyebrow.

“The Janissaries were the Sultan’s elite guard, knights of great courage and honour. They had a strict code which compelled them to extract revenge, although they knew I had committed no crime nor acted dishonorably, and so I was trailed remorselessly through the desert, where even a hunting fox might have found me elusive. On a morning they ran me to ground and I vowed to run no more. I cast myself on their steel, and then......... I awoke by Ethan’s fire. I also, by no design of my own, brought with me a small token of their esteem, that very spear which Ethan wielded so skillfully.”

“So that is how you came to have it,” said Jac, “Can I see it again?”

Ethan fetched the spear, unpacking it from the saddle-bag with great care, and they examined it closely, remarking on the craftsmanship and skill which had gone into it’s making.

“Janissaries,” whispered Ethan, as if to himself.

“So we have yet another mystery,” said Jac, “The spear was brought here by Donal, albeit in unhappy circumstances, but does it not seem uniquely suited to Ethan’s hand? So it is most unlikely that Ethan is the accident he might appear to be.”

As he spoke, he took the weapon from Ethan, admiring the glow of the gilt engravings in the ember-light.

“To me it seems impractical; elegant, no doubt, but surely too light to

penetrate armour. Yet we have seen it cleave rock like water and skewer the armour of a shrike, armour that would usually resist the keenest blade.”

“I have heard tell of such a spear before,” said Donal, “In the stories of our land, our mightiest warrior of legend, Cuchulain, bore the Gai Bulga, a weapon of fearsome repute, which earned him both victory and sorrow in equal measure.”

“Well,” said Jac, “Thankfully to us it has so far brought only good luck; otherwise, I’d be dead, and you’d both be wandering lost in the wilderness, probably still going around in circles.”

Standing up, Ethan took the spear back from Jac. His sense of unreality increased at his implied bond with the weapon. He drew his revolver from it’s holster; a stark contrast, it felt unreal, too hard, too heavy, it seemed somehow wrong here, in this world of strange companions and fanciful creatures. He weighed the two weapons against each other, one in either hand, the metal cool against his skin, his head bowed in thought as the others watched him, sensing his disquiet. He stepped past the horses, out through the cave mouth, his footsteps muffled in the snow, and walked a short distance to where the ledge ended abruptly. Over the lip a sheer drop ended in a mountain bog, scarcely visible through coiling mists. He looked again at the weapons, symbols of the old and the new. A noise made him look round; his two companions had followed him, and were watching gravely.

Both were silent, neither making any move to stop him or advise him either way, as if they were aware of his inward struggle and the import of this moment. On impulse he raised the revolver high, aimed upwards, and pulled the trigger once. It gave an empty, impotent click, the tinny sound further muffled by the damp fog.

“Gotta let you go, baby,“ he said, and flung it out into the air. They watched it arc upwards, glinting once in a chance beam of firelight before spiralling downwards until it was claimed by either mist or bog, and taken from their sight forever. A link to his old life seemed to disappear with it.

He turned to his companions, the spear still in his other hand.

“I am a true warrior now,” he said.

Donal came forward and clasped his hand firmly.

“And true brothers shall we be to one another,” he said solemnly.

“Before you make any promises you might later regret,” said Ethan, “Remember what my dad used to say to me; you can choose your friends but you’re stuck with your relations.”

Their laughter echoed around the cliffs as Jac looked on, again struck by the uncanny similarities between the two big men.

“What about one of those sad songs we were told about, Donal?” he said.

Donal smiled, comfortably settling himself once more by the fire.

“I was never accounted a great singer,” he said apologetically, “though our land was indeed famed for it’s music, most of it in the old Gaelic tongue. It was not accounted an unmanly skill, and even our fiercest warriors were expected to be learned in music and verse, so I have had some training. This was a song we would sing to celebrate a good day’s hunting and to honour the beasts we killed.”

Eyes closed, he sat still for a moment to compose himself, then began to sing, the whistling of the wind outside the cave and the crackling of the fire forming a descant to his deep voice. Though neither Ethan nor Jac understood the words, they were rapt, hearing in the music the depth of Donal’s aching and loss for his homeland. When the song was over they sat staring into the embers, and no-one spoke for a while.

“Sad songs - you were not wrong about these Irishmen, friend Ethan,” said Jac, finally stirring himself.

“Well sung, Donal, a nice cheery little number, whatever the hell it was, just the thing to put a sparkle into the evening, thought we might get an Irish jig instead,” said Ethan.

“And you, Ethan,” asked Jac, “What is your tale? There is more to you than you have yet spoken of, I am sure.”

“It’s gonna kill me to admit this to you guys, but I used to be an actor,” said Ethan, rather sheepishly, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

“An actor,” laughed Jac in delight, “An actor? But of course; why didn’t I think of it before? I should have guessed already; it’s so obvious - the way you walk, the way you pose, how elegantly you sit on your horse. We have actors in our country just like you, though admittedly most of them are all small and pretty.”

“Be not ashamed, Ethan,” Donal was quick to reassure him, “Each man must turn his hand to what his needs and his times demand. The way you handled yourself in the fight, you’ll not be an actor here, I’ll warrant.”

Ethan briefly recounted his life and times, though constantly interrupted by exclamations of amazement and disbelief from his listeners.

“Guns, you say,” said Jac, incredulity in his tone, “And many times more powerful than that extraordinary device you used against the shrikes.”

“Yes indeed,” said Ethan, “So powerful and dangerous that our world itself might have been destroyed, and that killing a man became easier and of no more consequence than squashing an insect”. He was silent for a while, “Which makes me even more sure that I was right to get rid of it.”

“Was it truly wise, Ethan?” asked Jac doubtfully, “Such a weapon; such power; it could have been of great use to us.”

“Well,” Ethan replied, “Maybe not so much use; all the ammunition was gone anyway. I had only two bullets; the second one I used on the shrikes, the first.....,” his voice trailed off as he remembered the moment, “.........I used on myself.”

He recounted his final illness, betraying no emotion, still uncomfortable with the memory of weakness and hopelessness. Donal looked at Jac.

“I too have seen this wasting illness many times, in both Ireland and the Levant; it took always the older people. Has your art anything to offer that might counter this malady?” he asked.

Jac said nothing for a moment, leaning over to throw another stick on the fire.

“I wish we had; but indeed there is much sickness in this world also which we cannot cure; men are not made to live forever”, he said, shaking his head sadly, “Still, we can always offer comfort, and a quick and easy death, and that is no small thing for anyone.”

“So here we both are,” laughed Ethan, shaking off the mood of melancholy, “Probably dead in our own world, but”, he drew a great, deep, theatrical breath, “very much alive and kicking in this one.”

“Yes, Ethan, it appears we both been gifted a second chance. But why?” said Donal.

“Gifted?” said Ethan in mock outrage, “You call this gifted? Sitting here with my ass frozen off, nearly out of coffee, weird things trying to kill us, and two crazy guys for company?”

“Why indeed,” observed Jac, ignoring him, “And whatever your travails before, you are both now in ruddy good health. Donal, what age were you at the time of your...dispute?”

Donal had to think for a while.

“To speak a truth, I had lost count in the desert. Thirty-five years, I believe, though I felt much older.”

“And you, Ethan?”

Ethan shrugged, “About sixty-four - you stop counting after forty.”

“I would guess you both at 30 years now; and Ethan shows no signs of the wasting disease, nor Donal any wounds from his final conflict. So you have both been spirited here in your prime,” Jac laughed.

“Yes,” agreed Donal, “Except it does not seem at all just. Ethan has already lived nearly twice as long as me.”

“Yeah, and so I’m probably twice as smart too, me young bucko,” said Ethan, “Which is why I think we should now talk a bit more about just where we are heading.”

“As I told you before,” said Jac, “I am taking you to my home. On the other side of these mountains is a valley,” he continued, his tone becoming more enthusiastic, “A river runs through, not deep, not wide, but precious, very precious to me. At the head of the valley my home lies, between the river and the mountains; I had thought you could rest there and consider your futures. My parents will make you welcome and my father is wise and will be able to counsel you.

“But before we reach the valley we will pass the trading post of Hymnal, a small town of honest burghers. They will, I am sure, need my services, both as a healer and perhaps, if the shrikes are raiding there by now, as a warrior. Which, my friends, makes me think you might both also find gainful employ there, should you wish it.”

“Are they expecting trouble then?” asked Ethan.

“Your second chance has come at a bad time, I am afraid, Ethan. That the shrikes have become so bold in woodland foreign to them was yet another sign how desperate things have become. There are no safe refuges anymore, and the shrikes may become among the least of our concerns; the Heart of Darkness is stirring again.”

“This is getting spooky,” said Ethan.

“Yes, Ethan,” mused Donal, “It appears our services will be in demand. Which reminds me of something most important; your spear may be a fearsome weapon, but I judge that it will be useless for fighting at close quarters. So you are in luck, my friend; I have a spare sword you can use, and we will begin your tuition tomorrow - early!”

Jac lay back on his bed-roll.

“We have a long trek ahead of us in the morning,” he said, “If we make good time, we should reach the top of the pass by tomorrow. Donal, will you take first watch?”

He rolled over to sleep and would say no more, but they heard him laughing.

“An actor,” they heard him chuckle.