The rhythm of Yseult's voice, telling him a story--like when she reads aloud when they're sat by the fire--like the future he's thought of and even once lived, in his mind, when they have two children sat with them--and the tickle of her breath as she talks--and the distant sound of the waves, steady and familiar--all of it could nearly put Darras back to sleep.

He doesn't fall asleep. He listens, eyes half-closed--and by the end, a smile half on his face. There's a beat of silence before he says, "A pretty story," quiet and drowsy. He rubs his thumb against her arm. "I like that you'd be glad for me. I like it all. If it happened that way--"

Well. He opens his eyes and looks up at the ceiling. It's lower than the ceiling of their room in the Gallows. More familiar, too, even though he's slept years in that room now.

"I'd still miss you. Every day. I'd think of you."