"I don't think it's weakness." Eyes still on the line, he can see their hands in his periphery. He doesn't need to see them. He has seen them, joined, so often, that he has memorized the way they look. Even when she lays her hand over his, fingers only loosely laced, he knows the way that looks. "Either way I don't think it is. I think it's just--knowing."

The line tugs, once, sharp. Darras tightens his hand on the fishing pole. The line goes slack again, almost instantly, but he doesn't relax just yet.

"The things we've seen--or dreamed--about the future--is it weakness, knowing that? Or wanthign to know what could happen?"