The Grave thief

CHAPTER 19

A cold wind whipped across his body, slapping his cheek with fingers of ice. He kept his head low and watched his feet rise and fall to the tune of tortured muscle. His feet were bare, always bare, his clothes ragged and torn. Eolis in his hand tugged him forward, dragging him towards the broken'tooth mountain that filled the horizon. He could smell the mud and burning on the wind, so unlike the furnace of Scree, yet similar for the upwelling of horror it provoked within him.

He stopped and looked at the shadows lying thick on the ground. The sun was absent from a grim grey sky yet the shadows were tangible for their blackness. They began to shift and writhe under his gaze and he staggered a few steps back, seeing sudden movement everywhere he looked. The shadows thrashed and kicked, rising a little then falling back to earth. He felt eyes on him and realised the shadows were not monsters or daemons coming to life. They were much worse.

Faces from all parts of his life, blood-splattered and screaming, enemies he'd barely seen before he'd killed them, butchered friends: they all stared at him from every direction. It was a field of the dead; those slain by his own hand lying in great heaps alongside those who had died because of his order.

He turned to run, unable to face their eyes and their cries any longer, but there were more behind him, and standing over those, five figures watching him from his shadow.

'What do you want?' he moaned, sinking to his knees. He felt the cold in his numb hands and feet, draining what little life remained.

'We wait,' was the only reply he received.

One of the figures stepped closer and bent down so it could look him in the face. The pitiless grey ice. of her eyes made him cry out with pain, but the sound was dulled and muled in her presence. Her dress was once of a rich pale blue cloth, now torn and ragged like his own. A small, withered bunch of flowers hung loose from her fingers.

'We wait for release,' she whispered in his ear, each syllable like the last breath of a dying man. 'We wait for our lord to claim you. Can you hear his footsteps yet? Can you feel his hounds draw closer?'

'Isak,' the voice called as a hand nudged his shoulder.

He flinched. The hand was as hot as a furnace on his skin after the pervading chill of the dream. He squinted up at the figure standing over him, his head feeling muzzy and heavy. Xeliath held out her wasted hand towards him. She looked far stronger now than when she'd arrived. Being a stranger in a strange land had forced her to become stronger, and even crippled she was a white-eye, with more than enough stubborn resilience to rise to the challenge. Invited guest or not, many Farlan would simply see a Yeetatchen, an enemy — but after her weeks of recuperation Isak guessed Xeliath would relish the coming fight.

'Careful where you point that thing,' he growled, scowling at the Crystal Skull fused to her palm. Their relationship was still a little strange, neither one really sure what it was, despite the occasional visits Xeliath still made to his dreams, which were sufficiently unreal to allow an easy veneer of closeness.

She didn't reply other than to hook over a chair with her crutch and sit down with a contented sigh. Isak took a moment to look at the fierce brown-skinned girl he'd stolen away from her people. Her figure was hardly visible under the layers of thick woollen dress she wore, but her hair — longer now than when she'd first arrived — fell loose about her ears. It had been threaded with ribbons, brown, purple and yellow, while a golden charm of Amavoq, patron of her tribe, was at her throat.

'It is a feast day for my people,' she explained, seeing his gaze, 'so we all wear the colours of Jerequan, the Lady at Rest and- Well, we eat like a bear does for winter!'

'Jerequan is a bear?'

'An Aspect of Vrest, yes.' She stopped and looked closer at his face. 'Are you hungover, or are your dreams still bad?'

Isak attempted a smile. 'How do you feel about a bit of both?'

'Typical man! Drink away your problems and forget the rest of the Land.' She leaned back, her chestnut-coloured nose wrinkling in distaste.

Isak looked puzzled until he noticed his mouth tasted like a mouse had crawled in and died while he was asleep. He was pushing himself upright when he suddenly remembered where he was.

'How did you get in here?' he demanded. He was sleeping in the room where he'd spent his first night in Tirah Palace, halfway up the Tower of Semar, and it was unique, as far as he knew, in that it had no staircase. Instead there was a well or chimney running through the centre of the tower, and a spell engraved onto the wall at its base to lift people up on a flurry of spectral wings.

Xeliath grinned, suddenly looking like the girl she was rather than the time-ravaged crone her stroke often made her seem. She gestured towards the circular hole in the floor on her left. 'Lady Tila was helping me with my hair when she mentioned that the tower had obeyed your command your first night here.'

'But I'm Chosen of Nartis,' Isak protested, 'it's supposed to accept me.'

'Hah! Anything some fool Farlan can do, I do better,' she declared, raising her twisted left arm. 'The tower knew what was good for it and obeyed me.'

'Betrayed by my own tower?' Isak muttered. 'Somehow that doesn't surprise me.'

'That often happens after much wine. Were you hiding here to drink, or just to sleep?'

He shrugged. 'Didn't feel much like getting a lecture on drink from anyone, least of all you.'

'I never get like this when I drink,' she replied scornfully.

'I know,' Isak said with a smirk. 'I've seen how you get! Makes me nervous to go to sleep when you're like that.'

She looked him up and down critically, and Isak tried to pull his clothes to order, his shirt having somehow twisted around his body while he slept. 'It is better that I'm drunk. Anyway, most men would be happy to be allowed to sleep at the same time.'

Isak gave up. 'Not complaining, just saying I should be allowed to drink in peace if I want. Makes me feel better — and it doesn't kill anyone, which, frankly, is better than anything else I've done as Lord of the Farlan.'

He looked around for the wine jar he'd been drinking from and found it on its side by the bed. There was enough left to swill around his mouth to get rid of the worst of the sour taste his dreams had left there. 'If you want to know what happened to the Land that makes a devotee of the Lady go mad and kill the High Cardinal — well, I'll tell you: it was me. I'm what happened; I'm the stone in the path of history, the start of all the shit that's happening around here.'

Xeliath shook her head, the ribbons dancing like butterfly tails. 'The death of the Lady wasn't your fault, nor the rage of the Gods. Whatever you did to the Reapers, you couldn't have predicted it — I doubt even Azaer's disciples did, and they planned most of it.'

Isak looked down. 'Then why do I still feel guilty?'

To his surprise, the fierce-eyed Yeetatchen white-eye laughed, not mockingly, but affectionately.

'Because you are human, you fool! Whatever the Gods — or anyone — asks of you, they cannot take away your humanity. The Gods made you that way, and anyone who argues otherwise will have to explain themselves to me.

'It doesn't matter that your purpose might be impossible,' she added fiercely, her Yeetatchen accent growing more noticeable with her vehemence, 'or already fulfilled. That is the fault of others, not you. They filled your dreams with prophecy and destiny. They gave you power, and forgot a white-eye is still human, no matter how great a weapon.'

'So here I am — a saviour without a cause who can't even use drink to hide from his dreams of death?' Isak hadn't meant that to sound as abjectly pathetic as it came out, but Xeliath's face fell all the same.

'How often?'

'The dreams?' he sighed and shook his head. 'Not often. Rare enough to be a shock when they do come; not so rare that I look forward to going to sleep.'

'Have you seen the hound again?'

'No, and for that at least I'm glad.' He grimaced again and rubbed his palms over his face. There was a tingle in his cheek where the single ring he wore — a tube of silver bearing his dragon crest, a replacement for the one he'd given to Commander Brandt's son back in Narkang — had caught it. 'What bell is it?' he asked as he began to tug on his boots.

'Past the fifth,' Xeliath replied, waiting until he had finished before reaching out her good arm to him. When he took it she hauled herself upright and together they entered the dark circle in the centre of the room. 'I prefer to walk the palace at night when there are not so many faces to stare.'

'You walk the palace alone?'

'When I wish. I am always pleased to have Mihn's company, and sometimes Lady Tila or Count Vesna accompany me, but I will not have a nurse.'

'Are you sure? I'd be happier with someone watching your back.'

'I am not so slow — it would take more than a soldier with a grudge,' she said, adding with a grin, 'and unlike you, I have no dreams of death!'

Before Isak could reply, her twisted left hand gave a jerk and the storm of wings enveloped them, raging ghostly and near-silent, but preventing conversation until they cleared. Isak blinked and let the shape of the lower chamber resolve in the gloom.

It was as cold as an ice-store, and the only light was the faint glow of magic emanating from the sigils and spells chalked on the wall. There were two separate spells, one keeping the high and slender tower standing through even the winter storms, the second to carry people up the tower.

Dermeness Chirialt, a mage from the College of Magic, had gladly taken upon himself Isak's magical education, though his speciality was the production of armour; the price for his help was that Isak help him with his own research. One of the first tasks he'd set the young lord was to translate each of these runes, letting the syllables flow through his mind until he gained a sense of their shape and power.

He passed a hand over them as they passed, remembering those lessons, then asked Xeliath, 'Where do you want to walk?'

'Walk?' she replied as she hobbled through the doorway towards the Great Hall. 'Tonight I want to ride.'

'There's a heavy ground-frost again. It won't be safe.'

She rounded on him, her expression changed all of a sudden. 'Safe? I tell you something: guess how many times I have longed Cor the death you hide from? The months I lay in bed unable to move at all, only to find if I could move, still I was manacled to it because they thought I was a prophet?' Her accent became thicker the angrier she got.

'The pain, the loss of my beauty and strength! Pretend your future was tied to another's like a dog, as twisted as your broken body. Not safe? You entered Scree with just a bodyguard, was that safe? I will not again ride well, but I will ride. If I risk death to avoid white faces staring, I choose it.'

She turned back towards the Great Hall, adding under her breath, 'It is the only choice I have left. Everything else is decided by a saviour who cannot even save himself.'

Isak watched her go, not trusting himself to reply. His hands had tightened into fists with the effort of keeping silent, but the next voice to echo down the corridor was Xeliath's, snapping at a servant on duty in the Great Hall, demanding a horse.

'Bloody white-eyes, eh?' said a voice to Isak's right. He turned and saw Carel standing halfway up the wide stone staircase that led up to the state apartments. His former mentor wore a long green overcoat with a white collar as befitted his status as a former Palace Guard, his left sleeve was pinned back, while his right hand held a silver-headed cane. Carel claimed his balance was still a little off since Isak had performed a battlefield amputation on his right arm, but the Duke of Tirah wasn't convinced.

Tila had confirmed his guess that duels could only be demanded of to those in the habit of wearing a sword, and Carel, having passed his sabre, Arugin, on to Major Jachen, was now officially a pensioned retainer of Lord Isak's. The net result was that he could pretty well be as rude as he liked to any nobleman, and any demand for apology in the form of a duel would have to be offered to Lord Isak instead. Of course, if Isak judged his friend correctly, any illegal attack on Carel's person would see the former elite guardsman thumb a catch on his cane and suddenly regain the balance of forty years' superb swordsmanship.

'Reminding you of anything, old man?'

'No, not at all,' Carel replied breezily. 'You were much worse.'

'Were?' Isak said sourly. 'You heard her; I'm now a Saviour who can't even save himself. At the moment I'm inclined to think that might be worse than a petulant child.'

'So a petulant child might claim, but I know which one I'd prefer to share a pipe with out in the moonlight.' Carel gestured towards the Great Hall and they walked in side by side. The servant now tending the fire still had a shocked look on her face, the result of Xeliath's passing. It took a moment of panic before she remembered to curtsey to Isak as the three rangers sitting at a table rose and bowed.

Once out on the moonlit training ground, Isak took Card's proffered tobacco pouch and thumbed a wad bf tobacco into his pipe. He lit it and took a deep breath of the warm smoke before passing it over.

'I cringe every time I hear the word "Saviour".'

Carel nodded, his face partly obscured by the shadow of hair made silvery in Alterr's light. 'Don't surprise me, that's a bastard term to live up to no matter who you are.'

'I never realised how powerful the word was, the hold it takes on some folk.'

'Ah, folk are dumb as mules, you know that,' Carel declared carelessly, gesturing to the other side of the training ground where they could just make out a flurry of activity at the stables. 'Sometimes as stubborn too.'

The sky was dark. It was well past midnight, and all they could see ahead was the moonlight catching the frost on the many peaked roofs of the palace.

'Whether a saviour is needed or not, that don't matter to some. We're mortal, whatever tribe or colour.' The veteran shrugged, the stump that was all that remained of his left arm nudging Isak's sleeve. ' "Frail mortals, weak and fearful" — isn't that what it says in the Devotionals, the one to Lord Death? That's what we are, my boy, frail and weak. We don't lead perfect lives and deep down every one of us knows we could be better, as people, and as servants of the Gods. Who then wouldn't want a saviour to be the light showing us the way?'

'And they look to me?' Isak shook his head in disbelief. 'Because at some point years ago the Gods feared Aryn Bwr's revenge, only to have their tool twisted awry? I'm no example.'

'Ah, but you are, like it or not,' Carel said firmly. The man handed back the pipe then knocked the head of his cane against Isak's massive thigh. 'Whatever playing was done with your destiny, it made others see a leader in those oversized boots of yours.'

'And what about me?' Isak countered, rounding on the veteran and ducking his head so he could look the smaller man in the eye. 'Who do I look to when I run out of answers? I'll tell you now I've got sod-all clue how to deal with the fact that I can feel my own death creeping up behind me, let alone whatever games Azaer is playing. So do I look to Kastan Styrax, perhaps the only man in this Land more trouble than I am? The man I feel in my bones is going to kill me?'

'No need to take that tone with me,' Carel said sternly, 'I ain't saying I've got all the answers.' He jabbed his cane against Isak's chest and after an angry moment the white-eye stepped back. 'I'm just out here for a smoke,' Carel continued with an approving grin as he watched Isak swallow his temper, 'and who'm I to say what manner your salvation might come in?'

Isak hesitated as Carel's words seemed to rush through his body. 'Salvation? Gods, is that what I'm looking for?' Suddenly aware of the swirling winds up above him, the energy and power coursing through the darkness, he felt the cold of night fall away. Some instinct kicked into action, sending a tremble through his veins and clearing the last remaining vestiges of alcohol from his body. In its place was a sensation he couldn't place, almost like a trickle of energy waiting to be shaped into magic.

'Don't know what you're looking for,' Carel said, oblivious to what was happening to Isak as he watched Xeliath struggle into a saddle and set out at a walk for the open space of the training ground, a terrified groom at her side. 'Think Mihn's the better man to ask about salvation, even if he's getting a little strange of late too. You seen those tattoos of his? I'd never call the man a savage, no matter where he's from, but he's starting to look it with those arcane symbols tattooed onto his skin.'

'There must be a purpose to it,' Isak said distantly, prompting a snort from Carel.

'Purpose to everything, so the priests say, but sometimes you got to wonder.'

Oh, too true, my friend, Isak thought, staring blankly into the black sky, and wonder I do. Death and salvation, they're strange com-panions in any discussion. But if the strands of life and destiny are woven together, what happens if I grab one and give it a tug? If nothing works as intended around me, what would happen if I faced death head-on?

'I think Mihn knows more than he's letting on,' Isak said finally.

'If he does, he's got good reason, I'd say. That man is as loyal as they come; don't you worry about him.'

'I'm worried for him.'

'Ah, now that's foolish talk. You're Lord of the Farlan; it's your duty to ask difficult things of others. It's Mihn's responsibility what he gives to your cause, though; his choice, and one that's gladly made.'

Isak was silent for a moment. 'So what's your advice for me then? Like it or not, you're the one I look to for answers.'

'Don't make fun,' Carel growled irritably.

'I'm not, I swear.' Isak clapped him on the shoulder. 'AH my life you've been the only one I could turn to. I'm not expecting answers to all my problems, but your advice has guided me this far. If nothing else, it's a comfort to hear, and these days I'll take any comfort I can get.'

Carel looked suspicious for a moment, then shrugged, hearing no mocking from the boy he'd instilled with a soldier's sense of humour. 'Not sure there's much more I can teach you, but you're slow, so I'll repeat some of it and see if it sticks this time.' He grinned briefly before turning back towards the Great Hall, but not fast enough to hide his face as it became grave once more.

'A soldier can't let fear rule his life,' Carel said. 'Fear tells you you're still alive. Without it you'll be dead damn quick, that I promise, but if it's fear guiding your horse you're riding straight to the ivory gates.'

My host of fears, all waiting in my shadow, Isak thought. I think you're right, I've been letting fear play my hand for me, so perhaps it is time that changed.

Isak turned back towards the warmth of the Great Hall and draped an arm over Carel's shoulder. 'It's good to have you back.'

The old soldier chuckled as they headed back. 'I'm sure it is; you never did bother to buy your own tobacco. At least give me the damn pipe back, you oversized fool.'

Vesna didn't hear the discreet knock on his apartment door. Slumped in a chair before the fire, he had even forgotten the bandaged wound on his head that nagged constantly. His focus was entirely occupied with the blood-red gem he turned over and over in his hands, feeling the slick surface of the cut faces and watching the light glitter through the stone. He'd never seen a stone like it, but for all its beauty it made him more fearful than anything else. For days now he'd spent hours after everyone else had retired, sitting and staring at the stone. Questions ran through his head, but any answers just slipped off those glassily smooth facets and vanished.

The knock came again, this time louder. Vesna gave a start and sat up, his heart racing as he looked around the room in confusion before realising it was someone at the door. He hauled himself up, tucking the gem into a pocket before he called for the person to come in.

Tila came in, her hair falling loosely about her shoulders and a worried look on her face. She had wrapped a thick blanket around her.

'Damn. Sorry,' he started, 'it's late isn't it?'

Tila nodded. No doubt he didn't look quite at his best, bandaged up and with bags under his eyes from lack of sleep.

'I'd hoped you had just fallen asleep,' she started, 'but I saw the light under the door.'

Vesna crossed over to her and took Tila in his arms. He hugged her close and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. 'I'm sorry,' he started. 'I meant to come to say goodnight, but I hadn't realised how late it was. My mind's all fogged at the moment — this damn cut.' Even in Scree, Vesna had made a point of going to say goodnight to Tila at her bedroom door, and that had continued even after she had moved into Isak's rooms to keep Xeliath company as much as to help her.

'Is it still hurting?' she asked, immediately concerned. 'Do we need to get the healer back up here?'

'No, no,' Vesna said, dismissing the matter with a wave of the hand, 'the stitches need time, nothing more.'

'Then what else is it?' she persisted. 'You've had injuries before — did they always make you act so strangely?'

'I-' Vesna faltered, disarmed by the look on his betrothed's face, and admitting, 'No, this isn't normal.'

'Then tell me what the matter is.' Tila urged him back to his chair and knelt beside it, keeping hold of one of his hands in hers.

'We're to be married in a few weeks; is that the problem? Just a case of nerves?'

Vesna saw in her eyes she didn't believe that for a moment and he didn't even try agreeing. He sighed, realising the time had come. 'No, that's not it, believe me. That is something I could not have happen soon enough.' He squeezed her hand.

'Well?'

'The night I was ambushed,' he started, then paused. 'Tila, there's something I didn't tell you about that night.'

'You were going to that brothel for more than just drink?' she said, trying to smile.

'Gods, no!' he exclaimed with a grimace. 'I wish that were all. No, I meant during the attack. Something happened afterwards, and I've been thinking about it for days, trying to work out what to do.'

'So tell me. There's nothing that could change things between us.' Seeing Vesna wince as she said that, Tila continued sharply, 'Evanelial Vesna, do you think I'm stupid? You've been a professional soldier for twenty years, and I am well aware what that entails, the demands it makes of you. As for the rest, I know you've performed services at Lesarl's com-'

'What?' Vesna spluttered, 'he told you?'

'In a fashion. Oh, don't look so shocked, I'm working alongside the man on a daily basis and I have put a fair amount of thought into marrying you. Did you think that meant I've spent weeks wondering how to do my hair?' Her voice softened. 'My father asked me about a dowry and I didn't have to look very hard to gain an idea of the debts your father left you; there's no way you would have been able to service those debts and pay the College of Magic for your armour.'

'Did you read my file? Do you want me to tell you?'

Tila ran a hand down his cheek. 'No, dearest, I know you; I know the extent of what you would do for the tribe already. I don't need to ask. However unsavoury your reputation might be, no one has ever bothered to claim you gloried or delighted in death. What you did in the past for the good of the tribe is not my place to ask.'

Vesna looked stunned at how easily she'd dismissed the matter. 'Are you sure?' He remembered all too well the look on Tila's face when Isak had announced rather casually that he'd murdered a man the previous evening. 'That's quite a turn-around since Count Vilan's death.'

'Vilan? I'm not saying I like murder, or that I approve of it, but I don't believe you would ever talk about it the way Lord Isak did then.' She shivered. 'His callous streak still catches me off-guard from time to time, but I forgave him that, just as I forgave you your reputation. Do you think I was impressed when Lesarl intentionally left a note from the Keymaster of the Heraldic Library where he knew I'd find it? The note was to confirm that Lord Bahl would approve our marriage if such a thing might occur.'

'The Keymaster of the Heraldic Library?' Vesna wondered aloud. His confusion increased when Tila's expression darkened.

'Keeper of the family trees,' she said in a cold voice. 'Apparently it was not only Sir Arole Pir who Lesarl considered it necessary to confirm his true parentage.'

Vesna opened his mouth to speak but Tila held up a finger to stop him, her face thunderous. 'Trust me; you do not want to continue that conversation any further. It will not end well for you. Just be glad the marriage is still going to happen.'

He nodded dumbly. Suddenly the cut to his head didn't hurt now. It was overshadowed by the cold sensation of dread in his belly.

'Now, tell me about the night you were attacked,' Tila said, perching on the arm of his chair and staring intently at him.

Vesna couldn't meet the force of her stare for long, but he knew not to drag the silence out and began to relate the last few moments of that fight and his conversation with the God of War.

After he had finished, Tila was silent. He chanced a look at her, but could read nothing from her expression as she stared into the fire, digesting the implications of what he'd said.

'This is what you had to tell me before we married. An offer of immortality from the God of War. I can see the dilemma.' Her voice was cool, clinical.

Vesna's dread continued to mount as she left the words hanging in the air. His mouth went suddenly dry.

Abruptly, she stood up and turned to face him. 'My beloved, you are an utter fool.'

The count's mouth dropped open. That wasn't the response he'd been expecting.

'I can see the train of your thoughts now: We are in troubled times, my lord needs a general he can trust; I cannot shake my doubts. What value has there been in all these years of fighting? Have I made a difference? Here I am, a scarred man getting past his prime with nothing but a flawed reputation to show for it. Could this be my chance to do something more worthwhile, to prove to myself that this life and talent weren't wasted? Could this give me the strength I think I've lost, replace the innocence that died on one or other of a hundred battlefields?'

Vesna was frozen to his seat, unable to move as the hare turned on the hound. To hear his thoughts spoken aloud undermined his resolve entirely and he sat helpless as Tila continued, her face still unreadable, her voice giving just as little away.

'And so to the real problem, the words that have been running around your head for days: how can I refuse a God when he offers everything I've hoped for? But how then could I then still marry Tila?' She took a step forwards and Vesna felt himself lean away instinctively, sensing her growing anger.

'Well, my love,' she growled, 'as our great and currently steaming'drunk lord would put it; "I couldn't give a damn, you don't get the choice.'" She took a deep breath, as though daring Vesna to interrupt before she had finished.

'Do you hear me? No choice whatsoever. Whatever argument you had worked out, don't you dare even voice it because I will clout you round the head. Forget whatever idiotic ideas of nobility and sacrifice you might have for even suggesting such a thing — and dear Gods if you deny that I swear to Kantay I'll claw your eyes out with my nails for being half the man I think you are.'

He heard her voice waver there, but only for a moment as Tila bit back the threatening tears and continued, 'None of you damned soldiers have got the brains of a mayfly, so don't ever try to argue with me; your job is to obey and that's the way it's going to continue. Do you honestly think I'm going to meekly submit? Curtsey and be on my way?

'The look on your face shows that you can't be trusted with thinking, so here's what's going to happen. We are going to be married, as planned, and after that you might, on occasion, be permitted to think for yourself over the next few years, but that will only happen with my permission until you prove to me you're not the iron-brained grunt you've just demonstrated here today.

'And by the way, no you don't get a choice in that either. I love you and I know you love me too, so there's nothing to discuss. I'm going to marry you to save you from your own idiocy. Whether you accept Karkarn's offer is something to be decided later, but Mortal-Aspect, immortal, whatever you become, you'll be a married one.

'And if you thought for a moment that I couldn't make you marry me, then just you wait, and you'll find out what a campaign truly looks like. I'll make your life a bloody misery in a whole host of ways you've never even considered, and the longer you squirm, the more allies I'll draw into the fight, starting with Isak, the Chief Steward, Xeliath, the witch of Llehden, Mihn, and even the entire Palace Guard if necessary. You'll be out-flanked, alone and crying for mercy by the time I'm finished, so be a good boy and just do what you're told.'

Tila took a long breath.

Vesna tried to do likewise, but found himself still paralysed. Without warning, she stepped forward and kissed him on the forehead before heading back towards the door. As she opened it, she called over her shoulder, 'Now, get some sleep and think about what you almost did.'