The two men sat before the roaring fire, smoking contentedly. The
prisoner put a hand to his stomach, feeling nourished and filled as he
had not been for many months. The room was warm; he was safe for the
night, at least. And yet something was troubling him. Nothing to do
with the man, or the place. It did not even seem to concern himself.
But in some remote corner of his mind there was disquiet, as if
someone he cared about was in trouble or in danger. He took another
deep puff on the pipe that had been given him, unable to work the
thought through.
They had remained thus for some time when at last the old man spoke.
From his patient movements and steady gaze throughout, and still more
from his present silence, the younger man sensed a profound caution
and wisdom. So now that he chose to speak, the prisoner deemed it best
to leave his disquiet for a time, to listen or to speak as was asked
of him, and to learn from the seasoned veteran what was needful.
"I don't ask you to tell me your name," he began. "In truth I'd rather
not know it, since what I don't know I can't tell. But if there's some
name you would be called, near enough the mark to feel it yours, but
wide enough to leave safe your parentage, I'd be pleased to learn it."