Her tears had dried in itchy patches on her cheek. She opened the door slowly, quietly, in case Knife was asleep.

She knew instantly her love was gone, read the letter and lay beside him on the bed. All night she held him, drew from him the last he had to give.

She sang soft a lullaby, a song of lovers torn apart by war. In the morning she kissed him one last time and called a friend. Then sent a note to arrange a meeting with the General.