
The moon is thin tonight. Three years since I last tied these armor straps, and my hands remembered before I did, which tells me I wasn't choosing to stay all this time. I simply couldn't leave.
The day the lord walks out that gate, this castle becomes an empty house.
I packed twenty-three rice balls. I set one aside for when you come back.
If you can't drag the cart back, ride in it yourself if you have to. If their bellies fill, our twenty days become ten.



