"Wish I could have been there," I said. "You could have been." This brought me back to reality with a jolt. Of course I could have been there--but I had left without warning, without saying good-bye even to my own brother, in my haste to retreat to home and sanity. And memory. I glanced at him just in time to see him wince slightly and shake his head. Was that regret? For his words--or for my actions that day? "What you said last night," I demanded, "about battles and me being used to them. What did you mean by that?" "It was merely an attempt to make you laugh." "I did laugh," I admitted, then frowned. "But did you intend some kind of courtly double meaning? Hinting that I'm used to battles in the sense that I lost every one I was in? Or merely that I get into quarrels?" "Neither." His tone was flat. "Forgive my maladroitness." "Well, I get into quarrels," I said, suddenly desperate to explain, to accuse. "Except with--" There came a tap outside the opposite doorway then. I shut my mouth; and for a moment, there we were, in silence, me wishing I could run but feeling I ought not to. There was--something--I had to do, or say, though I had no idea what."