"Sleep is meaningless! We have to get going!" The silence
which followed was as thick as mud. Sinclair's words would
indulge me later, but I understand now the silence's source.
They thought me and idiot. We've been pushing ourselves,
step by step into hopelessness. Hopelessness caused by lack
of sleep most of all. The last few days were so eventful and
horrible, making Sunday's events seem so long ago, and we
were just easing our way into Wednesday. It surprises me I
could still keep track of time. Helen was lying on her belly
on a random mattress thrown carelessly on the floor. Her
expression was hidden from my eyes but I could tell her
anxiety from the way her hands were folded so that her palms
faced her head. The plain wool travel dress lay listlessly
on her back and legs, outlining her curves and angles.

Sinclair was still dropped in the high wooden chair. His
gaze left Helen, and I admit that at that exact moment
relief flooded me. Leaning forward, he put his elbow on his
knee, cupped his visage in a palm and began shaking his head
slowly and without rhythm. He seemed so depressed at that
moment. His whole attire of grim witticism and
self-confidence vanished for a few minutes as if a dark
ghost sat there instead of our reluctant travel companion.
The whole affair shook me to the bone, and I found myself
being unhappy about the transformation as I thought I might
have been when we first began traveling together.

Hollow calmness followed melancholy as he began speaking.
The stale aired room seemed to darken with a sort of
nostalgic awe. "I remember my training days, when my
profession was forced upon me," he raised his head and
leaned back again, letting his arm drop alongside the other
into his lap, and I found myself dumbly realizing he never
talked to us about his past before, not the way he was about
to. And we never bothered asking.

"I used to savor sleep so much. Whenever the masters let me
have my few hours of rest, I would go to my humble yet
awfully comfortable bed and relief would swallow me whole,"
he took a deep breath and continued, using his hands to
amplify his meaning to us, "The moment I closed my eyes, I
felt happy. Glad that they finally let me alone, glad for
the few hours of sleep, undisturbed with a little luck. A
time span in which I had no chores to do, no training
sessions to go through, no running or walking," He shook his
head in longing. He raised a finger to point at me and
continued. "I was extremely happy," he said while elevating
'extremely', "when a roommate rose for watch and I didn't. I
didn't care I woke up, because all I knew was that I didn't
have to leave my comfortable niche and go into the cold
night air, I knew I will be resting while he won't. Even the
instinct of knowing you're awake just a few minutes before
rising made my sleep seem healthier." He shifted in his
chair, crossing his legs. "Waking up for watch or for a new
day was as disturbing as the rest was good," he concluded
with a snort and a taste of bitterness in his tone. "I
thought that time was hard. But woe! Now I barely care about
sleep or rest. Just keep on going, never stop, even while
resting. I somehow go on, replenishing my physical and
mental state as I walk. Rest is meaningless unless I am at
my limit."

There was an abrupt decline to his meaningful monolog. He
snapped his head in my direction, with the same, now
familiar patronizing 'Thole. He snorted at me and, with
feline grace and speed stood up and left for the kitchen. I
was dumbstruck. I didn't know how too react to what I've
just heard. Helen shifted unto her side and supported her
head on her hand. She gave me a puzzled look, one to which I
replied with frozen surprise. "Did he just open up to us?"
she asked with hesitation. "I guess he did, that crummy old
bastard and we should cherish it, for I doubt he will
again."