He sits at the small writing table and takes from his cloak a small black quill. Gently fingering the feathers, looking past the scene and remembering.
He takes from his pack a black rose, lies it gently on the desk in front of him.
Staring at the flower he writes,

"A heart beating the rhythm of friendship.
Beating strong through times of strife,
In harmony with the friends around.
Quicker in the face of danger,
But always there next to your own.
Now the heart is beating fainter,
No longer near your own,
Yet still both hearts beating out the song of friendship.
Suddenly the harmony stops.
The beat falters and becomes laboured..

Another heart beats,
Your own.
When always beating with your friend,
Now beats alone and unheard by that other.
Moving closer you hear the heart still beating,
Yet it doesnt recognise your presense.
Your own beat becomes quickened as you listen,
The people say that the other heart might make it,
Might be well again, its beat strong with yours.
Yet you cant hear it.
You cant offer support to it.
Your hearts are beating different tunes,
Yours fast with dread and trepidation
The other...slow and irregular,
Accompanied by the unthinking beat of a machine.
The machine keeping that heart beating evermore..

The beat of friendship is strong, yet requires two beats to perpetuate.
Let one falter, or become faint and they will both fail."

He lets the quill fall from his unfeeling fingers and stands up. He stumbles back out into the night.
A soft breeze blows through and gently brushes the petals of the forgotten rose, its colour lacluster in the night, the page of writing flutters slightly..

Penned by my hand on the 3rd of Ero, in the year 258 AF.