"Bandochel," calls Moargen as you take your leave of the company. Her dark hair streams back as she sashays towards you.
"Do you need any help packing?"
"I won't decline the aid, as I am profoundly lazy," you say, "but in truth 'tis hardly enough work for one soul to perform."
The dancer smiles at you and places a hand briefly on your shoulder. You are alone together in a corridor, walking slowly towards the sunlight.
"Like as not, we shan't ever see each other again." She tilts her head and regards you. "Isn't that so?"
You nod agreement.
Your relationship, largely cordial over the years, has yet weathered a number of storms and feuds. You've ever admired her heartiness and grounded, even phlegmatic core. Now, as you walk away, you may never see her again.