Two friends walked farther into the place they set out for.

"It is cold here," one of them spoke, his eyes like snow, reflecting the scenery.

"You aren't used to the cold."

"Are you?"

"I'm used to everything."

"That doesn't mean anything."

"It will, when we are done."

"Done?"

"This journey."

"Will we?"

"What?"

"Be done."

"I don't know."

"Will you?"

"Be done?"

"Yeah."

"No."

The snow emphasized the silence between their asides.

"Do you feel afraid still, now that we are here?"

"No."

"We have switched roles."

"Have we?"

"I can feel your warmth beside me."

"Follow the warmth, then."

"Like a moth."

"That's light."

"I can't tell the difference."

"Okay, Moth. Come. We'll be there soon."

Before them the snow reached out towards the horizon. Even Moth's brilliant eyes couldn't pierce the space between them and its end.

"What is here?" He asked.

"Peace."

"Peace?"

"For those like us."

"Like us?"

"Travellers."

"We are travellers?"

"In every sense of the word."

"I've never been anything before. What is the peace?"

"Fleeting."

"And?"

"Necessary. If we want to make it much farther."

"Rest?"

"Rest."

"In the cold? In the snow?"

"Where else?"

"In the forest, or the beach or a meadow in the sun."

"Don't torture yourself with those thoughts."

"It isn't torture. It's escapism."

"There isn't a difference."

"There is."

"Not when you're already where you want to be most."

"And that's here?"

"Yes."

The silence returned. They walked on, time escaping to somewhere more temperate.

"I can't feel my feet." The Moth eventually said.

"Stay close. It isn't much farther."

"Your warmth isn't enough anymore."

"This will have to do, then." The second friend stopped, an outline of frost decorating his dark eyes.

"What now?"

"Lay down."

"In the snow?"

"Yes. Lay down."

And so they did. And the snow began to fall then, too. Heavier and heavier. Heavier than snow can fall.

"Are we still laying down?"

"I don't know."

"All I see is white."

"All I see is black."

"What does that mean?"

"It means we will see each other again, soon."

"Promise me."

"I promise, my Moth. We are on our way to the beginning of the journey we are on now. It will make sense when we finish it."

"Haven't we just finished it. If we are on it now?"

"We started at the wrong place, or time."

"Or both. Will anything change?"

"Almost everything."

"Almost?"

"Everything but us."

"Oh."

"Is that okay?"

"Yes. I can let go now."

"See you soon."

Silence was the only answer offered to the friend with eyes of oil. He smiled, and too fell into the quiet.