Raleigh set his biscuit down and looked at Moshe, who was wearing a simple tunic, light trousers, and a fur thrown over his shoulders to fight the pre-winter nip. He was standing at the stone doorway of their chambers, feet just barely past the line. Raleigh continued to stare, waiting, waiting—waiting. He settled back in his chair. "Did I what, Moshe?" Moshe's green eyes met his. "Reply to the Frederick's invitation like I asked?" "Didn't you do that?" Raleigh replied, already bored as he returned his attention to his parchment. "If I had done it, why would I ask you to?" came Moshe's swift retort, one Raleigh was expecting. "Well—obviously I haven't," Raleigh said, flipping the sheaf of paper to the other side. There was a brief silence, which said everything. Raleigh was just as adept at not speaking as Moshe was, and he chose to exercise the ability. He could feel Moshe's eyes burning a hole through his skull, but he continued to move his gaze down the line of scrawl on the parchment in front of him, not reading a single word.
