"We'll tether each other, and swing together in our sphere," says Laertes. He leans in to add his kisses to Szarka's, then swings open the refrigerator himself, thinking of a rich, wheat-sweet bran bread that would be good to eat with butter. And as he opens the door, a loaf of dark bread lies waiting in a cardboard tray. "I envy thee, Szarike," he says. "This looks delicious."