“What are the words on your chest,” Echo said. She could see fine black script peeking out from the collar of his Henley-style shirt. Barnabas pulled the fabric back a bit, laughing.
“That’s just poetry. That one’s for me.”
“What is it?” Echo asked.
“From Tennyson’s ‘Ulysses,’” Barnabas said. “It says: ‘Come my friends, ‘Tis not too late to seek a newer world.’”
“My mom loved Tennyson,” Echo said. “Wasn’t that one about sailing?”
Barnabas chuckled.
“It’s about an aged king who wants to explore and adventure again,” Barnabas said. “’To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.’”
Echo smirked at him.
“You don’t strike me as the poetry type,” she said. “Or as someone who sees himself in an old Greek king.”
“Ulysses was a wise trickster,” Barnabas said. “If I’m lucky enough to live long enough to grow old, I’d like to be like him some day.”
“Before all this began, I thought growing old was something we could count on,” Echo said.
“We live a dangerous life,” Barnabas said. “But none of us are guaranteed a long life, Echo. You do what you can with the time you’re given, and you fight like hell for as much time as you can.”