As the Commander talked,  I never allowed my gaze to shift from the board.  Was his victory assured?  I questioned it,  was I allowing my own high thoughts of him to get the better of me,  to flavor my perspective of the match?  I didn’t even seem to notice as he left the room, until he returned bringing the plates of food, the smell alone was enough to break my concentration.  I looked upward as the commander asked his question.<br/><br/>“Water, thank you.” I said.  I had brought my cheek to rest against the palm of my hand,  my mind flashed with the possibilities,  and the possibilities of my opponent’s action.  When he returned to the kitchen,  I allowed myself to make my next move moving into position.  I looked up when the commander returned,  and waited,  I was wondering why he brought me to his quarters.