Legend tells of two great armies that met at a bridge over a small river. At the head of each was a master warrior, trained in a dozen styles, and victorious in a hundred battles.
The two generals advanced to the bridge, and stood alone, facing one another, each gripping their pillow tightly. But neither one moved to strike. Such was their skill that if the other began an attack, the other would read his intent even as it began.
And so the two stood upon the bridge, neither moving so much as an inch, while the two armies watched. Hours passed, and it grew dark, but neither warrior moved, both waiting for the other to make the fatal first move.
Darker still, until the moon rose full in the sky. The armies grew restless, but they knew they could not act until their champion did.
The sky grew light again, and as the sun peeked over the horizon, each army sent forth their most trusted lietenant, to see what could be done. Carefully, they approached the warriors, lest their arrival provide a fatal distraction for their champion.
When they finally reached the generals, they were met only with silence, broken by the soft sounds of breathing. For they had both fallen asleep.