Silverlight Terrace le bouffon

The man's attempts to sooth the boy were kind, but ineffective. Through the blur of his tears Renoir could only see the blackness above him, and the pinpricks of light swam like worms upon a carcass. He blinked to try and clear his vision and it worked for a moment, but his grief was strong. The tears continued.

It is da same, his words hitched in his throat, and he swallowed with some difficulty, tasting the salt of his tears on his tongue. Da same for him. Oh, mwen wishes... Wish it did-ent 'appen, but it had. It had, and there was nothing to be done now but let time go on, and let the healing happen. But Renoir was too hurt. He could not imagine a world without Lasher. What would become of Donnelaith? Of Deirdre?