Hushed Willows sichripa

her voice had sounded hardly at all in their trek from the coast, but now heda saw she must find it. they were approached in kindness by a gentle woman spun from gold. fiercely grateful that john spoke for them now, heda raised the gilt eyes sunken with sleeplessness.
in that moment she felt untied from herself, unmoored. the mouth that opened now was hardly her own, and she felt the same of the voice that came out of it; "i am the widow redhawk," scarcely more than a weak whisper.
widow.
a verbal acceptance that caracal was not coming back.
and how many more before heda did accept it?
"this is — we are part of a family that was scattered. we lost — we lost several." she was unraveling now, but refused to weep. "can we rest? just for a night or so. i'm taking them to where i was born," and there they must go, and there they must be. even here was too close to the sea.