sighnotso, but let them go--

[fair_hero]

Hero is sitting on the steps of the porch of the Mansion, her baby clasped tight in her arms, and sobbing. The man her mistress loves is dead, and she's not half so upset about that--although she is enormously upset at death--as she is that her mistress is bereaved. It is so terrible. The Lady was so calm and stern while they buried him, and

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[permanent_blur]

quiet and small, "miss?"

[permanent_blur]

and ros hugs her back -- just steady, for once, solid and warm, and wanting nothing more than to be a comfort to her.

[fair_hero]

which means that he is. She lays her chin on his shoulder and is silent.

[permanent_blur]

he's no horatio, certainly. but the weather's nice, for sitting outside, night air still warm enough to imagine the sun, and he hopes it's enough to hold her.

[fair_hero]

It's better now.