The Strength of the Few

I feel his body through the fabric, and though it is cold and stiff, I cradle it lovingly anyway. I know he is gone, that he cannot feel it. I still act as if he can.

I am a child again, and all I want is for my father to be here. All I want is for him to stay.

Grief, he explained to me gently, is a process that has only a beginning. We work through it, not get over it. And so attempting to just ignore its ache is inevitably a pointless exercise.

Some distant part of me realises how strange it is to feel truly alone again.

“Can you really love someone you don’t completely trust?”

A cruel war is quickly over

The happy are never great, Catenicus.

Civil war is always about personal gain, no matter what the mob thinks as they die.

It’s hard, walking away. Parting so soon, after so long. And yet I can, because I know I can come back. I know my father will keep his word and that when I need him, he will find a way to be there.