It feels peaceful here, sheltered from the winds. Plants potted, but rioting up the walls, give bursts of color, sweet scents. Her hand stabs the needle almost at random into the fine silk. The thread tangles and she pulls until it snaps. She looks up at me. Rain-washed eyes brim, but do not spill.

“How do you bear it?”

It is never easy to stay behind. Life is sweeter now she has tasted freedom and love. She waits, fearing for husband, brother, and liege lord. I hug her, as desolate inside as she.

“I have had many years of practice.”