Chagrin et Honneur
by Kallah

I would I could comfort her. She lies near the fire, her face pressed against her arms, and she thinks I do not hear
her cry. I grieve for him as well; his reckless bravery brought him an unimaginable death. We shall never know whether
his sacrifice held Lavos long enough for our escape; perhaps Magus' last act allowed that, or ... we shall never know.

Her armor, weapon and glasses are neatly stacked nearby, leaving her only in her shift, a blanket wrapped around her
against the chill. I look away; her normal dress is less modest than that to which I am accustomed, and this ... looking
at her thus feels dishonorable. It is not as though I have not watched over her sleep; I have stood my share of guard
duty while my companions slept. But to watch her so, vulnerable and grieving, would be to do her dishonor, and that I
shall not do.

She cries for him; she knew him far longer than I, and far better. She wants to believe that he is somewhere lost, that
we can find him and bring him back; I would I had such faith. My faith is a shattered thing, after Cyrus' death; I can
only be sure that I will not let Crono's sacrifice be for nothing.

Fine words such as that will not ease her pain; her eyes will be red with crying in the morning, and her face streaked
with the marks of her tears. But there is nothing I can offer her; this body is not made for such things, and though
she is no longer troubled by my appearance, she still shrinks from my touch.

I would I could comfort her.