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I have failed. Before having a chance to help the woman and her child, it seems. This bothers me more than I would have imagined, and I am surprised. Always a wonderous thrill, surprise. Wandering your world, steps following steps following steps, and I am at long last bothered by the death of two mere mortals? Is it the deaths, though? Or my failure to help them? Both, I suppose.
She is curled around the body of her child, still trying to protect the girl, and it is one of the more beautiful scenes I have ever seen. The child nestles in the arc of the mother’s body, her hands clutched under her chin a reflection of her head tucked into her mother’s neck. The mother still has a sheen of sweat drying on her skin, and I wonder if she can be revived. Truly though, it is not for me
