She has two memories of him:
He is standing still, eyes looking towards the peaceful city in front of them. She is by his side, smiling both outside and inside and she’s sure this is how it’ll be forever.
He is lying still, a corpse pretending to sleep. You’re pretending, aren’t you? She kicks him once and watches silently as he doesn’t react.
Now is different: He is sitting in front of her, fingers that wielded a spear so brilliantly now carefully fumbling over small pieces of lace. “Like this?” he says, his voice soft as a breath and she leans forward to look.
Please god, she thinks of her memories, please don’t let it be true.