[It's difficult to take in. Rosamund's eyes are watering both from the deathly pollen and the way this woman makes her pleas.
She doesn't dare interrupt now. These last words are wasted on her, illusion or not. Her eyes go to Dahut. A sweet, gentle boy, no matter how unusual or long-lived, sitting on the ground, watching a woman who he calls mother fade away.
There's wetness at her cheeks soon. She averts her eyes for the last. It's too private. Too terrible to take from him, not in this sense. When the quiet lingers after her breath halts, Rosamund can taste it. Blood, all in the back of her throat.
She suppresses a cough. Instead her hand returns to Dahut's back, rubbing slow.]
I'M TRYIN MAN
She doesn't dare interrupt now. These last words are wasted on her, illusion or not. Her eyes go to Dahut. A sweet, gentle boy, no matter how unusual or long-lived, sitting on the ground, watching a woman who he calls mother fade away.
There's wetness at her cheeks soon. She averts her eyes for the last. It's too private. Too terrible to take from him, not in this sense. When the quiet lingers after her breath halts, Rosamund can taste it. Blood, all in the back of her throat.
She suppresses a cough. Instead her hand returns to Dahut's back, rubbing slow.]
I'm so sorry, Dahut. I'm so terribly sorry...