1. ‘Forgive my not rising to greet you,’ she said, holding out a claw-like hand. Pain sliced into Gerald’s hand and his sword arm jerked. She raided their settlements in shifts, staggering her kills from tribe to tribe, undiscriminating of their petty politics. No matter how often she came across this phase in love stories, there was never anything explanatory: as if all human beings perfectly understood. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. “He was a friend of your sister’s, was he not?” “I never heard her mention his name,” she answered.
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