[Such a sentiment he cannot understand, for he has more often found blame outside of himself, whether in the machinations of Fate and the gods, or in the transgressions of mortal men like wide-ruling Agamemnon and Hector of the glinting helmet. He falls silent for a moment as his fingers ruminate over the ridge of her back where it crests between her shoulder blades. Here in the snug cocoon of the blanket the only sound that endures is that of their soft breaths rising and falling together.]

Then think of it not as a curse but a gift. You wish to aid those whom you hold dear, do you not? Just as you assuage the aches of the flesh with your healing hands, so too may you assuage the aches of the heart with this your new sight. It must be that your gentle heart has opened all the wider to welcome more to its warm hearth.

[Such a gift suits her well, for such a heart is to be admired in a woman, a heart so compelled to bring joy to others as one lantern may share its flame to light another. Yet he cannot help but worry too for the fragility of anything so tender: how many alien joys and sorrows can she absorb ere she bursts?]