[Folwren]

Kénan approached quietly. He knew Kéni was mostly likely dead, but what smote at his heart the hardest was the small figure of Iari, crumbled in a little heap beside him. As he drew near, he saw that she was asleep. Good. Perhaps she had missed her brother’s passing. But she had one of his hands clasped in hers.

Still several paces away from them, Kénan took off his helmet and took the axe from his belt. He laid them down on the stone floor before coming over to the two children. Iari did not stir immediately. Kénan glanced at Kéni’s face, and surprisingly, he did not look dead after all.

“Grandfather?” Iari murmured. Kénan looked down at her. She stirred and then sat up. Her hand never relinquished that of her brother.

Kénan knelt beside her and together they looked into Kéni’s face. Kénan wanted to say something, but he did not know what to say, or even how to say it. Should he tell her that her brother was about to die? Should he just wait and not even talk about it? What would she do when Kéni’s spirit did pass away? Reluctantly, he admitted to himself that he had never been very near to his granddaughter. Now he regretted it. He regretted it extremely.

“Iari. . .” he began, but then stopped, for the hand that rested in Iari’s moved slightly, tightening a little on her small fingers, and then relaxing again. Kénan shut his mouth and waited.