They are sleeping. We broke their world, tearing apart what they had known in their short life, as we did with their uncles. But these twins live, warmly wrapped in blankets, given the warmest places by the fire. I will not kill another child for this madness.
Macalaure watches me. He took them in, knowing what they would do to me. They are forcing me to live, to feel again, these foundlings of war - scared of their own shadows. Perhaps I see my redemption in them, easing my conscience of what I became after you fell. They give me hope.