When he does not fight her, she follows it through, tugging up the spare fabric of her wimple and veil, to begin to blot away the tears with that familiar patter of a mother. Smoothing away the tears, brushing his hair back so it did not stick to his wet cheeks.

Then straightforwardly, directly, guides his head to her, so she can kiss his forehead with soft warmth. Lips gentle as she dotes that affection as sincerely as she would her own children.

"By remembering life was always both." It's the soft counsel of her father, when once she asked why she should feel so much more keenly, it felt, than her siblings, that everything seemed to make her cry, as much as made her happy, why the happiness could not just stay. "It was always the triumph and the agony. The greatest moments, to the deepest valleys of despair. We are capable of both, at all times, and that the good does not take away the bad, nor can the bad, take from us the happiness we feel, either."

But she - especially - knows it is not always so easy to do, by yourself. "In this way, we are connected, all of us, to feel such things, share such things, from the deer in the field to the trees in the forest, to the spirits of the world - and that when the despair is great, to seek that connection, to find those that can counsel us when we cannot remember it for ourselves that even the darkness shall pass, and when our happiness is strong, find those we can help in turn."