I would I could comfort her. She lies near the fire, her face pressed against her arms, and she thinks I do not hear her cry. I grieve for him as well; his reckless bravery brought him an unimaginable death. We shall never know whether his sacrifice held Lavos long enough for our escape; perhaps Magus´ last act allowed that, or ... we shall never know.
Her armor, weapon and glasses are neatly stacked nearby, leaving her only in her shift, a blanket wrapped around her against the chill. I look away; her normal dress is less modest than that to which I am accustomed, and this ... looking at her thus feels dishonorable. It is not as though I have not watched over her sleep; I have stood my share of guard duty while my companions slept. But to watch her so, vulnerable and grieving, would be to do her dishonor, and that I shall not do.
She cries for him; she knew him far longer than I, and far better. She wants to believe that he is somewhere lost, that we can find him and bring him back; I would I had such faith. My faith is a shattered thing, after Cyrus´ death; I can only be sure that I will not let Crono´s sacrifice be for nothing.
Fine words such as that will not ease her pain; her eyes will be red with crying in the morning, and her face streaked with the marks of her tears. But there is nothing I can offer her; this body is not made for such things, and though she is no longer troubled by my appearance, she still shrinks from my touch.
I would I could comfort her.