Every little ragged breath is like a dagger through her, carving up the tender beating heart beneath her breast. There are tears still gathered upon her lashes, mouth trembling with the want to cry and the need not to. When Frerin closes his eyes, she drags in a soft, gasping breath of air, too loud in the silence of their home.

"Come then," Her arms beneath his hold him up, and though Dís is still small and in her youth, not yet hitting the older growth spurts, she is strong. She half-carries him to bed and helps him lay down. And then, with a faintly distressed look, she piles in after him, face buried into the crook of his neck. She doesn't sob, but there are tears against his skin, helpless and worried, "I'm sorry I couldn't help more, brother."