She holds on for him. He's crying but it's okay. Maybe it was Signless that taught her that was okay, after the sweeps where she'd learned to bury it inside. Probably him. It hurts to think of, but a good hurt. Somehow.

She leans in close, her hair sweeping a curtain around them that doesn't quite conceal, but it feels private. It's pitiful in a way that makes her feel protective, instinctively knowing that this isn't something someone should see. Too many sweeps of calling this weakness, knowing what softness of heart it implies. Behind her mass of hair, she doesn't cry, not yet, though she blinks away tears. This is for him.