Tristan stopped plucking at his skin when his sister touched his arm. He looked up tentatively, before quickly casting his eyes down again, for her words hit a nerve. There was a lump in his throat, his eyes burned and if he’d look at her now, he’d break. And once he did, he’d break down all the way. Nobody needed that right now. There was too much that needed to be done.

He was almost relieved when his sister let go. “Thank you,” he muttered when she filled his cup. He wrapped his hands around it to warm them. He didn’t think he could eat anything, but there was comfort in a warm brew and Nel’s care. “I agree, she is a remarkably brave and resilient young lady… So much so that I fear at times I haven’t fully appreciated that really she was just a frightened child. And so utterly alone in her grief. I thought I was helping her by teaching her what the real world is like.” He shook his head. “But what she really needed was solace. I could have lightened her load, even just a little bit. Instead I scolded and criticized her constantly.”