As expected, Aslan offered no resistance when Nisa turned him the direction she wished.

“Of course. You’ve been through so much tonight, Nisa.”

Once upon a time, he had meant similar words. This night, as they had so many nights since their father’s hanging … they rung hollow. Recitations from a man that used to walk the earth instead of just haunt it.

When Nisa caught his eye as easily as a mosquito to the face, Aslan yet again considered the merits of lifted shoes for men just to retain that merciful bit of distance they had once the shoes came off. His gaze lingered, then drifted far ahead of them. His arm dropped from her, hands clasped in front of himself with a bowed head.

“Quite. I’m sorry, Nisa, but I fear I won’t be home until after dinner.”

Yet another rehearsed line, for an incredibly familiar situation. If he grieved every impending victim, there would be rivers with his name on them.