Well.
She stays curled in her lumpsome ball; the droid feeds her again when breakfast comes.
Are you all right, Ma'am?, she signs.
No.
Is there anything I can do?
Going.
Oh. She sits on the bed and takes her hand.
We have travelled through the darkness, the droid's hands dance with the poetry,
Thou and I, for many days;
Till we wondered at the sunshine,
When at length we felt its rays.
Chill and lonely was the pathway,
Only lighted by the snow,
With the cutting east wind only
To declare how we should go.
On our right, the frozen river,
Where the drowned lay asleep;
On our left, the rocky mountain,
So precipitously steep;
All around the gloomy shadows
Of the failures gone before;
While the leafless branches whispered,
We should do no less, no more.
We should falter and should stumble,
And should fail to reach the end;
And should die in the beginning—
Die together, O my friend!
Die together?—'twas a jewel
Which they threw us, for a stone:
Come what might, we could remember
That we should not be alone;
So, with hands entwined the closer,
We pressed on against the blast;
And we bided for the daylight,
And the daylight came at last -
[soucre]
Crying. She's crying.