The hand on Tara's back slides to her shoulder to tuck the woman against Frigga's as one would a child in need of comfort. "Oh, my dear one. I am sorry," Frigga says quietly, going back to slow and easy strokes along Tara's back.

For a time, she simply lets Tara cry. Tears can be healing of themselves, and holding them in helps no one. After a time, she speaks again, keeping her tone simple and calming, as though telling a story. In a way Frigga is. She is the final chapter to her own story, or what should have been the final chapter. "In the hours before I arrived here, my home was attacked by an army of creatures known as the Dark Elves. They sought a great power, which had somehow come to be inside a mortal woman, the beloved of my son. I took it upon myself to protect the woman, as my husband and son, and the other warriors met the army in battle.

"I succeeded, but at great price. I felt the killing blow that cut me down. Even my kind could not have survived such an injury. Yet I woke on the train coming into Darrow, whole again, except for the blood staining my gowns around the rip the blade cut in the fabric on its way into me. Blood can be cleaned, Tara. Here in Darrow, you and I still live. Your sons have not lost their mother."