Hovering, she watches the world unfurl, lifelike as the tapestries that used to shape her days, stitch by careful stitch. The young man’s strength is not enough; the old man’s foresight falters.
Then a fresh scent comes from the Sea. And by the fever-bed, for a son she hardly knew, Finduilas finds her vanished voice. “Breathe,” she whispers. “Breathe the free air.”
Now Finduilas too is free.