“My husband was what you are.” The woman looks down at her fidgeting hands. “A month ago, he went outside, wanting to see the moon, and sing, and run, fast, imagining he was flying. I asked him not to go. The city is not safe, and he shone with such a light, like you.” A tear rolls down her withered cheek. “They saw him from afar. A group of men, young men. He had escaped them before, but I think he didn’t want to escape them then. He was tired, missing his home so deeply. They killed him in a minute. I saw his light go off. I know he loved me, I do. But I alone was not enough.” She shudders, sending a torrent of drops to the wooden porch floor.

Brighid puts her arm around the women’s shoulders. “Come inside, get warm, and tell me all about your h...

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