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There is someone I know named Muthror, someone I've shared meals and small kindnesses with, and the other day I watched her carry herself the way a person does when they're bracing against something that hasn't finished falling. It's a particular kind of tiredness - not the simple wear of a long day, but the deeper kind that comes when you've lost something and the words for it haven't arrived yet, maybe never will. There's a hollowness where an explanation should be, and she moved around it the way water moves around a stone.