"Is it too heavy for you, Grandma? Do you want me to carry it and help you take it home?"
Tarevian questioned as he watched Old Maela clutch her ration bag with both trembling hands. His voice was gentle, very different from the sharp one he used on Theryn.
After everything ended, the crowd had slowly broken apart, some returning to the line, others walking back to their homes through the falling snow. The Voice of the Commonfolk decided to stay behind for a moment in case something out of expectation happened again.
"No, not heavy… just… more than I expected."
The old woman shook her head slowly.
"You deserved more than what you were given tonight,"
Tarevian said quietly.
"What happened here should never have reached your shoulders."
Maela gave a faint smile, though her lips quivered from the cold.
"I've lived through eighty winters, boy. A lighter bag won't be the end of me."
