Why does it seem that where she is concerned, history is doomed to repeat itself? When she had met Viðarr, the situation was much the same. Fall creeping in, her catatonic in the corner of the Meadow, desperate for everything to end but unable to make it so. And here she is again. Only this time..this time the filly is still alive. It isn’t her precious Anwen (Róta, her traitorous mind whispers), but yet again, Eirlys is failing the child.
Maybe this stranger approaching her has knocked something loose in her brain. Whatever the reason, she feels like she’s finally clawing her way through the dark, ripping the cotton from her brain and stepping from the fog. “I’m Eirlys,” she says hoarsely, unable to offer much more.
What else is there to say? ‘Hello, I found my lover with my child dead at his feet and then he ran from me. I found someone who made me want to live again, I was ready to try for another child, and then he ran from me as well’? It isn’t as if she has a history that deserves to be shared. It isn’t as if she copes in a way that deserves any sympathy or understanding.
Eirlys hears Róta’s voice, assumes she must be introducing herself to the stranger. She still doesn’t feel as if she can look at the girl - bad enough she gave her a name to honor Viðarr. But seeing the outcome of her universe-designed torture for the loss of Anwen? Eirlys doesn’t think she would survive it.
“You don’t have to stay,” Eirlys finally tells him, glancing to the tall golden stallion, looking away because eye contact makes her feel real and she doesn’t deserve such things. “I’m not good company; we’ll be fine.” Better for him to leave now, before she can get pathetically attached again. Eirlys knows she won’t survive a third abandonment - her heart cannot take it.