update from sparkleup

writing/post-self/idumea/002.md

@@ -76,11 +76,37 @@ The Woman averted her eyes, nodded. "As we do."
 
 The topic had been fraught for nearly sixty years now. Those meals were lovely, to be sure, as were the times when they would talk or sit in silence together, out there on the field, enjoying warmth and sun or perhaps the light of the moon.
 
-It had not been all of them for sixty years, though. Not since Death Itself had died, her and I Do Not Know. Not since they had fallen into catatonia and then smiled, shrugged, and quit. Not 
+It had not been all of them for sixty years, though. Not since Death Itself had died, her and I Do Not Know. Not since they had fallen into catatonia and then smiled, shrugged, and quit. Not five hours later, I Do Not Know had sighed comfortably, turned over in her bed, and then quit as well.
+
+Fifty-eight years since the last meal they had all shared together.
+
+Even so, The Woman — her and her whole stanza — insisted for years that it was all of them who ate together, when the remainder of the tenth ate together. *All* of them, all together. They insisted on that, friends, just as they insisted on leaving two empty chairs at the table, two plates of food set before them.
+
+With a deliberate motion of sharp-clawed paws, The Woman drew a definitive line across the table, defining an arc around her. With this, she blocked the topic off, reflected the thoughts of loss and trauma away from herself, out somewhere else. It was a practiced motion, smooth and careful, and one that Her Friend knew well.
+
+Ey nodded, understanding, and continued. "The reasons we might not eat with each other or that some of us may fall behind on our runs are varied, of course. There are long-standing shifts in the way the stanza works together, yes? It has been a long time since we have been so alike. Sometimes, however, it is a little thing. One of us will say something that rubs another the wrong way and it will take us time to work it out. We will write our letters or have our conversations and it will be fine in time."
+
+"Is that what happened this time?"
+
+Her Friend hesitated. "Yes," ey said carefully. "I said something to In Dreams, I said that I was feeling unwell, that my stress had been high and that I was worried I might be overflowing — or at least on the brink of such — but also that I was feeling particularly rough about the Attack. I was feeling grief and loss."
+
+The Woman's breath caught in her throat.
+
+When I tell you that breath is important even sys-side, you must understand all of the different roles that it plays. We are built to breathe, you and I, and so is everyone else. We can turn that off, sure, but the vast majority of cladists find such uncomfortable. Not Breathing still feels like holding one's breath, yes? Even without the rising CO<sub>2</sub> levels in our blood — blood that we must only imagine that we have — it is uncomfortable to feel like one is holding one's breath for too long.
+
+We use breath for speaking, and even though I am not speaking to you right now, I am still breathing. I still feel the warmth of my breath against my paw as it brushes across the page with each line of text. We use breath for gasping, for sighing, for even snoring!
+
+So when I tell you that The Woman's breath caught in her throat, you must imagine the way your breath might catch in your own throat when suddenly you hear something that causes a rising tide of emotions that takes precedence even over that, even over breathing. You must picture the way that you feel when, if you were to breathe, you fear there might be a whine of fear or a moan of terror — or even pleasure, because we are no less susceptible to that.
+
+And here, now, The Woman was feeling most of all grief. She feared that, were she to let her breath out, it would be that whine of fear, that moan of terror, a wave of tears.
+
+The tenth had left two empty chairs and two full plates at meals until three years prior.
+
+Now they left three.
+
+Her Friend, either knowing or seeing this, averted her eyes, casting her gaze instead out to the street. "I am sorry, my dear. I was indeed feeling grief and loss over Should We Forget. No Longer Myself as well, yes, and Beckoning and more, but the one I knew best was Should We Forget. I am sorry."
 
-(Friend is having a bad day b/c ???)
 
-(Woman remembers something)
 
 (Woman helps Friend by talking about memory without realizing it)