There's a peace to somber sadness. It isn't the raw pain of fresh grief, and so doesn't sting like it. It's gentler than stress or even joy. And in this quiet place, that soft rememberance is all that can be felt, drowning out all else.

Standing away from the group, they see a sculptor at work. Intrigued, they stoop beside the finished work, beautiful in both its precision and its ephemerality. Bronwyn could almost pass for a normal height, crouched like this.

"That's really beautiful," they remark softly. "Is it for someone specific?"