She sighs, brow creased, as her eyes fall closed.

"Terrible, being the last of your family," she murmurs. And there's something in her voice. Some thread of knowing what it's like, it just comes through in the words. "Maybe there's still time for him, though. To raise another family."

Her chin is heavy in her hand, all her concentration bent on the slow rhythm of his fingertips on the thin cotton of her shirts--his shirts.

But she won't let herself fall asleep.