"One from many, aye, and together more than any alone," she confirms, whisper-soft. "And we were well-met there, lady-sai, we were, and are still, those of us who remain, I wot. But Roland--"

(my grief - you are the source of it)

Tears are standing in her eyes now, although she refuses to let them fall.

"I brought him sorrow and pain, where I'd never wanted aught but joy for him--"

(bird and bear and hare and fish - go yer course in peace, and go with my love)

"-- and I'd not do so again." Here, now, a desperate surety spins itself out beneath each word. "I'd not hurt any of them again, I'd not be used to hurt them so, nor Caspian, never."