He had been strong all his life. He had been strong until the demon had come, and strength no longer mattered, and then when he was broken, he had kept on trying to be strong because he didn’t know what else to do. Perhaps he’d come at last to a place where strength no longer availed him. Perhaps it was time to try something else. The pine owls boggled at him. He lifted a hand to the door. Slate yanked it open and clenched her fist in his tabard. “I think,” he said hoarsely, “that I’ve had enough of being strong.” “Good enough,” she said, and pulled him inside.
