Her mother had had a surname. She'd whispered it to Angharad, because that's all they could keep. A whisper.

She doesn't say it now.

"You can use either of my names, if you want," she offers. Then she smiles. "Your aunt sounds like a very wise woman."

It's not a patronizing told, as an adult woman to a child, but the confidence of one lost to another.

Grandmothers, mothers, aunts. Women who'd survived. They'd have to know things.

"But, here, Andrew. Did, would you sit with me?"