If I hesitate to speak of it, it is not because I am trying to keep information from you, but rather, that words fail me.

[She knows of what he speaks, and the reminder of -- all of it, makes her shake her head as she disengages, only so that she might take a seat by the pond with him.]

How does one reconcile the appearance of a respected former colleague with the knowledge of all that shall happen, and all that shall be done to and by him? Perhaps I should begin by explaining that only three of my people survived the Sundering unbroken, excluding of course me, and all three of them because my absolute enemies across the ages.