"Yes," she answered softly. "He comes from five hundred years in my future. And I have been dead to him for five hundred years. It is understandably strange to him, and it is difficult for both of us. I have been little more than a memory to him for five centuries, so he cannot be blamed for being confused. But to me, it is as if he has ripped out my heart, because my last memories of him were of a perfect love. And I miss that."
She sighed, wiping her eyes.
"And my daughter has gotten word of our difficulties, and is angry with me. And it burns my heart. What can I do? I cannot push Turukáno."