She had to love Shibboleth -- the child was, after all, undeniably her own. What was wrong with her, too, was also Eris's doing, though the coal-hued woman could not yet admit this. Even she knew, though, that Shibboleth was beyond saving now. The girl would barely eat anymore, and what little was left of her would surely waste away. It would be kinder to cast her to the water, it would be kinder to let her slip beneath the water and drown.
There was a long moment of hesitation from the sable-hued woman, who remained where she was, quivering ever so slightly. At long last, her arms extended forward, holding the small, pale form out and over the water. Eris would have to toss her, out and over -- to drop her straight down, her body would surely be dashed to bits on the rocks.
The Auxiliary contemplated which would be worse -- drowning or striking her poor little head against one of those rocks -- and found herself at an impasse, unable to proceed forth with whatever it was she was planning to do. Her arms trembled ever so slightly, and she began to draw the child back, curling her body around the small, silvery thing, rocking it ever so slightly, her fingers stroking at the hot, barely-aware face.
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