It's strange. All morning, she wandered this station, content to meet any new sights in perfect solitude. And only now, with tails slinking away, only one hound at her side, does she feel lonely.

She considers the dog. Listens to the voice. Raises one arm invitingly, as if for a hug.

"D'you... want to talk about them?"

Hurriedly, she adds, "You don't have to if you don't want to, of course. I don't want to open old wounds. But..."

Well, she's heard that tone of voice before. She's [i]used[/i] that tone of voice before. Remembering those who aren't around anymore, for one reason or another.

"Sometimes," she admits, "it's nice to remember people the way they were. There are friends that... Well, that I don't know what happened to them. Lost track of them. Got reassigned. Disappeared. I know some of them must have survived, because I've met their children, but all I have of [i]them[/i] is memories and stories. So...

"Would you tell me their story?"