[Alia watches quietly, waits for it to settle, the weight of inevitable grief. There is no escaping it, when it drapes like a mantle over one's shoulders, when it weighs you down, down towards the earth. There is only enduring, taking one step after another, learning to exist with it until your muscles strengthen enough to carry it.

When Matt looks up, she half-smiles, tangled hair and weary face.]

You may stay. I would hear of what I am missing. Out on the grounds. The changing leaves and the crisp air. I imagine the distraction of this game means few are appreciating the seasons, but perhaps you could tell me some?