Moon-Blossom.
No. Yes, it was.
Dust from a windflaw blowing down the glen.
There is no rider, Madam. Shall we sing?
(No answer.)
Rose-Flower.
She is too stunned with sorrow to give orders.
Shall we not sing to soothe her?
Moon-Blossom.
Sing, then, you.
Rose-Flower.
Speak to her first.
Moon-Blossom.