Narrator 2: What is the best thing to do when everything sucks and societies are crumbling and major conflict is simmering on the horizon? Yep, you guessed it: throw a heckin’ rager!

[A jaunty fiddle starts to play, as a crowd cheers.]

Narrator 1: Things have been slowly turning around for the better in the town of Stationary Hill, and word has broken, thanks to Saskia’s double nature, that Sherman and Tzila are going to be getting back into town later tonight. So what better time to throw a combo town-rebuilding and homecoming bash? It’s ideal!

Narrator 3: That’s not to say that Saskia’s own inner torment and agony have dwindled. Indeed, if anything, she is at maximum rebellion, and is real, real hoppin’ mad, and sad, and betrayed.

Narrator 2: But she’s putting on a brave face, with her Midst face, and true to her word has said nothing to anyone about her new moon knowledge. Nobody needs to know that here tonight. Her other self… we don’t need to worry about her just yet. But putting on nice parties for her community has always made her feel better.

Narrator 1: Gazing out of the doorway of the cabaret, Saskia recognizes the incoming ship cruising down out of the sky over Vermillion County as the very same that Sherman and Tzila left the Highest Light aboard.

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “There they are!”

Narrator 3: She calls out, and cheers rise from the partygoers.

Narrator 2: The ship dips down out of sight as it descends into the shipyard. Landlord, coming out of whatever peaceful nook he’d tucked himself into for a nap, immediately rouses himself and shuffles off down the hill, coming the closest to a run he ever does these days.

Narrator 1: Saskia climbs up on a stool in the cabaret.

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “Let’s get this party started! Wait, oops…”

Narrator 1: She looks around for a second, wondering which one of her bodies that was.

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “Did I say that here or there? Shit. Well, works either way. Anyway…”

All Narrators: (Crowd) “Yeah!”

Narrator 1: Remarks Stationary Hill, and commences boogieing.

[Fiddle party tunes escalate.]

Narrator 2: By the time Sherman and Tzila walk all the way from the shipyard up to the top of the hill, shepherded by a wagging Landlord, a joyous party is in full swing.

Narrator 3: There’s this roar of collective joy, and love, and relief, and welcome.

Narrator 2: Sherman finds himself swarmed, swept up in a massive communal bear hug. Have you ever been hugged by an entire town?

Narrator 1: He looks absolutely gobsmacked, overwhelmed and amazed, astonished!

Narrator 3: Stationary Hill looks different as fuck, but it feels more like home than ever before.

Narrator 2: He’s crying, they’re crying. We’re not crying, you’re crying. Everything has changed, but he’s home.

Narrator 3: We’re all back at the Black Candle Cabaret you guys! It’s so wholesome. It’s basically late afternoon and unlight streams in through the open door and windows.

Narrator 2: Fresh air circulates, gently wiggling an array of streamers that have been tacked up throughout. A massive punch bowl sits on the burnished surface of the bar, and Emmet is ladling it into cups for everyone.

Narrator 3: There’s a tastefully-stacked pyramid of oranges that everyone wistfully enjoys for a moment, filled with an inexplicable nostalgia, before getting down to cutting rug.

Narrator 1: Everyone is back together again. Well, almost everyone. Sherman and Tzila of course, but also the no-longer-quite-so-entirely-identical Ettie and Ellie.

Narrator 2: Ettie now has really ripped abs from days of constant laughing, but at last she’s cooled down, fixed by the Mothers, and isn’t laughing all the time anymore. Unless something’s really funny.

Narrator 1: Patricia is here—

Narrator 3: —with her optimistic inner voice!

Narrator 1: Emmet the charismatic bartender, Giselle and her personality of frogs,

Narrator 2: Fiona and her left leg-man Jacob,

Narrator 3: The foldhounds: Barty, Lloyd, and Landlord. And many, many others. All here, all alive, and together.

Narrator 2: Goddamn, this town’s been through a lot. When you’re starting a new life for yourself on an otherworldly frontier, the last thing you need is for the moon to fall out of the sky, reality to eat itself alive and heavily-armed interplanetary bureaucrats to decide to murder you. Unfortunately, it’s just one of those…

Narrator 3: Weeks! How long has it been exactly since the moon fell out of the sky? So much has happened. It feels like longer than it’s actually been, but in any case, these poor folks are overdue for some goddamn fun and merriment, Jesus Christ.

Narrator 1: Company soldiers stand here and there at a distance, watching the party sullenly, maybe even a little bit jealously.

Narrator 2: Yeah, they’re totally jealous.

Narrator 1: Eh, but nobody cares about them tonight. They have already indicated that they are here for Lark and Lark alone, and hey, look around. Lark’s not here.

Narrator 2: Sherman is telling how they, the Company, swarmed his little ship the moment they landed, looking for stowaways, clearly confused as to how he got clearance to leave the Highest Light, but not really pursuing that line of questioning due to him being actually super-Valorous now.

Narrator 3: The other Stationarians corroborate how the Company has seemed weirdly directionless and lost lately, lacking their usually disciplined vigor.

Narrator 2: There’s no Consector here to direct them. They’re just awaiting their next orders from the Trust. Not great to have them around here, obviously, but so far actually not a huge problem either. So everyone just boogies heedlessly.

Narrator 1: The cabaret band, or what’s left of it — some of the original guys got tearrorized, rest in peace — is holding down some totally cookin’ tunes, and folks are jumping here in the cabaret’s melted, reconfigured, rebuilt, reimagined interior.

Narrator 3: Even Mothers Trauma and Anguish are here, standing over to one side with the Grandmother. They’re having a conversation about distilling spirits.

Narrator 2: What kind of spirits?

Narrator 3: They don’t dance, but their veiled forms nevertheless seem to emanate a sort of enjoyment of the music.

Narrator 2: From the stage side, there’s a whole hoedown of instruments going to town. There are a few people who definitely couldn’t play an instrument before the tearror who are now quite musically gifted.

Narrator 1: Ned here is now fantastic, he can sing or play anything as long as that note is D.

Narrator 2: More folks keep coming in. There’s Bets and her family! And there’s Walter, a builder’s son, and his mom, a builder.

Narrator 3: The moment they see Tzila, they run together into a messy embrace. Bets is apologizing profusely for getting caught, Walter is apologizing for having to go to dinner with his grandparents, who are being served some punch right over there right now.

Narrator 2: And Tzila just trying to hush them both up in order to tell them about her very important and exciting adventures.

Narrator 3: Landlord shuffling in circles around them all.

Narrator 2: Sherman gazes in at the bar. It looks so warped and changed, yet somehow the counter is still there. And so is he. Breathing slowly and deliberately, he takes an uncharacteristic seat on the patron’s side of the counter.

Narrator 3: He waves Emmet over, clasps his hand. (Sherman) “It’s good to see you.”

Narrator 1: (Emmet) “You too, buddy!” Emmet smiles at Sherman as his eyes fill with some tears. (Emmet) “You’ve been missing some mad overtime, let me tell you.”

[Sherman and Emmet laugh.]

Narrator 2: Behind Walter’s grandparents at the bar, there’s a woman who sticks out a little bit like a sore thumb, stepping up to receive a glass of punch. Meryl Concord takes a sip and makes her way over to the snack table, filling a plate with small sandwiches, a few olives, some kind of cheese spread. She avoids the nut bowl entirely.

Narrator 1: Coincidence?

Narrator 2: She hates nuts. Anyone who knows her knows that she hates nuts.

Narrator 1: The Fold wipes over the assembly, and with it the gently pulsating lamps and lit black candles illuminate throughout the cabaret, lighting tables, filling the space with that cozy calm Fold vibe.

Narrator 3: The music makers take a pause to turn on the stage lights, and cheers and applause from the crowd take the music’s place.

Narrator 2: Emmet excuses himself from the bar, dashes over, and hops up onto the stage. He adjusts the mic.

Narrator 1: As the cheer dies down, Emmet clinks his wine glass, raising a toast. (Emmet) “To Stationary Hill! To Saskia! To Sherman and Tzila!”

Narrator 2: Then, more seriously:

Narrator 1: (Emmet) “And to those of the miners who didn’t make it back from the moon. They were the first to be lost, before we even realized what the rest of us were in for. We can only hope that they didn’t suffer, and that maybe, somehow, they still know they’re loved. And as for our friends, family, and neighbors who we know for certain lost their lives down here on Midst, whether due to the tearror itself or the chaos that led up to it, we raise our glasses to you as well — one hundred and eighty of you, that we’ve been able to confirm so far. And to dozens more whose fates are still unknown, who we hope will return to us in time, wherever you are…”

Narrator 2: He gazes out the window.

Narrator 1: (Emmet) “We’ll keep a light on for you. Come back to us. We’ll be waiting.”

Narrator 2: There’s a quiet, sincere raising of glasses. See, we told you Emmet was socially adept. He’s really good at this kind of thing.

Narrator 3: He’s trying to remember a certain someone in particular to raise a toast to, but she’s not really coming to mind.

Narrator 2: Oh god, who was it? Someone, someone who was really important to him, someone really formative in his life…

Narrator 3: A distant shadow, fleeting, unreachable. He shakes his head gently, wistful.

Narrator 1: He holds up his glass once again, for the missing, for the lost. (Emmet) “Let’s take a moment to remember them.”

Narrator 2: A collective exhalation. Saskia closes her eyes.

Narrator 1: (Emmet) “And let us remember a special hero in particular, our friend Ogden Shearwater, first postmaster of Midst, without whose brave guidance during the storm things could have been… much worse for quite a few of us.”

Narrator 2: Goe immediately raises his glass in answer.

Narrator 1: (Goe) “To Ogden!”

Narrator 3: He blinks a tear.

Narrator 2: (Townsfolk) “To Ogden.”

Narrator 3: (Townsfolk) “To Ogden.”

Narrator 1: (Goe) “We miss you, buddy.”

Narrator 3: A murmur, a memory.

Narrator 1: Little eight-year-old Evie Shearwater sniffles, eyes shining, clutching her mother’s dress, missing her beloved uncle.

Narrator 2: Her cousin, the postmaster’s nephew, woofs quietly under a nearby table, wagging his tail. He’s a good boy, now.

Narrator 3: That doesn’t sound like a good thing, but it is.

Narrator 2: Emmet continues,

Narrator 1: (Emmet) “Oh, and before I forget. This isn’t a toast, this is more of an anti-toast — fuck Moc Weepe!”

Narrator 3: A cackle courses throughout the crowd.

Narrator 2: (Townsfolk) Fuck that guy! 

Narrator 3: (Townsfolk) What a dick! 

Narrator 2: (Townsfolk) Fuck him! Boo!

Narrator 1: (Emmet) “But, the past is the past and we are still here, and we’re not goin’ anywhere. So let’s honor our friends by living life to the fullest, enjoying what we have now, and what we soon will build.”

Narrator 2: He waves at the band.

[Peppy party fiddle music resumes.]

Narrator 1: Emmet) “Enjoy this beautiful night! Cheers, I love you guys. Let’s dance.”

Narrator 2: And people don’t need to be told twice. Within moments, the floor of the cabaret is absolutely on fire.

Narrator 3: With dancing, not with fire. That would be bad.

Narrator 2: That WOULD be bad.

Narrator 1: Tzila, Bets, and Walter are spinning each other all over the place, laughing their heads off.

Narrator 2: Emmet and Patricia let loose with some moves.

[Children’s laughter, and playful dog barks.]

Narrator 3: Little Evie is furiously do-si-do-ing all over the place, her cousin barking and chasing her around the cabaret dance floor,

Narrator 2: Watched suspiciously by Barty and Lloyd. That is not a dog…

Narrator 1: Well, it IS a dog. Now.

Narrator 2: Something’s not right with that boy…

Narrator 1: Ettie and Ellie are arm-in-arm doing the foxtrot. (Ellie) “Oh, god!” Ellie says to her sister. “I just realized that Lark was right! We DID move out of our apartment, but not because we wanted to, just like she said!”

Narrator 3: Ettie stifles a compulsive laugh,

Narrator 2: Wincing at her still-sore laughing muscles,

Narrator 3: And raises her sculpted eyebrows. (Ettie) “I was starting to think the whole fortune was a scam, honestly. Do you think any of the other parts of it were true?”

Narrator 2: Ellie starts scanning the crowd for two men who look like they might be rich and/or good at sex.

Narrator 1: (Ellie) “Maybe we should look around?”

Narrator 3: (Ettie) “Couldn’t hurt! Sometimes you gotta make your own fortune.”

Narrator 2: Sherman and Saskia take a little swing on the dance floor. He still looks totally gobsmacked.

Narrator 3: (Sherman) “Is this real?” he asks. “Am I really here?”

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “Yeah,” she gushes, suddenly tearful. “You’re here.”

Narrator 3: Tzila scoots in, Landlord not far behind.

Narrator 1: (Tzila) “Saskia, I’m sorry I was trying to trick you. Bets and Walter are too, if that helps.”

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “Oh, it’s okay, sweetie. The important thing is that you’re home. You both are.”

Narrator 3: (Sherman) “I wish both of, uh, you, were home, too.”

Narrator 1: Tzila glances skyward at this comment. (Tzila) “Yeah, what are you doing up there right now, Saskia? Are you with Lark and Phineas? What’s going on?”

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “It’s, uh, well, if you don’t mind, I’d just rather focus on what’s here right now. Let’s pretend I’m not anywhere else, just for tonight. If anything important happens, I’ll fill you in later.”

Narrator 3: Sherman nods. (Sherman) “Whatever you need. We care about you.”

Narrator 2: He takes a second to collect his thoughts before continuing.

Narrator 3: (Sherman) “Saskia, you’ve been there for us since…forever, really. Helped us get out of the Highest Light more than once. Helped us connect with a way out of the Un originally. Helped us get our feet under us here on Midst. I just want to say… thank you. Thank you, Saskia.”

Narrator 1: Tzila squeezes in tighter. (Tzila) “Yeah. Thank you, Saskia.”

Narrator 2: Saskia waves them off modestly. (Saskia) “What are neighbors for?”

Narrator 3: Sherman blinks his eyes, looking around. Not crying.

Narrator 2: Definitely not.

Narrator 3: (Sherman) “I still can’t get over how strange Midst looks now, after the tearror. Are you used to it yet, Saskia?”

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “That’s quite a question. Used to it? Uh, yes and no. It’s… it’s so hard to describe the tearror to anyone who wasn’t here. It was a nightmare I wouldn’t wish on anyone. But at the same time, it somehow made Midst more, I don’t know, ours? If what the Postmaster said was true, and fold really does react to thoughts and feelings, then… we kind of MADE this.”

Narrator 1: She gestures generally at the warped, reincarnated cabaret around them. But, in a broader sense, she is indicating the entire islet of Midst.

Narrator 3: Saskia has that way of looking at everything all at once.

Narrator 2: Even moreso now. (Saskia) “It wouldn’t have turned out the same if we weren’t here for it, or if a different group of people WERE here for it. It’s like we’re more connected to it than we were before. And to each other.” She smiles at Sherman. “I understand if you don’t feel the same way. I know that Stationary Hill was only ever intended to be a temporary stop for you, for most of you. But it is your home too, if you want it to be.”

Narrator 3: Sherman takes it all in, this whole crazy, impossible, beautiful place.

Narrator 2: Saskia smiles at him. He sees her affection for it all, but he also sees a great deal of pain underneath all that.

Narrator 3: Sherman swallows. (Sherman) “Well, we were getting ready to move on after the Trust bought Midst. Are things any different now? I guess technically the Trust still owns it.”

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “On paper.”

Narrator 1: Tzila looks hopeful at this. (Tzila) “Do we still have to go? We’re not even in Breach anymore, Dad. What if we stayed? I like it here on Midst.”

Narrator 2: Sherman is quiet. So much is still unknown, in flux, in danger. Midst is still very much in the line of fire. He really doesn’t know what to say. Oh, but the way Tzila is looking at him! He can’t tell her no, at least not now.

Narrator 3: (Sherman) “Maybe… maybe we can,” he says. “Stay. We’ll see.”

Narrator 1: He and Saskia share a knowing look, recognizing that many things are still majorly uncertain.

Narrator 3: (Sherman) “Maybe we can all stay.”

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “Maybe we can.”

Narrator 1: Tzila clamps her arms around her dad and Saskia. (Tzila) “I’d like that.”

Narrator 2: Aw, it’s hugging time.

Narrator 1: Oh geez. This is just lovely.

Narrator 2: Just look at this.

Narrator 3: This party is almost perfect.

Narrator 2: Almost…

[The song comes to an end, the crowd claps.]

Narrator 1: We’re just missing one thing. And you know what it is?

Narrator 3: That’s right…

Narrator 2: It wouldn’t be a party on Midst without…

Narrator 1: (Goe) “It’s time, ya dang rascals!”

Narrator 2: Goe yells, climbing up on the stage, grabbing onto the mic. 

Narrator 1: (Goe) “It’s friggin’ time!”

Narrator 3: (Townsfolk) “Woo!” There’s a cheer.

Narrator 1: (Goe) “Hit it, chums! Give us that friggin’ moon tune!”

Narrator 3: It’s time, all right, for that damn moon mining song.

Narrator 2: The REAL one this time, not Saskia’s sultry lounge redux. Music to mine a moon to.

Narrator 1: That’s right, get your mica jackhammers ready.

Narrator 2 & 3: (Townsfolk, chanting) “Goe! Goe! Goe! Goe!” 

Narrator 1: (Goe) “Fine, I’ll go first!”

Narrator 2: Goe yells.

Narrator 1: (Goe) “You asked for it!”

Narrator 2: He winks at Saskia.

Narrator 1: (Goe) “You’re next!”

Narrator 2: And Goe takes it away.

Narrator 1: (Goe) “Oh, my name is Goe and I guess I’m first, even though y’all know I’m kinda the worst. I’m usually covered in grease and grime, and I don’t really know how to make a rhyme. Hey, so far that’s actually pretty good! Maybe I can make a career out of singin’ good. Nevermind, that’s it for me. Let’s hand it on over to Saski…iie!”

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “Thank you Goe, I’ll do my best! It’s improvised, it’s not a test. So raise a glass and throw confetti, I’ll start a tale then pass to Ettie! Down here on the Mediun, ‘twixt the Un and Fold, was a Hill so Stationary ‘til the day that it was sold!”

Narrator 3: (Ettie) “You can’t sell us, you can’t buy us! Trust me when I say, don’t matter who the mayor is, the Hill is here to stay! Ellie!”

Narrator 2: (Ellie) “I’m certainly no miner, but I’ve traveled high and low. We’ve found no islet finer, and I think that we all know!” 

Narrators 1, 2, & 3: (Townsfolk) “We’re always mining! On the moon, up on the moon! Up where it’s shining! In the mine, up in the mine! Work never ends here! Just out of current’s pull! At least we’re all friends here! Moon’s empty, belly’s full!”

Narrator 2: (Bets) “Hey, I’m Bets! I’m the best! Bets is the best is the Bets is the best! Walter, you’re so good at this, show ’em how you never ever ever ever miss!”

Narrator 3: (Walter) “Uh, thanks Bets! My name’s Walter! I can make a rhyme without a fault, er, my mom’s a builder and I’m her son, that’s why I’m called a Builderson! Now our home’s all hooky-kooky, this place is wacky and it’s spooky. I’m hungry, so I’mma steal a… something to eat! So get ready, Tzila!”

Narrator 1: (Tzila) “I don’t like singing, I’m better at drawing, and that’s why I’m stalling, and then it was somebody else’s turn — Dad!”

Narrator 3: (Sherman) “Ah, I should have seen this coming. My name’s Sherman, I’m her dad. Like Goe, at this, I am not… great. Sorry Goe, ya did just fine, but oh! Now this will rhyme with mine! I think I fixed this verse by chance, but only through sheer happenstance. Now I think before I bore us, it’s time again to sing that chorus!”

Narrators 1, 2, & 3: (Townsfolk) “We’re always mining! On the moon, up on the moon! Up where it’s shining! In the mine, up in the mine! Work never ends here! Just out of current’s pull! At least we’re all friends here! Moon’s empty, belly’s full!”

Narrator 1: (Goe) “Hey, the Hill will look out for its own. It used to be small, but now it’s grown. And to fill your bellies with the healthy dose of plenty, it’s Patricia with her restaurantyyy!

Narrator 3: (Patricia) “Now, I never had a whiner tasting dinner at the diner where we cater to the miners pretty fre-quent-ly, but without all of the minin’ fillin’ bellies with a pinin’, well, the menu’s now in need of some new qua-li-ty!”

Narrator 2: (Townsfolk) “Hash browns!”

Narrator 1: (Townsfolk) “Brisket!”

Narrator 2: (Townsfolk) “Leafy salad!”

Narrator 1: (Townsfolk) “Biscuits!” 

Narrator 3: (Patricia) “And we can’t forget the bread that is fillin’ up my shed — Ned!” 

Narrator 1: (Ned) “Oh, that’s me! You gotta give me more time than that, Patricia!”

Narrator 2: (Townsfolk) “Ned, you’re so hot!”

Narrator 1: (Ned) “Oh, thank you! Ohhh, I used to go and mine away in the moon that never seemed to stray. I don’t know how and I don’t know why, but one day it just fell outta the sky. Now I guess my break is here to stay, no need to use my back today, but in case you’re lookin’ anyway, I’m Ned and I work for decent payyy!”

Narrators 1, 2, & 3: (Townsfolk) “We’re always mining! On the moon, up on the moon! Up where it’s shining! In the mine, up in the mine! Work never ends here! Just out of current’s pull! At least we’re all friends here! Moon’s empty, belly’s full!”

Narrator 3: (Some guy) “Okay folks, we’re gonna do Sylvester! Everyone knows Sylvester, right? I’ll start us off. Two, three, four… Oh, never have I ever met a miner any finer than Sylvester from Sequester with his big strong swing. He could strike a piece of mica, make it shatter with a clatter, and that’s why he is the guy who is the mining king!”

Narrator 1: (Somebody) “But one morning came a warning, a contender for the splendor that was vital to the title of Sylvester’s fame, the survival of a rival just enlisted now on Midst, and she was every bit as brawny, was this mining dame.”

Narrator 2: (Someone else) “Frustrated, he awaited to see just what all the fuss was. ‘Let ’er wow us with ‘er prowess,’ did Sylvester say. And with polish she demolished, oh-so thorough did she burrow, and Sylvester tried to best her but it took all day.”

Narrator 3: (Yet a different person) “Till the mica they’d been whackin’ went a-sprinklin’ with a twinklin’ with the bright n’ bitin’ beacon of a minin’ beam. [Unintelligible; stumbling over words] a crackin’ and a smackin’ and she won the thing!”

Narrator 1: (Someone) “Well Sylvester hurt his chest, er, well he guessed it was his pride, but to commemorate and venerate the winner in stride, he took the miss to dinner and admitted her the winner and that is how Sylvester finally found his bride.”

[With a cheer, the song begins to wind down.]

Narrator 3: (Townsfolk) “I need to sit down!”

Narrator 1: (Some other person) “Wait, wait, wait, wait. What are you—? Get back up, we’re not done. We have— there are many more rounds. You heard me, here we go. C’mon, Ned, bring it back.”

[The band resumes playing.]

Narrator 2: (Some lady) “Well I’ve lived in the Hill for more than a minute and it has such very fine people in it…”

Narrator 3: As the town works their way through their verses, Saskia takes a moment to slip off on her own.

[The singing and party sounds recede into the background as the scene transitions outdoors. Cricket ambiance.]

Narrator 2: The party’s in full swing now. Her work is done.

Narrator 3: She’s an excellent host.

Narrator 2: She gratefully takes a seat on the stoop out front of the cabaret, takes her heels off. Emotions are very high.

Narrator 3: This has been a beautiful, difficult night.

Narrator 1: Barty and Lloyd nudge their way in on either side of her, whining gently.

Narrator 2: Stationary Hill glimmers in the desert night before her. A warm, fold-safe glow emanates from the cabaret behind.

Narrator 3: Sherman joins Saskia, giving Barty a little head scritch as he takes the spot beside her. The two friends just take it all in for a minute.

Narrator 1: Sherman examines Saskia. She looks tired. He can scarcely imagine what it’s like to be here, but to still be up THERE at the same time. No wonder she’s exhausted.

Narrator 2: She’s been through a lot.

Narrator 3: Indoors, a nice waltz is unfolding. Tzila beckons from the doorway.

Narrator 1: (Tzila) “Dad, come watch this one, it’s pretty!”

Narrator 2: He waves to her in the affirmative.

Narrator 3: (Sherman) “Want to join us?” Sherman asks, reaching a hand out to Saskia.

Narrator 2: Saskia, who had been a little lost in thought just now, returns to herself and looks clearly at Sherman.

Narrator 3: Really looks at him, a remarkable rarity, taking him in. She gives him a tiny smile and shakes her head.

Narrator 2: (Saskia) “It’s okay,” she says quietly. “You go on without me.”

Narrator 3: And he does, returning to his daughter, giving Saskia a moment alone.