"It is difficult to think of happier times when the day is dark and there has been so much death Evangelina." He told her, his voice softer then she was used to. She helped him in to his undershirt, a dark cotton fabric with belled sleeves, as his mind drifted someplace she could not, nor dare not, tread.
Suddenly, after a moment of silence between them, his eyes that were once filled with sadness, darkened into bitterness.
The funeral procession will be gathering within the hour. Be quick." He snapped and Evangelina looked unimpressed. She helped him into his doublet, but she stopped just before she pulled it over his shoulders. "Don't do that." She told him, her tone firm. "Turn grief into anger then turn it unto me," She said, tugging his doublet over his shoulders, more roughly then what was needed. "Let grief be what it is, otherwise it will never go away." She said, her fingers quickly buttoning his doublet closed. She'd do as he asked, but she wouldn't let him treat her just any old way. He should know this by now.
She turned to the wardrobe again, and found him some dark breeches, and his boots. She pulled the strings on the sides, so that he may get in to more easily. She handed them to him, -with a touch of an attitude- before walking toward the try of food and setting it on the small table out in proper fashion. She poured him a flagon of juice, though surely he would prefer something stronger. She'd seen him drunk once and that was enough for her.