Han spotted a child‟s homespun dolly in the ditch, pressed into the mud. He reined in, meaning to climb down and fetch it so he could clean it up for his little sister. Then he remembered that Mari was dead and had no need of dollies anymore.
Grief was like that. It gradually faded into a dull ache, until some simple sight or sound or scent hit him like a hammer blow.

Autore: Cinda Williams Chima