Many a crawler see much death in their time, see many a crawler, for many a crawler give up their time in their time, do many a crawler. But never before has Temp seen so much time taken before his very eyes, never before has Temp seen such horrors. Temp has heard of so much time taken, and Temp has heard of such horrors, but Temp has never been present in such a situation, has Temp. Time is never lost, only passed on; but some time is given, and other is taken. And when time is taken lawlessly, Temp will fight. He knows he has not been considered, knows Temp, but he has to patience to bear over with that, has Temp. "To fight, I stay, to fight."
"No, Temp," says Luxa. And she kneels before him, the hard-faced child, kneels the Queen of Regalia. Only kneels she to elevate him, kneels she, or kneels she to emphasize how much taller she is? "I would wish you at my side, but we have much greater need of you at home. You must go to the crawlers, tell them what has happened, and rally them to our cause."
Temp shifts on his feet. When time is taken lawlessly, the crawlers will fight. Somebody must tell, somebody must rally, somebody who have seen the time taken before his very eyes. But Temp knows what they say, knows Temp — that a crawler cannot fight, that a crawler cannot protect. He has heard this very girl laugh, once. And she would laugh no longer, but would she truly trust him at her side, would she?
"And I beg another favor as well," Luxa says. "I need you to look after Hazard now as you have looked after Boots for Gregor." Her eyes shine, and Temp sees what it takes to let go in her eyes, sees Temp. "I put him in your care."
Her brother, her dearest, whose time she so desperately fears for, her brother, her dearest. Temp quivers with surprise. "My care, the boy be in, my care?"
"If you will take him. For there is no one among us who perceives danger as quickly and accurately as you do," she says. And it is the first time Temp hears these words from a human, Temp hears. And so are these: "Or meets it with such courage."
"You, so say, you?"
Some say the crawlers' speech is incoherent, some say, and that it is a sign of their stupidity.
Luxa had certainly thought so.
But now she speaks, she speaks.
"I," Luxa says, "so say, I," says Luxa. "Will you do this?"
And he always would, Temp would have, he always would. For Temp loves the children, and he loves the boy. "Yes." But then, he would have left believing that he was wanted gone, that none would trust their time in his hands.
"Thank you," Luxa says. Her hand, she lays, her hand on Temp's head.