For once, Irene couldn't bring herself to be a knight because that was her father they were hoisting into a carriage and taking him to a church where her mother would be burdened with cleaning his body while they prepared it for burial.
All she could do was sit there with her brother and mother, watching miserably as it all panned out for them uncontrollably. They had spent hours just sitting there and crying. She was lucky that Henry was there because he was the only one who had it in him to call for action. The rest of the room seemed paralyzed or unwilling to make the call themselves.
Now what was left was quietness—the occasional grunt from Henry and Callum as they got Arthur's body into the carriage on a bed of hay and ensured that the sheet they had placed over him remained snug.
However, there was something so caring in the men's actions. They moved slowly and acted as if Arthur would wake up at any moment despite his extremities having already grown cold by then.
