The man, Tucker, has left them alone. The woman is sitting in the small rocking chair with her sweater drawn tightly across her chest and her feet tucked up under her. She isn’t weeping anymore, and the dog takes that as a good thing. But the intensity and the unexpectedness of her outburst had startled him, and that he was powerless to halt it was his failure. He lays his head in her lap, and she halts the jagged motion of the rocking chair. There is a certain comfort in fulfilling one’s purpose. This woman is much like all the others, not firmly tethered to happiness. It is pleasant to feel the warmth of her hand on his head, to discern that she takes comfort in doing so. The women he has guarded all came to depend on his presence for far more than simple protection. This one is no different. He knows that what he has to guard her from isn’t outside danger, but her own thoughts.