[She chuckles, despite the pang she feels at I died.

Let's hope it doesn't get raggedy and or stained, or you might have to find out.

[It does remind her of her own brother, a little; John had been little more than a boy, and then he'd grown his hair in and suddenly looked so much like their father.]

I spent eight years as a soldier, but less than two as a boy. I was good at passing, but I met someone who was better at spotting the truth. It's just as well—they would have wondered where my beard was, sooner or later.