She does not think of him when the city falls, when she cradles the statue of the goddess and weeps, when she is forced onto the boats and retches in horror; she does not allow herself to steal southwards where she knows he will be, guiding his father and son and followers to the boats.

He would be angry for it, if he knew, but he doesn't; and besides he is not a thought for these dark hours, but for the brief respite that follows.

Aeneas is a dream, and Cassandra will not drag him down into her doom.