They’d both tended to lash out when something cut too deeply, like wounded animals. It had been a pattern of theirs, coupled with strained patience or outright frustration, depending on who was dealing with what kind of disaster.

She’d come to the conclusion that wasn’t in her best interests some months back, but it is quite another thing, now: looking at it without the pang of guilt or the head of personal entanglement. Had she not torn her own life apart with that same instinct?

Herian doesn’t make any comment on it. That seems like it would be equally unproductive.

Rather than turn to pay her thanks as she ought, she follows the directions given, moving with the current she is caught in. Without hesitation she begins the familiar walk, carrying the dog that’s peering through her hair, nose accusingly pointed in Cedric’s direction.

She proceeds in silence, unless addressed.