[Lauralae forgets how bright, how sharp Alia's own mind is, how it reaches out and nestles itself into everyone's thoughts like a bird amongst branches, tucked so neatly between leaves that it's easy to forget she's even there. She feels, hears, tastes that sudden longing, and she pauses slightly in her braiding, before continuing.]

You flatter me, wolfling. There are not many who accuse me of being easy, or safe. [The braid takes form, strands woven together delicately, one over the other.] And I am not, in truth, safe. I am a knife, not a girl. I grew on grief and blood and sand, and that lives within me still.

[A pause as she ties off the braid, tucks it away, over Lauralae's shoulder, then reaching to gently turn the other girl's face back towards her.] You are stronger than you think. And you owe it to nobody to be small or safe. If there is vengeance to be had from you, it is more than earned. I needn't hear exactly why to know that is true, Lauralae.