[ She opens her eyes again when she hears him move, turning just enough to see the motion without having to see his face. She stares at the shirt for a long while, unable to make herself move. She's standing on a razor's edge, and she can feel it moving under her but she still doesn't know which way she'll fall.

It would be easier if he just came out and said it. 'It was your fault, and I can't forgive you, and we shouldn't talk.' Tumbling into that bottomless pit would be better than this... anticipation.

Finally she reaches to take the shirt back with hands that shake. She leaves it clutched in one hand on her knee, staring at the fabric and willing her brain to work faster. It's been too long since she said something, too long to be anything but awkward torture.

She opens her mouth to say something, anything, but all that comes out is a squeak. She closes it, swallows, and tries again. ]

I'm sorry.

[ It comes out as a whisper. Now she does start to cry, and she's learned from experience that once it starts there's not really anything she can do to make it stop. ]

I'm sorry. I-- Nobody was supposed to get hurt.

[ It's too much. She can't break down in front of Tim, not about this. Not with him sounding so cold. Her body starts to function again as she gets to her feet, setting the bowl of stew down in her chair and picking up the staff. When she speaks again her voice is at least a little stronger, though she's turned all the way away from him. ]

There's nothing I can tell you about this place you couldn't hear from someone else. I'll stop bothering you.