Shouting? Had she been shouting? She can't seem to remember. Time seems to pitch forward and back or stop all together, and she's unable to determine the boundary between what's taken place and what she's imagined. Or worse, what she's conjured up from years past.

"No, no, no, no," she repeats, tongue unable to conform and twist itself to make any other sound. Hand to her forehead, skin on fire - though relative to herself, she's unable to feel the inferno blazing behind it. "No, no, no," she continues, now resorting to pacing back and forth - three steps left, three steps right. Eyes drag on the ground with each thud of her foot against the ground. "This isn't right, this isn't right, it doesn't make sense, none of it makes sense." Hands wringing onto one another, thumbnail to the opposite palm, digging into the flesh hard enough to draw blood. "Onderon. I should be on Onderon."

The sound of his moving away from her diverts her rabid, chaotic attention towards him.

"No, this isn't right," she mutters again, driving herself forward to push past him.