[It probably comes as no surprise that she cries out softly when the dishes and tea go cascading to the floor and shatter, practically jumping out of her skin at the sound, and it's only Trevor's arms circling around her that keep her steady as he pulls her in close. There are moments, sometimes, when this is the only way she feels safe — when someone has her wrapped up and held, and she can still see, and there's something soft beneath her that isn't a curse etched into the floor.

She doesn't say anything for a little while, letting herself calm down as best she can. It doesn't work very well, but he's trying, and so she is too.]

...I can show you. How we. We have a ceremony, for when there is no body to save.

[They can do it together, she thinks. Trevor for his mud dove. Her for the ones who died in the necromancer's basement, afraid and alone, and no one ever found them.]

Someone has to sing. I did it once, for a Speaker from another tribe. We joined their train, to be there for it.