[It's sometimes hard to tell, in these moments, whether she's more of a nursemaid or a lover — and that's not an objection to either, all things considered. Alucard is healing, and as he heals she fusses, and as she fusses he parries, and as he parries she retorts, until soon enough they're tangled up in each other and laughing and somewhere along the way she remembers to start fussing again, and the cycle begins anew. He's looking better, however, with every passing day. He doesn't walk like a man with a gash cut down his chest. He's a little stiff in places, perhaps, and they have to be a little more careful than otherwise in moments when they get carried away with each other, but all in all he's doing well. He's recovering, and she's here to see it.

He's treating her to an impromptu picnic today, too, which she suspects isn't nearly as impromptu as he's pretending. (The coat is a bit of a giveaway, but the sandwiches are a nice touch.) The makeshift blanket he provides for them is just the right amount of "too small" to give her an excuse to curl up against his side, on the pretense of trying to stay atop it, when really she's so close that if she were to move in any more she'd end up sitting directly in his lap from it.]

It would be easier to talk about what I have not seen, I think. But — my caravan always tried to stay near the cities. It's true that Speakers are not well liked in the cities, but...

[She hesitates.]

Well. The rules are different in the countryside, you could say. Though we have been to some nice communities there, too. It's just that...there is more fear, I suppose, in the little towns. One sentiment tends always to prevail. So if they like us, then everyone seems to like us. But if they hate us...then everyone, from the oldest man to the youngest child, will hate us.