He speaks, his own judgment and a bit of ire creeping into his tone, informative as it otherwise would be, and she cannot help but listen. She is less than eager to debate about how well they might do, about their odds or the desire to fight back, and instead drags a hand through her hair, straightening some of the mess it has become.

It should seem stranger, perhaps, that he is counseling her caution, that he fears for his own life as much as hers, but he does not know what she is. (Indeed, it does not seem to matter much to these Shepherds whether one is profane or not.) He does not know how she is given to power, that her resentment of the gods runs deeply enough that she would desecrate them all if she could.

Would he give her up, then? Or would he still incriminate himself in the process?

He has been so accommodating of her anger, of her sorrow, surely he lingers close enough to heresy that he cannot escape the charge.

Suddenly, she wants to argue, wants to tell him that she is not so weak, that she is not a creature to be caged and set aflame...but the exhaustion has settle in and she moves to lean against her table, propping herself by her hip as she stands there. The carpenters are very good, it was very difficult to destroy the items she had. She could not break the table without using water and he had arrived before she could try.

"I am a poor fit for this place, I expect," she tells him, her tone swung reasonable bordering on calm. She is quieter, then, just speaking in a normal voice, such that she would be drown out by the waterwheel.

"My temper is quick and consuming...and I am not pious anymore." She looks at him, then, and meets his eye. Holds his gaze. And then she gambles.

"I would have drown them where they stood, like they drown that man, but I have never been good with knives."