Silver Creek tell me, do we get what we deserve?

oh.

she didn't really have the capacity to respond directly to what zada had said, instead flopping over onto her side to allow the girl to clean her wounds, or kill her, or whatever.

honestly, brienne hadn't done much to tend to herself, unconcerned with the infection that was most likely burning and festering within.  she didn't care.

i followed him to the ends of the earth.  she was too caught up in verbalizing it that she couldn't stop.  he has two wolves that would die for him and i have nobody.

she had never pitied herself so much, and never divulged so much to anyone before and though she'd probably look back on this conversation later when she was lucid and coherent with shame, she took solace in the other woman's company for as long as she'd give it.

he met me at the borders and told me it'd be best if we took a break and then when i asked if we even still had a chance, he said that we'll see.  what kind of answer is that?

her voice hitched in her throat and if wolves could cry she'd be ugly sobbing, the kind where your hair gets caught in the snot dribbling down your lips and your chin, where the blood vessels have burst under your eyes and you look tired the next day.

how could he do that to me?  she had come out here to die, probably, not to feel this anger-grief-revulsion.  and in public, too.