Blackfeather Woods all my friends are dead, push me to the edge

She cannot tell if he is insane, cunning, or both. Nor can she make sense or the vortex of feels he creates, mostly anger and fear, but also - she doesn't know how to make sense of him. She knows that continuing the conversation is foolhardy, but she does so nonetheless. "From what?" she asks, a hard edge lining her voice, rising and stepping towards him. The child is ignored, for now, and huddles behind her, finally stopped it's blubbering. His gaze he averts from her own, and she feels a little rush, missing the possible indications of that action. He ran from her, once. Perhaps, she can make it happen again.