Heron Lake Plateau we haven't talked in quite some time.

Maybe in a different world they could've been friends, and commiserated about how each of them thought of Quixote as kind of an asshole.  Just like Niamh, he made her feel stupid, he talked down to her, and he treated her like a child.  If there were any humor in this situation, it would be that the irony was lost on both of them.  They had both been kind of immature, hadn't they?

Anyway — I mean, her voice falls flat.  It's not her place to cry here.  She had barely known him, though in some weird way she felt like he'd had a bigger piece of her than anyone else had.  Other than her relatives, as far as she knew, he was the only one that had even come looking for her.  But nothing like that could amount to a brother.  What would she do if it had been Colt?  Niamh, I watched him die.  

It would've been more poetic if he'd lost his life to a Blackfeather, but it had all come down to chance.  To nothing.  I couldn't save him.  He wanted me to tell you — tell you he really did care.  I don't know what that means.  I'm sorry.