Whitebark Stream don't think we need to engage in any pleasantries

His comment made her huff a laugh. It seemed preposterous to think of Colt her own age, or younger, playing. Making little games out of nothing but sticks and bones, or having playmates with which to commune. She couldn't think of that for herself either, actually - everything before Colt was a blackness, as if it had been burned out of her. It was hard looking back.
He came creeping in close.
It wasn't unnatural, him being there. Often enough Colt kept her under the crook of an arm, or ran so close beside her they could trip one-another. After their miscommunication she did watch him with some wariness, until those eyes were upon her.
She saw herself, bloodmarked.
Yes, the thought and the word came at once, together.