Swiftcurrent Creek silver ribbons

Lestan obliged the girl's stilted subject change; her gratitude only made her more self-conscious. She was acting like a child. Again. Nonetheless, he launched into explaining about rogues and winter as if everything was normal. It helped more than anything else he could have done.
Learning grounded her. It was something real to focus on, something to remind her that she was real, too. What about Father Fire? She wanted to ask, but Lestan had his own question.
Oh. Right. Of course he would want to know about that. She wanted to tell him that it was a bad idea to ask her that question; that she didn't want to talk about it. But if she was going to try to act more like the adult she should have been, she would have to stop letting her emotions control her. That was what her parents always said.
So she tried to remember. A long time, I think. Since my sister died, She stopped, a little shocked by the sound of her own voice. It always came out that way when she said it, lifeless and uneven, but she never got used to it. Just like she never got used to the idea that Rose was gone. Time is… weird, since then. Everything is. Including me, I guess. She tried to smile, and only managed a sad shadow of the expression. She'd had this grand notion of forcing her way through the fog, but it just didn't work like that. It wasn't a matter of self-control. It wasn't about what she wanted.
I try not to be... She started to fade again, stuck on one last drifting thought before her mind shuttered and went dark. It had to protect itself, whether she agreed or not, and any progress she'd made toward calming down had been undone by talking about Rose.
So it went to a happier time. Somewhere else, while poor, kind Lestan who had been nothing but helpful was left with a glassy-eyed shell of a girl.