Dawn Treader Valley I think you worry way too much

she had not asked a name. she had not given her own. anonymously they had traveled, anonymously she had been deposited here in this dome of rock scarcely recognized as cave, not seeing its beautiful offerings. but then again, silvertongue was not in her mind, and clutched her sickened arm close, streaks of angry flesh announcing its progression toward fetid. she ate the plant slowly, reacting neither to texture nor bitterness; silvertongue lay curled on the ground after, awake enough to stare beyond the mouth of the cave, but not moved to words.