Dawn Treader Valley Just like before, my spirit coming up

andromache was correct, but the tone of the woman's voice halted her sobs. tears trickled down her face but silently now. this pretty thing, this elegant creature to whom men bowed — how could she understand? "then i will leave. what do i owe you?" the idea of returning scandalized her; the concept of facing wren again sundered silvertongue, let alone that akavir might see her. "i will go," she said more steadily, gathering small things into a worn skin: bits of bone, a slice of cactus rich with moisture, a feather that she had found in wandering malaise. all the while, mind racing ahead to the idea that she did not have to go to riverclan at all; no; she did not even need to leave this desert. only andromache and her men, to whom she was grateful even if trembling mouth could give no more words in that regard.