Swiftcurrent Creek silver ribbons

In another life, she would have had so much to say. The girl she had been before had loved nothing more than to speak endlessly of the nature of people and things and untouchable concepts. She would have thrilled at Lestan's thoughtfulness, and maybe she would have admired his kind eyes and handsome features.
This wasn't that life, though. There wasn't any room inside of her for things like philosophy or romance. There was only her, drowning. How could she think of anything else?
She could hardly stand to think even of that, most days. Today was most days. She looked at Lestan as he spoke, but she only sort of heard him. She did not at all comprehend what was said. Lost again in her own head. It was entirely awkward and inconvenient, but the illness that gripped her knew nothing of grace or dignity. It was a clinical, relentless sort of thing; cause-and-effect, uncompromising. It would be hours before she would return to herself fully, and though she showed signs of seeing and hearing Lestan, she wasn't really there. In the words of the venerable Porky Pig: that's all, folks!