Easy for York to say. "What this place is," Severa starts, "is entirely unfamiliar in all the strangest ways." She's been known to adapt, certainly, but there's a difference between asking something to adapt to a new environment and violently uprooting it and forcing it to grow into dry, cracked ground.

Gods, she'd been talking to Donnel too much again.

"If nothing else, I suppose I'm no longer alone here," she says, not louder than she needs to. She has a friend and confidante in York, and the other people she's met—at least, those who've not tried to kill her—seem approachable enough. She raises the nearly-empty glass to her mouth, and then a little higher, so the glass distorts her features. It's far easier to hide a smile that way, though still not entirely perfect.