If there was a memory of the woman she had been in the time so few of them recall, there would be routes mapped out in black. (Araceli doesn't know. Would want to know because that's the trouble when you like a challenge and a secret. It's better this way.)

She'd say more but a runner clatters in through the door, haggard and harassed. One of her hands slips automatically to her rapier without thinking before they call out her name, a half-hearted apology with it. "Serah Bonaventura? Need you to come look over something."

"And I'll have to take you up on the drink another time but thank you so much for the herbs, I will take good care of them. And get advice to take good care. Stay and get some food here, everything is cooked well and it's warm, you can tell me the story perhaps when we're toasting living arrangements?" But she has to run because someone is tapping their feet by the door and the sooner she does it, the greater the chance she might an extra few minutes to sleep tonight.