"Stormy," Her breath hitches, the words come out in a dreamy whine. Claws trace the dirt and her eyes cast away, drawn into some new, distant distraction. "Do you know her? So pretty. Always was. I came home, you know, for her? It was time to come home. Said I was, was,"

Repetition again.

"I’m unworthy?" A harsh laugh, or something that used to sound more like one. "I came back for her, I brought them. And now I’m,"

"I’m unworthy. What’s that word worth? Pretty as glass." Quiet again, "Kester never liked her."