Laura growls at that, looking out at the city, with all its dark buildings and occasional pinpricks of torches. The idea that anyone would say those things, do those things--there is no surprise, but it still hisses through her like a cold gust of wind to think of anyone speaking to Athessa that way.

"That is elfroot," she says, as a matter of confirmation, and perhaps as a request to explain. Athessa always smells a little like elfroot, from what she can remember, along with all the other scents that cling to her--and there are always several--and this seems to explain why.

(And, admittedly, as she curls up, knees hugged to her chest against the cool night air, it's better than speaking of the man that raped Athessa. She wants to know more--desperately, much more so than she consciously realizes--but she does not want to ask.)