"I think," she says carefully as she passes the cloak back to him, at least taking the time to make sure that whatever warmth might be left in it from her isn't lost, "that I should leave and return to my friends, before I ruin the evening."
Her temper is a nasty ugly thing, and here, even if Sam is like her and torn from his world so cruelly without a chance to say goodbye then one of them has to be aware of what it might mean. An unkind word, a temper snapped taught like a sail in a storm, even a whisper of violence; she has read about the demons, she doesn't want to give anyone a reason to think that even a single one of them might harbour something ugly and festering.
"Gratitude for the warmth and companionship, but there are others who will not hesitate. And many I have seen with tattoos are far, far larger than I. This is neither of our worlds, tread lightly."
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Her temper is a nasty ugly thing, and here, even if Sam is like her and torn from his world so cruelly without a chance to say goodbye then one of them has to be aware of what it might mean. An unkind word, a temper snapped taught like a sail in a storm, even a whisper of violence; she has read about the demons, she doesn't want to give anyone a reason to think that even a single one of them might harbour something ugly and festering.
"Gratitude for the warmth and companionship, but there are others who will not hesitate. And many I have seen with tattoos are far, far larger than I. This is neither of our worlds, tread lightly."