The question makes her look back to him, the shift of her mouth not all the way to some kind of expression—

“Everything,” she says, and maybe it can't be all that shocking that their present locale, for all its grim cynicism, might have stirred that kind of memory. (She hadn't even been dead long enough to notify anyone.) “'Til I was dead. And then, everything that happened because I wasn't.”

Two sets of memories, but mostly separate. Little overlap, except for the battle. It must be more peculiar, or differently, for the survivors to hold both months in their minds. The latter had come back more slowly, and still feels sometimes as if it happened to someone else, as if she's remembering it from underwater. How ordinary it all was. How remarkable she didn't know it should have been until she remembered everything else.

“But of course, I wasn't there for the interesting parts.” A shrug, “You almost hadn't a Riftwatch to come back to.”

(That pulled-taut veil of composure,

if she were on solid ground, she'd probably have been meaner. Crawling back to.)