[It had all been her plan in the end, hadn't it? Five hundred years, a shard of herself sacrificed to such a painful existence, and Neuvillette had grown so fond of the people of Fontaine and the country itself that he could never have judged them unworthy of forgiveness. She knew that, of course. He had seen it in the way she smiled and in her gentle taunting of his display of emotion.

Clever. He had never even suspected.]

You don't need to. [His attention briefly darts to her hand on his arm, soft and small and warm, and he shakes his head.] I did not save you to be owed your gratitude. You were in danger, and my timing was merely... fortunate.

[Moments later and she would have been lost. And then what? What would happen to the Spina and the people of Poisson? They needed her.]