[se] we come in waves

we're always running scared but holding knives

"Do you think perhaps it works because of who you are, rather than because of the lie or the ghost hand?" Isla considers with a wry smile. She doesn't want to pop Remi's bubble, but it's really not as though anyone is going to call the Lullaby a liar. As for how many chances they've had so far, the Remedy can only offer him a gentle shrug, as if to say she's grateful of all of them regardless. For the first time in a very long while, Isla is looking forward to her tomorrows, and she's not taking that for granted one bit.

"You would become an Attuned again?" she asks curiously, feeling a pang of something as his arms release her - a cousin to panic, perhaps, in case suddenly he forgets her - only to carefully get to her feet. "Or - no, that's not right. You could do magic too, couldn't you?" Smiling at the memory, Isla checks the makeshift bandage on her foot and gestures across the shoreline, where an admittedly rickety rowboat has been pulled onto the shore.

"Okay, but we have to take that back," she says, knowing the Lullaby is more than capable of flying them or throwing her across the distance or something equally as ridiculous and powerful. But there's something satisfying about using the slower, arguably more human methods of travel. Isla should know - she's done enough of it lately.

Isla