Bone tired. That was the only way Athala could describe the way she felt as she flopped gracelessly into the seat opposite Ara. The sort of tired that hurt all the way down to your core. Too tired to fluster, or rage, or raise her walls. Just exhaustion.

As Ara admits how out of his depth he feels Atha stares off into the middle distance, the arms of the chair creaking as she holds them in a white-knuckle grip. She had to explain to properly explain her feelings and she hated it.

"...Don't remember Mum's face. Don't even think I remember her voice half the time." Her breathing becomes a little harder as it starts to pour out. "Don't remember where our house was in Ala Mhigo...Don't know what happened to her body. The only proof of my mum I have is my hair colour and the glass beads."