[Scar doesn't answer the question. He just turns on the video feed. He's huddled by a fire, Miriam wrapped up inside Scar's thick coat with her head poking out of the collar. She prefers staying like this over being in her ball, even when the nights are bad.
He can't think of anything to say, at the moment. His worn eyes say more than whatever meager attempt at comfort he could probably manage. She doesn't have to spell it out. They're living on stolen time.]
no subject
He can't think of anything to say, at the moment. His worn eyes say more than whatever meager attempt at comfort he could probably manage. She doesn't have to spell it out. They're living on stolen time.]