She might, really, have indeed thought of absolutely nothing more to say on the matter of Val's face becoming intimately acquainted with the bulkhead. Save perhaps that he ought to be more careful about how he plays this game of delaying and protesting over every little thing lest one day he actually hurt himself.

(No, she would never say that. It would serve him right.)

But when presented with the option of either scoffing with some high, thrilled pleasure at the mysterious contents of the case actually having been intended for her or paying very close attention to the unexpected tinge of embarrassment lurking under the dismissal—

Well.

Ruadh may follow instruction perhaps well, but Wysteria de Foncé generally is less reliable in these matters.

Pop, pop, pop, go the cords under the sharp knife's edge. It's a field knife and she keeps it in good working order, particularly when she is traveling like they are now. One never knows when a kidnapper might need to be stabbed.

"I do know. You remember how I brought you It in the field, of course. It wouldn't have done for it to sit on some work table finished waiting for you to do your work and come all the way back to Kirkwall."

This is a sweet thing to say to him. She knows it is because it's intentionally selected. And also because it's true, but what does that matter.

"Your shirt collar has been turned up in the wrong direction."