She doesn't reply, staring at a spot on the wall like it's all that matters. He's right. It won't last forever. She's drawing beasts with every scream, with every pump of blood on the floor. She's faced down beasts many times her size, lived through the death or destruction of the people she cared for, watched her matesprit die before her more than once. Died herself. She can do this.

She looks at the candle and hesitantly at the burned mass at the end of her leg. It hurts. It hurts on more levels than he probably understands. Seeing it only makes it worse and she tosses her head back, hits it hard against the wall and can't even make herself wince. Voices are probably telling the story of his execution with relish, telling them why she's in such a panic. She swallows hard. She's not a tragic wounded thing.

"Just--just do it then." She grabs the jacket back close, finding a fresh spot and biting down hard. This time she watches his horns, not him, not what he's doing, but having something to focus on keeps her locked in reality at least.