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Summary
"Iselle has offered her wisdom," Betriz said, holding her head high.
"Has she," Caz echoed, trying and failing not to imagine that conversation. He'd seen the two of them putting their heads together to hatch some ill-advised scheme more often than he could count, in the beginning. A year -- no: a lifetime -- ago.
"She says if you can stand to go slowly, the first time, I'll hurt less," Betriz ploughed on. Her face was pink, but -- brave as always -- she didn't duck her head. "And I'll be more easily able to enjoy it again soon."
