Mara backed up when people started offering her help; Faith took her bags and she didn't know what to say. She finally sighed. To Tara, she said simply, "If not wanting to risk being ravaged until I want to die again counts as a simple desire, then yes, you people are running roughshod over what I want. It doesn't matter. I'm already moving, right?" Not bitter, not accusatory. Just...tired.

She trailed along with them as they walked, like a grey-clad ghost, feet chafing in the walking boots she'd dug up. Orrie wiggled in her arms and the bag bumped against her back. She was white-faced and trembling; her senses didn't show anything but the sun was going down fast. She kept her face down, and didn't look at anyone.

When they came to the police-call-box-that-wasn't, she stared at it and backed up a pace warily.