[The unrehearsed nature of the laugh in turn forces a little smile out of Waltaquin. It's the same as she saw in that memory: a sharp edge that has been honed but not polished. This is the sort of response she craves the most.]

I wonder just how much one is forced to adhere to the other. [Surely more than once Medea has sacrificed her own beliefs for the sake of what she wants. As far as Waltaquin is concerned, that simply won't do. She wants to hear the other side of it, too, what that predator would say out of instinct. Her fingers twitch at the hand-off. For a moment, it seems as if she might brush the backs of her knuckles further down Medea's hand and forearm, but she doesn't.]

A firm hand releases few strays. [There are plenty of corpses still ahead on Medea's road, she thinks, even if not at the end of it.] So you think you'd be bored of me after you had what you wanted? That is, assuming you had need for my talents in the first place.