Perhaps. Perhaps Senna was correct. Perhaps his brothers indeed viewed Nigredo as a friend. That sort of assurance should smooth over a ruffle or two, should it not? The boy, however, had already moved far and beyond the topic. One could even say his mind was made up days before the question was put forth.

Nothing existed, therefore, in dwelling on friendships. Instead, he tugged uncomfortably at the bindings around his broken hand, his mind replaying her words. She remembered things. Nothing good. When you thought about any of those elements carefully, you found her reaction to be natural. Which happened precisely to Nigredo.

"You shouldn't apologize for that," he finally answered, voice small. "No one can help what they remember."