HAWTHE: say,

HAWTHE: how’dya turn? ‘f ya don’t mind me askin’.

HAWTHE: not to be crass, but ‘ve seen every bit ‘f ya ‘n i ain’t noticed many scars.

HAWTHE: t’least ones that look deadly.

IRISSE: ...

IRISSE: It’s... hm.

IRISSE: It was dumb.

IRISSE: I went out the same way Lucine did. Sort of.

IRISSE: I got chosen for the cloister, but I didn’t want to be part of it.

IRISSE: So I left, in a sense.

IRISSE: Left things up to fate. If I turned, then I’d stay in the caverns. If not, then so be it.

IRISSE: And I turned. So here we are.

HAWTHE: ah.

HAWTHE: y’said drones got ‘er, right?

IRISSE: Yes.

HAWTHE: they musta’ done some clean work on ya, then.

IRISSE: Sure.

HAWTHE: now...

HAWTHE: y’can shut me down like a piece’a cheese in a squeakbeast trap if ‘m askin’ too many questions, but...

HAWTHE: ain’t drones, was it?

IRISSE: ...No.

HAWTHE: then?

IRISSE: I don’t remember all that much of what happened, actually.

HAWTHE: hard sorta thing t’ forget.

HAWTHE: ‘n ya sounded real confident in yer answer just then.

HAWTHE: ya don’t gotta lie ‘bout it, doll.

IRISSE: Another time.

HAWTHE: a’ight.

HAWTHE: s’pose there ain’t nothin’ wrong with wantin’ to keep a secret.