"I meant Elder Whisenhunt," she replied wickedly. "Who knows what you pick up gnawing on a cranky Healer?"
Her good humor vanished all too swiftly. "I have been much as I am expect to be," she said as lightly as she could manage. "Dutiful, diligent, well-groomed." Just managing to be well-groomed was a minor triumph all too many days as nightmares and long days of struggling to both earn money like the commoner she had so swiftly become and to maintain the facade of affluence that her mother demanded conspired to whittle away at her patience and all too inadequate strength. Were it not for her bone-deep fear of losing what was left of her world and her brittle, brittle pride, she would have given up the battle long ago.
No one had ever accused of her any particular brand of bravery.