Hecate had risen to sit, and was stretching out her hands, fingers splayed wide then curling back in. Her knucklebones creaked, and her palms were so sensitive when her fingertips brushed them that were shivers were sent down her arm.
She could hear the whispers of the dead, and one in particular was watching her, his eyes deeply suspicious, and wounded. "I can't promise you a fair explanation," Hecate was telling him as Qebhet returned. "Only a true one." A tremour passed through the air at his displeasure, as he whirled back through the wall and disappeared. She slumped a little once he'd gone, her arm rigid to prop herself up, and she smiled wanly at Qebhet. "I apologise for the disruption," she said, her voice still little more than a husky rasp, though a shallow swallow of the offered water worked its soothing magic. "And I thank you, deeply, for watching over me. It was a lot to ask."