"Can't it be both? We lost some good Grisha on the battlefield this time around. I wanted to be back for the public memorial service," to help them all grieve, and to help hone and shape that angry like a blade. Some of them were not much older than Alina and her friends, just a year or two older. People she would have been friends with.
"But come, sit by the fire, have some kvas. You're old enough to partake in such things now." She hadn't been when last he saw her, just a little over 16, and a string bean. She had grown, older, wiser, mature.
"I'm told you've been a great comfort to the Grisha children who are brought here. A big sister as it were."