"I'm part of the law, surely. No one can rightly claim they are the law, I'd think." Darrow replied with an amused twist to her lips. Sure, she ran her jail and her guards with a strict hand, but to claim she was the end all be all for proper order...didn't rightly sit well with her. She was a tool, no less than any of her guards. If she went around forgetting that, well...she'd be in a right state wouldn't she? And, at that point, she'd probably deserve it.
She could recognize a side-step well enough to see the lack of answer, but, well. Fair enough. She'd been a nosy thing most of the conversation, she could stand to lay off - especially, if, like the woman's look seemed to show - the story was, frankly no one's business but her own. "Your mother sounds like a wise woman. Or one's who's read the Barddon closely. Both enviable traits." Perhaps, in another life, a touch of irony at the latter part of that - but, for where she was in life, while she saw the use of getting one's own hands dirty, she could hardly fault those better read than her. It had given her own mother strength - who was she to begrudge it from someone else?
And if the woman's gesture to her neck was any sign, that was likely another topic she should tread carefully upon, if at all. It wasn't often she saw people remove their torc - for any reason - but she'd seen it enough in Castyll, and in the wake of the Clovennians, to have nothing but a pang of sympathy.
"Changing people perhaps, but the world's been turning this long." And maybe her eyes closed briefly, chasing an echo along the streets behind them; another person, out for a late night walk, their steps light and quiet enough that she lost them long before they were likely truly out of her range, the earth heavy and silent again, comforting in its own cold way, "Doubt we could muck it up bad enough for that to give out."