If there's ever a question between fire, and... [ she raps her fingers idly, thoughtfully, against her chin, ] oh, I don't know. Anything else? The answer's always gonna be fire, Silco.

[ but she pries the knife out of the Dryad's eyesocket now weeping a Familiar Sap (gross), taking a step back and stifling another cough into her inner elbow. maybe it's because of the claustrophobic nature of their captivity, but--

it's getting harder to breathe, isn't it?

know what will help with that? fire. definitely. ]

You wanna do the honors?