The girl hadn't moved. She remained curled against the base of the old tree, her hands still pressed firmly over her mouth, her wide eyes fixed on him. The woven basket beside her had tipped, spilling a few wildflowers onto the grass.

Between them, half-hidden in the undergrowth, the locket caught the light.

Sephiroth's gaze flicked from the locket to the girl, then back again. He made no move toward either. His voice, when it came, was low and even.

You're hurt.

It wasn't a question. A thin line of blood traced down her forearm, disappearing into the sleeve of her dirtied dress.

That village is gone, he continued, his tone matter-of-fact, almost clinical. There's nothing left to return to.

He paused, watching her. The silence stretched.

But you already know that, don't you?