[A larger drop splatters on her forehead, and she wrinkles her nose, scrubbing the back of her wrist over it.] That doesn't matter. Even if this were a war, and it could be won, you would still be a Host.

[The Nest had existed before it was hunted, she knew that, even if the memories of it were- faded. Distant and unreliable. There was still need of them then. She doesn't imagine that would change, if she put any energy into imagining a future that she would never likely see.]

Imagine this. You live in a village by the sea. One day a great wave comes. It swallows your village and your home and your family. It is a force you could never hope to stand against, as you are. Afterwards, along with many others, you help begin a seawall. It will not be finished until long after you are dead, but eventually it may be.

[There is the sound of waves over the gentle pattering of rain, the scent-taste of the sea- although it's warm in her memory, and calm. The sun through a window, the low patient tone of an elder. It is an old story.

Does it concern her? She hadn't died, and she easily could have. Yes, it was a bad thing that happened, but bad things that you could not control happened all the time. To all kinds of people. Some were far less lucky than she was. And if it never ended, she knew at least that she had taken the steps that she could to do her part. It would be enough, because it had to be. There was nothing else she could do. If you couldn't be satisfied with that-

Carata knows she's weak. Even with all of the strength she's gained. She's relatively inconsequential, in the grand scheme of all things. Didn't that make things easier?]