...I know. They've all been children, save the writer from last week. And when they're driven to this we're afforded the honor of executing them ourselves.

[Is he still a little fucked up from last week's execution? You better believe it.

But when Ryn finds a place to sit, he shifts and half-sloshes, half-paddles his way over to the edge of the hotsprings nearest him, so that he can lean up against the side and talk while he soaks.]

You're worried.