Typical, Jensen lazily skimming past the disaster on a wardrobe. Joanna’s smile fades although her eyes glint with humour at the faintly ridiculous ring to his adventure. She shakes the hair out of her eyes, calmly considering his similarly coloured ones. She’s annoyed at the mention of Blake, although when she says his name her voice unconsciously lengthens it, almost caressing the sound. It does the same with Jensen’s, when he’s not there to hear it, and with Prophet’s.

Good. They’re good, Blake’s doing the whole father thing, I think, although I don’t know what that really means.

She sighs and her eyes flick off him, an uneasiness like that of a wild animal feeling trapped settling around her.

These corridors, you know? Would it be a strain if we didn’t talk about Blake any more, in here?

And the feeling closes in on her as Jensen’s hand slips out of hers and he says something. All she sees is him disappearing down a tunnel of light as something clenches around her heart, something right in her chest pulling taught and tight and painful and she gasps –Kafka- and her familiar is back in her but he is so far, so far, away. Her eyes widen with pain and she slides to the floor, dimly aware of one arm stretched above her and of Kafka’s pace heavy and solid somewhere so far, so far, distant from her. Why would the bear stay near the castle, it is not in his hunting ground. It hurts, like something is being wrenched out from her and as she falls her body jerks towards the east, where her bear familiar is running, running, towards her.