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It's not concern that makes her run after him that night.

It's not compassion that puts her between him and his prey.

It's not anger that makes her eyes blaze red in the hungry fires he's set, nor is it pity that compels her to insist on guarding him when there is no one left to.

It's not mercy that moves her to teach him how to survive, how to defend himself against him.

A softer person might have called it love.

She calls it necessity, and knows it is a double-edged blade.
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