What does that look like from across a little garden courtyard? Maybe like a series of papers, folded over and left unanswered.

She waits for a beat. And then uncurls her arms from about her and leans down, shooing the chicken off the pan so it might be tipped up and the remaining grain dumped on the paving stones Ellis had spent all summer carefully digging up and relaying. The pan is tucked under her arm and she rises, brushing invisible straw bits from her skirts. The edge of the scarf is tossed back behind her shoulder and—

And.

She is meant to make her way past him and into the house now. She could do it without saying anything.

"Do you want an escape route? The gate is just there. I can look the other way."