[se] we leave parts of ourselves in places

Isla take your medicine Smiling almost sadly down at the lantern and the fabric braid she's weaving out with her fingertips, Isla tries to sum up Varus in a few sentences. "He used to be an assassin, believe it or not. But you wouldn't think it to know him - he was funny, and sociable, and he enjoyed reading murder mystery novels." Her fingers still for a second, Isla glancing down at the braid. "These are from one of the shirts I kept of his. He died fighting the Sparkbird in the war." While she'd been up on the Cordillera and Nate had died to save them; not for the first time, she's struck by the scale of loss they've endured. To hear that the Ranger was Melita's uncle has Isla's growing warmer if no less sad, the Ancient trying to force away the tension that has started creeping up her shoulders. "He was a good man," she murmurs. "Both of them were."