Pyrrha looks over at the apparently not lonely compatriot with her tonight. A few people she knows. In one form or another, it speaks to loneliness. Attrition was slow, but Duty knows what it is like only to have a few companions. That was all that had been left. Then that was gone too, and Pyrrha had a new small family to concern herself with. That was all she'd had room for, those precious few and no more.

A few being enough not to be lonely. Not to be lonelier? Pep in her step, a smile, energy in the moment, none of them disprove pain or loneliness. They only reflect a snapshot in time, an accomplishment in the now. Pyrrha nods, "Me too."

They've filled more than three jars. "And the rest of these?" she asks.