[ The question closes his expression to something still and bitter. For a moment, set into the blacks of his eyes, it's a frightening look. ]

The ones who left us there to die.

[ He sits back even as the horizon starts to fade. This little pocket world is crumbling around them, its toll paid and its purpose fulfilled. The sky is nothing but the abstract whirl of crow's wings. ]

You know the story of Noah and the ark? [ He tips his head to her, his eyes flat with unnatural light and with a great, horrible distance. His little smile does not touch those eyes at all. ] How pissed do you think Noah would've been if someone stole his boat?