Beleth is quiet for a long time. Not because she doesn't know what to say, but because...she's not sure if she wants to say it. But at the same time, the worries that have been crowding in her head for a year are desperate to come out, to be known to someone--whether she's validated or villified.

"When gardening, you pluck dead leaves off of flowers, to keep them healthy," She murmurs, now staring intently at her hands, clasped in her lap. "I wonder if we are the dead leaves. That the Keeper knew this would happen when she let us go." After all, the majority of them were troublemakers, or loose ends. People who were already overeager to interact with shemlen. Beleth wasn't sure what she had done--but she'd asked. Maybe that was enough. Her hands unclasp, so her fingers could dig into the leather of her pants.

"...Even so. It's frustrating to watch."