Silence settles in the tent for a spell, as Beleth glances to the side, taking slow, measured breaths, and wondering if it would be worth it to burn this bridge. It's one of those times that she misses Sorrel more than ever, and his sharp tongue. He wouldn't hesitate.

"You have been away from the clan just as long as me, Pel, so surely it has not escaped your notice, just how half-bloods are treated, from elves and humans alike. So yes, at least it's an elf, because no one will think you're your own child's nursemaid, or realize the situation and hate the both of you for it. But by all means, if that sounds pleasant to you, go for it. And while you're at it, continue to put words in my mouth, and assume thoughts I have never had. I've never called, nor made any overtones that either you or your child were pathetic. If you've assumed that, then it is a failing on your part, and your assumptions of me. If you came here to lecture me about what a terrible person I am, because I had to gall to develop feelings for someone, and contemplate that maybe I was wrong--something that happened after you told me of your pregnancy, by the way, if you'd bothered to listen to me--then you are wasting your time. But if that is the story that you wish to tell everyone about me, I can hardly stop you."

She calmly turns back to Pel, fingers laced together on her lap. "But have the common courtesy to get out of my tent before you do."

With that, she turns her attention to examining her hands. The implication isn't particularly subtle.