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[center][h2][color=82ca9d]Grace O'Faolain[/color][/h2][/center]
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	It was in that moment, while those not involved with Emmett’s outburst remained standing on the outskirts of arm’s length from Othen and Emmett, did Cillian step forward, like the dark northern isle of a divine entity he was. For a split second, their eyes locked onto to one another, and all she could manage was to nod her vigorously, his intervention would quell the dispute, surely. She did her best to conceal the horror she felt within, as her heart took a nose-dive into the pit of her stomach, just like plunging off a cliff straight into the sea. She knew his lie contradicted the one she had told Othen, as [i]she[/i] had found the flower, not Cillian. But who was to say that Cillian didn’t find a flower in Emmett’s leather bag earlier in the evening when they had all retired for bed, and then she another after confronting him when she went to relieve herself? Come what may, the sensation that he would do anything to direct the blame away from Grace for concealing this fact, calmed and at the same time mortified her. They were stranded out here in the desert, sure she had a replenished water skein that Rook gave her, and she had a map to guide her out of the Badlands, but the idea of losing the opportunity, the glory accompanied with locating the Palm made her feel sick. Glancing nervously to Floure, she wasn’t sure if any of them would rat her out. While she doubted the trust-worthiness of the group, Othen, Emmett and Floure, from the events that transpired last night, it did make some sense for the tall tale that Cillian had spun.

	Her lips were pursed together in a thin line of worry as she viewed the unfolding scene with skepticism. While she cared little more for the lie, she felt more concern with Rook. How would he react to the news that Emmett was using the Desert Flower, casting the entire company into jeopardy? Regardless of what they all said, it was the [i]truth[/i] that the boy consumed the flower. As Cillian had mentioned, not only from Emmett’s frenzied antics, but his body was exhibiting unquestionable signs that he was indeed, dependent on the flower. 

	With the lack of sleep, she had slept for a rough estimate of five hours or less before waking again to the breaking dawn on the eastern horizon, Grace had relished in the quiet moments of the morning, as most had not stirred from their sleep. It was when Emmett arose with his sling dangling from his hands, did she start to question withholding the flower from him, even then, his eyes were strained, darted to and fro, checking to see if anyone would notice his disappearance. Most importantly, she wished that the group would see some sense in having Emmett sober up, after all, if they relented, and continued to have him abuse the flower as he has, it would end in tragedy for the sake of the mission. She waited patiently under the heat of the morning sun for an answer, from anyone to break the silence that had fallen over the landscape, and strange it was, as there were no other sounds that echoed across the derelict land; no sounds of life, nor civilization. They were truly in the middle of nowhere. Her brows furrowed together like a tight knitted shawl, the shade from her felt-wool hat shielded her eyes from the harsh rays of sunlight as she planted her hands square upon her hips.