Besca’s face lit up when she saw Quinn. The girl looked—well, she didn’t look [i]great[/i], but she hadn’t woken up screaming, which, in her book, was definitive progress. Her eyes were still tear-swelled, her feet still needed some time to finish healing, but, baby steps. 

“[color=gray]Morning, Quinn![/color]” She set the pan aside, turned the stove down, and scooped a small bag from the counter. Coming around, she held it out to her. “[color=gray]There weren’t a lot of things in your size, but I found some of Dahlia’s old stuff from when she was your age. She’s never been much for fashion, but she always knew how to pick out the most comfortable stuff. Here, all yours. Go ahead and change, I’ll set you up a plate.[/color]”

The bag wasn’t particularly heavy, there wasn’t much in it. A pair of bright salmon-colored pants, a pair of sweats, a small stack of cozy looking shirts, and some socks with the Hovvi flag on them, like you’d buy at an airport or a gas station. 

“[color=gray]And, ah,[/color]” she knelt down, lowered her voice. “[color=gray]Thank you, Quinn. For going in there. For being with her. She’s hardly spoken a word all week, even to me, and…I know she’s not okay. I know neither of you are okay right now, but it’s a good thing that you were there for each other.[/color]”

Besca ran a hand through Quinn’s hair, stroked her thumb across her cheek. “[color=gray]Whatever you think, whatever you're afraid of…she’s glad you’re alive. So am I.[/color]”