She remembers, in the stables, how he backed off when she snapped at him about changing who she was. It's not much different, here. A favor for a favor. Now that she knows where his actual shoulder is, her fingers worm beneath the pauldron to tap him lightly.

"You know your own heart best," she says. She's not sure it's true, because she certainly doesn't know hers so well, but she's in no place to think she knows better, is she?

"Look at us, all stitched up." Now she pats his pauldron, his new shoulder, reformed. "And in record time."