Abby's lip curls at the corner in something that is not a smile, but isn't unamused either. It's just interesting because, "We have that in common." And the way that River speaks, that slip into the third person, makes it sound like she's talking about Abby, but to her face. It's unnerving, but she supposes she'll get used to it.

Anyway, she's properly awake now. Their shared room is very humble, and there's not much to see by the sunlight weakly poking through the shutters. She has no idea what time it is, but the sun rises a little earlier every morning in testimony to the lengthening of the days.

Wags looks like he may go back to sleep on his side at the foot of River's bed. Well that's nice for him. Abby stretches, wincing through the residual ache in her shoulder from yesterday's training. "Have you always had bad dreams?"

Oh uhhh–

Actually, she gets it. Especially the notion to curl up and scream. She thinks stuff like that all the time, the only difference is River actually acting on the impulse. Wags whines, adding a mournful wail to the sound which Abby grimaces through. She isn't entirely sure what to do save for calling the dog and settling him again. He probably needs to go out anyway, but she doesn't want to leave River here, upset and alone with her thoughts.

Once the screaming has paused, she gets her suggestion in quick before it can start up again. "Come for a walk with me."

Might help get her mind off it all?

Truth be told Abby's just glad the screaming has stopped, because she's awkward, and her hands aren't used to being gentle even though her heart is (more or less) in the right place. She wants to help, and this is the best way that she knows how to. And the undressing doesn't bother her either. She grew up having to share living spaces with other people. Your eyes glaze over quick.

In fact, she joins her, tugging off her shirt so she can put her bra on underneath of it. It's the one that came through the Rift with her and it's started pulling out of shape, wearing thin across the band, but it's the only one she has; she's also used to wearing her clothes to death.

She finds her braid fuzzy and loosening, when she fishes it out of the neck of her shirt. Whatever. She'll redo it later, maybe after a bath.

"Walks," she tells the dog, who barks in response, but only once. He knows exactly what he can get away with. Abby grimaces at the noise and rubs the back of her neck, shoving her feet into her boots. "Wanna steal some breakfast from the mess hall and take it with us?"