Clarisse gathers the cloak on her lap, slips it over her arms and chest and holds it there, still warm from Ellie wearing it and smelling like her. It helps, and the two of them go quiet while Ellie works on the stitches.

Then Ellie asks that, and she doesn't know what to say. Has to fight not to tense up or move and fuck up Ellie's stitches. Her fingers curl into the fabric of Ellie's cloak.

"Pissed," is what she settles on, and it sounds bitter.

She gets why Ellie's asking, and why it's probably on her mind more than anyone else's right now. But still.