She squeezed his hand, then rubbed her thumb against his skin, slow and soothing in its repetitiveness. Gannicus would have to be contrite. He would never purposefully hurt Krem, of that Hild was sure. But worried over the exact words that needed to be said, the expression of feeling to smooth this over and fix it. Her words were not enough, at times, to carry a prophecy. It needed the tone, the setting, the dressing up to make it mean something.

"You can be angry," Hild said in an agreeable tone. Her lips moved into a slight smirk, her cheek twitching against the top of his head. "We can wrestle," she volunteered. "As in fight club."