[Seneca sees, in that moment, the kind of woman she'd like to be. Tough and serious and, most importantly, brave. This other woman's legs don't shake, and she doesn't whine or look like she's trying not to piss herself. Envy and admiration mingle in Seneca's throat, but she can't quite express them, only stare.]
We should go to a doctor. [Seneca's voice is still a whine; she hates it.] What if its blood is poison?
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We should go to a doctor. [Seneca's voice is still a whine; she hates it.] What if its blood is poison?