In the shadowed room, the little Ghost turns to watch each of them quietly as they speak, the light of his blue optic settling on Furiosa and staying there. Blaze scoops up the ammunition packs as she stands, passing them from one hand to the other as she too turns to listen. Stillness isn’t the enemy it used to be for her, but the need to fidget with her hands remains habitual.

“Doesn’t sound so bad, when you put it that way,” she says slowly, glowing eyes tracking over the woman’s face. “Like there’s some kind of balance. Might not be kind, but it’s… fair.” She offers Furiosa the ammunition. “I don’t think it works that way, though. Not out here. The way I’ve seen it, the night will take everything and everyone it can, if you let it. It won’t offer a hand to match what it robs from you. There’s no mercy in it. No fairness. If there’s to be any balance then it’s our job to make it.”

“We didn’t meet the Autumn spirit,” Ghost remarks softly, almost absent-mindedly, still watching. Blaze turns her gaze to him, frowning for a moment before she replies, a little less certain now.

“No. I don’t know about her. Maybe… hnh.” She shakes her head, looking back to Furiosa. “Guess I can’t argue there are natural laws in this place- heh. And maybe I’m not the person to talk about natural anyway. But what’s happening here wasn’t inevitable. I’m sure of that. I think Reynard made a choice to bring this down on us. And if it’s a choice, then he’s going to answer for it.”