[ There's an implicit understanding, and Lauralae wonders how much of that stems from their natures (monstrous, as Matt called them, but in title if not in action, something more under their skin that offers them more than the horrors they are assumed to be) and how much of it might be from their places as companions in the same world. There is a unique bond that stems from that, and she does not wish to question it too far, fearing shattering it.

She has never been proficient at keeping friends. She does not wish to be proficient at losing them as well.

Making her way over, Lauralae begins to take some of the sheets and blankets, trying to mould a nest-like tent out of them as she listens to her friend speak. ]

I hated it. I grew up well, so the forest was strange to me, at first, but I find it better. There are no expectations, nothing except the world around. It was pleasant, for me, after everything.

[ And it meant less risk for herself, since all those she had befriended had been taken from her. Blood coated her hands.

Glancing at Astarion, hesitating over the blankets, she worries her lip before she sighs. ]

It has been... Perhaps eighty years. I may have lost count of the time.