There are some strange pauses in his answers, the way he leaves gaps between the words. Even with this thing following her, Nat can't turn off the part of her mind that's always analyzing, always considering, filing things away for later, and this very much seems like a thing that should be thought about. Later, of course. After this thing is gone.

Or maybe before that, she thinks, and there's a thickening of the suspicion in her mind that she carefully keeps from her face with the ease of long practice. Easier, even with his assumption that she had anything to do with it. She knows what's expected of that kind of accusation. "It got separated from its herd," she says with a toss of her head, annoyance leaking through. "Got tangled in a raspberry bush. I was just trying to get him out before he started bleeding all over perfectly good berries." It's a lie, of course. But she's a very good liar. And his follow-up question earns him a look that isn't at all a lie.

"No, I've decided to adopt him, bring him home to live in my backyard. I think I'll call him Phil."