Her gaze travels up those distant mountains, and back down to the cold ground beneath her; to the cold man at her side, who is and is not a stranger. The darkest parts of old familiarity, and her still off-balance, still finding her footing from moment to moment as to in what moment, precisely, she is.

"Why have we come here?"

A concession, in choosing that question above many others - above repeating the one he did not answer. We is not concession so much as hope that feels vain; wrapping her hands around what once made sense and willing it to do so again. In her last gasps he had been apart from her in a way she'd been blind to until it was too late; she needs to believe he has brought her back for something other than what drove him then.