[ Search for her dead. Will she? She peers down, weighing the rock in her hand. It feels different than the explosives, rough where they are smooth, heavy in a way they are not. But there's no urgency to use them, not when the siege seems manageable for now. She could, she knows, lighten up on practicing her aim. She hesitates, not yet throwing the next rock. ]

Will it help? [ Her or the victims or the world itself, she isn't sure. Death lingers in these walls, so close to the living; will rites help them pass, never to be dragged back to this world? ] Did you do that in your war? [ Her voice sharper than intended, but she drops the rock back to the small pile she'd collected at her feet. Her fingers flex, dirt and charcoal on them. ]

Some burns. Nothing incurable. Hopefully a skill I will never need again.

[ But who knows, the way this world has been. ]