The poor little girl, who had been so close to becoming just another statistic in the Dark World, hadn't spoken at all. She was in a state of shock so deep she was practically catatonic. None of the healing witches had managed to get a peep out of her. She'd relented, without resistance, to be bathed and cleaned and dressed, and numbly accepted soup that was hand-fed to her. But she hadn't said a word or moved at all, other than to close her eyes to sleep, only to open them again with petrified reluctance when the time came.