"And this is what I am," she counters, her tone still fierce. There are things far worse than death, in her experience. And she faces them, grinds them back into the dust, binds them in the palm of her hand and sends them back into the abyss.

"Don't waste your time worrying about me." Her tone gentles somewhat. "And if you need to worry, then, know that I was born to a mother just as you were."

That she can walk between the rain drops (and bullets) is completely incidental to that fact.