"Dan," her voice breaks on his name. "Packs are-- They're--" she takes a moment to steady herself.

"They're a connection of the spirit-- of the soul. We exist in each others minds as well as our own. We're individuals, but we're also more. It's-- it's--

"There are parts of me missing. I can feel the wound. I can feel where those parts are supposed to be," she looks down at her own hands. Missing isn't quite the right word. It doesn't accurately convey the violence of the act.

"The Green tore my pack out of me."

Her hands clench into fists as she again bursts into tears.