[She regrets her question as soon as she asks it; she should be better than this. It's none of her kriffing business, but something has happened to him and he's her friend, has been her friend for a very long time. Whether she's dead or not. She worries (never mind that she would never say that aloud to anyone, least of all him, and half the time won't admit it to herself). Her stomach turns at what she senses from him. At his words.
He died.
Kriff, he died. This time she doesn't falter in her touching of him, her hand curling gently around his forearm in apology, blue eyes both haunted and horrified.]
[Action]
He died.
Kriff, he died. This time she doesn't falter in her touching of him, her hand curling gently around his forearm in apology, blue eyes both haunted and horrified.]