a caustic, fleeting thing

The formality of Seer (sir)'s tone confused her at first, but it only took Hazel a moment to figure things out. A grin colored her expression, and then a faux-formal seriousness. In this, and in all things, she was grateful for the Warlord. Straightening her posture as much as her cramped muscles would allow, Hazel gave a regal nod. "It would be an honor and a privilege," barely stifling the giggle that came with the words. In honesty, it made Hazel feel more herself than she had in weeks. After all, what's a little rule bending to help her feel better?

"Where do you want to go?" She started toward the door to the den, turning to peer at Seer over her shoulder. Some things had changed, but there were so many that had stayed the same, too. For that, she was grateful.
"Speech"