The memory of that long day with the clones feels, when she's headachy and poorly focused, like something that had happened to her. And it hadn't bothered her when a clone, crying and terrified and completely non-hostile, had been descended on by a mob of clones of her and her brother. "There's more where she came from. Dozens... they have fifteen vats set up for me."

You too, she almost says, but... no, that wasn't Fe. Nat reaches a hand up in a clear request to be helped up. Then, as her danger sense spikes, she shoves at him and pushes or pulls herself, helped by the vast and patient new feeling. It's enough that the bloodied sword that hits point-first only hits the ground.

Up where Nat's doppleganger had fallen the fire is consuming a pool of gasoline violently enough that it's hard to tell if anyone is there - but the hammered-gold softball bat is gone. Nat can't feel danger or that dread-feeling anymore. She closes her eyes, suddenly wanting nothing more than to go to sleep. "Damn it, we're going to have to keep an eye out for her, aren't we..."