"Lived," she corrects absently, watching the sky warily before chancing another glance over at him. "And I'm not afraid of anything."

This statement might be contradicted by the quiet squeak that makes it's way out of her throat - she had been hidden rather neatly inside her room for the last lightning hunt - and she looks very sorely tempted to retreat back there.

It's unfortunate, perhaps, that she's far too stubborn for any sort of retreating.

"It - it's just loud," she states, trying to convince herself more than anything. "Storm clouds are just loud and rude."