Illyria shoots the loud thing a look of clear, bewildered derision. It is making a great deal of aggrieved noises for something that has just had its life saved many times over. How can it not be aware of its plight? Perhaps it has not, as Spike would say, 'gotten its memos.'

"The city is in Hell," she says shortly. "As it has been for some time. How could one such as you have lasted so long without knowing?"

The thing landed awkwardly, she can see by its injuries. But each wound is superficial and thus they must continue on. She seizes it again by the arm and pulls it to its feet and resumes dragging it behind her.