It's not fine, and they both know it, but she accepts it -- in the end they have to move on. Have to process and keep going. It's how things are; they don't get to stop for a break to let things heal over.

But this is nice.

Ellie grows slowly more clear as they watch, clothes less frayed, bloodstains disappearing. Less starved and haunted and wounded. The scars heal over, and it settles into something else. Flannel and a rifle. The smallest two fingers on her left hand missing.

She still doesn't look well, but it's at least more stable.

"... your brother?" she asks, her voice quiet. It's a guess, but she felt what he felt. What she was projecting had twisted itself, burrowed into his closest bonds to make sure it all made some modicum of sense.