"Some, some people have to do harms or, or worse things happen. It's not always a, a choice." Not entirely true, but. Sometimes the other option is so terrible, so unconscionable that there might as well not be an option at all.
It's a difficult argument to have, for all that it's conducted in quiet voices, respectful of the Rememdium's other occupants who've no wish nor need to hear it. He leans further into her side, accepting that sisterly hug even as he grins and colours a little at her praise, her faith in him, and her words about his ma.
His question and her explanation bring further tension to their talk, however, and he listens closely, thin fingers seeking her hand to hold in quiet reassurance, solidarity. She understands, he realises, she knows what he means by or worse things happen. Her grip upon his shoulder is fierce, and he winces and shifts under her hand to relieve that pressure, though he stops short of pushing her away. She will realise, she will stop, it will be fine.
A glance for her gloved hand, with its hidden transition from dark skin to gleaming silver. A glance to his own hands, spidery by comparison, bearing different callouses from different work. He still has both of his, for all that he's nearly perpetrated a similarly desperate act. Nearly. Perhaps that's the difference. "You, you had to. If he, if he threatend you he can't have, have been all that holy." No matter what they said. The boy knows the difference between good and bad, and holy is just a special sort of good. A squeeze for her hand - whatever she's done before, it doesn't matter to him.
The change of topic is welcome, however, and he nods readily at her request. "They, the parents - they come down for, for food. The babies'll be, be flying soon, I reckon, too. I, I'm excited for it." Grinning again, weightier matters gladly dropped for now.