"It can all be mended," Greta reassures Saoirse, trying to smooth some of the pain out of her own expression, now that it's in clearer view. "Me and the dress." There's something utterly heartbreaking about the way the lass tries to help, dabbing at the mess with the pristine white fur of her coat. Greta's still hesitant to put her bloody hand anywhere near her, but the back of her palm is still clean. She lifts it to Saoirse's cheek, gently brushing some of her tears away, wishing she could do more.

Billy's suggestion earns him a sharp look. "Of course she's coming with us," she says shortly, frowning at Frank as if he might just take off with her. Saoirse seems comfortable enough with him, but that's not saying much; the lass has always been trusting to a fault. At any rate, she doesn't think Saoirse would appreciate being taken away, and she doesn't want her to think it a likelihood.