Roland half-smiled, a thin, bitter thing that was little more than a twitch. He didn't think her cooking was that terrible. She was certainly no chef, but he'd eaten far worse on the trail and been grateful for it; he wasn't about to complain. But she was right, it was anticlimactic, and felt discordantly everyday. Then again, he knew as well as anyone that life didn't stop just because you were hurting. So he nodded, getting to his feet to head into the kitchen.

"If I go after him, he'll blacken my eye and refuse to listen," he said, with some certainty. "He's left because he's afraid of what he'll do if he stays. When he's regained himself, he'll come back. Until then..." He shrugged. "He has his guns and his training, and by the looks of things, he's not injured. I wouldn't worry overmuch." As if there wasn't that nagging fear at the back of his mind that ka might have another twist in the tale.