['This.'

She knows precisely of what he speaks, and she can hear Anduin in him. It's agitating. This interest in the lives of others. This interest in the living, period. Perhaps that is to be expected from someone between the living and the dead, incapable of feeling much aside from agony and an ever boiling anger.

The Banshee Queen may differ from her Forsaken, for certainly not all of them are as obsessive as she can be. Or twisted, for that matter.]

Is it not? Cowardice does not become you.

[Sylvanas strafes carefully, keen attention only parting from him for some moments to take in their surroundings. She is surveying, examining in's and out's, turning over the possibilities that can trespass between them. All it takes is one of them to lose their cool. All it takes is one thing to break that precarious balance. She must always consider the possibilities and the consequences.

And to have an escape route if retreat should be necessary. There is no pride in such things, but survival is paramout. There are no Val'kyr here to save her.]

Or could it be that you have grown attached to these unfortunate misfits. How like you. [A pause.] Sympathiser.