Octavia hadn't made it very far, stumbling like she was. First because of trying to get her shoes on, then because of simply trying to keep moving on uneven, sandy terrain, in the dark, while tears clouded her vision and rolled down her cheeks.

This was what she got for trying to go into a big conversation half-cocked. As if she didn't know how these things went, as if she didn't know what she was like. Wasn't she proving at least some of their points by storming off?

But she'd been trying to hold something in and hold something together for most of the time they'd been on this island.

And whatever she'd been holding that together with had just given out.

... Much like one of her legs seemed to, right then, as her foot caught on something, and sent her toppling onto her knees in the sand.