Freyja watches the slave girl's trance-like recitation with the cold calculation with which one might regard a letter of import, then stands, regarding the female's collapse with as much regard.  "Pick her up," she says to the male.  "She's been through something you'll never understand."  She takes a step closer to him, speaking placidly but with fire in her eyes.  "Treat her gently and tell me of anything else she ch... says in one of these states."  She then latches the door, placing her back against it and breathing a deep sigh through her nostrils.<br/><br/>It's a while before she speaks again, and she does so with a low tone of caution and certainty.  "Cults."  She eyes Atal for a moment.  "More on this later."  She steps closer to the prone man.  "He will hurt you if you do not explain.  You have twenty words with which to do so."<br/><br/>She lifts one of the laces from her shirt, idly fingering the soft, tough cord, then begins to wrap it around the flat of her hand.  "Don't try to count them... merely say it in as little as possible."  She snaps the cord taut, apparently satisfied with its strength.  "Begin."