Fresh air. The world may still be bigger and more open than she likes, but the smell of fresh air still feels wonderful, each and every time. (A little balance to dealing with horses; eighteen months later, Tess still maintains they stink.)

“I don’t mean in general,” she replies. “I mean, when we go get Abigail back, when you face Dutch… you’re solid?”

What’s to say she won’t lose her head, out in the real world, beyond the sterile and controlled environment of the barge?