Bending over the lip of the divot, she observes Garrus' businesslike handling of the situation. It probably won't work on such young kids, not human kids at least, but damn she does appreciate the way he simply gets on with it.

"Pass 'em up here," She calls down, and sniffs again, trying to stem the lingering nosebleed by sheer will, with uncertain success, "We need to get off this heap before something shifts."

The rest of the afternoon goes just like that; tragedy and hope hand in hand. The dog leads them somewhere, gets a snack, and stands by while they drag people in whole or part, or their bodies, out from under the damaged and collapsed structures of Libertas. It's an ugly scene, marred by soot and screaming ambiance, but as futile as the work can seem, it's still satisfying to her. They can't save everyone, can't even save all that many, but these children will get to live, that woman will be able to save her family, this father given a dignified burial.

By the time the sun it tilting towards the horizon, the army wants its dog back and Shepard... is tired. It's more biotic work than she's done in months, and strenuous even by those standards; she passes off the hound to the relevant authorities and drops onto a bit of masonry immediately after.

It's warm under her, against the cooling air, and Shepard sighs at the empty waterskin. What she wouldn't do for a nice, hot shower.