"I get that." She does. There's a hint of nostalgia in her own voice. Longing. An empty place where those things once fit. She lets her gaze sweep around the tent's interior, almost as if she could see what the other woman would picture that as. "Sometimes they can change shape, though. Take on a new one, in unexpected ways. Family. Home."

Hers had. And she's grateful for them.

But that's also a sad topic all on it's own these days and Natasha didn't come here with that in mind. Instead, she gives the tightrope a speculative look again. "Think you could teach someone how to do that?"