She does as bid, moving on closer to take a perch at the other end of the couch, vaguely grateful to be off her feet again but, more importantly, somewhere safe. The house, mainly, but Wolfgang is certainly that, whether its his manner or the fact she isn't unconvinced he could magically rip apart anything that needed it. Up close, she doesn't appear to be hurt, just weary to the point of her movements become loose, heavy. She rubs along her eye socket with the tips of her fingers.

"I kept out of their way," she says, an assurance, hands folding in her lap. "They were after, um. Other people, they arrested them, but they-- with concrete and horses, sectioned off this big area. We-- the woman I was tutoring, her daughter, we waited it out for a while. They had firearms, so it was hard to do much -- some people were hurt but I don't know what happened."