"Oh, yes. I suppose," Helen agrees, her black-within-black eyes reflecting the Nix's figure in their depths, "but like most acts of reclamation it's really about survival." She smiles at Ava's admission of an affinity for her writing, but stays silent on that score. She's often wondered if her words called out to other Lost and whether that was because of a shared trauma, or if it is something altogether more masochistic. After all, she'd learned to play with cadence and sound in her own, bizarre, way at the hands of the Others. Does that mean that her poetry speaks to some secret longing for her own captivity, and by extension the captivity suffered by other Changelings? It's not a question she feels comfortable broaching at the moment.
Ava's own concerns about her behavior and patterns draws a sympathetic nod from Author, "Limits are/what any of us/is inside of," she intones. "Charles Olson wrote that. And it's the truth." She pauses, the force of her attention on the Nix almost palpable. "I guess what I'm saying is: you can't avoid the patterns. I'm not even sure if you should. It's about recognizing them, analyzing them, figuring them out. That doesn't mean you'll earn your freedom, but it will help you in the one great task we're all involved with: to 'Know Thyself.' That's where intention comes in, after reflection. Without the latter, the former accomplishes very little."
Helen laughs, it is a clear sound, even if a touch of the bittersweet creeps in. "Not much of a consolation, right? Still, it's our business. Keeps us human." For what it's worth... "But let me ask you this: if you could act more 'intentionally' what would you do? How would you change?"