The grip on her hand and that little concession are a pleasant surprise. Perhaps this means Iman's coming back to herself, if only by degrees. Or perhaps she's just making a particular effort in response to Greta's own unsteadiness, held largely but not entirely at bay. Either way, it's encouraging. Greta doesn't have enough poise to regret losing it for a good cause, and the steady run of Iman's thumb over her knuckles is relaxing.

"It has a little ways to go, yet." She gives her friend's shoulder a gentle rub. For all that Iman had said she didn't want to sleep, she seems close to nodding off. "Why don't you have that lie-down? The bread's not going anywhere." If Iman dozes off, that's fine, and if she manages to stay awake long enough to eat, so much the better. So long as sleeping and eating both happen, Greta doesn't much care about the order in which they occur. "And neither am I," she adds with a faint, reassuring smile and a gentle squeeze of Iman's hand.