Susan gives her a sharper look, assessing. At her feet, the grasshopper leaps from the jar; she leaves both behind and moves a step or two closer. "It needn't be," she says, once she's close enough to see the tear-tracks on this woman's cheeks; there have been any number of times that Susan has bitten the proverbial head off anyone who's tried to placate her in her grief. "What's wrong?"