No bedlam, just a bit of wistful nostalgia, perhaps. She shakes it off and digs into her pockets, then her pack. Pulling out a hairbrush, she picks through the strands with a squinted eye, and pulls out a couple that are longer and darker than her own short white-blond curls. These she offers to Zane.
"I ask her not to use my hairbrush, but this time of year she'll just lose her own under a pile of clothes or something, and my stuff is fair game." A fond smile.