"A man in black will be by to collect the money you owe the organization." The Claymore looked impassive, even with the dust and youma gore still on her. When you were half-monster, and devoted to killing things, the blacksmith thought, it stopped meaning something.
To be sure the witch was leaving, the blacksmith tailed her to the gate. She didn't seem to care; she just kept walking. Except at the south plaza, where a former mayor had planted some flowers and a statue of Teresa and Claire.
The Claymore stopped, gazing up at the statue. As the blacksmith approached her, no illusions about what would happen if she was causing trouble, she snapped the stem of the first rose of spring, and laid it on the statue's base. Then she continued walking.
The blacksmith found that almost as unsetting as watching her fight. Monsters fought monsters; they didn't leave flowers to statues. It made him think uncomfortably of his own twin girls, kept safely inside by their mother while monsters roamed the streets, and wonder if maybe the silver-eyed witch had once been someone tiny and human.