 Crying is so strange to her. Foreign. She has never once shed tears that curled their way down her furred cheeks to relieve any sort of burden. The only time she has known such betrayal and pain she had eased her rage with bloodlust. Had clamped her thick teeth down on the veins and neck bones of the male who had caused it and watched as his eyes faded into nothing, as his soul fled his body reluctantly. She hadn't felt relief or happiness, only better. Better knowing that he had got what he deserved. She had not wept for her lost innocence, the only sort of innocence that could be physically taken from her, she had merely done what she could to rectify the situation. She sees the surprise on his face at her suggestion and it makes her ears perk up. This male thought fighting back was weird, she thinks, but then he speaks and she cannot help the way she smiles at him and finally she presses her haunches into the ground. No need to make the upset boy worry about her presence and view of vengeance. "Well, there is no shame in knowing one's capabilities. Some are fighters and some are not. Yet you still should prepare for a day in case the fight comes to you. You might not choose to fight but if another choose to attack you like they did your mother then you cannot simply tell them you don't want it. They won't listen. When you go back to Glorall you should consider asking for some training." Aithne's words are wise and friendly advice. In this moment she has decided to not try and lure him back to Iromar. Tristan would not fit in with the swamp wolves. Some of them might eat him alive if he wasn't willing to fight back and Aithne felt pity for this boy. A I T H N E Fallen for the fear and done some disappearing; bow down to the mighty _______________________ |