ooc:
Her own dismay sounded like a fickle thing when compared to the severity of the words that left her friend’s lips. War. Though her very title among the Nomad was derived from this word, it still coursed a chill down her spine when uttered alone. She had only the tales of war to go by, the travesties of battle that left many scarred and wounded mentally, physically, emotionally. Her favor towards the wolf despising pack was nil at best save for the female within her embrace, but the horrors of what she had heard followed war…she wished upon none.
And it was with this confession that the woman truly noticed the beads around her beloved friend’s neck and how much pain it caused her. But it was a different kind of pain, one that simply removing the rosary would not alleviate. A burden of responsibility was not easily lifted. “At war with whom?”
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