Golden Glade metanoia

Nico chuckled softly, "You'll be surprised to know how many soldiers can't adjust to civilian life and prefer the battlefield," he said with a smile, although there was a trace of sadness lingering in his voice. He didn't know if he was one of those men, but with time, he began to suspect that he missed fighting and it scared him to bits, though he would rather die than admit that. After all, who would like to say they were scared that they were addicted to fighting and danger? It was simply a theory that mere civilian wolves did not understand and he did not want to spend a long time explaining just for the result to be even more confusion. So he kept things vague; it was better that way.

Nico paused and looked at her, a look of confusion flitting across his face as he considered her question. He pawed at the ground, rubbing his scent onto the borders as he thought. "I don't know," he admitted honestly, exhaling quietly and lifting a shoulder in a shrug. "I don't have much of a plan anymore."