Silverlight Terrace if you were on fire, i'd roast marshmallows

Whether it was due to the pride in the girl’s smile or the passion in her declaration, Cypress came to know a begrudging respect for Rose. If he, Shrike, or Allure had been trained in medicine, perhaps Eshe and Scimitar could have been saved. Perhaps they’d be alive now. “That’s real good,” he said, the first tendrils of respect sending fissures of honest warmth through his brittle baritenor. “You can help a lot of wolves with a skill like that.” For a moment, the eidolon almost considered it — if she can learn it, can’t I? — but the notion was short-lived. He wasn’t a fixer. He’d proven that time and time again. The best he could do was try to break the opposition before it got close enough to break his family. Cypress was an infantryman, made to fight and die on the front lines. On that note, he wasn’t a great conversationalist either — and with that thought, he turned his attention to Rannoch with a meaningful look. He didn’t know what to say.