Kildeer Rest bury the hatchet; bury a friend

she accepts his words, she ought to have expected such from a pack that ousted it's most powerful and thought to cull its young. perhaps she ought to have asked more of how they'd come to fall, of those she remembered, but found she did not care is the least. there is some closure in knowing it's dark stain to be gone - as much as it is possible to be - and she turns her attention more fully to the man. 

her gaze is light; settled on him but not piercing in its focus. she sifts through his words with utmost care, however, repeating the foreign word in her thoughts, the way he says passed instead of died. perhaps they mean nothing, simply learned patterns of speech, but it has aided her in the past to think that these choices, intricacies, have some meaning. loved, he says, but she's never known it; only lust and infatuation and longing for the touch of another. "a better purpose, then." the man is interesting enough, but she sated and wishes to find some quiet place to clean the blood from her fur.  "good luck." if the man's group is strong, perhaps she'll find it here again, if she's wanting. with that, she rises and heads east.