Duck Lake a game you're gonna lose

His prior words were ominous enough that Kipling did, for a moment, second-guess herself though she'd been quick to brush it off. There were more troubling things on her mind than fictional monsters prowling the night. The prying stranger pressed for a clear answer to her meaning and she was reluctant to find it. She'd lost motivation for many things, she didn't want to admit that perhaps she'd also lost her passion for living as well. I don't know what I'm living for. The loner settled, content to leave the question with that answer alone. His other questions seemed to be the obvious remedy to her ailment yet she shook her head, still unable to gaze up and meet his eyes. Her anxiousness must have been obvious at that point, there was no way for her to hide it. The topic at hand made her feel vulnerable, and despite wanting to covering up and sweep her heap of troubles out of sight the Viking's gentle insistence had tore a hole in an otherwise thin bag. I'm not very good at anything really. She admitted, And I'm old enough that... I don't think any pack would find me acceptable.