Blacktail Deer Plateau & they will hang us in the louvre

’Yes.’
 
A surprising statement, if he was to be honest. This did not reflect in his expression, but instead the large mountain of a wolf nodded his head and murmured a soft, “hmm.” It was good that she had found her young, if only for the peace that it would bring to her sanity. No doubt she was still reeling from the original loss, but she seemed to have come a long way in the time that had drawn out between their first meeting and the one they had in that moment. If her child was mending, there was certainly still a reason for her grief. To have powered through was a sign of some strength, he could not deny this.
 
A moment of silence hung between them before her query. When it fell from her inky lips, it was a force of nature that drew Guildenstern’s ghostly vision upward, latching onto her narrow features. He regarded her with a stern expression for the longest time. Never before had someone summoned the strength or the curiosity to ask him such a thing. The knight thought it odd, but he would not deny her a response.
 
“There is no joy in such work,” his baritone was clean and crisp against the summer breeze. “But there cannot be room for hate, either.” It was a challenging edge to find oneself on. Of course, his entire life had been built around the idea of killing to spare himself, and it was only in his adulthood that he had found a different reason for the bloodshed. If the reward was good enough, there was no line that he could draw. Guildenstern had forged himself into just that – a sellfang – and he was not doing himself or his client any favors by allowing emotion to trifle with his work.
 
Had he ever truly felt one way or another for the actions that he took?
 
“You haven’t had to kill, then?”