Lake Rodney Kill Wanheda, and you command death.

Before the discovery of the Fisa's corpse, before being touched by war at a tender age, Dacio had been a delicate creature. Every bit his mother's son, life had found a way to forge him into something cold, something far darker than he'd ever anticipated. He knew from infancy that his purpose was to be Gona, that he was to die for Heda if she willed it of him, and it'd all sounded so glorious back then.

Dacio had given everything he had to Drageda. He trained to the best of his ability, strived to grow and learn every day, yet nothing could've prepared him for the nightmare that had been Rusalka's raid on the cliffs. But what had Drageda done for him in return for that loyalty? It fell apart, splintered, robbed him of his mother. Yet still he longed for its return, for the normality of it all.

It did bother him a little to observe that Eske had seemingly groomed this cub to believe she was a true Fos Goufa despite the shedding of her surname, yet in some small way he understood. Praimfaya had no claim to any title but the daughter of a deserter... but was it fair to dub her as natrona too? Dacio frowned deeply, looking down at this apparent Wanheda and knew right at the heart of him that the commander would likely expect him to kill her - purely for her association to those who abandoned their kin.

But Dacio was tired of it all. His expression changed at the news of the girl's loss, brow softening as he suddenly felt... something. Pity? Probably. Regret? Whatever it was, he felt the familiar pang of sorrow to hear that the warrior wolfess had fallen, and he mused how he and Praimfaya both shared such a misfortune.

"I am sorry to hear that her fight is over," he voiced, and chose a gentler approach to a child who was without her mother, "though I'm sure you'll agree that there is no greater way to go, sha? Wanheda is quite a title."