Sawtooth Spire the art of war is of vital

a terrible fate for his first love, gracious could feel her heart weep for wintersbane as her eats gently fold back against her head. to lose love again and again, a heart could only do so much to mend itself, to keep itself together and beating. she couldn't imagine the pain he had to endure. "i'm so sorry..." her voice is low, quiet like a whisper. she knew love (little bits) and she certainly knew loss, but to have together entertwined -- an everlasting feeling of sadness, a pit with no end.

she stepped closer towards him, steps slow and drawn out. when she closed the distance, her muzzle aimed to gently brush against his cheek; a soft gesture that could speak more than her words. should he pull away, she'd swing her face back and let the space be there to exist between the two.  "love is a fickle thing," she said softly, "it can be easy for many, but so difficult for others. so many challenges and tests it puts us through."

"but giving up won't make everything better for you, wintersbane, everyone deserves love. and sometimes we just have to keep trying." she had little experience with the whole "love" ordeal, yet spoke as if she was a relationship guru. she had a knack for understanding others and trying to help, but sometimes she devled too deep into unknown territory. she wondered what the male would think.