Whitefish River Old Friends, New Tragedies

As Connor went on, the paladin thought about his answer - if he had an answer. How would I know? How would he know? I feel like myself. Somewhat, he couldn't tell if he was any different than he was from before. He took every day one day at a time, every event at the moment, surely they all had a part to play int he grand scheme of things when it came to the great book of Rosencrantz's life - but he wasn't aware of what played a bigger part the other.

Surely this would be the exception. Maybe it was denial. Perhaps he didn't want to think about what kind of other scars it had left upon him this whole ordeal - the new distrust he had in others in a time of need. 

It happened, there's nothing I can do if it did have an impact on my psyche. They continued on their path toward the borders, every now and then if Connor continued to try and mark the lands, Rose would wait and walk on once the cinnamon man was ready. Every step brought him closer to home. Although, I can't help but wonder what they would think of me when I return. What would the pack think of him, his new face once they see it? Would they shriek in terror like the others?