Hideaway Strath in the old days, there was enough

She manages to keep a tight rein on her sudden flare of anxiety, despite the fact that she is clearly nervous. She gives him an apologetic smile, "I vant to get better. I do nae know 'ow exactly I should do zat though." So far, the ashen seelie had been winging it -- surviving off the 'fake it 'til you make it' theology. "I'm sorry, it is just 'ard to speak of such things."

"I vas born a slave," she admitted, "an' I remained a slave for many years." The admonission comes easily enough -- no more than a simple fact. Detached. Devoid. But she scuffs a paw a little awkwardly again as the next string of words comes: "As ye can probably imagine, such a life is not one filled vith kindness. I 'ave seen an' suffered too many traumas to count." 

"Do ye know 'ow...vhat I should do about...vell, about any of it?" She had not given him much to work with, this was true. But honestly, the once-druid didn't know where to start. She would openly answer any questions he had but even she was at a loss of how to start working through all the fucked-up things in her past.