Sun Mote Copse I could lie and say it isn't personal

The conversation had gone from light and airy, childish curiosities about past lives that quickly spiraled into something that made Wren stop short, eyes flashing wide open and face instantly dropping into a ghostly frown.

I'm sorry.

Those simple two words hit her like a giant sack of bricks, a crushing weight that consumed her all too quickly and brought a ringing to her ears. She couldn't breathe for a moment, having gone completely silent aside from a momentary, desperate gulp for air, followed by a quick exhale. She physically shook herself off, as if that would erase the disgusting feeling that was now creeping up her veins and into her bones. The idea that someone had to apologize to her for having been born into such a pitiful situation - or for having been born at all - was almost worse than thee fact that it happened. Pity was the last thing Wren ever wanted. Etephyr surely meant well by it, but that sickly feeling was seconds way from making her vomit, and so she quickly deflected, forcing out a noise not unlike a nervous laugh.

Montana. Tell her about Montana. The parts of Montana not yet tainted by her father's hands.

It was normal for us, I guess, her gaze had locked onto a bird that perched among the sprawling branches of an alder. Anywhere but Etephyr, she would look. it was less brown in the winters. A lotta snow. The snow's the only reason I'd go back home. A weak, lopsided grin stretches at her face, though it leaves as soon as it had shown.

I'm guessing you didn't have brown mountains where you're from.