Silver Moraine you were one of those classic ones

"i know," he stated, his own crystaline winters returning a slight of their rigid ire. "I have seen, and nothing remains." He looked away from where she stood, his head bowing in an arc, ears swiveling to face his back. "And everything, every single voice in me, repeatedly reminds me that it is my fault for it."

Snatching himself out of his own self loathe, he again brought his stare to meet hers. Voice softened as the assassin regarded her hurt. "Then we will not speak upon it. The last thing either of us needs is to hurt over the past. The past is the past, and as of right now, we only need our future to remain constant." Nodding to her left shoulder, the dark guardian asked, his muscles involuntarily tensing in case he had to commit to murder, once again. "Are they treating you right? You lead their ranks, yes?"

It was her right; a woman of such courage and grace needed that role. It took heart to face the shit Gwen did, and still survive.