Hideaway Strath There's just Devils and Dust

Artok wasn't sure what compelled him to be kind to this little thing. Other than he had always held special place for tiny things. The ones that needed protection, the ones he could protect, if he liked them. And it was almost always a femme. There had never been a male he wished to protect.

Perhaps it was a sense of self-preservation, perhaps it was simply he was a cold, hard bastard. He wasn't certain, but he was too old now to change his ways.

He tilted ears forward, and settled to his haunches. Her question swirled about his mind, and he thought of a proper answer. Did singing make warriors happy? Well he thought so. They were always singing on their ways to war. A small moment of respite.

I think so yes. Warriors. We see all the terrible things, and for those brief moments of inbetween, music fills the space. And music is it's own beauty. It can mean so many beautiful things. A bard can sing of sugar cane, and river song. They can take something that is hard, and heavy and bleeding. And turn it into something that is beautiful and pulsating. So yes, I think singing makes warriors happy, much more than most anything.

He could have argued that their lovers made them happier, but that was not what she had asked, and he felt unsure about sullying her question, and her innocence with such a comment.