A half-smirk curved her lips as the spiked mare chuckled, and Amaris was glad to be able to provide some amusement to the interaction, some semblance of light and laughter to an otherwise odd situation. It was good, she supposed, that she was able to talk about her past with relative ease now, when even still so recently going into detail about it had wreaked havoc with her emotions. It was easier this way, to speak so lightly about it all, to gloss over the details, to merely speak about it as if she were speaking about someone else's history, someone else's past. To disassociate, to distance, to carry on and ignore the pulls of nostalgic depression that tried to pull her down, always.

Was it respectful to those that had been affected by her past? Was it right? Amaris didn't know the answer to those questions, she only knew that it was a way to cope, however unhealthily, with the burden of their histories. Perhaps it wasn't a long term solution to dealing with it, but that was a problem for 'future-Amaris' to deal with - 'present-Amaris' needed to focus, to get on with life.

She listened to the short tale Wessex weaved, silently respectful, hearing the familiar undertones of seriousness in her words, detecting a sense that this mare was doing similar to herself, and speaking of the events with such brutal dryness that it was as if they were describing a stranger's history, a lore of a land, a simple fact that one needn't cry or reel or feel anything about. Amaris, while not a fan of bloodshed and war for all the death and destruction it inevitably brought, did not blame the mare for distancing herself the way she herself had, and accepted the story with a quiet nod and impassive expression, not feeling inclined to prod deeper into this curious mare's history, for clearly she had been through enough without the dragonmare investigating the inner workings of her emotional state.

"Quite," Amaris agreed softly, her smile a bit more sombre, but her eyes telling of the recognition of the mare's coping of a rough past, yet she did nothing more about it than that simple look. It was definitely interesting, that much the dragonmare could not deny no matter how many other histories she heard. Wessex had spoken of a mercenary group, and the dragonmare could not help but think of the Grey, the herd that had taken the Foothills for themselves only to then join with the Basin and wring havoc against her home - a group of skilled beings who sold their abilities to the highest bidder.

The memory that rose unbidden to her cranium left a sour taste in her mouth, though she hid it well behind her smirking façade and quiet, curious glances. "And how are you finding Helovia? As exciting as the life you've left behind, or less so?" she posed, seeking to distract her wayward thoughts from past wars and horrors, seeking solace in this mare's words, her past, her story, so that she might for just a moment, forget her own.

@Wessex

Amaris