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[center] Winton, outside the Inn[/center] 

	Dareen was in agreement with at least one thing Gennar had to say: this was a delicate family matter. Delicate family matters were something she had no experience in, but had just enough social tact to realise this and not butt in. Probably because the family she knew was hardly delicate. Dareen gave Denvar a sheepish look as he seemed to pay attention to her for the briefest moment to see the minor predicament she was in. 

	[color=c4df9b]"I fold, I'm gonna go get some air,"[/color] She said quietly. Just loud enough so people could hear her, not loud enough to warrant comment or discussion. She set the cards down face up, the facade of bluffs and raises revealed to be just that, as the cards she carried were virtually unuseable. 

	Turning to the side she went past Fatima and Denvar and silently excused herself from the personal family matter. Opening the door she let it close behind her and went off to the side exhaling. Sheesh. Heavy stuff. Dareen hated it when people said 'watch your tone' or were all passive aggressive, disguising what they felt behind a thin layer of politeness. It gave her the creeps. She preferred it when people just came out with it, which was apparently what Gen had done and now he was being reproached for it because because because, who knows? If there was one advantage of being a mercenary it was seeing the look on noble's faces as her commander brazenly rejected their facade of politeness and decency as they asked his company to perform acts of murder and mayhem on their behalf. It was small, petty thing, to peel away the paint and say 'Look, you're just as bad as I am.'

	Now, thankfully, she was away from it. Mikhail had followed Faeril out, and she Widow was looking particularly dejected. Poor woman. Shamefully, Dareen thought she had pieced together what her sorest spot was. Dareen couldn't even begin to imagine what the loss of a child could do to someone. So when the family were discussing the matter of a boy, and Faeril was unusually hurt by words...? There were only a few conclusions to come too.

	So Dareen leaned up against a wall and then slid down it, becoming little more then a vaguely human shaped pile of brown and red fabric. From the air she produced her journal and pen and opened up the parchment pages and began to idly illustrate images. A pair of cards, held in her own left hand. The old innkeeper. Thom with his hand on Dunny's head, looking off to the right side of the page with a concerned look on his face. Dareen had her knees pulled into her body, the journal opened and laying across her thighs, the pen deliberately scratching away to bring the drawings from a collection of abstract shapes into familiar manifestations of the people she had come to know in the most recent time of her short life on this planet.