Morgan looked up at the last minute as Noah approached, something in her eyes lost and distant; at first all she managed was a grunt of acknowledgement that he had spoken: it took a further moment for her to shake herself from her fog and nod her head. "Yes. Yes, we did." She agreed, pulling the mug closer to herself as if it were a comfort.
She had never been one for waxing poetic or being particularly talkative, but she found staring down at the bloodied snow, words came to her. If Noah wanted to listen, he could, but she was speaking them more to hear them be said than for anyone else. "..I always told my guards to expect to die on missions but hope to live. I told them I would protect them to the best of my ability. I did not think we would die as a result of our own leader...who I continued to support, even though I knew, I knew--"
With a frustrated sigh she shook her head, pushing a hand through her matted and messed hair.
