Andromache nodded, "I can only imagine. I know I would turn tail and head the other direction." She had plenty of reason not to trust others. There was something about him being a Saint, however, that made her more comfortable with this. She then went into the story, a rather simple one, "When we wanted to be completely alone we would go to the East side of the city to this old olive tree. At its base was a trap door that lead to an unused storage room. We brought some items to keep down there to make it a little nicer when we went there. One of them was a rug my mother sent with me when Hector and I were married. Around the edges were small images of the gods of Olympus eating, drinking, dancing. We would bring a picnic and sit on that rug. One night we burnt the image of the love goddess from that rug because she was the one who started the war in the first place. We swore we would never pay allegiance to her ever again." She ended the story there, but that particular moment stood out vividly in her mind. "I know it's not a lot to go off of, and I'm sure there are lots of people with similar stories. But that night we had had enough of war. We wanted it to end."