She looked at him in incomprehension. "I'm not talking about *war* or whether or not I can defend my family or strike to kill. I'd be perfectly happy to put down my weapon and never pick it up again, but as long as there are people out there who are willing to slit my throat and that of the people I care about, I carry it. The first time I saw someone die, I was nine. They came to my Home, attacked some of the sweetest, most peaceful people who would have given them the clothes off their backs if they'd needed it. And I watched my Uncles and parents kill them without batting an eye.
"I don't like the idea of taking another life, but I won't let mine be forefit. So I learned. It's not about Honor. I didn't learn this weapon so they'd be proud of me or that I could change the world with it. I learned so that I'd *survive* and they wouldn't have to bury me. It's not my Path, or Way."
She exhaled noisly and her wings gave an irritable flap before settling again.