"I'm actually not certain," Deidre responded honestly. "I've never owned a Mabari....and I'm loathe to do the bond between master and Mabari injustice by speculating. I think you'd have to ask those who own them. I hear they're extremely intelligent, however, and that they might actually understand human speech. But I don't know that indubitably."
The hypothetical she posed, however, causes that palpable change over the other woman's features. Levity dissipates like morning mist, replaced by something more melancholy than Imenry's earlier, cheerful veneer. Sharp pangs of guilt, sudden and serious, stabbed at her insides, the archaeologist's gaze fixed on her companion as she was thrown back to the bitter mercies of memory. It was hard to see her reaction clearly, given the way her lustrous dark hair fell on her face to obscure her features and the look in her eyes. However, the waves of sadness emanating from her was practically tangible, thickening the air between them.
When the warrior actually spoke to answer her question, the sound of her voice startled her. She was expecting her not to answer it, but instead of interrupting her speech with platitudes and apologies, she listened attentively. Her word choices implied many things; losing them is awful, she didn't know if it could ever be adequately described. It spoke of grief that wasn't just present...but one that seemed relatively fresh and painful. It twisted something within her, remembering nights in the orphanage and hearing its constituents weeping over their losses. She remembered how Aurin had been orphaned, and how Alderic had lost his father. Recently, she learned that Bethen had been taken away from her parents, and not early enough to keep good memories from staying with her. While Imenry took care not to go into specifics, she had been around too many people who had suffered the same thing not to recognize the expression for what it was, too familiar with it not to realize what the look in her eyes meant. In her near-decade of crossing borders all over Thedas, Grief was the same everywhere.
"I'm sorry."
Her tone was gentle, sympathetic...one who clearly didn't share the same experiences, or at least didn't remember the actual event to be able to relate exactly, but it was evident that she knew what to look for.
"It was a hypothetical," Deidre continued, reaching out to touch Imenry's shoulder gently. She didn't have the hands of a scholar, her fingertips callused and her palms roughened by so much toil and travel. "I didn't think you'd have...I overstepped. I just met you after all, unless...you really want to talk about it." She hesitated, but only for the briefest of moments before she continued. "I am trained to counsel people in trying times," she told her. "And I have been taught to take confessions. I know not everyone is religious, but sometimes it's good to just...unload on someone who's willing to listen. You might not feel like it now, but should there be a time when you decide you truly need an ear and we're in the same place, my door is open, so to speak."