Oh, she could, and that made her look darken. Fingers curled around the sweating glass, knuckles ready to turn white. "I have heard the drums of war, and I have seen the primal blood spilled about the land. It is not a good thing to see, brother killing brother, beloveds being slaughtered in their beds, watching as your followers and believers drown in vats of wine, in pig's blood, are stoned to death or forced to die in order to maintain a sense of peace that was previously disturbed by their new ideas. Socrates, for instance, grieved me greatly."
A moment later, and she drank the rest of the water. "These are the ramblings of an old, old woman, however. But the idea of people killing themselves...is it not upsetting to you, Gaz?"