Limba Carpaților

Gwyn waited for Artorias to get out the sentence he was trying to say, knowing he would get there eventually, and she gave him a nod and chuckled when he did. When he questioned why she was able to do it so easily and called himself a neanderthal in his attempts to speak their new language she scoffed and gave a shake of her head as well. "How are combat and weapons so easy for you?" she countered with a little smile. "How is leadership and navigation so easy for you? We both have our strengths and weaknesses. My strengths just happen to be primarily mental. Learning healing techniques, all the properties of every herb, and... now language apparently." She chuckled again and gave a little shrug, looking back to the fireplace in front of them. She didn't know why their talents had ended up so vastly different when they had much the same upbringing and the same opportunities given to them, but there was no denying that was the case.

Occasionally she wondered what might have happened if things had turned out differently—if instead of healing she had gravitated toward fighting and combat like Artorias, Rudyard, and Avantika had. Perhaps then she wouldn't have been in such a dire position when she was attacked, she wouldn't have felt so helpless, and she wouldn't feel so trapped now. Her expression didn't change much, but her ears did flick a bit before she could stop them. She had gotten pretty good at hiding her emotions and keeping her expressions neutral, but she was especially careful of it around her siblings. She didn't want to worry them and instead leaned into the idea that she was perfectly content being a homebody who never left the infirmary so that she could burry herself in her work when in reality it felt like she couldn't escape her own fears and she missed Ysmir greatly, but didn't know how to go see him.

"Gwynevere Carpathius"