So, gather up your jackets, move it to the exits

Busy. Halo only knows how to be busy. Really, she'd get sad if she wasn't. When there was a chance for the grey to fade in and color absolutely everything she saw, ever. The grey was the enemy, the grey was what made her feel not so good about herself. If she wasn't busy, they grey got worse. Everything got worse. If things were at least okay, she'd be busy. If she was busy, things were at least okay. It was a vicious cycle, and when things ground to a halt, that was when they got bad.

Ru spoke of the smoke, and he wasn't wrong. Halo's tail twitched a wag. "Sirius smokes things for preservation, yes. I'm familiar with salting too, but I've only learned about smoking and drying since I've been here." Right, she could focus on the conversation. She could focus on things that weren't... well, that weren't breaking the rules of the pack. Why did the Warlord need to go putting thoughts like that in her head. Halo could think of nothing worse than betraying the Armada, really.

"I came from a land far to the north, to the east. Most of the packs there are nomadic and the winters are harsh..." Halo trailed off, checking on the jar of tea as it steeped. "Resources are scarce, if you aren't of use to your family once you reach adulthood then you can't stay." It was more than she planned to say, but the cannabis left her a bit loose in the tongue. Quietly, Halo chewed on the piece of meat before her. She wasn't strong, she wasn't brave-- there was no use for her, to them. They already had a healer. Halo was too soft. She was too weak. Sometimes she was too downright miserable thanks to the grey. She'd been driven off at the start of the winter without a second thought.

Halo was grateful that the Armada was her home now.
"Halo"