Lauralae is not accustomed to being approached by people; there's an edge of something dangerous about her, something that she doesn't quite realise - wrapped in dark, a raven hovering around her, leather bag tucked at her side. She's small but seems almost feral, a little bit, pale skin and dark eyes flickering as the light presses across her face and under her hood. She's not sure what to do with herself, fingers flexing in and out before she's disturbed.

It seems as though she is going to have to get used to the fact that people are going to talk to her. The last time someone had come close and spoken to her she had been forced to threaten his life, so she is wary and careful all at once. She doesn't want to do anything to get herself in trouble with the guard, not with the egg she keeps so safe tucked against her, but she will not allow herself to be smothered.

Turning her head, slowly, she hesitates before she manages to find the words to speak.

"Many would forget it as such. In ten, twenty years this will be remembered as a nightmare, just as the war was." There's a frown on her face, eyes turning back to stare out at the ocean, narrowing a little. "The bloodshed will be ignored and forgotten and we will continue or we will die, as we had done before."

But that is rather a morbid idea - not something unusual for Lauralae, but -

"You were there?"