Ciaran felt disgust churn in his gut once more. Yes, he’d defended his shores, but he’d burnt to death dozens, scores - maybe hundreds - of men. He was a killer. Warriors were hailed for their victories in battles, yes, but he was no warrior.
He was a monster.
As if Deagan had sensed Ciaran’s despondence, he began chattering about his life before he joined Odran and Brenna’s band, back when he was a silversmith who made lovely jewelry. Ciaran was grateful for the distraction and kept up the conversation until they emerged on a wide field crowded with fires and tents.
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