"Bought and paid for," she echoes. "Doesn't sound like a much proper thief." But her tone isn't belittling; in fact it's a bit distant. Talk of war puts her in that mood, and quite often, considering how frequently the subject manifests amongst the citizens of Baedal. It should be sad. Integra only feels something hollow.

"No war is like another." She rises then, and goes over to let her horse keen its neck out against her shoulder. She palms his nose and then pats over his neck. "Althalus, then."

She peers over to look at his work, after.

And maybe a bit of his kilt.