Vena had meant the mercenary men would move on and leave the women behind, but she would've nodded at the idea of babies being left, unhappily but without particular feeling. Life in a soldiers' camp is cheap for most people and she's known some bad things to happen to little kids, sometimes even on purpose. It only bothers her so much. She doesn't want to think about it and be bothered.

"Yeah." She shrugs. Vena's not doing mind reading right now - after the way things were so loud on the roof even with just two people she wants to rest that sense - but she doesn't have to be to tell there's some kind of sore spot there. Doesn't matter. Not getting into peoples' pasts when they shutter them off is just expected here.

The only thing worse than eating a raw turnip, Vena decides, is wasting food. She gnaws off a sliver and chews on it. It tastes like dirt and crispiness. She makes a face.