"Hah. I'd have said the same once, back in my youth when gods walked the earth and all legends were true." Back after the death of the Boar Clan whose mark she still carries, but she can allude to that time in an abstracted, self-mocking way. Lashan's well aware that to a half-grown pup like Guts she seems incredibly old. He'd be surprised at how old, if she told him.

Of course, they're not really the same. She'd known and taken for granted the embrace of the clan around her. Lashan had been loved, even if she hadn't entirely been understood, from birth until their bloody end. This boy lost that almost as soon as he was physically capable of surviving without being entirely dependent on someone caring for his needs.

Considering that, Guts is better at people than she'd expected. He certainly gets on well enough with Vena, but that doesn't mean all that much, most people do and the girl is accommodating in the extreme. If he'd taken to the gentle, rarefied environment of the enclave his life could have turned in its tracks. He hasn't, of course. He doesn't want to adapt to it, he wants to return to what he knows and is good at. As she'd known, and she's not the sort who'd decide it was for his own good and stop him from leaving. ...Ideally he won't split here and now with a good horse and her own personal longsword.

Lashan spots a broken arrow off the path, chicken-feather fletching still clean and white, and tsks under her breath. If she was still that level of limber she'd swoop in the saddle to pick it up - there'd been a time when she could do just about everything ahorse that she could do on foot. "This is the way she went, all right."