[He's seen enough Thenns become wights. They would eat the flesh of other people before they were wights, though; after, the Army of the Dead does not march on its stomach. And what the people in her world had become didn't stop at eating their own. Not the same.

He speaks carefully -- thoughtfully.]

I knew a man who roasted his enemies and ate their bones. He had no excuse, no sickness, no reason except that it was the custom of his tribe. I killed him in battle, but there are others like him who might have been my allies if they had lived long enough.

We fight -- my allies and I fight -- dead who are unthinking, and creatures who are their masters. Creatures of ice. They eat nothing -- they do nothing but kill. I don't know what goes through their minds, only that their king wants me to know that nothing I do will ever be good enough to defeat him.

But we do not think that anyone ever deserves to become a wight. Before they were killed and raised up again, they were our friends, our brothers.

[Does she understand? He is trying to stop something like what happened to her world from happening to his, even if they differ in details. If she seemed about to take a bite from him, then he would think of fighting her. But for now, he doesn't step away. He doesn't have the sense of any real threat. Maybe he should.]

I've never thought that there might be a way to help them.