It fits more closely than she has any way to expect. Wren nods stiffly as they walk. Talking hurts, but it's a welcome distraction. She wants to know more of this world Diana holds such evident affection for; these scattered pieces more alike her own than the others yet.

(It doesn't occur to her that the other woman might be editing to suit.)

"The Chantry — the same." The retired Brothers taught combat more often, a gender imbalance as old as the Order. But there had been Sisters, Mothers aplenty. "Fifteen on."

Late, beside all those given as children to the ranks. That doesn't matter. The Chantry had as much a hand in shaping her as her blood.