He doesn't quite flinch at her words, but something goes out of him. His hands, caught up together, fall a little. The sound of the wind howling fills his senses, full of the cold knowledge that he'd brought about this ugly moment, making her admit that. Grief to hear her say it. Anger that she'd had to do it. A dark knife edge of shame that it makes him feel closer to her, that this is something he can deal with.

After a minute or so he starts to talk.

"I've got a kid like you," he says. His own start. Handing it to her, to use against him if she wants to. A feeling like turning a sword in his hand, holding the blade and offering the hilt. Trust. And once it starts, it's hard to stop again.

"A daughter. She's.. she didn't like me much. For a long time. Took a while. She's like me, I guess, likes makin' it hard for people to get close. I was born able to heal, able to.." He snikts out one set of claws. Examines them in the fire's light. "I signed up to the wrong outfit. I was dumb, lookin' for a fight. They took me and made me into somethin' else. Gave me the metal. Turned me into somethin' that's not even an animal. Killed.. did worse than killin'. I got out, spent some time comin' back. But they didn't forget me. They made her, instead, because they couldn't have me. Made her, and she didn't.. even have a choice. Just because I.."

He pauses for a time, just breathing. Then glances over. Shows the points of his teeth. "Does that make you feel better, kid? Knowin' that about me?"