It sounds pessimistic, to believe in all these terrible things people are capable of. She considers her glass with a marked frown; only when they speak of dragons does she set said glass aside.

"Dinosaurs?" What a sad thing to be so terrified of such beautiful creatures. "If my son lived--" The memory is still so fresh, still hurts as it had the day she'd hallucinated it again. "I think you'd like him. He was the sweetest of the three. I carried him in my arms until he was too big to--and even then, he still would fly himself over to set his head upon my lap. They're wild like direwolves."