[His question draws from her a particularly weighted pause. It's a bit prying, isn't it. She wonders what the harm is in answering. If there is any harm at all. Her weight shifts and Beatrix rests a hand atop her hip.]

Familial expectation? Societal expectation?

[Her shoulder lifts in something that seems either casual or dismissive. Likely the latter.]

I was made to hold a sword. It suits me more than tailoring or embroidery. It is where I belong.