Naithí Scullian was absorbed with the explanation - trying to puzzle out who and what were the aggressors, and how they operated. His military experience should have given him a kernel of insight, but the Northern civil war seemed to be largely made of pent up aggressions and pride from a bygone era - nothing he knew enough about to offer any possible advice. He shifted uncomfortably, feeling out of place dressed in his Imperial Legion uniform. The Legion had no hold in the North, and he was more likely to be laughed at than respectfully treated.
Naithí looked at his companions, and could already tell that his party was filled with their own motives, and were both racially and culturally diverse. This could lead to division, he thought, and that's something we don't want any more of. He took a deep breath. He wished that the old men from the army that he had been stationed with were here. But they weren't, so he had to the best that he could with what he had.