The youth’s ears flew backwards the instant Pendzez spoke of his father in such a manner. There was light annoyance when words were let out because the white male meant that he would not understand. Was it fair to judge him already or was it an automatic response because he was young? Lips twisted in an unhappy frown as he looked at the crimson eyed male. ”What is it that I would not understand?” he asked, allowing his voice to drop in level, though not letting it be too apparent that he found the man’s former words slightly insulting.
Defense and body meditation was part of a package deal and Conor’s brain drooled. To learn techniques to calm himself was something he knew would be useful. Deep inside, Conor Soul had a rage similar to that of his father. The essence of his father’s sickness had been transferred to his son, though slumbered peacefully inside the boy. Sometimes he had felt the boiling fire and he had recognized it for what it was. He feared it – always determined to be nothing like his father. ”Would you be willing to teach me your ways?” he asked softly; almost pleading with the desire to learn.