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The black orbs watched with that silent patience. Time was not a factor to the male. He may have been quick and worked quickly and without mercy, but he could have waited for an eternity for any moment, regardless of how insignificant it may have seemed to those beyond that black mind. And the light thing was still for a moment longer before it finally moved. Those moments were long and drawn out, but brief all at once. And because time was not a factor, he perceived it in a different way. It was similar to his perception of the world—a colorless world made of grays and blacks and whites. Briefly, the male remembered a time long ago when he had been born. Then, his eyes had been grey, but as he had grown they had grown darker until they were a flat matte. And that flat gaze watched the movements of the thing that was moving beyond the boarder. The movements were smooth, but they were clumsy when compared to the fluidity to his daughter, whom he had seen only a week before. But he supposed that such a thing would come naturally to those who began as wolves. Cwmfen had been born a shifter, but he had kept that from her. He wondered if she had discovered that anthropomorphic form.
When it spoke, he offered no response, not even a single movement. He remained still and lithic as the effigies of those long forgotten gods. But those words were ugly. That voice was ugly. This thing seemed to hold the ugliness of these lands. The pied brute could not help but sneer. This continent to which he had come from across the sea was new. It felt new. It did not hold the old magic of the other lands. Even Albion had held such magic, and it was this similarity to Korea that had taken the pied brute to those lands. And there Cwmfen had been made from his loins and the vessel of that bitch, Graine. But here there was a lacking as if the humans had truly killed something. And thus it seemed he was faced with this thing that spoke with noises. The fathomless gaze flickered over the cloth and the way in which the staff was used and held. It threatened him with it, but that staff would not serve as a weapon. Perhaps it didn’t even know that. The sneer moved his jaws, and the movement seemed to throw his form into life.
“Sneaking?” the tenor voice soothed even as he remained still. He provoked her, inviting her to come. He knew the mannerisms of the blind and of the blind who believed that they could do things. It was belief that made one blind. “Your judgment is lacking.” The suave, empty voice dripped only with his mockery. It was a cold sound that laughed and sneered upon the whining wind that wavered between them. The shadows hissed their laughter as they gathered at his sitting feet, pawing at his sinew that wound about his body. And the pied brute still did not rise. Perhaps the humanoid thing before him could entertain him with the attempts. And then he could have his fun.