An ear flick and a glance spared to the raven in the branches above as it cawed, a throaty sound befitting of the stallion. His gaze returned to the face before him, just barely in time to see the slight tightening around the sockets— though they were barely visible beneath the elk skull.
The King arched a masked brow as the stranger, ‘Morir’, continued to speak. A job? A place to stay for the winter? Instinctively, his gut resounded with ‘No.’ But he did not speak— he thought. One who works for the herd might come to make it a place of residence. And if he was willing to work— Ophelia had left, leaving them shorthanded with spies. There were too few soldiers for his liking… And why was he saying no? Did he only see darkness in this man because he was fighting it within himself? Did that make him see shadows everywhere?
So, it is not denial that sounds on his deep voice. It is questions, “A herd is always in need of able bodies to protect. And the Edge is also in need of shadows to guard us against thieves,” the words causes a small frown to wrinkle his eyes— he knew of such golden thieves, “But you are able, despite being blind?” The question is firm, for he cannot allow a crippled soldier to protect the herd— that was as much of a danger as the enemy.