The apprehension of the king was palatable, his reluctance not so much the way he appeared to lean back as in the slight hesitation before he spoke. It amused Morir as much as it annoyed him. Was it because of his blindness, or... but of course. He had worn it for so long now that he forgot about the presence of the grim mask he wore. Over the years it had become as much a part of him as the tangled mass of hair that hung like a curtain from his crest, an extension of his own body. Before, when the Regime still were active and he an integral part of the operations it had been a mark of his devotion to the darkness they dyed him in, a tribute to the World Eater and a pledge of loyalty to demons and wolves.

Once the loosely bound rag tag band of misfits scattered however, he had thought many times of simply throwing it aside. He had not been raised to walk a path of cruelty and dark deeds and the path of shadows still felt foreign, like a harness strapped on too tightly. Yet he couldn't seem to shake it either. It clung to him, bringing dark thoughts and foul deeds in his wake until he indeed had become what the shaman back home had warned him of - the demon they had painted him out to be, tormented because it was not who he was inside.

Now, Morir thought again of throwing aside the mask. It was merely a piece of bone, hardly more intimidating than a painted symbol or raised spear - and yet it seemed to strike fear in the hearts of everyone who passed him. Still undecided as to whether this reluctance pained him or not, he took it as an excuse to do as he pleased, to play indifferent and continue to dance his ghost dance of dread. But was it time now, to set aside who he had become before it was too late? Was this his chance for a better life, a better existence....

But then Tembovu spoke again and something hardened in the ebon steed, and the nod that made diamond spears draw circles in the air was impatient, annoyed.

He didn't like repeating himself.

"Of course. Who would think to hide themselves from one who cannot see? Being blind doesn't make me deaf, king. I couldn't tell you the color of your enemy nor how many scars they carry, but give me time and I can find out everything else you might need."

People got careless around those they perceived as less able. Many raised their voices when speaking to him as though his disability affected his ears too, and his nose, brain and cock to boot. They spilled their secrets without thinking, sometimes without even knowing how much he perceived about them. Scents, accents, names dropped and troubles shared, how they referred to one place and another...

But he felt no need to explain this, because even though he swallowed the anger of having his sole weakness counted against him yet again, the king had not yet refused him. And if he still hesitated, there was but one thing left for the stray wolf to do.

"Why not test me" he suggested, in an off handed way that was neither challenging nor defensive. "Give me a task, see what I can do. You'll know my worth at the end, either way."

And he smiled, a crooked grin full of the sort of wicked charm that led hot headed colts into battle and mares to betray their stallions - greedy, hungry for a challenge.